Outrunning your demons

Mike Phelps seems like a nice guy, but do we actually know what kind of swimmer he is outside the pool? Has he ever had to deal with legitimate adversity like a rogue wave, ocean liner or ornery sea lion? I doubt it. Has he ever been truly put to the test? I don’t think so.

That’s life. Life isn’t a marathon or a sprint. Nor is it a pole vault or something called “equestrian dressage.” In fact, there’s very little that Olympic competition can teach us about living. The environment is too controlled, too perfect. Life doesn’t happen on a circular track with oversized grandstands and overpriced concessions. You shouldn’t need a bank loan to get a beer and a dog. Life is a slow tumble off the side of a rock face into the abyss. You can’t run down a cliff, only off of one. 

Running, besides being extremely bad for your health, is no way to get around. Whether you’re running from a bandit, parental expectations, or your own dark past, you’re always running from something. It’s a mistake to think that runners run towards things. While finish lines exist, they aren’t essential. Running is a curious pastime, and much like religious fervor or veganism, it requires constant conversation. The moment a runner stops telling everyone they meet where they run and how far, the whole endeavor ceases to matter. If no one knows you run, what's the point?

In offices where walking is complicated, running is damn near impossible. But that doesn’t stop furious employees sprinting from the copier to the elevators, the kitchen to the mailroom. They aren’t in it for exercise. Not really. This is about vanity. Unless you’re a leg model, raking in the cash for selling soccer shin guards, there’s no reason to ever wear shorts. Even shin guards fit quite nicely under denim. It’s not so much that you’re showing too much skin, as much as you’re showing the wrong type. Reminiscent of poultry it brings everyone down, especially in an office. Runners don’t seem to understand that whatever they do, they can absolutely do it in pants. 

You’re seeing more and more proposals now to retrofit office buildings with tracks. Whatever one thinks they achieve running is at least equaled by punching a pillow or yelling inside a bathroom stall. These are the old-fashioned ways people outran their demons. 

But here’s the real point, the one worth remembering. If you’re genuinely being chased by pitchfork-wielding goblins, incensed from their time in the netherworld, running isn’t going to cut it. They will catch you and they will win. Haven’t lost a race yet. You might as well catch your breath and stroll. It’s foolish to think that the immortal beasts preoccupied with your terrestrial decisions will be demoralized by your seasoned marathon running. The Prince of D bides his time, always. He knows that you know that eventually you’ll need a water break. 

And I think you know how rest of the story goes.