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Jogging and the Invisible Man
Feb. 22nd, 2007 10:15 pmPushing off my back leg, my front knee goes up, extends, and my Nike-encased foot thrusts forward until it strikes the sidewalk cement. One leg, then the next, side by side, always moving forward. My body leans a little, but not too far - falling without falling, to find the perfect angle. I’m looking for a motion that is gentle and smooth, one that maximizes gravity and minimizes impact. My body sways with the swinging of my arms: right, left, right, left. I keep the arms relaxed, without tightening the hands into fists. My lungs fill, then breathe, exhaling through my mouth: in and out, in and out. I’m searching for a jogging rhythm, a mellow jazz sound, played by a cool quintet.
Joggers are a world unto themself. The running experience is internal, personal, and unique. The dynamics may be about anatomy in motion, but the reality is more spiritual, poetical, and musical. I’ve always wanted to write about jogging, but my desire would hit the wall when I began itemizing the mechanics of its actions. It was only during a recent jog, that I realized running wasn’t about mechanics, it was about metaphors. My Breathing is the drummer, my Hands and Arms, the piano player, my Legs, the trumpet, my Head and Body, the tenor saxophone, and my Heart is the bass. Jogging is a quintet, a jazz combo, a jazz ensemble playing Miles Davis.
Jogging is a jazz improvisation. On any day, one jogging musician or another is off. Some days the combo sounds great, other days it sucks. The point is to play, to run. The goal is to find the right rhythm, pace, sound, and groove. There is no difference between performing or rehearsing, it is only about running and playing. The beginning of a jog is always ragged; each player is an individual, suffering from his or her own unique aches, pains, insecurities, and problems. Legs are still bothered by the annoying pain in the gluteus maximus area. Breathing is unsure and indecisive, questioning if he should rely solely on his mouth to inhale and exhale, or practice using his nose. Today, the tenor sax and piano are insistent on rehearsing. They have not run in over a week, and the quintet is getting sloppy and out of shape. The Old Man of the group, the heart, the bass man, finally gets them moving, when he says, “Just run man, just play”. The trumpet sounds a clarion call, followed quickly by the piano and drums, and the quintet is off on an easy, mellow jog of six miles to the sound and rhythm of “Freddie Freeloader”.
The backside of a 6-mile run is always my favorite. It is here that my quintet will usually find its groove: where all five aspects of my body come together and soar. This is where I lose myself. This is where thinking and time stop. The thoughts in my head, the tenor sax, play a solo without the need for sound or music. This is the sweet spot of the jog. The point where running becomes a meditative experience, where there is no time or space – only music. However, at some timeless moment, the eyes of the sax man finally open, gazing out to the sidewalk ahead. He spies the fast approaching driveway of a mammoth mall and supermarket parking lot. He signals to the combo to bring the solo home, noting the need for a transition to a more conscious level of play. As a car leaps across his path, the drummer jumps up, and beats a battery of cacophonic riffs on the cymbals, snare, and bass drums. The session is over. The jogger halts, breathing heavily, alongside the intrusive vehicle, whose driver has never, once, looked in his direction, nor acknowledged his presence.
Drivers never stop at stop signs. They certainly never stop at the intersections of parking lot driveways and sidewalks. They glide right across stop lines, and right through sidewalks, without suspecting or acknowledging advancing pedestrians, joggers, or cyclists. Drivers look for other cars, but, they don’t notice people, and they don’t follow the law. I know this because I see it whenever I go jogging. I’m the invisible jogging man, the man drivers don’t see.
My favorite jogging routes are those that provide ceaseless running, without having to stop. I love running on the bike paths at Balboa Park, or Hanson Dam. They have no street crossings, fences, or signals to impede movement. I can run and not worry about cars, drivers, or traffic. It is pure physics and jazz, a rhythmic body gliding through space with no obstacles except time and gravity. Unfortunately, I do most of my running in and around my neighborhood. Although, I have selected routes that minimize the need for stopping, they don’t always work; this is the reality of street jogging. We have to watch, we have to listen, and we have to stop. Among veteran joggers, distraction such as earphones and Ipods are disdained. Joggers do their best to stay alert for potential hazards, dangers and careless drivers.
When jogging on the sidewalk, or by the side of the street, and I come to a parking lot driveway, or an intersection controlled by stop signs, I slow down, and become extremely wary. I am immediately alert for crossing traffic. When I see an advancing car, I begin searching the driver’s face, trying to make direct eye contact. If I catch their eye, the drivers will invariably, jam on the brakes and come to a jolting stop. By that time, the body of the car is usually in front of me, blocking my forward route. If there is enough room, I’ll raise my left arm in an appreciative salute (or warning signal), and move in front of the car, continuing my run. When I don’t make eye contact with the driver, I come to a total stop and watch, in bemused wonder. On those occasions, I have a court-level view of drivers being flagrantly careless, or committing blatant traffic violations. Too often, the drivers never “see” me, as they glide through the stop sign or driveway intersection, making their turn, and continuing on their way. Sometimes, they realize, too late, that they have completely cut me off, and stop in mid-driveway or street. In those cases, I usually just wave them along. I never really trust their judgment.
