PUBLISHED 07/10/2008
Running down Fifth Avenue with a grocery bag may not sound like an efficient workout, but I like to think I'm being doubly efficient. My reasoning goes like this: I need eggs. I want to go for a run. I will run to the store and run back with eggs! Runs for me are often about something else. Carrying a package to the post office or nails back from Home Depot. Running errands are literally that: running errands.
My running has served ulterior motives since I was young. I grew up on a farm, and though I ran everywhere, running was never the point. There was always something in my hands--an apple, a BB gun, a ball. As a teenager, I ran with a football: wind sprints up our hill, or around the fields where I threw the ball at the neighbor's cows. I was getting in shape for the upcoming season--running as a means to another end. This stayed with me, along with the knowledge that cows can't catch.
I played football in college, ultimate Frisbee afterward. Runs remained necessary but secondary. When I had kids, running became whatever comes after secondary. I ran errands while my daughters napped in a jogging stroller.
Sometimes my runs have a cafe break. It's like a water table in a race, but with espresso. A moment to recharge. Last week, after running to the bank, I stopped at our local cafe, a rolled-up magazine held in one hand like a baton. After reading for five minutes, I headed home, my macchiatto in the other hand to balance out the baton. This was dumb. Not only because I looked ridiculous, but because I spilled macchiatto all over my shirt.
There's this idea that we must always be productive. Do three things at once, squeeze it all in, family and work and working out. Time constraints ask us all the same question: What can I do in a half hour? But when we multitask, everything suffers. Just look at the crumpled magazine I was carrying--even my relaxing was suffering.
My wife is a real runner. When we lived in California, she went for long runs on trails that wound down to the Pacific. Now she runs along the Hudson River and on weekends takes a few meditative loops of Central Park. She comes back glowing.
So, with her example in mind, I decided to go for a run--one with no errand attached. As I headed to the Hudson, I felt antsy. There was nothing in my hands. But the river was shining, filled with tugboats and whitecaps. It was beautiful and it distracted me.
Then I started thinking about writing this piece. I thought about how difficult it is to separate our lives from our runs. How while being efficient can be okay, there are also times when we should give our runs the space they deserve. At some point, as I crafted sentences and juggled verbs, I realized I was no longer looking at the river. So I was still carrying something after all, in my head. But my hands were free, and that was a start.
