Surfaces and Slopes — Remembering the World-Under-Foot

Abstract

As a lifelong long-distance runner my encounters with topography are forever a bare-knuckled affair. Changes of surface and slope are met with short jabs and clenched fists — left, right, left, right; as though tattooed with ‘LOVE’ and ‘HATE’. And where swinging fists lead, pounding feet immediately follow. Earthly landings: occurring in countless thousands. Each footfall making an impact, imparting force and weight, finding in return, support from beneath, maybe a bit of ‘give’ or yield, and the means for locomotion, pushing onwards. What might we make of the runner’s passionate exchanges with the ground beneath? And of wild swings in sentiment, where fatigue is the trigger switch transforming ‘topophilia’ into ‘topophobia’? In this essay-memoir, I consider the long-distance runner as a highly accomplished sensualist, as someone who comes to know the variety of the world according to the feeling of differently textured terrains — bare rock, sand, soil, concrete — and the kinds of ecology that grow through them. Since, by my reckoning, an appreciation of what is underfoot — as much as what is overhead — alters runners’ moods. In short, the experience of running is underscored by surfaces. Taken by this measure, it seems only reasonable to rank runners as well-schooled students of terra firma, using feet and legs as sensory devices.