The running affliction

Now there are many facets of human behavior which rub me the wrong way but one whose dislike is harder to justify is a curious disease which primarily afflicts the 'upwardly mobile' yuppie urban classes. The disease, of course, is one where the patient suffers from an acute need of donning tight fitting clothes, wrapping an ipod or an iphone around his/her arm, inserting fashionable earplugs into their ear canal, and running aimlessly for miles on end. My instinctive aversion for this particular disease is harder to justify because it is often explained under the guise of trying to keep oneself fit and really, what can I possibly have against people wanting to be fit. I understand that this affliction cannot be criticized from an easy vantage point. Still my dislike is well and truly there and explained it must be. If not from an easy vantage point, then from a more complex one.

I think there exist various different levels and complexities of stories that one can aspire to in life. There is much to be learned, many different experiences to be had, personality developed on several different fronts, and the time to do all of it is very limited. The hue and color of the final story are dependent not just on the choices made but also the attitude with which those choices are made. For instance, there are many who read but very few who read because every new book contributes to a structure of thought and understanding which is much larger than the book itself. There is a drive towards something bigger, more coherent and lucid, more nuanced and interesting. Similarly there are many who run but very few who do because it adds something meaningful to their self and helps them grow in some important, fundamental way. All activities which when pursued with the right attitude result in some deep development, can just as easily be pursued embarrassingly superficially although this superficiality can be hidden from plain sight in some cases while it is very apparent in some others. At this point I am reminded of those women who try to look half their age by having painted their faces with too much makeup. There's nothing wrong with trying to look better than one does and, yet, the whole effort comes out as sad. Not least because they are trying to run from an inevitability and while they are completely consumed by this effort, life with all its fine potential slips by. And this is really the crux of the matter from which springs my instinctive dislike. My dislike is not for the activity per-se but for the choices made, or rather those which are not made. People who run for hours on end just so that they can postpone by a few years the day when they are not physically attractive anymore are not in a much better situation than the women with painted faces. They seem to be spending an incredible amount of time being uninteresting and learning nothing. Oh well, at least they keep me amused just like the faces with too much mascara.