Why I run

Spring has almost sprung, and an old man’s fancy turns to… running! Those of you who are highly discriminating, uncommonly intelligent, and regularly peruse the rantings in this blog know that I am an evangelist for exercise. It is the family’s fountain of youth and the Holy Grail of health all rolled into one sweaty package. For almost thirty years now I have run on a relatively regular basis. I call it a habit whereas some of my couch potato friends call it an obsession. Yet I still feel the excitement and joy in rising before the sun and hitting the pavement or treadmill.
My thirteen year old daughter stopped me in my tracks the other day with a simple question. “Dad, why do you run?” As with most simple questions, I had a simple answer. I waxed poetically about the obvious benefits, hoping to capitalize on this rare teachable moment. But as she walked away shaking her head, as she does more often these days, I pondered her question and came up with additional queries. Am I running from something, or maybe even towards something? Is my running a selfish practice that steals time from more important family activities? Just why do I run? I usually only muse psychoanalytically after a glass of Merlot, yet the sincerity and simplicity of her question dug into the pit of my stomach like a sauerkraut sandwich.
That evening, as I sat quietly in my whirlpool bath, a needed recovery tool for us aged warriors; it occurred to me that why I run has evolved over the years, much in line with my changing life roles. In a way, running is a mirror reflecting images of the seasons in my life.
In college I ran to break the monotony of studies. My dorm room was a stones throw from the track, so a couple of miles in the late evening were a welcomed break from the intricacies of mitosis and meiosis. Medical school brought new reasons to run. I lived in an apartment in Memphis, Tennessee only one mile from the mighty Mississippi River, and running to and fro this majestic landmark renewed my body and mind as I struggled to avoid catching any of the diseases I was studying. It was here that I began to truly comprehend the lasting benefits of exercise, since daily I took care of folks whose illnesses were largely self imposed; hypertension, diabetes, heart disease, stroke. For most of these patients, exercise was about as welcomed as boils on their behinds.
As a single guy fresh into private practice, I ran to salvage what little social life I had. It is probably the first and last time I ran with other folks, and by sheer coincidence, most of those folks were young women in spandex! In fact, when I started courting my then future wife, Susan, we would often spend time exercising at a local health club or running together. I thought it made for great dates; she thought I was just terminally cheap, as a run on the canal was much less expensive than a dinner at the French Market. I still insist it was a primeval bonding experience as there is something gutturally attractive about a sweaty woman in running tights asking you for a swig of Gatorade.
Now as I enter midlife, I have discovered that I run for a whole new set of reasons. I am becoming more aware of my mortality, which has driven me to find ways to cheat the hangman, but, more importantly, of making my life one that matters. A train of thought somewhat like a Carpe Diem modifier on the philosophy that says; Eat well, exercise daily, die anyway!
I want to be around to see my kids grow up and have to agonize over whether to put me in a nursing home or just have me stuffed and set on the porch too scare the neighbors. I want to see if Rocky 48 is a blockbuster and if Wal-mart ever does drive through births.
I also run now because it gives me purpose. It defines part of who I am. Over the past few years I have joined the ranks of the “charity runners”, trudging through nine marathons to raise money for various causes. It has taught me that exercise and running really is not about me, it is about something that transcends, it is about making a difference. Call it maturity or call it senility, it has required many miles and countless pairs of shoes to realize that what you do and who you are cannot be fully defined in a vacuum. Running has taught me that even the most personal, intimate activity can be shared for a purpose greater than the activity itself. Why do I run? Because I can; and that is a singular blessing in itself that I hope I never fail to appreciate. And maybe, just maybe, one day my daughters will also.