The definition of “human” includes the expectation we all have our vices. What separates some vices from virtue is often little more than context. It’s possible to do any good thing to excess and bring about a harmful effect. Should that thing become an obsession, it fits the definition of a vice.
There was a time I ran as much as 50 miles in a week. For me, it was a vice. Consider the fact I never had much hope of competing in our puny local races, much less on a bigger scale. I’m 5’10” and never during my adult life fell below 177 pounds, and that was only when I was deathly ill. Most of my life I’ve been near or over 200 pounds, even when very trim. At best, I’m like a brick wall with hair and running shoes. I was never built for this, though I did have a modicum of talent. However, I was never the least bit competitive beyond the middle of the pack. It was a selfish obsession by which I sometimes neglected other things far more important, even within the context of my own conscience.
Underlying that obsession was something good, though. It took me a long time and lots of pain to uncover it. First, while training for a marathon, my poor abused knees gave up on me. They began swelling from the years of damage due to Patella-Femoral Syndrome. It was only made worse by my love of hill racing, because hill running is probably the worst thing I could do to my knees. I would struggle up the hills, and sprint madly down them. I trained with ankle weights on long flights of stairs for an hour at a time. When my knees began hurting 24/7, it brought on a very powerful depression.
The reason for the depression was the loss of one major item of internal peace in my world. That I had a couple of other very important things keeping me going was what kept me from suicide. Very few of us are so monolithic we can’t survive pretty severe losses of what matters to us. I had some very active Christian work going on at the same time, plus a couple of major intellectual pursuits. Still, loss of running was a telling blow.
When, after 15 years of healing, God finally gave back the endurance sports (race walking and biking were also in the package), I was very cautious not to overdo it. Along the way, I rediscovered what drove me to obsessive running in the first place. While some refer to that “runner’s high,” that’s not exactly what made it so important to me. It was the chance to engage my body so powerfully, my brain was able to explore spaces otherwise too hard to reach. Call it what you will, but the secret to what makes me want to run is simply the peace and sheer fun. I could easily make it a painful effort, pushing for faster times and all that goes with it. But that’s not fun. There would be some fun in it, but it’s not the same. Recently, when I was finally able to keep moving four miles at a time, I found myself pushing for faster times again. This time I was quicker to realize I wasn’t having fun any more, so I stopped that.
While I do, indeed, train to make my running better and easier, I’m not interested in faster. I suppose it’s possible I’ll someday move to a community where road racing is a major local event, but barring that, organized races are not in my future. I’m not interested in all that. I don’t read racing news, don’t keep track of what the major events are, etc. It’s about keeping the fun quotient highest. So I’ll take every other day to add in some upper body workout with a shorter run, maybe substitute a long fast hike now and then, and very much stay on top of cycling every week. Running will remain the primary exercise event, and all that other stuff is aimed at making my running better. Still, the point of running is the sheer joy of being alive and able to run. Not the competitions, the times, bragging rights or anything else. It’s the thing itself.
Pingback: Virtuous Vice