Learning to run, a lesson from AI?

Is acquiring knowledge a surprising thing? For some, the unexpected to amazing aspects of a runner’s milestones can certainly be.

I read (or heard) somewhere that AI modeling was based (entirely or partially who knows, I certainly couldn’t begin to fully comprehend the entire concept, but at least this part I “think” I grasped) on repetition, and that by continually analyzing similar data and predicting outcomes, the application “learned”. I couldn’t help but think one day while I was running around the same corner in the same fashion that I had probably done at least twenty times prior, that running (it seemed to me at that moment anyway) was just like AI coding.. endless repetition, similar inputs/actions, predictable outcomes, etc.-i.e. “learning”. In my running analogy though, learning was improving physically as well as mentally.. longer distances, faster times, increasing intervals on the treadmill, easier (realistically- actually being able) to make it up the “Soulcrusher Hill” (I will hopefully/eventually get to explaining that in an article), etc., basically getting better as well as smarter at running.  

Much more than just repetition.

An unexpected, yet integral part of the repetitious aspect that impacted me was the more I ran, the more I started to notice/experience, similar “events” (for lack of a better word until I can think of one), that typically (although not always) happened at some point in my outings. Sweating (which I’ve written about before) was probably one of the first things that I routinely acknowledged (and accepted) as part of every run. Eventually (quickly in fact), that list of familiars grew, and I began to anticipate/expect certain/different things, that I knew were probably destined to be part of each experience I was creating, with every new (yet repetitious) effort that I was putting forth. As my thoughts about these occurrences continued to accumulate and eventually pool (similar to my Cardinal Rules) I began to categorize them, and I now refer to the collection as my “Run Milestones”. Here they are (in no specific order, other than Sweating because I already introduced that one):

SWEATING BEGINS

(There is also a paragraph about this: “The Sweat Factor” in my earlier post: “My 30 Day Running Experiment – Challenge To Myself” that I hope you might find interesting.)

I bring this up first because it is easily the most prevalent repetitious “familiar” that I experience on literally every run I go on. It honestly doesn’t take very long for me to start sweating when I’m running, and I would guess that’s probably exacerbated by the fact that I’m practically always wearing at least three layers (tee shirt, wicker/heat shirt, & sweatshirt overshirt) in an attempt to force my body to sweat when I run. I deem sweating to be an integral part of the process of losing weight (Cardinal Rule #2), which IMO equates to advancing the body towards being in better shape (so although not necessarily pleasant, it’s required/essential). Typically for me, regardless of whether the weather (annoying play on words right) is excessively hot, or colder, it’s right around ¾ of a mile in (either on the treadmill in the basement, or outdoors in the fresh air) when I first start to feel the first few drops accumulate on my brow and/or see them fall in front of (or onto) my face. It generally starts out slow, but I’m quickly consumed, and within minutes any attempt to brush or towel the perspiration away from my face, my eyes, or off my head is futile (this I realized quickly it’s pointless to even try), so I learned to embrace it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Ultimately (immediately actually, but the realized value took me a while to understand), it became a very familiar constant, almost comforting (if it wasn’t so annoying) aspect of my runs- and one that I knew was indicative of positive efforts/results.   

FIRST DEEP BREATH

This is always a struggle. And it’s almost always compounded by the fact that in addition to not being able to take a deep breath, I’m consciously thinking about the fact that I can’t take a deep breath, while wondering if/when I’m ever going to pass out (FWIW as a toddler I actually could hold my breath until I fainted, so from personal history anyway, it’s physically a possibility). The irony, which isn’t lost on me, is the fact that when I’m just sitting in a chair (like I am now, proving my point to myself), I have no problem taking deep breath after deep breath, without any issue at all. Eventually though my lungs fill (so far I haven’t passed out yet), and like a sputtering lawn mower newly filled with gasoline, I back to my consistent huffing and puffing. Sometimes I don’t even realize when it happens.. I might be distracted by something on the run or a random thought takes precedence for just long enough for me to all of a sudden remember that I’m not starving for air. If I am aware of it though, it’s a really good feeling, knowing that I’m pushing myself out of and through my comfort zones. And although it’s a very minor thing, like many things for me with running, a little victory is all it takes every now and again to be refreshed.

FIRST MOMENT OF NO PAIN (SOMEWHERE/ANYWHERE)

I realize I’m probably coming off like a big complainer, but I’m just being honest (and it’s maddening).. the first few blocks/minutes of every run for me is like a pilot going through his/her preflight checklist, with every twitch of a muscle, joint, nerve, etc., odd feel of a piece of clothing (sweatshirt sleeves twisted or stretch pants bunched up), pinch of shoes/shoelaces (too tight, too loose), I am forced to countdown all the “preclusions” that should otherwise be prohibiting me from continuing the run. As I trudge onward, whether psychosomatic or real (rarely) these afflictions will typically take turns cycling through my consciousness like cows in the original Twister movie (same degree of believability), as the storm in my mind rages.

