The key to distance running is mind-set. The seemingly daunting miles become relatively uninteresting in their individual units once you set out with an acceptance that there’s only a long way to go. And while I love to hold my outlook on running up against other experiences in my life, I truly believe that this one has broad applicability. It has something to do with concentrating too critically on any one thing, and how that in turn ruins one’s day to day enjoyment for what simply is. 

I set out on Saturday as I normally do— a single espresso in my system and the running watch searching for satellites. But since this was the weekend, and I was experiencing an extra dose of malaise, I started with the vague knowledge that I wanted to go a little further than usual. I’d been meaning to do it, and that day seemed like the perfect opportunity to check out Wembley Stadium up close. In the morning it was guaranteed to be devoid of lads singing off-key with alcoholic beverages in hand.  As the crow flies, the distance is not far from my house. About three and a half miles. For runner’s feet, this distance is extremely manageable, and what’s more, if I felt too tired after the outbound journey I could simply hop onto the London Underground for a speedy trip home. I had options.  So, with no hard stop time in mind, I stuffed an Oyster Card into my running shorts and headed southeast.

Time and distance can be strange things to measure, and more to the point, our measurements exert considerable influence over our mental welfare. Here I reflect on the life of military people, as well as those who are paid to keep similarly strict adherence to time and standards. In my line of work, the ability to successfully run a checklist is an overarching goal that makes the larger machine function smoothly. To anticipate and meet each requirement as it comes leads to a sort of collective happiness. Mission accomplishment and we remain on an even keel. At least that’s the view from the very top.

And maybe that’s why I like going out on an open-ended run. It’s a break from my usual litany of expectations, and the side effect is that I automatically take in so much more of what’s around me. I barely look at my watch, and my death grip on the horizon is suddenly released.   It’s the exact opposite of how it feels when we head out on a deployment. In that space there is only the following thought process: what’s important next, what needs to be fixed, when can that be accomplished, and then what are the self-serving countdowns that will take us to when we all return home again.  

By understanding how we operate, it helps me to understand why I get so frustrated when timelines cutting across my life shift unexpectedly. To keep with the military, it’s like how you  go for weeks operating under the assumption that you were returning to port in a week. But then the Captain comes on the 1MC and says, “When you go to the races, no horse is ever a sure thing. We’ll be staying out here another month.” You adjust your thinking accordingly, and then, Great news! We’re pulling in early again! But it’s hard to get excited, because a few days later we’ve been sent off on new tasking. To quote Kurt Vonnegut, So it goes.

As I grow older, I find that we practically revere the stability of timelines; it’s what enables us to perform our specific tasks with reasonable confidence. Predictability can be a beautiful thing, and disappointment is an emotion that is best left to the young. And I guess that what I liked about going for my weekend run. For once I was governed by nothing, and in doing so, the miles just ticked on by like they were nothing at all. Whatever happened—short of a sprained ankle—I was not going to be disappointed by what happened on the morning London roads. .

My godfather once remarked that as a small kid he thought I was a total space cadet. “It was like you were high on Valium!” he once said while explaining my little kid behavior. I totally believe it, because while (I think) I can now turn this on and off, I also know that I need my periods of clear headspace in order to keep my body operating more or less in sync with the rest of the population. 

So yesterday morning, I did reach Wembley Stadium and indeed I enjoyed the quiet look around. The area, built to hold 40,000 people, was blissfully devoid of anyone. The morning was clear and colors where kind. My legs too, they felt good after running gently downhill to that spot.  The underground station, unlike my job of shifting timelines, was still sitting exactly where it was promised to be. I had the ability to end this now.  But after quickly checking in with myself, I knew that I had no interest in getting on the train. I hadn’t felt the miles pass, and I still wanted to continue on a bit further.  

Tracing my way back north, I passed each subsequent railway station until I passed the last one that would grant me the Lazy Person’s access to home. Since I am no longer a distance runner, I wasgetting tired—especially after the 10K mark. But I still had some residual stressors rattling around in my brain. My legs were tired, but I decided to continue anyway. The Navy’s not the only force in my life that is capable of overruling my body’s desires. At any rate, if I did grow too tired, I’d just walk the rest of the way home, taking in the many roses sprouting up in the yards of the neighbhorhoods. Some color and balm for the brain.  Also, again, there would be no disappointment because I hadn’t hold myself to some sort of checklist for what I was doing.

Even though the process can be elusive, I am always amazed at how life runs so much easier when I don’t focus too tightly on any particular aspect. Whether it’s how far I might want to run, or when I might be getting home from a work trip—or when a promised completion suddenly shifts into oblivion. Intellectually, I understand that there are only limited returns in my obsessing over each reality. Emotionally, however, that’s always the challenging bit. Sometimes my feeling brain needs a bit of cardio kick in the ass in order to finally convince myself to just let it go. 

So I wound up running about 8 miles. By the end my body could feel a familiar sense of thick and heavy tired. I could taste the salt running off my face as soon as I hopped into the shower, so my morning must ultimately have counted for something. But even as I felt more tired than usual, I smiled at the fact that I was able to push my body a bit further. Standing now at the end I was granted a small dose of reassurance. When my life’s challenges feel like a lot, or someone out there move the goal line on you, I know that I’ve got some reserves in response. The only challenge I suppose will be in enjoying the journey in getting there.