Why Run?

May 31, 2005

I finally discovered the elusive answer to why I run. As I embarked upon my first long-distance training run in a year and a half, I had plenty of time to contemplate why I was undertaking the rather daunting task of running another marathon. As I ran, it occurred to me that my first three year flirtation with running – as much as I wanted to deny it at the time – was all about running from something. I was running from the grief I experienced when I lost my mother. As I moved through the grieving process and made my way back to a more normal state of mental health, the allure of distance running began to wear off. Toward the end, it became much harder to justify the time commitment and the physical exertion required. On the heels of my last marathon came the 2004 election and my first trip as a delegate to a political convention. It was easy to replace the time I spent running with political activity, and I stopped running altogether for a while.

The slow decline in my metabolism didn’t go unnoticed, though. How could it? I gained 20 pounds, found clothes I really liked fitting far too tightly and found myself relying more and more upon coffee to feel alive and energized. But a couple of migraines left me questioning coffee’s role in my life, and I was forced to consider more natural ways of achieving that energized feeling. The obvious choice was running, and with backaches from an overlarge gut keeping me from sleeping in on the weekends, I realized I wouldn’t even be sacrificing those morning hours by renewing my training schedule again.

So off I went, aiming to run 10 miles for the first time in 18 months. It is amazing how much stamina I still have left after such a long period of dormancy. Once I hit the runners high at around two miles, I was once again experiencing everything that is wonderful about running. It was then – in the midst of the wonderful endorphin rush that is distance running – that I once again attempted to tackle the question, “Why?”

An answer once elusive came to me almost immediately. That runners’ high had once been an escape from grief, but as I ran for the first time in many months I realized that I had been craving it for quite some time.

You see, it is impossible to be stressed when running after you cross that mysterious threshold into the runners’ high. The physical exertion washes every bit of stress and anxiety away, leaving you with a sense of wonder, excitement and joy. Under such ideal conditions, it is easy to contemplate the reasons why one might choose to run another marathon.

I was no longer running from something, I was running to something: that spiritual place where runner’s spend most of their time. Now there is no doubt that the back end of a marathon is a harrowing place, but depending on your state of training, the first 15-20 miles are downright joyful for the well-conditioned runner. I was glad to find myself back in that wonderful place again.

Now it is easy to justify the runner’s high part. It’s relaxing, spiritual, calming and at times downright blissful. But what in the world makes runners keep going when the bliss recedes and the pain begins?

Well, the first reason is that the transition from bliss to pain is neither instantaneous nor complete. Usually they bleed together in a delightful mix of sweet and sour. It is in this transition that I feel the most alive. There is no other time in life when all my senses are so acutely attuned, so wonderfully alert. It is, in some ways, a celebration of being alive. Although the sense of touch is not entirely pleasant in the latter stages of a marathon or long training runs when muscles ache, feet hurt and sweat drips relentlessly from the brow, there is an undeniable sense of being ALIVE. I am no more in tune with my body’s physical state than in the latter stages of a marathon. Aware simultaneously of the pain and the potential, an almost irresistible urge to stop does battle with an unwavering desire to keep going. The classic question of physics: What happens when an irresistible force meets and immovable object? The character of a runner is defined when his body’s irresistible urge to keep going meets what feels like immovable muscle groups throughout the legs. There is a special joy in experiencing life as mind meets matter head on and willpower and motivation win the day.

That alone is a good enough reason to run, but there is so much more to it. All my senses are keen during that wonderful blend of pain and perseverance. I can smell a barbeque a mile away, and it smells sweeter than it ever could on a casual stroll through the park. I can smell the wildflowers without sneezing. I can smell the moss growing in the stagnant parts of the lake and the moisture in the air of a rainy day with a clarity that just never happens any other time.

Then there is the power of taste. Any runner who has ever been at mile 24 of a marathon in which he’s pushing for his best time ever will tell you that there is no orange as sweet as the one handed to him at the water station. Gatorade never tastes so good, making you wonder if this is a special batch they’ve made just for your big day.

Sights and sounds register with greater clarity as well. Trees actually look greener, water glistens in the sunlight and the sound of it lapping at the shores is so clear that you wonder how you never noticed it before. Birds chirp and wind rustles leaves while details you’d never notice jump out in stark relief.

And as if the physical sensory overload weren’t enough, the less tangible senses come to life, too. There are so few moments in our lives when the goal before us is so clearly and simply a matter of our ability to muster the will and motivation to attain it, if only for a brief period of time we can fight through obstacles so obvious and yet so daunting. Life rarely offers us simple paths from start to finish, but marathons are just that: simple and straightforward yet imminently challenging. The difference between success and failure is the will to keep going when you want to stop. It is the motivation to finish when your body provides you with any number of very compelling excuses to give up. It is the courage to grit your teeth through the pain and finish what you’ve started.

So this new training journey into marathon running will be different from the last. I am running to my goal of fitness, to that place of spiritual clarity where mind conquers matter at the bittersweet crossroads of pain and passion, to the simple number 3:50:00, and to Chicago. I no longer need to run from anything. Where I’m headed is more than compelling enough to motivate me.