Why I Run

While I straddle the fine line between peak training and over-training, I often find myself asking why I run. That line of thought usually takes me to specific days in my past, when everything about the run was perfect.

One night in college, my roommate, Amy, and I decided to go for a run at 11pm, an impulsive break from studying for final exams. I hadn't run that late at night before, and haven't done it since. That chilly, windless December night had perfect snowflakes. They floated down from the darkness above, illuminated only by the lights on each street corner. We made snow angels and danced in the picturesque perfectness of that night.

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April 2006. I hated running hills. But it was an unusually warm spring day in Central Michigan and Matt was particularly insistent that we go running that day. He chose the route, and if you know anything about Matt, it's that he's always more than content to let you take the lead if it's not something he is absolutely passionate about. Something was up, but I couldn't quite figure out what. He took me up some hills. I begged to take an easier course, but he insisted. At the top, I was completely out of breath, bathed in sweat. The hilltop overlooked a pond, complete with ducks and lily pads. To break the tension, I blurted out, " oh how romantic---a swamp and us sweating like mad". I turned away for a moment, and just as I looked back at him, he was down on one knee. Layered in stinky t-shirts and a slimy film of sweat, I said yes. We floated home.

Later I felt like an ass about the swamp comment.

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Those experiences are why I run. No running PR has ever made me feel more alive than those two runs. I just need to remind myself why I run, it's not about trying to get faster and faster, it's about perfect moments like these.