A Monk in Motion

I’m pretentious about running. In the best of ways. The most productive way one could be pretentious about running in a time where everything falls to consumer culture.

I don’t think a runner needs anything more than black shorts and a pair of sneakers. Maybe some socks. Sports bra if you’re a woman. The gels, the super shoes, the vests, AirPods, body glide—all that shit is silly in my opinion, and I watch people fall into the consumer trap of being sold to do exactly what they evolved to do. I watch people debate whether zone 2 is the only zone they should train in, Strava tax, Garmin telling them they’re overreaching. The entire concept of running has been swamped and drowned in this optimization and consolidation of data that is honestly useless if you’re not a fucking Olympian.

It’s the left brain seeking to better understand a right brain experience.

I’ve forgone the watch. I don’t need to know my splits. How did we get so disconnected from ourselves that we need a watch to tell us what our level of exertion is? Granted, I’ve been running forever. Nearly 20 years now. I’ve fallen into every fad that has existed in the past 20 years of running only to always fall back to needing black shorts and sneakers. Maybe some socks. Push the limit.

I talk myself through this same thought biweekly and I don’t understand why it gets to me so much. Why I waste so much energy cadence watching. Lace limiting. Stride sniping. On one hand, I’m convinced no one enjoys running more than I do. Simultaneously, I don’t think anyone wastes more energy caring about how other people are running more than me.

I see a shit stride, bad form, and I want to stop and offer advice but nobody wants unsolicited advice, they just want to buy whatever product there is that can fix the problem. A good running shoe used to be sixty dollars, you could run in them for eons. Now you’re lucky to get two miles for every dollar you spend.

I’m just a frustrated runner at the end of the day.

But there’s something underneath the frustration that matters more than the frustration itself.

Last week I had been running two-a-days. Had a good groove going. Some blazingly fast days. It felt really good. But I found myself being observant of other runners on the trail in a way that was bothering me. Not analytical exactly. There are instances where I run and I’m very aware of the other souls around me, and there are instances where I run and they all seem to melt away.

I find trouble in the instances when I’m aware. It seems that if I’m running hard enough, at the level I like to be at, the space I like to live in, everything just vanishes and I find my inner peace. But if I’m able to process the “hellos,” the “good mornings,” the “good works” from oncoming runners, I realize I’m not working hard enough. And it isn’t that I need to run that hard every day. It’s that the days these things bother me are the days I long most to be in that space.

So I started thinking—maybe I ought to just not give a fuck and enjoy the run regardless. Maybe this is just the universe coming in to let me know the interval is over. Work complete, take a break. Rather than a watch beeping, the Garmin calling my paces out, I’m experiencing my splits through feeling.

It drives home the greater point I’m trying to make through all of this. The problems in the experience that the left hemisphere presents versus the pleasure of just experiencing consciousness through the right hemisphere.

All of this just to get to a story that I know will better demonstrate it.

There was a point last week where I knew that another run would put me into the territory of overexertion, overuse injuries, but I was having a less than great day and I needed to experience the spiritual cleansing that comes along with building lactic acid up in my legs. I tied my shoes on and set out carrying a pace that can be best described as “faster than screaming.” Very hard work. Allowing myself to sit in the back seat as my body attempted to escape earth’s gravitational pull.

I was satisfied with how quickly all of my checkpoints were coming along, moving through time and space. Treating the earth as my treadmill and pulling distances through my feet.

As I rounded the backside of Lady Bird, I could see someone sitting on the side of the trail staring up at the trees. I thought it was a little absurd that they wouldn’t completely clear themselves of the trail to do what I thought was birdwatching, but stranger things have happened. Just as I neared this person, they dramatically fell backwards and I realized they were having a medical emergency.

I immediately ran over to them and my Self-Aid Buddy Care training took over. This young lady was beginning to have a seizure. I yelled out for someone to call an ambulance and tried to bring some calm to her.

I asked the girl her name. She told me it was Riley. I told her how I had a nephew named Ryley. She told me she had been having a bad day to which I told her mine hadn’t been much better. This whole situation did bring light to me though that at the end of it all, my day wasn’t necessarily as bad as hers. Everyone’s going through shit.

Riley told me she was epileptic and that her mother was a bit further up the trail. “She has red hair.” Another woman who had been running and stopped to help told me she would run up the trail to get Riley’s mom.

Moments later Riley’s mom and brother came running up to us on the trail. They told me she was epileptic, they thanked me for stopping to help. I asked if there was anything else they needed from me and they told me they had it from here. I wished them all a better day and attempted to proceed on about my run.

I was overcome with emotion and ran just enough until I was out of sight, then I sat on a bench by the water and cried.

I thought about how tired I was, how I knew my body was nearing its limit. How I was nearing my mental limit but it was better for me to experience the spiritual cleansing that comes from running to ease the mind somewhat than to let my body rest. The run I knew was pushing my physical limits was necessary to free up some mental bandwidth and just happened to put me in the perfect place and time to help someone experiencing similar fate if not in a more dire manner.

