Today I went for a run with Carl Jung. Okay I just had to use that sentence. But here is what I mean - I was thinking about this quote by Carl Jung, while I was running: "There are as many nights as days, and the one is just as long as the other in the year's course. Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word 'happy' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
I've had this quote in my head for a while now (maybe about 3 years) and I guess I have been trying to figure out if it is a personal truth for me (okay, I admit, I was watching Dr. Phil yesterday while I was on the trainer, sorry about the "personal truth" thing). But rather, does Jung's philosophy ring true for me? Whenever I try to think about it, it is just too big. For me it is like trying to contemplate the sand on the beach or the stars in the galaxy. I get overwhelmed. Maybe I'm just not the sharpest tool in the shed.
But today Carl kind of narrowed it down a bit by putting it in terms of just one day - or even just one run. So, to back up a bit, I am fighting a yucky little head cold. Nothing serious, but definitely annoying and putting a major damper on my training plans for the week. I was supposed to run yesterday but just couldn't get to it. Today, although feeling worse I figured I had no choice. I dragged all day with a drippy nose and headache dreading the idea of a medium length run with 10 sets of speed intervals thrown in for good measure. I finally resigned that I would do the run but skip the speed. I got my gear on and finally got out the door after debating about bringing tissues or use this opportunity to practice the "snot rockets" I've been reading up on. I won't tell you what I decided . . . so I start out slow and decide to take a route that has a sidewalk now that the snow has finally cleared. A mile into the run I hit a little pot hole at the end of some one's driveway (between sidewalks), twisted my ankle, lunged forward and tried to recover my stride but hit sand and had the dog pulling me from the waist and down I went. When I hit the ground Sam didn't realize what "went down" and kept running giving me a break dancer like spin to finish off my graceful move. I stayed down there for a minute. First thought: crap - I bet I broke my ankle. Second thought: crap - there goes the school bus, I bet all my kids' friends saw me do it. Third thought: call home and get a ride back to the house, crawl into bed and don't come out. I take a quick inventory - hand is bleeding, ankle feels twisted but definitely not broken, hip is bleeding, shin is bleeding. Decision time: Nothing spurs me on like road rash I tell ya! Up I go, I can walk on it so I decide it's going to hurt a lot more if I go home than if I keep my natural meds flowing and finish up the run. Starting out slow again and suddenly there is glass all over the sidewalk and the dog steps right on it and lets out a yelp. I pause the stop watch again and sit down and remove a shard of glass from his paw And I remind him that I was much nicer about helping him out than he was with me! Start the clock again and now we're both limping a little.
Now, if I am going to run with a cold, a twisted ankle and blood oozing from three parts of my body - it's gonna count. Bring on those speed intervals. That's when Carl joined me. First I realized that my head had cleared and I could actually breathe through my nose for the first time in days and the headache was gone. The sun was shinning and it felt good on my back. Then I noticed a road kill bunny on the side of the road. I notice these things because I need to keep killer Sam in check, the last thing I want is to look down and see him carrying a bunny. So as I am instructing him "leave it" an 18 wheeler comes zooming by and pops the thing like a pinata right next to me! Carl speaks up and reminds me that it is good that the bunny is already dead and none of it got on my shoes. True enough Carl, thanks for the perspective.
Nothing else traumatic happens on the run - toward the end I saw a beautiful red tailed hawk overhead and I thought - oh, it will probably poop on me! But it didn't!! And Carl reminded me that I can feel happy that the large bird didn't crap on me, because I fell in a ditch and got all bloody. Maybe I'm a little delirious and not finding the right words to explain this, and well, maybe nobody really cares anyway. But, what I am getting at is that I finally sort of get that quote. Because I have a crummy head cold I can appreciate my ability to breathe through my nose. Because a few minutes earlier I was lying on my back on the side of the road, I can now enjoy the warm feeling of the nearly Spring sunshine heating up my black jacket. Because I just saw a poor bunny get blown to bits on the side of the road, I can take a moment and enjoy the beauty of the redtail hawk soaring overhead.
Carl explained to me that even on just this one little happy run there was a "measure of darkness". And I would have clearly failed to see today's run as a happy run if it had not been "balanced by sadness". And just in case Martha is reading this: I finished all 10 speed intervals!
It is a good thing that I have some very long runs (for me) planned over the next few weeks - because Carl and I have a lot more to talk about. I mean, like I get it about today but I am not sure I can reconcile it with people who endure great sadness, illness, hardship. Does it balance out? Is it reciprocal? And what role does perception have in happiness and sadness. For instance what about the person who feels that they are challenged by something that others would find rather insignificant. And how about those who are pretty easy to please?
I think I need to buy new running shoes, Carl's got some real 'splainin to do!
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