Why I Love to Run

Many years ago, I wrote on my personal (always sporadic and neglected) blog about why I love New Orleans. I wanted to try to illuminate and justify that love since New Orleans seems to be a polarizing place – either you “get” it and you love it, or you don’t and all you see is dirt and stink and danger. I think of running similarly – you either catch “the bug” and love it, or you stare blankly at “crazy” runners with a mixture of befuddlement and pity – that anyone would willingly put themselves through such torture. In running I think there could be some middle ground, though, and while I tend not to proselytize on much, running is one topic on which I’ll wax poetic and convincing – if my words can nudge one “maybe thinking about trying a 5K” waverer over the line to lacing up their shoes and getting out there, then I feel I’ve done some good in this world.

You see, I didn’t start out as an athlete.  I didn’t run track in high school or college.  In fact, until I was 23 years old, I was a rather militant couch potato. I’m ashamed of it now, but in sixth grade I even coaxed my mom into getting me a doctor’s note to say I couldn’t run. One lap. Around the school. One lap! (And there was nothing at all wrong with me.) So, yeah, I was about as physically lazy as a kid could get.  After college I’d moved back to Cincinnati and had the privilege of sharing an apartment with my very best friend, who DID run track in high school. I don’t remember exactly how or why anymore, but Ann suggested I go for a run with her, and for some reason – maybe in my deluded 20-something mind I feared those frequent dinners of McDonald’s fries (and nothing but McDonald’s fries) were catching up with me – I did. Have I mentioned that I was also smoking a pack of Marlboro Lights a day at the time? My early to mid-20’s were pretty much party-all-the-time, so that first run involved a LOT more walking than running. I don’t think I made even half a mile without stopping to walk.

And yet – something clicked that day. I wanted to try again. Maybe my competitive fire was ignited, maybe I was ashamed that at 23 – in what was supposed to be the prime of my physical condition – I could be thin and yet in such horrible shape that I couldn’t even run a mile. I did try again, and again. I walked a lot, but I ran a little farther each time. I didn’t have proper shoes, but another friend from the bar where I worked who was my same size gave me a pair of her old Adidas. I eventually registered for my first 5K, which was the Reggae Run. I understand the Olberding family is taking an indefinite hiatus from staging the race right now, but for many years it was one of Cincinnati’s most challenging (as in running straight up the Observatory Avenue hill into Ault Park) and fun 5K races, with a huge party and music by The Ark Band following the race. I was hooked.

In the years that followed I was sometimes more dedicated, sometimes less, but always running. After the birth of my second child, I doubled down and got more serious, at first as the means to melt away the last 15-20lbs of baby weight that wasn’t budging at age 37. I wanted to extend my distances beyond 5Ks or 4 or 5 mile runs. And in the distance came a true transformation. In the metronome of my feet against asphalt, in the dark, still, pre-dawn when I woke to run alone, so blissfully alone, I found something much greater than burning calories or building muscle. I found peace. I found space to work through whatever work stress or parenting or relationship worry was nibbling at the edge of my mind. I found the presence to BE in the moment, in my body, feeling my arms swing and my legs move and knowing what so many people who physically couldn’t might give to be able to do this very thing.

Yes, I am that “crazy runner” who runs consistently, at least 5 days a week, even on vacation, through heat and rain and snow. But running ceased being about physical fitness (for me) a long time ago. It is this introvert’s alone time; sometimes the only such time I get in a day. It is my zen. Since I read this book, I’ve focused on being ever more present in the run, just breathing, moving, knowing that I am as integrally part of the universe as it is of me, that I have the strength and confidence to handle whatever I am given, not always gracefully, not without prayer or support, but with love, with presence. I believe our bodies are made to move, that such movement connects us with the collective unconscious and with the divine inside ourselves. Running doesn’t work for everyone – for you it may be swimming or hiking or dance. But if you can, if you’ve thought about it – won’t you join me? Let’s go for a run.