The path is the constant; the environment is the variable. But there is another, even more intimate, landscape that is never the same from one day to the next: the runner.
Thus, the unchanging loop is the perfect laboratory for exploring the most complex variable of all: myself.
By holding the external environment constant, I can turn my attention inward.
The run becomes a diagnostic tool, a conversation with my own body and mind, revealing that even when running in circles, the journey is always new.
The Daily Fluctuation of Being
No two runs begin from the same starting line, because I am never the same.
Some mornings, I step out the door feeling light and energetic, the effort flowing easily.
On other days, for reasons known or unknown, my legs feel heavy, my motivation wanes, and every step is a negotiation.
Running a familiar route allows me to tune into these fluctuations with greater clarity.
Without the cognitive load of navigating a new place, I can focus on the signals my body is sending.
I learn to distinguish the feeling of productive training stress from the warning signs of true fatigue.
It’s a daily practice in interoception—the sense of my own internal state.
The Purpose Defines the Path
My training plan ensures that even if the geography is identical, the experience is radically different.
A 60-minute slow recovery run on my usual 10-kilometer loop is a meditative, gentle, experience. My focus is on keeping my heart rate low and my breathing easy.
The very next day, that same 10-kilometer loop might be the arena for a brutal fartlek session.
The time on the clock at the end might even be similar (if slow phases are truly slow), but the physical and psychological journey is incomparable.
It’s a breathless dialogue with my limits, a series of intense efforts and brief recoveries. An acquaintance calls such sessions “run-up to dying.”
The path is the same, but the purpose transforms it completely.
The Dialogue Between Feeling and Data
This internal exploration is amplified by another layer: data.
I learn by listening to my body, but I also let my wearables—my Suunto watch, my heart rate monitor—listen, too.
This creates a fascinating dialogue between my subjective feeling and objective measurement.
Confirmation… and Disagreement
Sometimes, the data confirms what I feel. The run feels sluggish, and I look at my watch to see my heart rate is unusually high for the pace.
This reinforces my ability to trust my feeling.
But then, the first mile of a mile-repeat tempo session feels like I can’t keep up the pace, the pace in the last mile feels easy but is faster than the planned pace.
The most interesting moments for learning are often these contradictions.
There are days I feel terrible, convinced I’m having a bad run, only to find that my pace was strong and consistent and my heart rate was nice and low for that pace.
Why the disconnect? Was it just a mental battle?
Conversely, I might feel fantastic, flying along the path, only to see data showing I’m pushing far too hard for a supposed “easy” day, jeopardizing my recovery.
Trust Yourself, but Verify
This friction between feeling and data forces a deeper inquiry. It compels me to learn, to adjust, and to understand myself better.
It goes far deeper than the constant thrum of advice telling us to “Just listen to your body!”, as if we couldn’t err, especially when we try to run nice and easy.
It’s good, of course, to learn how to know how we are doing. I also strongly oppose the view that we are anything other than our body, so “listen to your body” is even more stupid, because the body and the mind aren’t too separate things.
The learning is a much more nuanced thing, however. Mind and body may be one, but the different parts of the body we are can still be in disagreement.
We need to learn enough about ourselves to trust ourselves, but data helps verify that feeling, whether it’s physical exhaustion or mental fatigue or both or not really either.
Training Plans and Apps
In terms of data, my training apps, like Runna for the plan and Strava for the social analysis, add yet another dimension to my running in circles.
They tell me if I hit my targets, if I earned a new Personal Best on a segment, or if I retained my “Local Legend” status.
These are not just digital trophies; they are objective markers on a long-term map of my own progress, all charted on the same, familiar loops. They turn the run into a story.
Ultimately, running in circles is the furthest thing from a futile exercise.
It is a disciplined practice.
The unchanging path becomes a mirror, reflecting not just the world outside, but the intricate, ever-changing world within.
Every run is a new experiment, a fresh data point in the lifelong project of knowing yourself – and not just by data, but by practice, in motion!
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