Why

"You must be a runner."

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"You have that voluntary corpse-like look of a runner."

That was a bit of what ended up being a very long conversation at a coffee shop some time ago. I was actually quite flattered. I've always been told I look like a soccer player, and for many years I was, but now that I'm more serious about running, I'm glad that I look it. That conversation ended with a question that I was not able to properly answer at that point: "why do you run?"

I get that question a lot, and it seems I never have a very good answer for it. "It's an addiction" or "I love it" just don't cut it for most people: they want to know why.

Well, I don't necessarily have one good reason, but there are a lot of things that running means to me and I thought I'd explain some of them today. I had an exceptionally good run today, and this all kind of flowed into my head at the literal and figurative apex of my run: the summit of Mt Sanitas, about half an hour into my 50 minute run.

Running means freedom. When I'm running, I still think about everything that's going on in the rest of my life, but I detach myself from them somewhat. I can think more clearly about them because they don't seem to matter as much while I'm running. Running matters, the rest is just a side note. It's both a freedom from and a freedom to. Freedom from the cares that I have all day, every day, and a freedom to think about them . I always do my best thinking on a run.

There's a quote from Once a Runner that I've always loved: "running to him was real. The way he did it was the realest thing he knew. It made him weary beyond comprehension, but it also made him free." And that's true. After a particularly difficult, or long, or successful, race or workout, I'm out of it for the rest of the day. I wander around in a daze, missing entire conversations because I can't focus. But there's an inherent freedom in it as well.

Running is like a meditation, too. On a long run, on my own, the miles just tick by without need for thought. My mind is completely unfocused, allowed to think whatever it wants, or nothing. Often, I'll go out for a long, easy run, only to lose track of both time and pace, to find that I've gone several miles farther than I was planning, much faster than I thought. And I come home from runs like that refreshed.

I told somebody once that running is my religion. In fact, I've told many people that. It's true to an extent. Running is the closest thing to a religion I have. I feel far more spiritual going for a long run on Sunday morning than I ever did sitting in church, trying not to fall asleep. I always thought that, though I'm an agnostic, if God did exist, it would be much happier seeing us use the tremendous bodies we have than sitting bored in church every Sunday.

To a certain extent, running parallels and reflects my life. There's a daily grind to it, just getting out and getting miles in every day. Then there's the hard days, where you go out, work your butt off, and end up exhausted, but fulfilled. And there's a third category. Those are the days where I run free, sudden bursts of speed, followed by a lethargic mile, and cruising a downhill at sub-5 minute pace (today I went a mile downhill in 4:30, that's faster than my PR in a flat out mile). It perfectly reflects how I live my life.

It's the feeling of not-quite restrained power in my legs whenever I move them. The feeling that, even if I'm tired from the workout, or any other reason, the day before, I could break out and run a quick 5:30 mile, just for the fun of it. Or do a shorter distance. I love feeling my muscles ready to spring at any moment. I feel like I have to restrain my legs constantly, lest they take off of their own accord and just bring me a long for the ride. More than anything, that's what I love about running.

Let's face it, I like being fast.