Suffer the mind

The sun was hot on my bare shoulders the late-afternoon air was warm and thick. My ears were full of the sound of passing cars and the slap, slap, slapping of my dead sneakers on the sidewalk. In a futile attempt to shield my eyes, I momentarily disrupted the pendulum swing of my arms to pull down the brim of my hat. Still squinting, I surveyed the road ahead. This was the back end of a four mile run and my goal was to finish the second half faster than the first. Checking my watch revealed that I had some work to do if I hoped to make that happen.

Physically, I was experiencing the normal symptoms of fatigue; a slight burning in my chest, my heart audibly pounding, and rivulets of sweat streaming from innumerable pores. Mentally, however, I cycled between the "now-here", positive self-talk, and suffering.

Whenever I thought about how far away my goal was, the physical sensation of fatigue became pain. My breath labored, my muscles protested, and my resolve weakened. Instead of taking one step at a time, I was suddenly taking every step between "here" and "there" all at once.

Recognizing the snowballing cascade of negative thoughts, I reeled in my mind and focused it in a more positive angle. The perennial Nike slogan “just do it” just so happened to arise from this directive. The mantra slowly became quieter as I realized that I didn’t need to belabor myself with thoughts at all. For a moment, the chatter dimmed and my mind was clear. In this space, I was aware of my body and my surroundings. There was no suffering, only the knowledge that I could relax and be here indefinitely. Noticing the silence set off another barrage of mental turbulence, but rather than fighting it, I rode it like a wave.

After what seemed like an eternity locked in a psycho-spiritual ju-jitsu match, the entrance to my neighborhood came into view. With the final goal fast approaching, I pushed even harder, goading my body to speed up. I reacted to any thoughts of slowing down by increasing my velocity even more. Far beyond my anaerobic threshold, I could feel the intensity driving acidic waste into my muscles, shutting them down one fiber at a time. With only a few steps left to go, I fought on.

I crossed the four mile threshold, and allowed momentum to carry me to a stop. Transitioning into a labored walk, I made a bee-line for the pool, where after pulling off my watch and sneakers, I toppled into the cool water.

Floating in the liquid medium I was free to appreciate the spoils of my inner war; confidence, a deep sense of satisfaction, and a bowl of cereal waiting for me back home.