The Urgency of Sitting Still

On Pausing for Park Benches

It’s below zero outside, snow is piling up, and something is missing. I long for it: five minutes on a park bench in the sunshine, running shoes off, feet in the grass.

Atop a now-decaying landfill, the foliage of Centennial Park bursts bright green in spring and summer—an oasis in the arid Montana town we call home. With the park’s wide vistas, one can watch storms roll in over the Continental Divide, shifting through the seasons from warm rain, to sharp sleet, to soft snow.

Because it’s free from traffic and plowed clear in the winter, I run a lot of laps here.

A half-dozen park benches dot the circuit, but you rarely see anyone sitting. The first time I stopped was to film an Instagram bit. The caption teases, “3 hours? How do you run that long?” The opening vignette shows me relaxing on a bench, mid-run, with an ironic book in hand: Do Hard Things.

What a ham.

I haven’t been the same since that shtick. Now, I stop and sit all the time.

First It Snuck, Then It Stuck

In movies and television, park benches are places of hushed secret agent dealings. They’re the domain of the downtrodden, the destitute, and the pigeon-feeding oldster. Wishing not to be any of those things, we see benches and keep moving.

At least, that’s how I used to feel. After that Instagram skit, I thought: “It’s natural on a mountain trail to pull up a log and catch my breath or watch the sun sink. Why wouldn’t I do it in town, too? You know, embrace my inner secret agent. Besides, I am 50 years old and those pigeons look hungry.”

Nowadays, I will go out of my way to run through Centennial Park on a warm, bright afternoon and have a sit.

Toward Stillness

Does it ever seem that, from behind and in front of our screens, we humans are curating a world that’s only partly real? Like, maybe the apps and hardware that promised connection are isolating us from one another and ourselves. Sensing this, we’re called to something deeper, but where to start?

Here: stillness.

Stillness keeps me running. I’m prone to perfectionism, anxiety, and various other busy-brain neuroses. I used to quell these with IPAs, which wasn’t particularly effective (nor, in retrospect, even very tasty). Running, on the other hand, offers delicious moments in mysterious, liminal spaces that are both away from and closer to my mind. And it’s sustainable.

Halting the movement of a run to sit has been a stillness supercharger.

During park bench sessions, what Arthur Brooks calls our “antenna to the divine” scans the sky and pings back hits of peace and calm. In swaths of sunshine, eyes closed, endorphins coursing, we sit in the middle of the universe and get small as a speck of dust. For a few seconds or a few minutes—however long we can suspend being the stars of our own psychodramas—we’re connected.

Doesn’t that sound worth pausing the Garmin for?

The Finish Line

Park bench sitting has been a wonderful addition to my running repertoire. Pretty sure it hasn’t hurt my performance, since I set bests in the marathon, half-marathon, and mile this past year. The small breaks are pushback on the prevailing paradigm that training must be difficult and painful.

I’ve expanded my portfolio, and now, any reasonably flat surface is up for grabs. Steps and staircases, schoolyard swing sets, stumps, curbs, walls, and ledges all make great places for an intermission.

Will you try? It’ll feel weird at first, and you’ll worry people are staring. They are, but maybe in this radical act of pausing, you’ll inspire someone else to slow down and reconnect. That, friends, is a vibe we could all benefit from.

Run lightly,
-mike

Your support makes Running Lightly possible. Thank you.