Running Brings You Peace

Running brings you peace. When the endorphins hear the cry of your muscles, they melt through your body. Your lungs pull in greater volumes of air, with its coolness and purity. The increased blood flow. The state of mind as your body is in continuous action. Exerting and testing itself.

I’m running along the side of the river at night. During the day, you would look at the river and see ugly mudbanks, stolen and discarded shopping trolleys, deep brown water topped with foam and rubbish. But at night, especially on a calm night, it’s beautiful. Several bridges lead into the city centre and their orange lights reflect off the water. The city itself, small and full of closed down shops, twinkles away, readying itself for sleep.

Running is even more peaceful when you develop a rhythm in your strides. When your pace is sustainable, then for a while, it feels like you could run all night. Explore the streets you have no reason to visit. Explore the hills that the river flows away from. Let your mind travel along as a passenger with no destination.

“Are we racing each other?” I hear him call out from behind me.

I do not respond.

“Is this how it’s decided?”

My colleague and I have a lot in common. We run at a similar pace. We have similar fitness levels. We both run in this Tuesday night running group that goes along the side of the river. We both work in the same team. We both achieve similar results at work. I’ve been there four years and he’s been there six years.

I hear his puffing getting louder and closer. He comes up alongside me. I maintain my pace. I’m confident. I know how I want to perform this run.

“Hello friend,” he spits as he breathes.

We’re not friends. We used to be.

“It’s just a casual group run, isn’t it?”

For a moment, I am almost convinced. I question whether my attitude is in fact ridiculous. Running is peace. We are all here for peace. But as I turn my head just enough to glance at his face, I see the hard focus in his eyes. Those are not friendly and casual eyes as he’s making coffees for the office, or greeting clients, or welcoming a new employee. His eyes stare coldly down the path ahead. I must continue to do the same.

“See you later, buddy.” He says as he accelerates. I stick to my pace. He will tire himself out.

He had been working there longer than me. He’s even ten years older than I am. He was my mentor in the early days. I got the hang of things quickly. I brought value to the team in no time at all. We shared jokes. We shared success. He taught me a lot but I did learn a lot on my own.

The path is lit by regularly occurring lamps along one side. We keep passing people out for an evening stroll. A parent is trying to get their baby to sleep in the pushchair. A couple is walking their dog.

Looking ahead, I realise that he is not slowing down. I could go faster. It’s necessary. I would have to push myself harder and catch up to him.

A year ago, our manager announced he was looking to retire. They would promote from within. Many in the office looked around at who they thought would be in the running. Many of them looked at me. I had proven myself over and over again. And he, this colleague of mine, only looked at me. No one else. Just at me with a cold stare. And since then, my mistakes were always being called out. My victories played down or attributed to others. When he made coffees for the office, he still made them for me, but I noticed the taste had become bitter. Where was the maturity? We’re both meant to be professionals.

I’m catching up to him. Running is not always about peace. Sometimes it’s fury. It can be using the adrenaline to push ourselves to the limits. Stretching ourselves further than before. Let’s not mess around, let’s not pretend we’re polite and all that, because my colleague and I are certainly not. Running is a chance to prove that we are physically superior. We come first when we are faster and fitter than our opponents.

“You look like you’re struggling there. Sure you can keep that up?” he says as I overtake him.

Tomorrow we both have interviews. Mine in the morning and him in the afternoon.

I open a bigger gap in front of him. We will finish by the last bridge. There’s a line by the concrete and we both know where it is. It would be another thirty seconds at my current pace. His puffing is very loud and he’s right behind me but he can’t go fast enough to get ahead of me. He’s almost choking on his breath. My body is talking back to me, telling me this is too much. I feel myself slow down just slightly and if I allow myself to give in any more, the muscles in my legs, which are already absolutely depleted of energy, will simply stop moving. So I think about winning. Winning everything. I feel the adrenaline and I invite as much of that shit in as there is available. I manage to increase my pace again. I almost roll my ankle, but not today, not now. I keep going. He starts letting out these screams like a madman. He’s pushing the adrenaline buttons as well. He comes up beside me. That only pushes me more. More power goes into the final few paces. I cross the line before he does.

I find the grass area nearby so I can crash land onto it. I roll onto my back and stare at the night sky for a few seconds. I sit up to find my colleague. He’s catching his breath on the grass as well.

“That was a good race.” I say.

He stares at me with disdain.

“Good luck tomorrow.” I say.

His eyebrows lower as if the encouragement is simply pity.

“You have experience. You’ve got charisma. You’ve got a lot going for you.” I tell him.

“If you get the job, I quit.” he says.

We sit there for a minute getting our breath back. Letting our heart rates slowly return to normal.

“Thank you for teaching me so much. And for making me feel welcome over the years.” I add.

“I’m going to go review my notes for the interview.” he says as he stands up.

I stand up too.

“I’m going to go grab a drink.” I reply.

I start to walk across the bridge. He goes in the opposite direction.

As I’m halfway along the bridge, I turn to check if he’d changed his mind. But no. He’s still on his way home.