Park Run

I did my first Park Run just recently. This has been an item on my wishlist for a couple of years. Ahem, maybe it’s a bit longer even than that. I know I’ve been holding back. Can I run 5km? Can I run 5km on a random Saturday morning, ‘on demand’, rather than picking optimal conditions of the most energetic well-rested, stress-free week I could possibly imagine having? And could I participate in a group activity when my impulse is always to be alone, march to my own tune, isolating myself in my doubts and suffering?

Of course the answer to all these was YES.

I loved my run! I mean we’re not talking super speedy time, I was definitely in the slowest quadrant, but I ran the whole way (no walking) and I felt pretty strong throughout despite a hot day and high humidity. Ok, so I did think I might throw up when I was at the finishing funnel as I went for a bit of an ego-boosting sprint finish to overtake a bunch of other runners in the final 100m or so…. But it was all fine!

The most wonderful thing about Park Run is how fantastically organised it is, all done by volunteers. I loved the apparent simplicity of it — essentially just a run in the park on a Saturday morning — although I can see there’s a lot of work and planning to make it run so smoothly every single week and at so many locations worldwide.

No wait, actually the MOST wonderful thing about it is the ethos. The ‘everyone welcome, no-one finishes last’ message which I found wasn’t just a pretty thing to say but was a reality. At my Park Run the finisher was one of the volunteers who walked the course with his adorable black Labrador. If you wanted to walk, he’d come in behind you. He usually took an hour apparently, but would just go slower if anyone needed that.

It made me reflect on my experience of yoga spaces which love to label themselves as ‘safe’ or ‘everybody welcome’ (‘every body welcome’ if they’re really getting with the zeitgeist), ‘beginner friendly’ and ‘come as you are’ but in reality can feel pretty judgemental and cliquey, not to mention financially or physically inaccessible.

My teacher asks me why I don’t feel like I belong at the local studio. Until recently I always felt this is my failing, that somehow I always exclude myself and stand apart. With that attitude I’ll never feel I belong anywhere. There’s a lot of truth in that and it’s a deep samskara that I am aware of. But it’s also true that it takes two to tango and I come to realise that my lack of belonging isn’t something I must take unilateral responsibility for. I’m still working to improve my clarity, examine my perceptions and assumptions. But I’m feeling it as less of a personal failing. I guess that’s how we come to see all those part of ourselves, until we can welcome them in and see ourselves fully with love and tenderness and respect.

Rumi’s Guesthouse. The ultimate place of belonging.