The following was written 19 February 2006. This year I did better, achieving a personal best for this course, completing it in 2:23. That's nothing to crow about, but without us rank-and-file pavement pounders, the real runners would not shine in all their glory.
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This morning I had occasion once again to verify the proposition that the strenuous life is best by test, but also the proposition that I am not much of a runner: it took me 2:26 to jog through the 13.1 mile Lost Dutchman half-marathon course. But we do the best we can with what we've got, and given my age, modest training base, and paucity of fast-twitch fibers, I am more than satisfied. I have never regretted any road race, hike, backpacking trip, or indeed any Jamesian 'strenuosity' whether physical, mental, moral, or spiritual. We are simply not made for sloth but for exertion, with Hegel's Anstrengung des Begriffs as important as any. Whatever the reason, experience teaches that we are most happy when active, or better, when actuating our powers, including our powers of contemplative repose.
No right-leg cramp this year, and for most of the run I felt fabulously strong. It was a beautiful day, clear and bright as only an Arizona February can be, the temperature just about right, circa 40 degrees Fahrenheit at the start, but warming up quickly. The mildly hilly course on paved and unpaved roads through fairly open desert was scenic: one heads toward Superstition Mountain and then runs along her base. The elevation made for great views of the Goldfields to the North and the valley to the West; and the distant Four Peaks were wreathed with just the right amount of cumulus.
On a long run there is much to think about, and plenty of time for mental blogging. One is also occupied by the observation of fellow humanity in its struggles against the hebetude of the flesh. The best T-shirt was worn by one Karen, her name emblazoned front and back. On the back she quoted Philippians 4:13, "I can do everything through him who gives me strength." When I pulled alongside her and complimented her, she replied that her bearing the message was her substitute for the church services she was missing.
I now open my Biblia Vulgata and read the passage in Latin, Omnia possum in eo qui me confortat. In times of trouble, many in different traditions have heard the Interior Word, "I am with you." There are resources within us of which we are usually unaware. Many have experienced an Inner Teacher who gave them strength. Perhaps Karen was one of those.
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