You've heard of the book, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. I've never read it, but its title creates an image that I've never really understood. Perhaps one of the most treasured aspects of being a runner is having time alone to think, to feel, to sort things out.

We all treasure our running time, each of us for different reasons. Some of us want to put the stress of the day behind us. Some of us want to set ourselves apart from everyone else. Some of us enjoy the feeling of accomplishing something on our own that few would even consider trying.

As the world sleeps through the winter, our runs can seem more solitary than when life is all around. Most stay tucked inside their warm houses, waiting for springtime to take the chill out of the air. So, when we venture outside, we've got the world to ourselves.

I remember a run on a winter morning a long time ago. I drove out to the middle of nowhere to find a quiet trail to run on. There was a dusting of snow on the ground and, there, the world was a quiet place. Beginning to run, only my footfalls broke the silence.

My legs were stiff and asking me to turn around. I ignored them, knowing they would stop complaining soon. Earlier, when the alarm had gone off, I wanted to keep sleeping. I had won that battle as well; two small victories.

It seemed like even the animals stayed away as I wandered through the woods that morning, though the tracks in the snow showed they were there before me. The crisp air frosted my breath and, by this time, my breathing mixed with my footfalls to create a rhythm.

I felt effortless, no thought of distance, just moving through the space around me. It was like I was a part of it all, even though I was miles from home in the middle of a place I had never been before.

I ran by fallen trees, along streams and through pine trees. I ran over hills and through valleys. Off in the distance there was nothing more than what was right in front of me, miles and miles of solitude. I wasn't aware of speed, only movement. It was like I was daydreaming, watching the world around me, but locked safely inside myself.

I ran until the weight of the world was gone. By that time, my car was miles away. It had started snowing and the flakes made it feel like I was running in a snow globe. The peacefulness was overwhelming, and I had to stop for a while to take it all in.

Have you ever heard the sound of snowflakes landing in the forest? Have you ever felt like the nearest person was a hundred miles away? Somehow, that day, those sounds and those feelings were exactly what I needed.

Running has always done that--given me what I need. When I was in high school I needed identity. Afterwards, I needed achievement. Some days, I've just needed a reason to be proud of myself. Running has always delivered.

I turned around, and, following my footprints, returned the same way I had gone. I was a bit reluctant as I approached the end, not wanting the run to be over. I glanced back as I got into my car, then I left that place feeling a thousand times better than when I had arrived.

Perhaps some would call that loneliness, but I'm not one of them. I've journeyed alone thousands of miles along quiet roads and trails. While people I've known have spent their time searching for the things they thought would make them happy, I've spent my running time searching for what seemed more valuable to me. And, as I've run, the treasures weren't found in the world around me, but inside myself.

Loneliness? I guess I've never felt that. Alone? Well, sometimes that's exactly what I need to be.

Dave Griffin writes a bi-weekly running column and offers coaching to high school and adult runners of all levels. Contact Dave by E-mail.