One of the most common questions I get when I tell people I enjoy distance running is, “Don’t you get bored? I mean like, what do you think about?”

The first time I was asked this I wasn’t sure how to respond. During my three years of running, I never once reflected on what my mind was doing during a run. What exactly do I think about when I’m running? I guess when I feel sluggish, I wonder why I’m sluggish and when it’s hot, I’ll say to myself, “Oh it’s hot. I’ll probably sweat a lot – I’d better remember to hydrate afterwards.” But these thoughts only arise at the start of my run, and when I get into the rhythm of things they soon disappear.

This might sound strange but when I’m running, most of the time I don’t really think about anything. In Haruki Murakami’s memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Murakami describes a similar feeling. He says:

“…as I run, I don’t think of anything worth mentioning. I just run. I run in a void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void. But as you might expect, an occasional thought will slip into the void. People’s minds can’t be a complete blank. Human beings’ emotions are not strong or consistent enough to sustain a vacuum. What I mean is, the kinds of thoughts and ideas that invade my emotions as I run remain subordinate to that void. Lacking content, they are just random thoughts that gather around that central void.”

Haruki Murakami

It seems a little odd – terrifying, even – to describe the mind as a void. Do we lose our sense of self and just become machines when we run, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other until we stop? It seems a bit unsettling.  

Obviously, this isn’t the case. Yet, the idea of a runner’s mind as a void is something that I adhere to, and is actually one of the main reasons why running plays such a large role in my life. I don’t think I would have continued running until now if it wasn’t for this ‘void of mindfulness’ that I can slip into. The feeling of being present in the moment – the ever-present breeze against my skin, the feeling of breath, the ‘pit-pat’ of my legs against the Earth – and taking a break from the barrage of thoughts present in everyday life, is so profound that as I run, I find most of my superficial worries disappearing, leaving behind a mind clear and focused. I imagine such similar states are achieved by musicians deeply engrossed in their practice, or sculptures pouring over a block of stone.

Of course, if there’s something I want to contemplate as I run, I will. It’s not like moving removes the ability to think – random thoughts do appear. But the act of naturally cleansing a cluttered mind and focusing on the present moment, listening to the polyrhythm of legs, arms and lungs… this is something that has helped me a lot in difficult times and is one of the main reasons why I continue to run.