Why do we complicate the simple things?
Trying to understand why I keep running.
I’ve been pondering why it is so important to me to experience the sensation of tired legs from the act of putting one foot in front of the other at an elevated pace. Even running on my at-home foldable treadmill, where the highlight is staring at the wall while my thoughts roam freely, has become ritual for me.
When I first began my trail running practice, I would carry my phone and keys in one hand and return to my vehicle just in time to adequately hydrate and devour a nutrient-rich meal. As my mileage increased, the gear packing and planning add layers of complexity to what had once been simple. Still, with my current run duration, I can get by with a dense nutrition bar, water, and some Gatorade, and still make it back to the urban bustle in time to enjoy a Chipotle burrito and call it good.
It still astonishes me how something so simple can become so complicated, so quickly. I continue to suffer from excess decision fatigue when it comes to running gear. My first hydration vest has brought about great disappointment in its lack of durability, and I found myself perusing pages on pages of specifications for replacement options. Consumerism has been robbing this primitive form of movement of its purity by confusing me with what seems like endless versions of the same vest. (Don’t even get me started on the shoes.)
My already overexerted brain refuses to extend precious energy to these choices more than necessary—but as someone who fundamentally craves becoming a runner able to stay on her feet for longer periods of time, it is difficult to ignore the allure of the available options that may just slightly improve my running experience—or, at the very least, be a step-up from a choice that was not researched as thoroughly.
Repeating the same trail networks at different times of the year has been an intimate experience in knowing a place. I think I know a place, and then realize there is still so much I don’t know. I see new fissures along the trail and preferential erosion patterns from the atmospheric river flooding. Minute changes of cloud orientation create a new experience each time I observe the Pacific shoreline from the same hill network. The rolling mountains morph into pure greenery during the Los Angeles winter. If my own body—just my own body—can take me just a tad further, what new terrain will I learn to traverse among the same mountains that also serve as safe spaces for me? What levels of exertion will I extend? When will the fatigue seep in? How will my experience of self evolve through this process of putting one foot in front of the other?
I think it is the pure simplicity of running—the mere action of using our own bodies as the vessel to propel us forward—which allows me to set myself free. Running is a subtle reminder that even the simplest of acts can become overcomplicated through advertisements, consumerism, the desire to become faster and fitter and whatever else this culture superficially prizes.
It is the simplicity of running that helps me accept that so much of what occupies my mind is absurd and unnecessary.
I still don’t know why I am animalistically driven to run. (It does feel very animalistic, and not something that rationality can reign in.) For the first time, I am considering participating in a race that requires intentional planning and training on my part (oh no, more thinking and planning and complicating things, do I really need more of that?)—which feels like a dent in the simplicity of running which makes running so pure to me. I worry that race crowds will be overwhelming for me. I also don’t like the word “race.” The thought of anything that simulates competition makes me dizzy. I thrive on solo runs. But perhaps I am just curious enough to get a taste of why these gatherings of people running, sometimes for days on end, are continually lauded as places that cultivate magic through community.
Race or no race, I will keep running. Running has been the most pivotal way for me to learn more about myself. It is special to have experiences with a body that supports me through so much, for so long. Nuance is in everything we do, and the mind wants to simplify it instead. Maybe the allure of running is that I can make it something simple for me amid all the chaos.
Jessica- Thanks for sharing this. I like your thoughtfulness around running and simplicity. I've always wondered the same. And I think what strikes me about running (trail running in particular), is that my mind would be so focused on my steps, and sometimes on the rhythm of my breathing. And that regularity shuts out all other 'noise' from my brain--the type of noise that typically gives a sense of claustrophobia of thoughts. Weird, isn't it? But when I'm running, walking even, all that goes away. And my senses are dialed into those simple rhythmic hum. Happy trail running!