The Wonders of Mutual Silence
01/18/2011 9:10 AM
Mark Remy
On Saturday morning, Warren and I ran 9 miles. Or 10. I'm still not sure; I wasn't wearing my Garmin.
I do know that we ran the Telephone Loop, so named because when viewed from overhead the route kind of, sort of resembles an old telephone headset. From Warren's house in Emmaus, we ran to 10th Street, then up 10th (an eye-popping climb); east to 5th Street; down 5th (a long descent); east to 2nd Street; up 2nd (another crazy climb); west onto Oak Hill Road (which is even steeper); down Oak Hill; east on Vera Cruz Road; up the back side of 2nd Street (a mile-long climb); then all the way back down 2nd to our starting point.
It was a brutal run. But a good one. As usual, we talked a lot, solving most of the world's problems and cracking jokes.
Until we got to Oak Hill.
The turn onto Oak Hill comes, as noted above, well into a tough climb. At that point we were both already gasping for air, in that desperate "I'm okay, not gasping, everything's cool" sort of way that men running together often gasp. With Oak Hill, the climb got even steeper.
As a result, we clammed up and just ran.
That's when the bliss kicked in.
Not the back-rub/aromatherapy/day-spa kind of bliss; the clarifying-pain/running-in-silence-with-a-friend kind. Which, for my money, is better.
Those moments are uniquely satisfying, aren't they? Suffering alongside a friend, in mutual silence, has a way of distilling your running — your life — to its essence.
In those moments, here is your world:
•The sound of breathing — loud, deep, and rhythmic.
•The sound of feet scuffing pavement.
•If it's cold, as it was Saturday, the sight of your own breath, escaping in puffs of vapor.
Suddenly — and it always seems sudden, at least to me — you find yourself in a bright, new place, free of mental fog and distracting chatter. It's like climbing above the tree line: You struggle to breathe, but there's an almost-startling sense of clarity.
Here were my thoughts, as we climbed in silence:
This hurts, but I am alive and lucky to be out here. Breathe deep. Run tall. Relax.
I'm not sure how long it took us to clear the top of Oak Hill — maybe 5 minutes? – but every step of it was painful. And instructive.
Thanks for the run, Warren.