Earlier that day I had told Julissa I was pretty sure I was at the lowest point of my life. Nadir. I couldn’t understand why God was giving me all of these obstacles and challenges although I knew nothing would be presented to me that I couldn’t handle. She told me to write down everything I wanted from life.

The following is an email from that day.

Dearest Julissa,

Earlier during our phone call, you told me to take all the thoughts I had about my life and write them down. Here we are. I wasn’t going to go for a run today. I think we discussed how since Iblew my life upI’ve been running twice a day and my body is tired. Running however is a very spiritual thing for me and I needed to go to church after a stressful day.

I hadn’t planned to go much further than what felt good and the further I got into my run, the better it began to feel.

As I came down a hill on the back side of Lady Bird Lake, I could see in the distance someone sitting on the side of the trail staring up at the trees. I figured they were birdwatching but as I got closer, I saw them dramatically fall backwards.

I ran up to this young lady and could see that she was having a seizure. Immediately I made use of those soft skills you mentioned I had earlier. I had someone call 911 and began trying to deescalate the situation.

The girl told me her name was Riley and she’d been having a bad day. I realized the day I was having wasn’t as bad as hers and mentioned how I had a nephew named Ryley.

She told me her mom was further up the trail with red hair and I sent someone to go find her. Moments later her brother and mom came running up to the scene. They thanked me for my help, I asked if there was anything else they needed from me and after being told everything was fine, I wished them all a better day and tried to go on about my run.

I was overcome with emotion and ran just far enough to be out of their sight then sat on a park bench and cried.

It seems everything really does happen for a reason.

I remember on the phone earlier I said I’m pretty sure I’m at one of the lowest points I’ve been at in my life. Nadir.

Prior to running up to Riley, I was debating whether it would be necessary for me to send Delta and the girls to Missouri so I could go into complete hermit mode and correct this debacle I’ve put us in. The stress of it all set me out on this run in which I was placed at the right spot at just the right time to help this young lady.

I continued on about my run wondering why exactly it is that God is testing me this way, what it is the higher power seeks from me. I pondered only for so long before I accepted that at no point will God give me anything I can’t handle and that my faith will continue unwavering.

I ran on further.

It all felt very natural to be of aide to someone. I thought about the times working in the group home when my life was falling apart but still I was giving my energy to those who needed it more than I. Talking people off the ledge as I stand there myself.

I told you that at the end of the day, I find myself wanting to be no more than a man of God and I think that’s all this boils down to.

Being in motion is spiritual for me, it’s my connection to God. This is why I run, this is why I tell you I want to drive trucks. I want nothing more than to be in motion as it serves as my church, my religious practice.

If when not in motion, as long as I can spread God’s light throughout this world whether it be through service, or writing, music, food, I will be happy. I will live a rewarding life. In any way which God asks me to spread light throughout this world, I will be happy.

So I guess that’s it. I will pursue a life as a monk in motion.

Thank you.

With love,

Bakkar

———

I have to consciously make the decision to not run in the mornings if that’s what it comes to. It’s legitimately a part of my being. The rain won’t stop me, the snow, the ice. I really don’t care.

Throughout my wife’s first pregnancy people kept asking whether or not I’d continue to run after the birth and before I could even answer, she’d tell them she’d never take running away from me. She labored at home with my first child and encouraged me to get a run before we had to make way to the hospital. When we returned from the hospital, our family made the time and space and encouraged me to get my run in. I wasn’t training for anything in particular, I wasn’t acting as a deranged man having not got my run in, fiending for lactic acid. I think it’s just something that they understood was meaningful to me.

I have three daughters now. The youngest just turned one and she’s just recently begun joining me on my outings in the jogging stroller. In the past three years, I honestly have more miles pushing a double jogging stroller than I do running solo. My two oldest daughters have joined me for group runs, we’ve done races, they keep me company when it’s time for long slow distance. They ask me to take them out in the stroller, they look forward to it and I legitimately have to sneak out for solo runs. They’re getting older now and my oldest will ride her bike alongside the stroller, while the younger two cruise. My middle daughter has been getting out to run herself and can cover a mile much quicker than most of the adults I know. I’m excited to see what my youngest takes from it.

My father was a lifelong runner. He never pushed running on me, I came into it on my own but our shared love of the sport has definitely brought us closer together. His closest friendships are those that he formed on varsity cross country. Nearly 40 years later, he and his team have remained friends. Relationships formed off of what I believe is the most human thing anyone can do.

I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.

—Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire

Our ancestors were persistent hunters and running was key to their survival. Julissa once sent me images of the Lascaux cave paintings calling them the peak of art. I’d been searching for the right words to describe how running makes me feel and maybe there aren’t any, but those paintings capture it. A celebration of life.