When I Run

[I was cleaning up some old computer files and I found this thing I had written 5 or 6 years ago.]

When I Run

When I run I do not feel good in any way similar to physical pleasure. The ‘runner’s high’ is like Alice’s white rabbit, always out of my reach. I do not feel good. I sweat and that makes me too hot in the summer and chills me in the winter as it freezes to my skin.

When I begin running my legs are stiff and when I end they are sore. In the cold my lungs hurt. The hair in my nose crinkles and my ears numb. In the summer heat my throat dries out so I must gasp my words. Spitting is a chore.

But, when I run I feel more deeply. I know my body. I know it in a way that I don’t otherwise know it. Muscles and joints, feet and toes, aches and bruises all tell me where they are. My face maps itself out with roads of wind, rivers of sweat and cities of biting cold. When I run I feel the ground push up and the sky push down, holding me in my place. I feel pain and in a morbid way, I know I’m alive.

I can travel so fast and effortlessly in my car, so running slows me down. I can’t just press on the gas pedal; it’s not that easy. I can only travel as fast as I can run. When I run I must think about moving forward, not tripping, not stopping. A good hunk of my brain is taken up doing this, so I can only think about one or two things rather than the two dozen that I normally bounce around in my head.

When I run I know things. I know that I am more than what people think of me. I know that I am more than what I think of myself. I know that I am full of potential. I know that I may get hit by that car, but I also know, one way or another, I’ll be alright. I know that some people will never understand who I am and why I run. When I finish my run I get a sense of accomplishment, but I know that it will only last until the start of my next run.

When I run I pray. That I will make it home both safely and without collapsing. I pray for my wife at home. I pray for myself. I pray that the dog who runs along side me will find her home. I pray for people I pass and people I see in windows (I think that all runners look in windows). I ask God why he picked to create me. I think about the different paths my life could have taken. When I run I am more of who I want to be.