It all began with a straightforward inquiry from a curious seven-year-old as I paused to buy a cup from her lemonade stand, charmingly adorned with a hand-painted sign: “lemonaid 10 cents.”
Her question, “Why do you run?” left me momentarily speechless, savoring the lemonade and admiring her sun-kissed freckles.
“Why?” she persisted.
“It makes me feel good,” I managed to say before disposing of the cup and continuing on my way, though her question lingered uncomfortably in my mind.
Why DO I run?
Reflecting on my 27-year journey as a runner, the origins seem wrapped in vanity. Postpartum weight gain prompted my initial strides around the local track. Those initial runs, meant merely to drop weight, unexpectedly ignited a passion. In my late twenties, running was less a sport and more a revolution in wellbeing, making me feel vital and vibrant, like a young stallion fresh and energetic, riding the high of a new discovery.
A decade later, with another child and a career demanding my time, running transformed into my sanctuary. Amid the chaos of schedules and commitments, each run was a moment to decelerate, a personal retreat where the steady cadence of my feet provided a grounding force. It became the eye of my storm during years filled with soccer practices and school meetings.
Twelve years on, as I navigated the grief of my husband’s terminal illness, running became my resistance against overwhelming sorrow. It was both a flight from and a confrontation with grief, where tears and curses often accompanied the rhythmic pounding of my feet against the path. Following his death, running helped me negotiate peace with my loss, finding a rhythm that resonated with the celestial—a reminder of life’s ephemeral beauty paralleled by the enduring glow of stars in the night sky.
Now in my fifties, running has woven itself into the essence of my being. The question, “Why do you run?” seems almost irrelevant. Running is as vital to me as breathing. It remains the one constant through life’s tumult, surviving despite everything that has changed. My family has grown; my appearance has evolved; memories of bygone times are indelibly marked, while recent events blur. Running has transcended its origins, no longer just a youthful sprint or a middle-aged jog but a deep-seated part of my existence. It reassures me amidst life’s inevitable transformations that I am living fully, blessed regardless of the form life takes.
Reflecting now, my response to that young girl wasn’t so superficial.
Why do I run?
Because running brings me joy, it continues to do so, and, God willing, it will enhance my life for many years to come.
