I was teaching in Yakima, WA last week.  On the way into Yakima there’s a sign that proclaims, “Yakima, The Palm Springs of Washington.”  While it’s often sunny and hot in Yakima, its self-perception is a bit skewed.  I like Yakima, but it’s working class, has few golf courses and swimming pools, and according to newspaper reports, is a huge international drug hub. 

Imagine if only saying it made it true.  Maybe I should make some signs for my yard.  “Ron Byrnes, Ironman World Champion.”  “Ron Byrnes, British Open Champion.” “Ron Byrnes, Husband and Father of the Year—Again.”  “Obama-Byrnes 08.” 

Clearly I’ve underestimated the power of positive signage for far too long.  For the Mall in D.C., “Energy Independence.”  For the White House lawn, “Inspired, Enlightened Leadership.”  For Wall Street, “We’re Rallying Now.”  For the Seattle Mariners’ Safeco Field, “The Team to Beat.”  For the Chevron station down the street, “Gas is Cheap.”  For the side of McCain’s Straight Talk Express, “More Inspired, Enlightened Leadership.”

I digress.  When I’m in Yakima, I run on a bike trail by a river.  It’s a pretty nice vibe.  Last Monday night I felt good, so I picked it up, passed the normal turnaround, a junk yard/chop shop, and kept going.  The physical toll of the previous day’s drive and the psychic toll of that day’s teaching fell away as I entered into half marathon-zone, a mod-hard sustainable pace.  Mid-run, drenched in sweat, I started to wonder what it would be like to be sedentary and never have the sensation of extending myself physically.  Never cut wood, never do yoga, never lift weights, never run, never walk a long ways.  I assume you lose touch with your physical self.  I think that disconnect or “physical deadness” would be worse than the all of the negative health effects of a sedentary life combined. 

Over the last fifteen years, as I’ve developed an active lifestyle, I’ve grown increasingly in-tune with my body.  In the water, on my bike, running, I have a good feel for the effects of distance and geography on how hard I can push it and how long it will take my body to bounce back. 

After the run, I filled my water bottle and collapsed into a chair in my hotel room.  The air-conditioner revived me in short order.  If pressed, I couldn’t really explain the science of the “runners high” although I know endorphins play an important part.  My explanation is simpler.  My runners’ high is the result of the sudden contrast between extending myself physically to an uncomfortable point and then completely stopping.  Subconsciously (at least it was subconscious before I wrote this sentence), I make a deal with my body, extend yourself for x number of miles or minutes or hours and then I’ll stop, promise.  That night, post run, no sedentary person on the planet could appreciate as much as I did the joy of sitting perfectly still, drinking water, watching the NewsHour.  Similarly, neither could they relate to how amazing it feels to collapse in the grass in front of Enumclaw High School after cycling up, down, and around Mount Rainer. 

When it comes to fitness, as I’ve written previously, people focus too narrowly on weight loss.  For me, there’s a spiritual component to it. I feel more alive as a result of knowing my body.  As in Yakima, I regularly push my body to the point of uncomfortableness; as a result, I’m a happier, more complete person.