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2020 has been a weird year, but you don't need me to tell you that. Still, with the sudden plummet in available activities, I think many of us have been left with the same question: what do we enjoy doing on our own? It's a question of basic economics (assuming the online Econ class I took in high school hasn't led me astray). We were all dealing firsthand with a new kind of inflation: an inflation of free time, an abundance of supply and an increasingly-waning level of demand. The more time you've got, the harder it is to spend. Early on, it seemed like all anybody could talk about was how much they suddenly had the time to do, all the bread they could finally bake and the books they could finally read. But now, nine months later, what happened to all the sourdough? Some folks found skateboarding, others discovered yoga. I happen to know one person who found herself obsessed with making the perfect bowl of oatmeal. For me, this was a year of running.
I've wanted to be a runner since elementary school, but I never quite had the gumption to commit to the prerequisite pain. When I was in the fifth grade, I went through a phase where, every day at the beginning of recess, I would run a mile around the track next to the playground. Eight laps, every day, timed on my little stopwatch and tracked for progress. I can't imagine this bizarre little habit lasted more than a few weeks tops, but I set a mile PR back then (9:31) that would stand unbroken for another six years or so. At that point, I was the proud owner of a first-gen iPod Shuffle, a metallic teal rectangle that held all the music I cared to listen to (at that point, mostly Michael Jackson and Smash Mouth). I doubt the Shuffle ever made it to the track, however. It was just me, my watch, and my teachers' occasional bemused glances from across the playground.
When I was 12, there was another brief phase where I ran a few 5ks a week. I wasn't fast (I was putting down ~13-minute miles), and I was dragging my feet so aggressively my mom could hear me shuffling along from a quarter-mile away, but I never walked. When I ended up running the Monument Avenue 10k, it took me over 70 minutes and it was one of the most painful undertakings of my life, but I never walked. That's what I had to hold onto. I wasn't fast, but I was tenacious. By now, I'd upgraded to an iPod Nano and loaded it up with audiobooks (The Rangers Apprentice series was a classic running pick) and episodes of NPR's Car Talk. Despite the fact that I had never operated a motor vehicle and could barely ride a bike without falling off and hurting myself, I loved Car Talk. I ran the Blacksburg, VA "Frosty 5k" on Christmas Eve of that year, and as the middle-aged women power-walking the race quietly passed me - still shuffling along in a dogged jog - it was Click and Clack who kept me moving forward.
The running thing never really took hold, however, despite my trying at least once a summer and falling off the wagon about a week in every time. Finally, in September of 2019, I signed up for a half marathon to keep myself honest and I hit the pavement. I ran mostly at night, cruising through an admittedly spookier Colonial Williamsburg after dark to avoid both heat and onlookers, and without earbuds the effort of safety. I could barely make it a mile without walking, but I enjoyed the quiet time it allowed me and the sense of accomplishment at the end. Within a month, I was hooked. The first time I ran 4 miles without stopping to walk, my head nearly exploded. When I did 6.2, and about 15 minutes faster than that fateful day in 2012, I couldn't shut up about it. By the end of December I'd run a 10-miler (it kicked my ass!). By now, I'd come around on adding a soundtrack to my outings, and soon I was burning through more podcasts than ever before. Audiobooks had also come back into the rotation. I liked music, but I often found it amped me up a little too much a little too early and I would end up running out of gas after the first mile. I developed some playlists that started slow and gradually increased in intensity, and I just decided not to shuffle.
Come March of 2020, I was feeling confident I could finish 13.1 miles. Then, about a week out, the race was canceled. And so was the 10k I was set for a week later. And, as it turned out, so was my semester. Suddenly, I was stuck at home with nothing to do besides sit and stare at myself in my little Zoom window. That's when running really grabbed me, when there was so little else to occupy my time and mind. There's a real magic that comes around the 45-minute mark of a run. Once I got comfortable doing 6-7 miles a day, running easy and just enjoying the time outside, I learned to love a daily ritual of turning the doorknob, stepping outside, and spending the next hour simply traipsing around the neighborhood. Not pushing for speed, slowing down if I feel especially tired that day, and just enjoying the experience of movement, unencumbered.
