Sometimes you might think that running is all about legs, heart, and lungs. A perfect mechanism, sure, but still just a mechanism. Yet, if you’ve read the piece on “ZZen and the Art of Running: The Path of Mindfulness” you’ll have realized there’s much more to it. We started exploring how awareness and presence, central concepts in Zen philosophy, can transform your experience as a runner. We talked about the Beginner’s Mind (Shoshin) and how your breath can be an anchor in your moving meditation.
But the Zen path is rich with insights; it’s not a checklist of exercises, but rather an approach to life that can permeate your every action, including your training. Today, we delve into three more principles that, once understood and integrated, can elevate your running to a level of meaning and effectiveness you might never have imagined. These aren’t magic formulas, but attitudes that, if cultivated, can radically change your relationship with fatigue, results, and even the very nature of running itself.
Mindful Work (The Runner’s Samu): Every Mile is a Practice
In Zen monasteries, daily work—cleaning, cooking, tending the garden—is not seen as a mere chore, but as a meditative practice in itself, called samu. Every task is performed with full attention, dedication, and presence, not for the end result, but for the action itself. It’s the opposite of what we often do: completing a task while already thinking about the next one, or the outcome we’ll get from it.
Apply this to running. Every mile, every interval, every strength session isn’t just a means to an end—whether that’s a race, a personal best, or physical fitness. It’s an opportunity to practice full presence. Feel the movement of your body, the pressure of your foot on the ground, the way your arms swing. Notice the changing landscape, the air that surrounds you. Don’t worry about your speed, or how many miles are left. Focus on the mile you are running now.
Transform your run into a Samu: an act of mindful work, where every step is an expression of your attention and dedication. This not only makes training less tedious but enriches it with a meaning that goes beyond mere energy expenditure.
Accepting Impermanence: Riding the Wave of Fatigue
One of the pillars of Eastern philosophy is the understanding of impermanence (anicca): everything is transient. Fatigue, joy, good form, a bad day, an unexpected injury. Everything that arises is destined to fade. Zen teaches us to recognize and accept this truth, without clinging to what is pleasant and without resisting what is unpleasant.
For the runner, this is a precious lesson. Running, especially over long distances or during moments of particular intensity, involves a certain amount of discomfort and fatigue. Our natural reaction is to fight it, to want to eliminate it. The acceptance of impermanence, instead, invites you to observe the pain and fatigue. Feel them. Acknowledge them as sensations that arise and fade, like clouds in the sky.
This isn’t about masochism or blind endurance, but a form of mental resilience. By accepting that fatigue is an integral part of the experience, you diminish its power over you. You become a detached observer, able to keep moving even when your body wants to stop, knowing that this sensation too shall pass. This wisdom frees you from frustration, empowering you to adapt to any condition.
Run for the Run, Not for the Stopwatch
When we run, we are too often obsessed with the stopwatch and performance. We are trapped in a cycle of numerical goals: “I have to hit that time,” “I have to beat my PB.” While goals are important for motivation, excessive attachment to the result can generate anxiety, frustration, and distract from the intrinsic joy of the practice.
Zen, on the contrary, invites us to focus on the process, on the action itself. It’s like a painter who concentrates on the act of painting, on the mixing of colors, on the brush flowing across the canvas, rather than on the idea of selling the painting or winning a competition. Freedom from the pressure of the result can paradoxically lead to better performances and, above all, to greater joy in the practice. Run for the pleasure of running, for the experience of movement, for the freedom you feel in your body and mind. When your focus is on the here and now of the run, the result becomes a natural consequence, not an obsession that robs you of the present. Run for the run, and the rest will follow.
Integrating these Zen principles into your running doesn’t mean turning into an ascetic monk, but enriching your running experience. It means running with more awareness, less anxiety, and more joy. It is a path that, if followed with dedication, can lead you not only to improve as an athlete but to discover a new dimension of well-being and meaning in your life.