I stopped getting angry or frustrated at the poor driving habits of people on the road. I’ve come to the realization that jogging is its own reward, and should not be devalued by the carelessness of others. Being wary and alert does not preclude an enjoyable, fulfilling jog. Being present to ones surroundings actually enhances the run. Defensive jogging has made me a patient runner, and a more conscientious driver, when behind the wheel. I can’t control what other drivers do, I can only control myself.
Joggers are a world unto themself. The running experience is internal, personal, and unique. The dynamics may be about anatomy in motion, but the reality is more spiritual, poetical, and musical. I’ve always wanted to write about jogging, but my desire would hit the wall when I began itemizing the mechanics of its actions. It was only during a recent jog, that I realized running wasn’t about mechanics, it was about metaphors. My Breathing is the drummer, my Hands and Arms, the piano player, my Legs, the trumpet, my Head and Body, the tenor saxophone, and my Heart is the bass. Jogging is a quintet, a jazz combo, a jazz ensemble playing Miles Davis.
Jogging is a jazz improvisation. On any day, one jogging musician or another is off. Some days the combo sounds great, other days it sucks. The point is to play, to run. The goal is to find the right rhythm, pace, sound, and groove. There is no difference between performing or rehearsing, it is only about running and playing. The beginning of a jog is always ragged; each player is an individual, suffering from his or her own unique aches, pains, insecurities, and problems. Legs are still bothered by the annoying pain in the gluteus maximus area. Breathing is unsure and indecisive, questioning if he should rely solely on his mouth to inhale and exhale, or practice using his nose. Today, the tenor sax and piano are insistent on rehearsing. They have not run in over a week, and the quintet is getting sloppy and out of shape. The Old Man of the group, the heart, the bass man, finally gets them moving, when he says, “Just run man, just play”. The trumpet sounds a clarion call, followed quickly by the piano and drums, and the quintet is off on an easy, mellow jog of six miles to the sound and rhythm of “Freddie Freeloader”.
The backside of a 6-mile run is always my favorite. It is here that my quintet will usually find its groove: where all five aspects of my body come together and soar. This is where I lose myself. This is where thinking and time stop. The thoughts in my head, the tenor sax, play a solo without the need for sound or music. This is the sweet spot of the jog. The point where running becomes a meditative experience, where there is no time or space – only music. However, at some timeless moment, the eyes of the sax man finally open, gazing out to the sidewalk ahead. He spies the fast approaching driveway of a mammoth mall and supermarket parking lot. He signals to the combo to bring the solo home, noting the need for a transition to a more conscious level of play. As a car leaps across his path, the drummer jumps up, and beats a battery of cacophonic riffs on the cymbals, snare, and bass drums. The session is over. The jogger halts, breathing heavily, alongside the intrusive vehicle, whose driver has never, once, looked in his direction, nor acknowledged his presence.
Drivers never stop at stop signs. They certainly never stop at the intersections of parking lot driveways and sidewalks. They glide right across stop lines, and right through sidewalks, without suspecting or acknowledging advancing pedestrians, joggers, or cyclists. Drivers look for other cars, but, they don’t notice people, and they don’t follow the law. I know this because I see it whenever I go jogging. I’m the invisible jogging man, the man drivers don’t see.
My favorite jogging routes are those that provide ceaseless running, without having to stop. I love running on the bike paths at Balboa Park, or Hanson Dam. They have no street crossings, fences, or signals to impede movement. I can run and not worry about cars, drivers, or traffic. It is pure physics and jazz, a rhythmic body gliding through space with no obstacles except time and gravity. Unfortunately, I do most of my running in and around my neighborhood. Although, I have selected routes that minimize the need for stopping, they don’t always work; this is the reality of street jogging. We have to watch, we have to listen, and we have to stop. Among veteran joggers, distraction such as earphones and Ipods are disdained. Joggers do their best to stay alert for potential hazards, dangers and careless drivers.
When jogging on the sidewalk, or by the side of the street, and I come to a parking lot driveway, or an intersection controlled by stop signs, I slow down, and become extremely wary. I am immediately alert for crossing traffic. When I see an advancing car, I begin searching the driver’s face, trying to make direct eye contact. If I catch their eye, the drivers will invariably, jam on the brakes and come to a jolting stop. By that time, the body of the car is usually in front of me, blocking my forward route. If there is enough room, I’ll raise my left arm in an appreciative salute (or warning signal), and move in front of the car, continuing my run. When I don’t make eye contact with the driver, I come to a total stop and watch, in bemused wonder. On those occasions, I have a court-level view of drivers being flagrantly careless, or committing blatant traffic violations. Too often, the drivers never “see” me, as they glide through the stop sign or driveway intersection, making their turn, and continuing on their way. Sometimes, they realize, too late, that they have completely cut me off, and stop in mid-driveway or street. In those cases, I usually just wave them along. I never really trust their judgment.
I stopped getting angry or frustrated at the poor driving habits of people on the road. I’ve come to the realization that jogging is its own reward, and should not be devalued by the carelessness of others. Being wary and alert does not preclude an enjoyable, fulfilling jog. Being present to ones surroundings actually enhances the run. Defensive jogging has made me a patient runner, and a more conscientious driver, when behind the wheel. I can’t control what other drivers do, I can only control myself.
