On Running

Running is hard. At least, that has been my experience. 

Granted, I am not runner. This is true despite the fact that I can boast of having run two seasons of cross-country in junior high/high school: 7th grade (no idea what I was thinking) and 11th grade (my knees kept me out of football -- and I was mostly chasing a girl).  And the latter year left me with two claims to fame: (1) I never walked in a race; and (2) I never finished last.

But despite my success, I still essentially had to arm wrestle our coach into giving me a varsity letter.  And no one has ever accused me of having a runner's build (my friends tell me my body is more naturally suited for consuming pastries and massive quantities of ice cream).  In fact my size, body type, and knee problems are usually exhibits A, B, and C for why I should not run. At all. 

 

[Nobody told this guy that marathons and donuts are mutually exclusive]

 

So while I am willing to acknowledge that there may be a subset of the population for which running is not hard, the simple fact is that I have never been one of those people.  This makes it all the more curious that I keep returning to it.

In two days, I'll pit myself against 26.2 miles of elevation and (mostly) winding descent in the Utah Valley Marathon.  Yes, I know.  I all but swore off marathons in my last post, wherein I chronicled the brutality that was the 2012 Wasatch Back Marathon Relay.  The prospect of doubling such torture seems well beyond anything my limited mind and body can endure.  Yet here I am, spurred again to action by the prospect of sharing the experience with siblings and attempting what, in many ways, really does seem impossible.

Someone posited on Facebook recently that for races such as these, just getting to the starting line means you've already won.  I say "just" as though it's as simple as paying the entry fee and showing up the morning of the race.  But anyone who has tried to meaningfully prepare for a half-marathon or marathon knows of the sacrifice and commitment required "just" to get yourself to the point where you're brave enough to show up to attempt the impossible.  And after three months of the ups and downs of preparing for this race myself, it's no light thing for me to say that this sentiment is pretty close to the mark.

There seems to be something redemptive in running that keeps me coming back.  Of course, there's usually something redemptive in all physical exercise.  Basketball, weight lifting, and even elliptical work (when done properly) each push me to my limits in different ways.  And each usually leave me feeling better about myself than before I began.  But running -- especially outdoor running -- has been a different animal entirely for me.  Particularly those stretching long runs that begin before dawn and end well after the sun is up.  Each is quite literally a journey.  And there's something to being outside, taking in the smell of the flowers, the gentle (or not so gentle) winds pushing you forward or backward, finding companionship in the rising sun and the rabbits that dart away at the sound of your coming, and pressing forward with the thoughts that weigh on you over the course of an hour (or two or three).  These elements tend to give my runs (plodding as they are) a quality and sense of accomplishment that I have not found in any other form of exercise.  I say this readily acknowledging that there's rarely ever been a run that I've looked forward to (and most anyone can attest that I feel the same way about lifting).  But I'll also note that there's rarely ever been a run that has not changed and centered me, and lifted me just a little bit closer to God -- notwithstanding what may be on my running playlist.  That doesn't seem to happen so much in a gym.

Of course, with all that, it still takes the prodding of siblings (and the prospect of their company) to get me to sign up and train for these races.  But I suppose that's just the nature of things: the things we least want to do are usually the things we're most grateful for having done in the aftermath.  Doing hard things seems to give life its meaning and quality -- justifying (perhaps mostly to ourselves) our existence.

Hopefully I'll be able to same the same after Saturday's ordeal.  Actually, hopefully I'll still be alive.

 

If not, Michelle asks that you send the family donuts in lieu of flowers. Preferably Randy's Donuts.