Sublimity

I posted before about a perfect sunrise run on New Year's and how it made me think about omens and ascribing meaning to the things we see.  This experience also reminded me how often I've had moments while running that I can only describe as transcendent, or sublime. When I think of something sublime, I think of an experience that defies description, something amazing that leaves us at a literal loss for words.  Sublimity is not a concept we can apply lightly.  I used the word "often," but that's misleading because I've only had a handful of these experiences in my entire life (and no, none of them were chemically enhanced). I can think of only four or five of them, and three happened while I was running. Since I've shared one, why not talk about a couple of others?

The first was during my longest race ever before I started considering myself a runner:  The Columbia Classic Moonlight Run in 2000.  This race started around sunset on the rim of the Columbia River Gorge and traveled down past Crown Point Multnomah Falls--15K in all.  The first three or four miles of the race are downhill, and I took them way too fast.  I actually felt great for that part (of course!) and was even chatting it up a bit with Melissa as we wound down to the flats.  I don't remember the exact mileage where I started hurting, but it wasn't long after we hit the literal bottom.  By that point it had gotten dark and, with no streetlights on the highway, the visibility was very poor.  Aside from Melissa running near me, I felt all alone and completely surrounded by darkness--this definitely contributed to my experience.

At some point after halfway, in despair of even finishing this race, I entered nirvana.  That's what I called it at the time, anyway.  All my pain and weariness seemed to float way and my mind simply shut off; I was absorbed into the night.  For lack of any other description, I was simply not there.  (In retrospect, nirvana was exactly the wrong term for this experience, as it was the antithesis of mindfulness.)

I don't remember this experience starting, nor do I know how long it lasted; I only remember suddenly snapping back to the reality of four miles left to run on chafing, exhausted legs and an aching stomach.  I had never wished more to go back in time than I did in the final miles of that race.  In all my running since the Columbia Classic, I haven't had that kind of dissociation.  I'd like to think it's because I'm more competitive with myself or more in-tune with my body and my running goals.  I don't really want to be completely mindless, however pain-free it is.

Another "sublime" moment also happened in the dark, but this time it was very early morning.  It was just another typical Saturday long run and I decided to go out to the Fanno Creek Trail.  I had to run down some well lit streets to get to the trail, so I didn't realize there was a full moon.  The first part of the trail goes through some thick forest behind a neighborhood, so again I couldn't see the sky well.  In fact, I don't remember even looking up until I had crossed through another very well lit area, over a footbridge, and into Greenway Park.

The sky opens up past that bridge, and when I crossed it and looked up, I nearly stopped running for lack of breath.  The full moon was right there, hanging so brightly over the trail in front of me, surrounded by silver scudding clouds.  The misty ground in this wetland area was also silver.  Everything was glowing silver.  It was the greatest painting of a moonlit night that no artist could ever create.  For moment, everything around me was absolutely perfect.  I forgot whatever had been on my mind.  I forgot the problems that were going on in my life, my struggles, my disappointments, my worries.  I wanted to stop running.  I wanted to just stand there on the trail and smile till the sun came up. 


All of this is leading up to a post about my motivations for running.  Unlike many runners, I haven't quite figured out exactly what those motivations might be, but MissMelissa's marathon certainly inspired me to explore them.  This post was definitely a start, but there is more to come.