Shell Head

Running in the heat always brings out weird thoughts about how running feels.

Today I was trying to do a mini-workout on a track after a tempo run. I bailed on it because I wasn't hitting the splits. I was like a garbage bus in Grand Dump City.

I was walking off the track, getting ready to jog back home. The sun was shining in my face and a hot wind was blowing and it was muggy all at the same time. I didn't want to start running.

But when I did, I immediately had this very tangible feeling that my body was a thick, rubbery shell (like a racquetball) and that whatever was in me that would make me want to stop running was protected by this shell. Like I was aware of everything outside that should make me feel awful but it couldn't reach the thing (located somewhere in my stomach) that was really me. My body was a vehicle that I could climb into and send on its way while I just sat inside and watched. 

There was also the feeling that running was what made the shell real. If I wasn't running I would have been more forced to be more present and unprotected and miserable. 

So, I don't know. Shells. Crawling into your own stomach. Body like a weird, slow-moving robot.

And then, additionally, the thought about how all of this felt kept looping in my head for the 30 minutes it took to get home and maybe that also made it real somehow.

It wasn't necessarily a good feeling or a feeling like I was really strong or really fast and fit. My first thought was, 'Oh, well, I guess the part of you that wouldn't enjoy this must be dead by now.' Because there was also this feeling of hollowness (not in a sad way, in a racquetball way) that would allow me to plod along at a comfortable pace without having to think about it.

That's what running in the heat feels like sometimes. Other times you have to go to the bathroom real bad. That's an awful feeling.