I went for a four-mile run today. There was absolutely nothing awe-inspiring, breathtaking, or thought-provoking about it. I ran, I did my distance, and then I was done. As runs go, it was a real worker bee: nameless, featureless, going about its business of keeping my heart and lungs healthy and then, its job done, never thought of again.
I've been running for almost four years now and I can think of probably 20 or so runs that were truly memorable, whose details are still vivid to me. My first run, for sure. The morning I saw a shooting star blaze across the whole sky. That time I saw a coyote chasing a rabbit not 30 feet from me. The day I crossed my first finish line. Christmas morning, when the air was sharp and I ran the fastest five-miler EVER. For being an average runner, I have had some pretty phenomenal runs. But not today.
Let's do some math here (not my strong suit, so bear with me while I noodle it out): I have been running for 196 weeks (you do not want to know how long it just took me to come up with that number!) and I average about three runs per week, so I've run approximately...carry the two...588 times. That's over 560 unremarkable runs!
Ahhh, but where would I be without them? Probably slower, heavier, and unhappier. So, even though I have nothing at all to say about today's mediocre run - cheers to many more just like it!