I hate it when drivers stop me and ask for directions when I’m running. So I always give them directions to the nearest liquor store. I hope they’re pleasantly surprised when they get there. Because personally, finding myself in front of a liquor store always makes me happy. You’re welcome.

I hate giving directions partly because I’m really bad with directions (giving and following). But I get really irritated because it interrupts my mindfulness meditation that I find in running. There is something about my long runs that ground me, clear my head, make me sane. Keeps me from being a full-blown alcoholic. The repetitive nature of pushing my body hard creates a stream of consciousness brain feed. I picture my thoughts as ping pong balls, bouncing up and down with each step on a tray with indentations–like a large egg carton. Each time my feet hit the ground, the balls bounce, and each one slowly finds its own space to settle into. I have no agenda or specific issues identified when I hit the pavement, but by the end of the run, I have answers to questions I didn’t even know existed.

Thoughts and feelings flow randomly–some connect, some are released, others settle into me. Through some miles, it’s quiet inside my head. I feel the pain and creaking in my knees, the throbbing ache in my hips, the wind cutting into my face, the sweat and snot dripping down my face. I need all of these moments to pull myself back together and settle into myself. I need all of these miles to reduce the number of trips to the liquor store–don’t want to bump into someone I gave the wrong directions to, after all.