What goes through your mind when you run?

Someone asked me the other day:  “Dude, what do you think about while you’re out there running hour after hour?”  It seems like an innocent enough question, but I really had to struggle to find an answer.  You see, I love to run, and I run a lot—In fact, I logged just over 8,200 km in 2013, and I’m hoping to crack 9,000 this year.  When I was chatting with friends a few weeks ago, we worked out that if you combine all the time I spent running in 2013, it comes out to 26 days (running 24 hours/day).

I head out the door most mornings at 4:30 to run through the streets of Toronto.  I don’t run with an iPod or any other type of headset because I want to be totally aware of the traffic noises around me especially considering I usually run in the street rather than on the sidewalk or trails.  I’m a little militant when it comes to runners zoning out to their iPods, and I would be ecstatic if they were banned from races.  I really believe that you put yourself, and those around you, in danger when you run in a “music bubble”.  Running on a treadmill with an iPod is another story entirely—You might lose your mind if you don’t have something to distract you.

So, with no music to lull me, what do I think about on my runs?  I started running competitively about 16 years ago, when I entered a treatment program for drug/alcohol addiction.  I needed a new outlet to not only get physically healthy but also psychologically grounded.  What I didn’t know at the time was that running would evolve into a spiritual practice in my life.  Running tends to quiet my mind, and it gives me space to process whatever challenges or excitements great me throughout my day.  

If you listen carefully, the streets of Toronto have their own rhythm—their own chorus.  On my morning runs, I’m serenaded by the grinding of the streetcars along King and Queen; downtown I hear the echoes of the early morning delivery trucks; when I arrive back to the Beaches, I’m greeted by the waves lapping up on the shore.  I’m also intimately attuned to the sounds of the changing seasons—The screeches of the raccoons in spring, the humidity-induced rumbling of the thunder in the summer, the shuffle of the blowing leaves in the autumn, and the crunch of the ice and snow under my feet in the winter.  

Everywhere I travel, I bring my running gear and head out for early morning runs.  I only need to close my eyes, and I’m immediately drawn back into the world of the constant battling of car horns in Manhattan, the wind whistling through the pines in northern France, the roosters' sing-song in rural South Africa, and most recently, the guttural mooing of cattle in pastoral England.  If you’re a runner who typically runs with music, I invite you to leave your iPod at home next time you head out the door, and you might discover that the best “playlist” is opening your senses to what’s already around you.   

I thought I’d end this post with a poem I wrote about my “love affair” with running.  When I wrote it, I tried to capture the essence of how important it is to be in tune with my body, and how running has always been there for me when I needed it most.


“Let’s Run Away”
by: JP Bedard

We meet in the dark,
On deserted streets
The rhythmic pounding,
Our subtle beats

Others glare,
As we pass by
Take furtive looks
At tush or thigh

They wonder what
We see in each other
Surely, they say
He could find another

We start off slow,
No need to rush
A gentle grind,
My cheeks, flush

The pace gets faster,
No time to wait
Less gliding, more grinding
Much too hard to tolerate

Nipples chafe,
As do hips
A numbing throb
In my fingertips

Burning lungs
Encased in sculpted breast
Entranced by pain
Do others attest

The greatest reward
When I get in,
I still feel your presence
Under my skin

An ache, a twinge,
A whisper deep inside,
Erratic tingles
In my sole reside

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