On these runs, I listen to any number of things. Podcasts are still a favorite, but I'll throw on some music now and again as well. Early in the mornings, I like queuing up an album (or a few) and hitting the road. Fleet Foxes, Springsteen, CHIKA, U2, and boygenius have all become go-tos as of late. Over the summer, I started looping Phoebe Bridgers' Punisher on longer runs (8 miles meant I got a full listen, and would finish around the second time I got to "Halloween"). Big Thief's Not was, perhaps, my oddest choice at that time, but if it's a trance you're looking for, Big Thief will always deliver.
As of today, I've put down over 1,100 miles in 2020. There was a week in October where I ran over 50 miles. I'm still not fast, in the grand scheme of things, but if this year has required anything it's been tenacity. Recently I've learned to love running without my earbuds, and while I still add a soundtrack to most of my runs, I've acquired a real taste for the way that silence allows me to quiet my mind. I thought it'd be a chance to be "alone with my thoughts," but it's turned out to be a chance to escape my usual thoughts entirely. When I'm running without my earbuds, my mind doesn't really wander. I'm listening to my breath, to the sound of my feet scuffling across the pavement. I'm paying attention to how I feel, the chill of the air moving through my lungs, the way that my foot hits the ground. On the best days, I cease to be a person feeling these things at all. I simply become those sensations. I'm not just some guy careening down the street, trying to stand up straight and keep the hair out of his eyes. I am the burning in my lungs, the dull, familiar ache of my legs, the rhythm of my breathing. I am the way my feet kick out behind me, the way my knees drive forward ahead. I'm not aware of my body, I'm aware through my body. I am alive, truly, even if only for a few hours a week.
On Tuesday I'll be running a solo Half Marathon, 21 kilometers, for my 21st birthday. I've covered the distance a few times before, but never with a goal time in mind. This time, I won't be listening to anything at all. I'm going headphones-free for this one, for a few reasons. Safety (cyclists are frequent on my course of choice), focus, etc. But, mostly, it's because I want to take it all in. This feels like something I'll want to remember.
In One Ear
A brief check-in as to what I've been listening to lately:
The World at Night - Walter Martin
This has been a month of many early mornings. Either for work or just because I'm a naturally early riser, I've been up before the sunrise pretty much every morning for the last few weeks. If ever there was an album designed for the wee hours of the morning, it's The World at Night. Martin, who usually makes Children's music, released this album in February of this year. Though it still sounds, in many ways, like music for kids, the subject matter is far more reflective. Alone, drinking my coffee early in the morning, this is a frequent pick for watching the sunrise.
Notes from the Archive - Maggie Rogers
A collection of recordings circa 2011-2016, this may well be my favorite collection of songs from Maggie Rogers. Mostly acoustic and far more sparsely produced, songs like "James" and "Anybody" really made this album stand out for me. Though it was just released on Friday, this compilation is bound to enter my regular rotation.
Greetings from Asbury Park, NJ - Bruce Springsteen
The most underrated of Springsteen's classic albums, this has been another early morning favorite as of late. Between the unbridled spitfire of "Blinded By the Light" in all its original glory, the raw energy of "Growin' Up" and "Saint in the City," and slower moments like "Mary Queen of Arkansas" and "Lost in the Flood," I think this album stands level with the rest of Springsteen's classics, even if it sounds a little different.
CHIKA's NPR TinyDesk Concert
TinyDesks should require no introduction at this point, but Alabama rapper CHIKA's performance, released in late March, absolutely blew me away when I first watched it. Her first EP, "Industry Games," absolutely necessitates a listen if you haven't heard it yet, but in the meantime, this video should serve as all the introduction she needs:
This Week's Mixtape
Each edition of Nightswimming will come complete with a companion mixtape. Some of the songs relate to this week's newsletter, others not at all. As with any mixtape, listening in order is recommended, but if you don't have Spotify Premium or - heaven forbid - you just prefer to shuffle, then don't worry. The songs are still great, and nothing's set to self destruct.
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David Lefkowitz is a writer, musician, and former Latin NHS president. His work has been featured by Melted Magazine, The Outbound Collective, and Vinyl Tap Magazine, among others.