I can’t even count the number of times I’ve been asked this question. Depending on the tone, the circumstances, or the person, I hear behind it either simple curiosity, a certain concern, or—most often—a negative judgment that, put another way, would sound like: “But that’s really bad for your body—don’t you have anything else to do? What void are you trying to fill? What are you chasing after?”
How should I respond? That, like any passion, sports are demanding; they’re hard to practice in moderation; the rewards are sometimes rich and immense, and other times discouraging and humiliating.
I run first and foremost to be outdoors, moving through nature. To cover ground, navigate paths through the gravel, step over low walls, zigzag between trees, carve out trails through tall grass, cut across fields, slide down steep slopes, and occasionally encounter the steady comfort of the asphalt.
I run to breathe in, touch, and taste the freshness of the air, the dampness of the underbrush, the scent of pine forests in the heat; to hear the cuckoo’s call at dawn, and to watch the swallows take flight as spring arrives.
I run to be with myself. The repetitive movement of my body releases the tension in my mind. Then a space opens up for creativity, momentum, and enthusiasm. When I run, ideas and plans come to me; horizons take shape and become possible.
When I run, I’m 5 or 7 years old again. I’m in my native Southwest, and the space is boundless. Fences are meant to be stepped over, fields trampled underfoot, cherries snatched as I pass. I know no mistrust or fear; nature is my refuge, the trees my friends, and the ferns my accomplices. There are no rules, no warnings to be careful—just my mother’s voice in the distance, telling me to come home when night falls.
I run for the sheer joy of the effort. Sometimes I’m out of breath; my legs scream in protest on the long climbs. I listen to them and know how to talk to them, telling them that together we can keep going, adjust our pace, and sometimes rest.
I run to forget. To forget the constraints, the confining spaces where I feel trapped. The “you must,” “you are,” and “you should.”
I run to find myself—in my capabilities, my strength, and my potential.