In the August issue of Harper's Magazine, in an article called "Run Like Fire Once More," Brooklyn writer Sam Shaw travels to Jamaica, Queens to visit the world's longest footrace. The Self-Transcendence Race, run by followers of the Hindu guru Sri Chimnoy, consists of 5,649 circuits around a single city block, a total of 3,100 miles. "It was said to be the most difficult racecourse in the world," Shaw writes. "Point-to-point racing is gentler on the spirit, and concrete is ten times more punishing than asphalt."

My brother's knee, however, may beg to differ. Look at it from the right angle and it's got a valley. Though our motion from point A (New York) to point B (Delaware) was certainly gentle on our spirits, the beach town's lack of concrete sidewalks didn't help. Run off the road by a red Ford Explorer, his knee met the sandy asphalt roadway, and if concrete would've been ten times worse, well, then I'm glad there wasn't concrete.

And back to point A again - we all run in circles. All of New York is a Self-Transcendence Race. Repetitious. Escape for a while and come back. We're like sharks. If we stop moving, we die. Small fish pick skeletons from between our teeth but we at best tolerate, and at worst snack on them.
A few months ago I was walking through a subway tunnel and a placard, propped against the wall, told me, "Ponder the path of thy feet." I snapped a picture with my cellphone. I looked at my feet, at the mosaic tile. Got to the street and hit the ground running.

Returning to New York, I realized I was stuck in a circle, going clockwise. In Chimnoy's race they reverse directions every day to evenly distribute the stress of turning between both legs. Ponder the asphalt -- it doesn't take a guru to realize that a little thought can lessen suffering in the pursuit of a goal.

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