Lap III: Your Impact Is Where You're At

Crooked Timber, No. 5

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life. . .”
- Haruki Murakami, What I Talk about When I Talk about Running: A Memoir

It was right about the time my Garmin buzzed to notify me that I was on my third lap, signifying the beginning of my third mile, that it hit me how important and freeing it was for me to be exactly where I was in that exact moment. Monumental, I know, to find meaning in the present. However, this was the first time I’d ventured out to run solo on the river trail near my house since our son was born. The first time in what felt like forever that I’d afforded myself the excuse to step away and do something for me, an achilles heel I am finding. And it was the first time I’d felt that mind-opening expansion you get while running, where you can drop any notion of yourself, and simply blend into the world around you.

Not to belabor any points about what a mental shake up having a child can be for parents - I’ve done that elsewhere - but lately I am finding myself constantly reminded of how important it is to not lose sight of self-nurturing when so much is required to nurture others. Yet, losing sight of this is all I seem to be doing, which often leaves me feeling a bit like a crusty grouch who is difficult to be around. So, it was a pleasant surprise this morning to find myself on the trail - eyes open, mind empty, easily flowing with the current of things for a little while.

I’m not sure exactly when or how I became a runner. Or if I would even classify myself as a runner. Somehow that descriptor just feels off when applied to me. Much like the old Bald Man Paradox, how many miles are required of you per week to be a runner; or, is being a runner simply engaging every so often in the act of running, regardless of consistency? I don’t particularly think questions like these even matter, but I’m tempted to lean more toward the latter definition.

However, running has become a great solace for me as an adult. I have gone from being a chubby, short-legged kid who could barely crack the mile challenge during P.E. class; who lost multiple times to my dad by a decent margin in a foot race while he ran backwards; who hated when my parents would make me trudge my disproportionate size 12 shoes beneath my too-short, pre-pubescent frame through the brutal Texas summer heat; to someone who clocked 4+ mile runs consistently, somehow spurred on by the internal challenge that comes with stepping foot on the precipice of a trail (or road, or sidewalk, or wherever you choose to run).

Much like the challenge of staring down a blank page while writing, I have found joy in encountering that slight feeling of ill-ease that creeps in when you embark on a run. Asking yourself questions like: Where is this going to lead me? What corners of myself am I about to crack open when starting this? Am I going to have a difficult time on the journey, or will this be easy? Will I discover uncomfortable truths about myself? Can I let go of whatever I’m clinging to for a little while and simply be here now? Do I even have the energy for this? Is this a worthwhile way to spend my time? For me, the act of running is much aligned with the hard work of self-evaluation and self-nurturing that ultimately leads to a richer lived experience.

Another thing that’s been on my mind lately, largely since becoming a father, is how I can best have a positive impact on my community and those around me. I’ve always told myself that no matter what it is I’m doing, I want to make sure I’m doing it in a way that makes the world around me better. Yet, upon closer examination, I’m not always sure that the things I’m doing or investing in are ultimately serving those around me, much less myself.

Which brings me back to my original thought I had as I ran down the river trail with the early-morning October sun fully in my eyes. Maybe it was the crisp morning air tightening my lungs, or a feeling of peace I found cruising beneath the crowds of cottonwoods whose leaves are slowly shifting from their verdant summer best to the warm hues of autumn. Or, maybe it was simply that everyone who was out on the trail around me seemed to also be in good spirits, with fresh morning smiles and greetings from nearly everyone I passed. Whatever it was, as the Garmin buzzed to remind me of how far I’d come, it suddenly struck me that this was it. This is how to make impact: by simply being fully present, fully you, right where you are.

There have been countless words written about the lasting damage done by our unhealthy media diets, and I don’t have much interest in harping on that anyway. What I found myself thinking is simply how easy it is to get caught up in other people’s shit, to care about what other people are doing and how they’re making a difference. How if you’re not vigilant, it’s easy to lose sight of all the amazing things you’re already doing that make the world better.

And on top of that, the impact you make doesn’t have to be some monumental thing. You don’t have to have that high-visibility job, or thousands of social media followers, nor do you have to host a podcast or send a newsletter to throngs of people. Real impact is as simple as being who you are, paying attention to the needs of those around you, doing something about those needs (even something as simple as a quick smile and acknowledgement), and living your life with a grace and joy that radiates out towards others.

Much like the open-ended nature of staring down a new trail or a blank page, what I’ve found with running is that each moment is chalk full of potential. You never know what you’re going to see on your path, who you’re going to come across, or what’s going to happen to you. In this way, it is very much a metaphor for life. Every day we’re greeted with countless opportunities to be ourselves, to be grounded in the present, and to use those small moments to make an impact.

In our society, it is so easy to feel small and insignificant. It is equally easy to feel as though you’re not enough if you aren’t getting what you pine after. The great ah-ha I had, with the pavement moving swiftly beneath my feet, is that it is those small, seemingly insignificant interactions and moments that carry so much weight. We are ultimately our best when we are firmly in the present, doing the things we love. In this way, the best path to making an impact is found by doing nothing more than being exactly where you’re at.