Why?

Why do you run?

I get this question a lot.

Especially when it comes to running long distances.

I could give a George Mallory-like response when asked why he wanted to climb Everest: he said, “Because it’s there.”

“I run because I can,” I might say.

Which, like Mallory’s response, is shallow and stupid.

The real answer is much more complex; and a bit paradoxical.

I run because it draws me into the present moment. 

When I’m running trails or in the dark or even dodging traffic along a busy road, I must be wholly present; for if I’m not, I’ll trip on a root or get hit by a car.

I run because it connects me with me: my lungs, my heart, my limbs, my joints. Am I thirsty? Tired? Hungry? What is my body telling me? How shall I care for it?

I run because it connects me with my awesome running partner, my beautiful wife Ann. We’re there in the moment. Just the two of us. We can deconstruct western literature or talk politics or religion or just be quiet. Together.

I run because it grounds me: literally. I am aware that I am connected to the ground. I experience my body running across that ground. 

I feel the earth and air and sky. I feel the sting of the cold and the warmth of the sun. The rain, and the wind, and the snow. I see coyote and antelope. I see towering peaks; hear the sea crashing along the shores. I see the stars in the sky; bear witness to the waxing and waning of the moon. I revel in the magnificent dawns; watch the light fade at dusk.

And running connects me to that greater ground. The Ground of All Being. 

Source for me. 

Spirit. God. Creator. 

I experience the “thin places” where the “I and Thou” dissolve. 

And Being is all there is.

In all these moments, I remember that I am Alive.

In this precious fleeting gift that is my life.

Howard Thurman once wrote: “Don’t ask what the world needs, ask what makes you come alive. Because what the world needs is people who are alive.”

What makes you come alive?

Running is my jam.

What’s yours?