Why do I run? It can’t be confined to a single reason.
I run to escape. I run when I need to think, relieve stress, and be alone. I run to be with friends or make new ones on the lakefront path. I run for its discipline and sense of accomplishment. I run for my health and to kick cancer’s ass. I run because I wasn’t an athlete in high school; now I am.
I run to eat. So I can indulge in a slice of ginger peach apple pie or a pear scone without the added ingredient of guilt.
I run because it’s my antidepressant. The simple act of lacing up my shoes and running makes me instantly happy. Whether my run is sluggish or fast, I’m able to start the day on the right foot or end on a positive note.
When I’m not running, sharing my love for the sport makes me happy. I’ve supported friends who want to get off the couch and get moving. I’ve encouraged them to run their first 5k. I’ve toed the line with them at their first marathon.
I’ve been running for six years. This winter I had my first injury. I hated being stuck on a stationary bike and mourned the loss of my feet on the pavement. Post-recovery, I cherish every step and look forward to every mile ahead.
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