…and for this I am sorry. I know you were all losing sleep over it. The thing is, running has been a pain in my ass lately, both figuratively and literally. I spent July and August training for a marathon I can no longer run, logging as many as fifty miles a week and devouring thousands and thousands of calories daily. Two weeks ago I decided not to do 26.2, scaled back the numbers, and took a good hard look in the mirror. What exactly am I running for? I asked myself. And I could not answer that question. That’s when I knew I was in a rut.
I love to run because it tests everything about me: physical performance and endurance, mentality, emotions. Running is not confined to a field or a court; it requires a person to travel. The goal lies not in beating a score or another person or team but in crossing a predetermined distance. When I run, I am forever on the verge, and I have always prefered the anticipation of arrival to the arrival itself. Victory is over in an instant; I would rather pursue a finish line that never quite appears. This is metaphorical for so many aspects of my life - in high school I longed for college; in college, the real world. Dinners taste better when I sneak bites at the stove. Running is the physical manifestation of my love for the precipice.
It took a few brutal attempts to slog out twenty milers before I finally admitted to myself that I don’t need to force the torture. It is perfectly acceptable to stop in my tracks once in a while and look around - at the soybean fields, the skyscrapers, the children riding their trikes in the cul-de-sac - and enjoy my sport not for the pain it inflicts or the bragging rights but for the amazing opportunity it gives me to see the world from such a rare vantage point, through a veil of sweat and solitude. Sometimes I get so bent out of shape on a long run that I just stop, cop a squat, and cry. Sometimes I look in the mirror and hate what I see. Sometimes I take one step out the door, say “Oh!” in the cold air, turn on my heel, and jump back in bed. But it is by foot that I get to know new cities and explore my own, that I traversed 26.2 miles not once but three times, that I have tested every faculty and learned the most about my potential as an athlete, as a woman, as a human being.
If nothing else defines me, if I get fired from my job and never fall in love again, if I suffer failure upon failure for the rest of my life, I will always be a runner, and I will always have a reason to run that is greater than simply crossing the finish line.
