Why I Run.

I read an article in a magazine recently that made me question my own ideas on the topic. I suppose this is what writer’s try to do. They want to make the reader think beyond the typical realm of thought. They want to push them to a new place. I fell for it. Here I am, expressing my thoughts once again in the form of inked words on paper. I’m a sucker for analyzing the diagnostic aspects of life.

Why I run…

I’m not sure why I hadn’t processed these thoughts before. It seems as if when an individual I meet asks me the question in an almost painful tone, (“why do you run?”) my response is almost mechanical. To save the time and possibly sanity of the listening source, I usually respond with something along the lines of “I want to stay fit, it feels good, I love it.” But in my recent runs, I have really put a lot of thought into why I do this activity everyday. Why do I use this form of physical motion to keep my body in its proper gear? Once the list began to formulate in my head, I couldn’t seem to find an ending. The reasons are innumerable. Innumerable and strong; steadfast and holding worthy definition in every way. This is why I run…

I run to stay fit. My body is a temple from God, its preservation is key. Each muscle should be utilized to maintain stability, reliability, and strength. I run to feel pain. The physical torture at the end of the 8^th mile is rewarding on levels possibly the same to that in which a drunken might describe their 8^th beer. Its pain seems almost unbearable, but yet the euphoria reached when this level of pain is finally obtained makes every aching joint dissipate. I run for the people who cannot. Not so much for those who “think” they can’t, but for those who literally cannot. For the days when I don’t feel like crawling out of bed at 6:15, I think of those whose only option is to crawl out of bed, because their limbs prevent them from formulating motion in any other way. I run for the man in the wheelchair who I held the door for at the grocery store, because in his heart he knows that his freedom beyond the chair that confines him is too far beyond his reach. I run for the days when everything is going wrong. I release myself into this foreign land in which interruptions are scarce and I can take myself to a place where no one can find me. I run for my father, who was at the finish line of every race I ever ran. He pushed me harder, encouraged me to dig deeper, and most important of all because he knew no limits of physical endurance. He knew I had an energy store in my heart, I just needed to pinpoint its location and use it. I run because he believed in me, and I see him at the end of every finish line each day. He’s watching. I run for the days when I said too much or not enough, so I can forgive myself for the pain I may have inflicted on another or even myself. I run hardest on the days when a tear wants to escape the corner gland of my left eye, and I quickly reel it back in, for its escape could be better utilized from a sweat gland on my forehead or lower back. I run for the days when my heart is aching and the physical pain replaces the emotional as I push for yet another mile. I run for the days when everything is going right, so I find myself even more thankful for the figure I have that can endure such activities. I run for an escape from the sounds of a rushing world. I run so I can have that hour of uninterrupted prayer with God. I run because He gives me the strength to. I run because the strength He has given me gives others around me strength too. I run because this body owes its every function to a higher source, and this is my most satisfying release. I run for Him, myself, and every other person in my life. This is why I run, and it’s only the beginning.