Report of an exercise runner
It was a party in nature. When I walked from the Stevenskerk towards the Ooypoort, the sun was already making a valiant attempt to warm my face. Before I crossed the bridge I looked to the right, at my house, so close, and yet so far away, I thought clichéd. In the Ooijpolder, calves and foals with their hair covered in tangles of mud and seeds ran skittishly away from me, quickly to their mothers. The yearlings had a bit more guts and secretly followed me. Not too conspicuous, and certainly not too close, but occasionally jumping and bucking, they followed this strange figure with a long walking stick and large backpack with great interest. With the flowers and plants, it seemed to be the other way around. The young plants and flowers were already in full leaf enjoying the spring sun, while the large, old trees were still a bit reluctant to show their beauty. As if their years of experience told them that it wasn’t quite the right time.
I also felt great. I was happy to be a part of all this and gloated at the thought of being able to be outside for four days. I looked along the banks of the Waal where two men were fishing among the cows while a freighter with a roaring engine plodded against the current towards Germany. That image brought me back in my mind to previous walks along other rivers. Then I walked across uncharted territory to a destination on the other side of the continent, Istanbul. Now I was on familiar ground on my way to the place where I had left less than half an hour ago. Clearly a case of ‘the journey is more important than the destination’. And I would repeat those words regularly for the next four days as a kind of mantra to myself.
Especially when people asked me where I was from. ”From Nijmegen” I would say. ”Oh, that’s nearby” was invariably the answer. Of course, it was. Regularly, during the circular walk, I would see the white plume of the power plant on the horizon and realize that if I were to walk straight towards it, I might only need four hours. I would be there very quickly by bike or car. But these people didn’t know that, when they asked me, I had been running for two days and had already covered 70 kilometers. It was the same the other way. ”Where are you going?” some asked. ”To Nijmegen” I answered. ”Well, there you are in no time!” they would tell me, not knowing that I still had more than 50 kilometers to go. That’s what you get when you walk around. The journey is more important than the destination, I told myself.
It shouldn’t matter if people think I’m almost there. I’m running for myself, right? Why do I always want to make it clear to them that I’m walking a long route, I’m wearing a heavy backpack and it’s a decent achievement that I’m delivering? 135 kilometers in four days. Why does that remain so important to me? Of course, I know the answer. But giving in to that is not easy, I need some time for that. Recognition, I finally admit, that’s what I want. To show that I can do something that others can’t. I want others to be in awe of what I do. Not that that’s the main reason to run, but somewhere in me that thought plays a role. I write on my weblog, regularly show how many percent I have already traveled and occasionally post a picture on Facebook about how beautiful it is where I walk. On the one hand, of course, to encourage people to do the same and walk this beautiful route. But on the other hand also to collect ‘likes’, to polish my ego a bit.
After two days, I realize that this journey can teach me to be honest with myself, to be vulnerable by recognizing this urge in me and transforming it. How often do we try to stand out? If you’ve been looking for a job for a while, you know what I mean. We are always explaining why we are unique from others. And we’re not always honest about that. Let this pilgrimage be an exercise in letting go. Let me realize that I am a vulnerable human being in search of recognition. In this I sometimes ignore who I really am and precisely by wanting to distinguish myself, I do not distinguish myself. The fear of not being good enough runs deep and the mind keeps finding other excuses to be proud. In doing so, I ignore who I really am, in all my vulnerability. It’s not about what I can do, it’s about who I am and how I do things.
After this realization, I walk differently, lighter, more freely. It’s still a tough undertaking, and I’m still determined to complete the trek within four days. After all, what’s wrong with a challenge from time to time? But I’m doing it now mainly because it’s so beautiful. Because I enjoy walking through the rain, taking shelter under a cart full of wood, and then writing in my journal as the sun sets. The journey is more important than the destination.
The density and security of the woods during the first two days of the route forced me to turn inwards. The vastness of the landscape along the Maas and Waal rivers gave me the opportunity to let my mind run free and let it blow with the wind. That’s how walking was supposed to be. Physically it may be tough, but as long as the spirit is cheerful, little can happen to the soul.
The journey is more important than the destination. How many times have you heard that? Of course, it is also a statement that can be seen as a metaphor for life. You can read those words as many times as you want, it’s the experience that really sinks in. And for that, you may have to walk.
