Get lost in the effort. Three hours of runwalk before the workday begins. And 200 early-morning push-ups. And slow-motion pull-ups. And the bent-over breathlessness of all-out fast runs. And dragging yourself out of bed in the dark. And putting yourself to bed when normal people are just cranking up their evenings in the front of the TV.
Get lost in the joy. Experiencing the scenery and the rawness and the expansiveness of a solo run through the nearby forest. And the tick-tick-tick of your shoes brushing over the rocks as you climb and climb and climb your favorite single-track. And the breath-taking crash of the far-off waterfall that you know you'll be standing beside and feeling its mist on your face within the hour.
Get lost in your senses. Revel in watching your frigid early-morning winter breath rise up through your head lamp. And the sun peeking out. And the glorious full moon casting its knowing visage on all the world. Drink in the sounds of the birds awakening. And the rhythm of your gentle cadence as you shuffle down a crooked country road.
Get lost in your mind. Enter that second -- and third and sometimes even eighth or 14th -- hour of steady motion, that exquisite time when you peel back the veil, release your inner philosopher and become immersed in a magical place that is solely yours.
The most pure way I know of to really, truly get found.