Skip to main content

Why I Keep Running

As another school year has begun, my students have again seen me running.  Some have spotted me in their neighborhoods after school, while others have seen me on the track in the early morning before the first bell.  Several have talked about their shared love of running; more have asked, with a mix of confusion and disgust in their eyes, why I would do such a thing.  Here are some of the reasons.  

I run because running is simple.  In an increasingly complex world, there is something beautiful about a pursuit you can do anywhere.  All you need is shoes and open space.

I run because it relieves stress.  On those days when my thoughts swirl around my head like a giant storm cell growing on the horizon - all lightning and rumble - running takes the charge out of the air.   It allows me to think more clearly and rationally.  Running is my prescription drug: 3-10 miles per day until symptoms subside.

I run because Wards Bakery makes an amazing chocolate-frosted creme-filled donut, and Lawson's Finest Liquids makes an amazing IPA.  A close friend of mine bakes the most delicious pies I have ever tasted; a woman at work feeds me a steady supply of spectacular homemade biscotti; my wife's chocolate chip cookies are so good I eat them by the handful.  Creeping up on forty years old, I know that is a recipe for a big gut and poor health.  Running is like a vaccine against getting fat.  A couple of extra donuts in Ocean City are balanced out by a few extra miles on the boards.  The new craft brewery we discovered on our trip to Vermont is mitigated by a few extra hill repeats.

I run because it is my time to think.  As the miles roll beneath my feet, I think about my grandfather who passed so many years ago, and update him on the events of my life.  I have imaginary rants directed at people I feel have wronged me in some way, freeing myself from the burden of carrying that anger any farther.  It is on the roads and trails that I plan my best lessons for my students, compose first drafts of love notes to my wife, and remember who I need to thank.

I run because it puts each day's little challenges in proper perspective and teaches me discipline.  As I age, the miles get a tiny bit more challenging each year.  It reminds me that sometimes Nike is right and you just have to do it; sometimes doing it isn't easy or fun.  Running four miles in a driving wet snow makes packing the kids lunches seem pretty simple.  Climbing a thousand feet on rocky trails makes helping my third-grader practice multiplication seem like a nice chance to relax.

I run because I need to be outside.  People were never meant to spend their days moving from one climate controlled environment to another grimacing at the heat, or the rain, or the blustering cold.  We were meant to test ourselves against the elements.  We were meant to chase things down, and if that is no longer prey, then I will make it a PR, or my running partner, or the next speed limit sign, or my sanity.

I run because racing through a warm rain, or splashing through shoe-sucking mud still feels just as good as it did when I was ten.

I run because I used to weigh 235 pounds, and I don't want to go back, because I used to chain smoke, because I used to drink too much.  I run because it lets me zone out, and gets me away from my iPhone.  I run because my sons are watching me, and learning from my example.  I run so I can see the leaves change color, and also hear them crunch beneath my feet.  I run because I love the smell of fall, and the smell of the first fire someone has lit against the chill I feel in my fingers and my face as I run by.  I run because it releases endorphins.   I run so that when I experience loss, I will already be versed in the art of suffering.  And enduring.  And overcoming.  So that when I experience joy, I have some quiet moments to really soak it all in.

Running is a simple endeavor in a complex world.  I run simply because I need to.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

An Open Letter to My Seventh-Grade Flag Football Team

Boys, I have coached most of you for years now, and I want you to know that I have never been more proud than when you lost 16-60 this past weekend.  You heard that right.  When the opposing coach, up by more than forty points, told his team to play “without restraint” you continued to play with it. That is more important than any win.  Quick vocab lesson since I am an English teacher: Restraint is a noun. It means self-control. Staying under control is one of the most important lessons games like flag football can teach you. Not exercising control is what leads to penalties in games and all sorts of bad things in the real world.  While the other team continued to launch passes to the endzone, and comments across the line of scrimmage, you maintained control. The one moment it boiled over, you immediately apologized. You showed restraint, and that is why I am proud.  You are going to face stuff like that your whole lives. You are going to come across people who think winning is more im

A Farewell to My Seniors

It has been years since I first assigned commencement speeches to my seniors to end their high school experience. The stories they have told year after year always reaffirm why I keep doing this job. It has become a tradition for me to deliver a speech of my own to end the year. Here is this year's edition. I n his book Fablehaven Brandon Mull writes, “Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others.” That’s one thing I hoped to accomplish with these speeches to conclude the year. I hope Maddi’s statement that being cat-called makes women feel unsafe prevents all the young men sitting here from making that mistake. I hope Ryan’s mistake of not getting involved right away in high school inspires you to jump right into things in college. I hope the cautionary tales people have shared about addictions and eating disorders prevent you all from making the mistake of ignoring warning signs and encourage you to ask for help when you need

The Rules, as They Apply to Serena

“ Well, she DID break the rules ,” some people are saying. This past Saturday, Serena Williams was penalized in ways that were unprecedented for a Grand Slam final. Some want to spin the narrative that technically Serena deserved what she got. That is an oversimplification that needs more careful thought. Her first warning for coaching was justified, technically , by the fact that her coach was indeed gesturing for her to go to the net. Set aside for now the fact that men are rarely, if ever, called for similar behavior. Her second infraction, resulting in a point deduction, was for smashing her racket. She did. The Grand Slam rulebook defines “verbal abuse” as any statement about an official that “implies dishonesty or is derogatory, insulting or otherwise abusive.” So for her third infraction -- calling Ramos a “liar” and a “thief” -- she technically broke that rule resulting in a game deduction late in the second set. What people need to acknowledge is how sexism and racis