Let the force be with you, not against you

Stiff and unbending is the principle of death.
Gentle and yielding is the principle of life.
Thus an Army without flexibility never wins a battle.
A tree that is unbending is easily broken.
The hard and strong will fall.
The soft and weak will overcome.
--Lao-Tzu, Tào Té Chīng, Chapter 76, 6th century BCE

The "Chi" in T'ai Chi can be roughly translated as "ultimate," while the "T'ai" means "great." Originally, the practice of T'ai chi ch'uan developed strictly as a martial art, wherein "ch'uan" meant "fist," giving the art the full name of Great Ultimate Fist. But even as a martial art, T'ai chi ch'uan was a product of Taoist thought, having been developed (supposedly) by a Taoist monk in China--one Zhang Sanfeng--during the Song Dynasty, circa 960 to 1279 CE.

As such, it was--as a system--firmly grounded in Taoist principles: mastery proceeded necessarily from a calmness of spirit, mind, and body, and from constant practice as goal to be relentlessly pursued. And the application of force was always minimized, the goal was to absorb and use the force of others, either of things in the environment or of the opponent when in combat.

Delight in the simplicity of running

Were I to have the least bit of knowledge, in walking on a Great Road,
it's only going astray that I would fear.
The Great Way is very level;
But people greatly delight in tortuous paths.
--Lao-Tzu, Tào Té Chīng, Chapter 53, 6th century BCE

Lao-Tzu (also Laozi) was a Chinese philosopher who authored the now-famous Tao Te Ching, a collection of versus intended to impart wisdom to the reader. It is the principle foundation of Taoism, which--as both a religion and a philosophy--stresses living in harmony with the Tao. In Chinese philosophy, or more correctly spiritualism, the Tao (which loosely translates as "the way") is the principle driving force of the universe. It is at once both obscure and mundane, for while it defies being encapsulated in a simple definition, is in fact unknowable, it can be observed in the daily course of life. Thus, it establishes--to the observant, the one "in tune" with themselves and the world around them--principles for how to live.

Many of these principles are about morality, about understanding how to act towards others, towards nature itself; they reflect learning to not just live, but to live well. However, the path to understanding--or to enlightenment, if you will--includes an understanding of the purely physical, as well, insofar as there must be harmony within the individual who seeks such understanding. The question is, can one achieve such harmony in a given activity? If so, how?

The first shoe drops and I turn to the East

As I noted in my previous piece, I credit a commercial with being the impetus for change, with regard to my running and quite possibly my life, a commercial I saw near the end of 2013. Without further ado, here it is:

Yes, it's just a shoe commercial. But it intrigued me. I've run with a variety of shoes, Brooks, Nike, New Balance, Adidas, and ASICS, some of which were very good for me and others which seemed to only cause me problems or just didn't last. Currently, I'm running with a pair of New Balance 860v3's. I'm at about 250 miles into them (the better shoes tend to last me about 350 miles) and they've been great, really great.

The backstory to a new direction in running and life

I have been running consistently now for about four years, minus a nine month lapse (for personal reasons) after the first year and a half and minus the periodic lapse brought on by minor injury. There was also the summer  and early fall of 2013, which I mostly missed because of a fractured wrist suffered in a bicycle accident (darn you Tour de France, darn you to heck!). I was never much of a runner when I was younger, though I did the occasional jog around the neighborhood, pushed the baby stroller at a brisk pace after kids came along, and tried (and failed) the treadmill game at a local gym.

But after my third child was born in 2007, after she began to run around in the backyard and at the park, I came to a realization: I was pitifully out of shape. I was over forty and I couldn't keep up with a three year-old. I knew that if I wanted to experience her childhood the same way I had experienced the childhood of my older two children (who are seven and ten years farther down the road, respectively), I had to make some serious changes, starting with improving my heart and my general condition.