the hardest part of running twenty miles

At mile nineteen, I reach a point of near panic. I am fully hydrated. I am close to home. My shoulders are tense and my feet feel like gelatin. Yet, the hardest part is psychological. Though I feel the enjoyable "runner's high," I feel alone. It's more than that, though. Being a introvert, I can spend an entire day alone and enjoy it. Instead, I feel the absence of dialogue.

I'm not sure if this makes sense, but in three hours of running, I spend time praying, planning, thinking about the week, brainstorming imaginary characters and plot lines for a book that I would never write (fiction), wondering what people are doing, composing verses of poetry (though I haven't written real poetry since high school) but there is no "other." It's me. Alone. Absolute solitude. I need a computer or a pen or a book to keep me company.

Minutes later, I sit and watch football. Terry Bradshaw is an easy cure for the unsettling, sedentary silence of a lonely house. I consider the ultimate dialogue - drifting into a dream world, where I can engage in conversation with my subconscious. The sound of football makes me vaguely nostalgic and reminds me that I used to align myself with a team and a city and sense that it made a difference in life. I attempt to write, but it falls flat. I try and read, but I get distracted. I count the minutes until Christy, Joel and Micah will return from church.

I need my twenty mile runs to remind me that I am made for community. I thrive in relationships. Though I sometimes want an escape, the ultimate value of an escape is that I recover a sense of loneliness, albeit briefly, and I can appreciate my family and friends and students.