On why I do this running thing...

I run because…

…well, I’m not entirely sure.  I started running as part of triathlon training.  I hated running.  Or rather, I thought I hated running.  Swimming was fun (if exhausting), cycling was fun (if time consuming), but running – yuk!  Running was for gym class.  Running was for basic training.  Running hurt.  And I was a wimp, so if it hurt, it wasn’t going to happen.

(Note: I say “was a wimp.”  I shouldn’t put that in the past tense just yet.)

But, see, this triathlon training was something I fit in around my marriage, two very small children (toddler and newborn back then), a busy career, and the myriad other things that make up a life.  And sometimes it’s hard to find the time and childcare to go get in a swim.  And when you live in the Pacific Northwest where it rains ten months a year and the roads are slippery, it’s not easy to get those bike rides in either, especially if you’re a wimp. But running – that awful, painful, nasty running – was actually not that hard.  And I could do it on my lunch break.  I wasn’t going far – three miles was a long run – so my incredible slowness could be managed and I’d still make the 1:30 meetings looking fresh as a daisy.  The rain would still fall, but with short hair and a hat all I needed was a towel to mop off.  Oh, and baby wipes, which I had in abundance.  So, subversively, running became my de facto mode of exercise.

And then, even more subversively, I found that among all those things and people that make up my life, running was the one thing I did that was solely mine.  I did it for myself.   And it was the only thing I did for myself.  And while I still didn’t like the painful bits, I did like the peace and quiet.  For that glorious half hour or so, I could just be in my own head and not have to pay attention to anything else.  I could let my mind go blank.  I could count breaths as a mantra.  I could rehash that awful conversation and let loose all the snarky comebacks and witty rejoinders I really ought to have said in the moment (yeah, right).  I could sing.  I could talk to myself (that, I think, is my favorite one).  I could name my fears, call them out, and banish them from my head.  And pretty quickly, the longing for that mental space overcame any wimpy reticence that remained.

That all was several years ago.  And I have stopped and restarted many times since – I seem to have this habit of not running from, say, October to March (bad habit, must break).  But each time I come back to running, it finds its way back into my life as though it never left.  And each time I’m reminded that while I may not be able to articulate exactly why I run, that’s not what matters – what matters is that I do run.

The “because” must be the journey.  I look forward to seeking it out.