If you had told me in high school that I would become a runner, I probably wouldn’t have believed you. Running was never something I was interested in. I mean I did it, but only in the context of “real” sports—soccer or baseball or even gym class dodgeball. To me, running was either what you did to warm up or a punishment for a dropped ball or missed pass. As a sport on its own it seemed silly, to just run. I didn’t get it.
But I wish I had. No excuses really. I had a few friends who ran track or cross-country. We had a similar sense of humor (that might tell you something) and we got along well. But it didn’t stick.
Fast forward to my twenties. I got an internship in the High Peaks of the Adirondacks and was initiated into the world of long-distance hiking. I spent my days carrying a heavy pack, trekking over mountains, and living out of a tent for days at a time. It was a shock to the system, but in the best way possible. I became well-acquainted with the acute and specific suffering it entailed. At first, I paid for it with the skin off my feet. Familiar became the burning in my lungs and legs (sucking wind, as they say), feet bracing against the rocks, neck straining upward, and finally (finally!) the thrill of the summit. It was exhilarating. As time went on, I became stronger. Things that were difficult when I began were noticeably easier. I began to crave that feeling. I realized that I was capable of much more than I had given myself credit for or had imagined myself doing.
That job led to two more summers in the Adirondacks, one bushwhacking in the arid sagebrush gulches of northwestern Colorado, then a year painting blazes along the Appalachian Trail. On the AT, I lived in an old farmhouse owned by the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. The trail itself ran right next to the property line and along the banks of the winding Conodoguinet Creek. On weekends, I began to take short jogs. I wouldn’t go far—just up the trail a little way to explore or check out the foliage, then turn around. That became regular runs to the next road crossing, then the next, then finally to the top of the Blue Ridge that overlooks the entire Cumberland Valley. That was the furthest I had ever run. Again, I was amazed at myself. But the results spoke for themselves.
Returning to the flatland (i.e., graduate school), I didn’t have hiking and needed other options. I played ultimate frisbee and we ran for conditioning: sprints, agility, and some longer (~3 mi.) aerobic work. I began running the hills around town and the stairs at the stadium on my own. That, combined with regular practice and scrimmages, put me in the best running form I had ever been in. I felt strong and fast.
Since graduation, I have done several 5Ks, two half marathons, and countless miles on road and trails. I learned the jargon and theory of training, and even bought a GPS heart rate watch to track workouts. It’s taken on a life of its own.
But I can still hear the questions—why? It’s reasonable enough. To which I’d say:
First is physical. There is something inherently pleasurable about moving under your own power. Elevated heart rate, the release of endorphins, oxygenation of limbs, joints, and muscles, and the calming effects of deep breathing. The runners high is real. And I don’t need to explain the benefits of being physically fit.
Second, to get to know your community. Spending time outdoors in the area around your home, you come to know on a personal basis the houses, schools, shops, roads, trails, fields, and fencelines that you pass regularly. You wave to neighbors walking a dog or nod to a fellow runner. You notice and appreciate things you wouldn’t when driving by in a car—signs, brickwork, a chipmunk on a woodpile, the smell of the soil, the trees in bloom, or the changing of the seasons. It creates a sense of place and shared experience.
Third, mental escape. This one’s important. Time for self-reflection or thinking unobstructed by our devices is becoming ever harder to come by. Running, and the clear-headedness it promotes, creates that space and helps to balance stress in other areas of life. In fact, some of my most creative thoughts happen while running, often coming in a flash (then, of course, the race is about getting home fast enough to write it down!). I might not otherwise set aside half an hour or an hour to decompress. There’s something very meditative about it. I try to pick routes without a lot of traffic. No music. Nothing but the steady patting of footsteps on the pavement, the feel of air rushing in then out, birdsong, the breeze. Flow.
Last, habits and goals. A rewarding part of running is noticing self-improvement. Over time, things get easier, you get faster, you can go farther. Often this is when people, seeking a challenge, sign up for a race. They mark the date on the calendar, train hard, eat right, and when the noise and adrenaline of race day comes, give it their all. Maybe they set a new personal best, or even place (come in the top three in your age group). There is a thrill and excitement in seeing a goal through to the end, and a satisfaction in knowing you achieved it through your own hard work.
But here’s the crux. In a recent podcast, Sam Harris and his guest James Clear discussed the role habits play in structuring and making sense (or lack thereof) of our lives, and the example they used is instructive. Let’s say someone new to running forms a goal to run a marathon. He may train for and even meet that ambitious goal, but its attainment will be fleeting. Aside from a medal and a memory, completion of the goal itself is nowhere to be found and will quickly fade from importance as a motivator. What then? Go back to the old ways? In that sense, it is only a landmark along the way, not the end in itself. The ultimate goal, rather, is to establish the patterns of thought and behavior to become a runner. To restructure one’s identity so as to keep it up even after completing the goal.
That’s the power of running. It establishes structure and discipline that has benefits far beyond physical fitness (and no, it won’t ruin your knees). You keep making the decision to lace up, even when it’s difficult and you have plenty of excuses. You expect more of yourself, hold yourself accountable, and that consistency reinforces itself by creating positive momentum in all aspects of life, from doing chores to self-esteem. You know what Mr. Newton said about a body in motion…
So it is with life. Measuring life by material goals will always be disappointing and lead to dissatisfaction, a feeling of not ever having enough. Like there is something missing. People waste years, sometimes a lifetime, in confusion and anguish not realizing this fact. The word “placate” comes from the Latin root that means to sooth or appease, and the outlet running provides does just that to ease this sense of lingering unfulfillment. It is the process, the act itself, that matters. That is the only place where satisfaction can be found.
Does that answer it? Maybe no explanation will do. But runners know: Waking before dawn to get in your daily miles. The sting of the winter wind and slush. The strain of working at the limit of your heart, then the rush of coming down. The warm glow it casts over the rest of your day. You’re always glad you did it.
Setting a new personal best at the Ellicottville "EVL" 5K on October 24, 2020.
Well said my friend !