Running and Remembering (Again)

The hardest thing about running? Remembering why I do it.

I wrote about this in my previous post, but it is still really hard to accept that maybe – quite possibly – my runs aren’t and will never be about performance or accomplishment. That’s a bitter pill for a woman who cares (perhaps a little too much) about both. Not every activity is a competitive sport – even a competitive sport.

Of course, the dirty little secret every runner has is that she’s constantly comparing herself to others,  herself to her past, herself to her hope.

I ran this morning because it was on the schedule. I ran this morning because I have a race in 6 weeks and I’m starting to feel the pressure.

But the real reason I ran this morning – the really, really real reason I ran instead of rolling over in bed or letting the clock run out on my small window of opportunity while I puttered was that it was warm. I wanted to be outside and feel the warm air on my bare arms, to hear the chorus of birds, see the sunrise, and fill my nose with the sweet spicy fragrance of lilacs and daffodils and wisteria. Losing weight, following the plan, hitting a target just aren’t as compelling as the full sensory experience of me moving through this world awake and alive and present.

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