Finding Flow

I think that the intoxicating part of running, and really any pursuit (physical, spiritual, creative, intellectual, what have you), is finding flow.

Flow is that magical and blissful state where the mind fades away and you find yourself in perfect presence and awareness.

No intellectualization. Just feel. Euphoria.

If you’ve felt it, you know the feeling.

It’s like love. You know it when you feel it. It’s hard verbalize and intellectualize.

But man, oh man, is it a powerful sensation.

Flow is flow.

Two years ago, when I began running in Ann Arbor, flow was hard to come by.

This summer, returning to running after my knee surgery, flow has been right in the palm of my hands.

Why? Good question, me.

I think flow is a natural state. I think it is easy to find. I think we present consistent disruptions to our own access.

Today, I run with no technology. I don’t know what mile I am at mid-run. I don’t know my live pace. I don’t really know anything at all during my runs.

The only thing that I can sense and respond to is my own body: my breath, heart rate, anxiety, muscles, hunger, energy levels, etc.

It’s honestly difficult to not find flow when you’re only able to respond to what’s happening inside.

I used to pay attention to my current pace, the mile I was at, the elevation change, the comparison of one mile to the next.

I was always either out in front of the run, moving way too fast, or way behind the run, moving slowly and uncomfortably. No flow, nearly ever.

Make it more accessible, by making all the data and numbers and live-analysis less accessible.

Flow flows more flowy when it is absent disruption.

Like a river, it exists to flow.

Until you dam it up and redirect it and measure it and try to control its volume.

Then it stops flowing.

Remove the disruptions.

Let it flow, baby. I will repeat, it is intoxicating.