Occasionally however (never predictable or definable) the clouds will clear, and in what becomes an almost glorious moment, there will be no pain, no discomfort or shortness of breath- no excessive weight or extra gravity bearing on me.. my legs, my feet, my arms, all moving freely, void of any undue influence from my too oft meddlesome mind. As fleeting as these moments are, like birdies on the golf course I contend that if I could figure out a way to string a bunch of them together, consistently, and at a time and place of my choosing.. I could make for a pretty good runner. It might be aspirational and I know it’s a longshot, but hey FWIW I’m not giving up on the PGA Senior’s Tour either.

A RHYTHM

(This often coincides with “The Run Directive” also from my post: My 30 Day Running Experiment – Challenge To Myself)

I can’t remember the first time it happened or the second, or anytime in particular for that matter.. but like a refreshing breeze, warm spot of sunlight on your face, geese gracefully landing in unison on a placid canal point- or essentially any unexpected occurrence on any given run, occasionally I will “feel” (mentally and physically) like I’m running properly. For whatever reason, my steps begin to land evenly, my hands/arms are not swinging awkwardly or excessively, and I’m comfortably in the “No Pain Zone” (mentioned above) that absent would certainly cause my cadence to be Quasimodoish in at least one regard. The usual awareness of strained effort fades, and while no intended pace is being set; a pace just happens. It’s as if the body surrenders struggle for deliberate control, and at the same time the mind finally quiets. I am still running- but on a smooth autopilot. Consciousness remains, along with motion and movement, but time passes without being counted and distance covered without being noticed. The rhythm isn’t forced nor is it fully understood, and it definitely wasn’t something I learned or somehow discovered.. it just happens- and when it does it’s like a wash of relief or tranquility where I find myself thinking (more like reflecting) “this is pretty cool”, and wondering how long it will remain and how far it will take me. Unfortunately though I am far more like young Luke than Yoda, and I soon find myself stomping and flailing, fully aware again of the sweat that is blurring my vision.

THE CAVE

Perhaps the culmination of all the previously described Milestones, is my ultimate running safe space that I refer to as “The Cave”. It is definitely my goal in every run, whether outdoors or on the treadmill, to somehow manage to get to The Cave, but like a sneeze it often tends to be elusive. Similar to other Milestones, it too just kind of came about (likely drawn out of repetition and boredom), but unlike the others, it was/is promulgated by my fixated staring at points (or colors even) on distant targets. Initially it occurred on the treadmill as I unwaveringly focused on an old box situated on basement storage shelving- trying to force myself into a tunnel vision type view, while consciously attempting to blur out any/all other aspects in the peripheral scope of my sight (especially the glaring red LED of the treadmill clock). It was on one of these cerebral expeditions that I coincidentally/simultaneously/unexpectedly stepped into a Rhythm (detailed above), and everything kind of just stopped. All of a sudden, I was thinking to myself that I was thinking to myself (far more than just the normal boring voice in my head) and that’s all that I was aware of. It wasn’t (unfortunately) some crazy out of body experience, but more so that I had receded into my consciousness. I could still hear (albeit as if in the faint echoing distance) my shoes hitting the treadmill, and I knew that if I (physically) looked down I would certainly see them (and of course ruin everything), but at that moment/time, it was as though my being/psyche was in a protected cave controlling everything, and all I had to do was keep the simple machinations going for as long as possible to keep things easy. Eventually of course I faltered and reality (typically along with an acute awareness of fatigue) reminded me that what I was doing (attempting anyway) in addition to not being easy, was unfortunately only temporary.

THE FIRST DEJA-VU (or my new word RENOTICE)

This familiar I only experience outdoors, and the first occurrence of it didn’t happen until after I had quite a few accumulated runs under my belt (which allowed for many portions of any given day’s run route to have been traversed previously). Reminiscent of the “Deja vu” scene in The Matrix (another GREAT movie BTW), I notice what would seemingly be the most obscure or insignificant thing, like a broken cigarette lighter laying on the sidewalk, the partial blue shell of a robin’s egg nestled against a flower under a tree, or perhaps the discarded sign of a landscaper resting on curb- little things that should be fleeting in their existence, yet I’ll see them again a week or even more later happenchance when I run that portion of a route on a new outing. And they are untouched/unmoved, exactly as I would have seen them the first time (or possibly even multiple times) before, almost as though they are frozen in time. It always makes me curiously wonder (obviously universally egocentric) if maybe I’m the anomaly in the space/time continuum, i.e. the inconsistent intruder into the moment- and would the world experience some type of cosmic shift if I stopped running, went over and picked up/interfered with whatever it was I was renoticing (feel free to use that word as much as possible)? Fear not though world, I have no intention of ever stopping.. I’m only looking to lose my gut, not change the planet’s sea levels.