It has been said that runners have their best thoughts of the day while out running. Runner and writer
Michael Selman shares his
"Thoughts on Running" with us here at ontherunevents.com.
I'll have to admit, for much of the current year, I have not been very
well grounded, and things aren't likely to change any time soon. I have
found myself up in the air about almost everything much more than usual,
and I place the blame squarely on three primary culprits. They are Delta,
American, and USAirways. Through it all, I am finding it quite difficult
to remain anchored with my feet planted firmly on the ground when I
constantly find myself either cruising at 30000 feet, or landing at final
destinations, which are strange and unfamiliar. I have become, in the
most literal sense of the word, flighty. No wonder my head's so often in
the clouds.
In almost all ways, I am a man of routine. I have a hunch that most
runners are, as running requires a lot of it. On a daily basis, I am most
at peace with the simplicities of life. My desire is to wake up in my own
bed before the sun comes up, run on my own roads before work, watch
Jeopardy while snuggling with my wife in the evening after dinner, and
then tucking myself in bed by 9:30, eager to follow the same predictable
schedule the next day. On weekends, I like to start my Saturdays with a
race, and then run down by the Chattahoochee River on Sundays. Routine is
not such a bad thing, and the routine of home is the finest routine I
know. I have devout fondness for home, and my running seems to like it
too.
When I'm at home, I know I can wake up at 5 in the morning, and the roads
I run are a footstrike away, just past the end of my driveway. As I
gently step over the dew-drenched newspaper, I can go as far as my legs
and my imagination are willing to take me, and I have the comfort of
knowing that the finish line will always take me back home. I don't
require such trivial things as house falling on a wicked witch or a yellow
brick road, or a pair of ruby red slippers to know my biggest happiness is
found right in my own back yard.
The last couple of weeks, my travels have returned me to places of my
past, as I have returned to Wilmington, Delaware and Pittsburgh, PA. I
used to live in both cities, and in fact, I was born in Wilmington. At
one time or another, I called both places home, but neither trip was a
return to any place even remotely similar. The physical structures where
I once lived might still be standing, but the comfort of my routine was
left behind in Atlanta.
A house is merely a structure, cold and stoic. But the warmth and the
familiarity of home IS structure, in its most pure and simple form. So
two weeks ago, when I was in Wilmington, I went searching, not for a
house, but for home. I found it, but not in the residence where I was
born. Instead, I found it in a 2 ½ mile loop down by the Delaware River,
where I found home for about an hour each morning on my run, before going
to work. As I traversed the roads that ran along the river and through
Brandywine Park, the structure of home appeared. Within the run, I was
home, and it made the rest of the day more than just a little bit better.
This week in Pittsburgh, I once again found routine, this time along the
Golden Triangle. I never did make it back to the physical structure in
which I once lived, but there was really no need to. Every morning, I
made a date to find my way back home by the waters of my three friends:
the Monongahela, the Allegheny and the Ohio. As I negotiated the Eliza
Furnace Trail each morning, I simply enjoyed the warmth, and the
structure. Despite what the rest of the day would bring, for that magical
time, I found home away from home.
As I write this, I am once again at 30,000 feet, heading back home to
Atlanta. That's home in every sense of the word. My wife awaits me
there, as well as my friends and my routine. Tomorrow morning, I'll step
across the morning paper, still covered with morning dew, and lose myself
somewhere just beyond my driveway. An hour later, I'll finish right where
I started. Home.
How can it get any better than that?
But even at this high altitude, I feel a little more grounded than I did
even two weeks ago. I'm content in the knowledge that I can pack a little
bit of home in my suitcase before I leave again on Sunday afternoon to
return to Pittsburgh for another week. Home will be packed in the form of
a pair of running shoes, shorts, Thor-Lo's and singlets. There is no
place like home, wherever you can find it.
The Roads Scholar, Michael Selman runs and writes in Atlanta GA. He
would love to hear from you. Please e-mail him at TheRoadsScholar@aol.com
with any questions or comments. You can also subscribe to his Newsletter
at that same address.
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