"I always loved running…it was something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs."
~ Jesse Owens
I used to be an avid runner. Not a competitive runner by any means, but someone who LOVED LOVED LOVED running. I took it up when I quit tennis at the end of my freshman year at Brown. That was 1984, people.
I’d run 30 minutes a day — didn't care how fast, but I did run every. Single. Day. Rain/snow/hot/cold/hungover/happy/sad/tired/energized -- I was out there. I remember my BFF’s mom saying to me, “You will run on your wedding day!” ("Duh, of course I will,” was what I thought to myself.)
At age 27 I stopped running because I was prepping for the GRE and wanted to study/memorize vocab while exercising. So out running went. I walked instead. Didn’t miss running a bit.
Then last July I was on ACK and had a rough day emotionally. Nothing would shake it. The next morning my spirit whispered on my mat, “Run.”
I was like, “WHUUUTT?! Run?!”
But I always listen to my spirit so out I went.
I hated it.
HATED.
IT.
My 18 year old daughter asked me, “What did you hate?” (She loves to run).
I was like, “Everything. It hurt. My whole lower body hurt. It’s so jarring. Yuck, I HATE IT.”
But I listen to my spirit, and by day 3 I was hooked.
So I run every day and I adore it. It’s my favorite part of the day! I go very early, so it’s dark, and I drop into a meditation/hallucination/endorphin state really quickly. I could run forever. No pain, no fatigue. Just pure bliss. At this point I’m running about 45 minutes. But it don’t matter. I never get tired. I just zone out and run. Not fast by any means. And I like to run alone, with my itunes, and ALWAYS in shorts (even in below freezing temps).
I asked a friend about her running. I asked her how fast she runs. That’s all I asked. Her response was no less than ten minutes. (I repeat, I just asked her how fast she runs). I asked another friend what kind of shoes she wears to run. Her response was about 7 minutes. Then I asked another friend where she runs. Again, long response. Another friend — “What do you wear to run?” An even longer response.
Then it occurred to me — for runners, running is so important, so special, so personal, that there is ALWAYS a dialogue. No matter what the question.
Ya, we runners get each other. You get “the nod” as you pass each other on the dark, cold pre-dawn sidewalk or on the Charles as the sun sets. Yeah, we get each other, and we all have a different dialogue — why we’re running, why we’re wearing what we’re wearing, why we like to run along/with others, how far and how fast we go. It’s as personal as we each are individual. And that’s cool.