Desire never delivers what it promises. The object is always a little ahead, and the running itself feels like life, so a man keeps going, money, love, respect, one lover after another, never overtaking any of them. Failure here is fortunate, because success would have kept him running forever.
The turning comes only from exhaustion, when the outward journey has been lived through completely and found empty. Then attention falls back on itself and meets what waited before the chase began, an awareness needing nothing added. Return is possible at any moment because nothing was ever really left; only attention wandered.