Why I Run

I am a runner. When nothing else can be said about me, when there's nothing else definitive or true, I can fall back on those four words. I am a runner. Every step I take is proof of resiliency, of independently earned strength. Every breath fills me with undefined fulfillment and an ache to move just a little bit faster. Put simply: I love it. But that is not to say it's been easy. There are days, after a bad race ends in tears or the times aren't what they're supposed to be, when I think about quitting. The idea isn't entertained with anger or thoughtlessness. It's the kind of genuine weakness found halfway through a hot shower. The water is blurring in with my eyes, slipping across my skin. Truth tucks itself into water droplets and sneaks into my pores like try-Trojan horses. It would be easier to stop, to leave and say it was my choice to fail. But I can't. And it's not some well developed statement on commitment or hard work. It's because I couldn't watch my blisters heal, my legs weaken, my freckles fade. The strip of white on my left arm is so much more than a watch tan. It's a reminder of every race and every workout. I live for the look of worn running shoes and piles upon piles of pasta. Post race coffee slides down my throat with a warm familiarity. This is the only chance grown men get to show off their new, horrendously priced short shorts. This place, this world that I've found means too much to let go of. I run because it is pure and unapologetic and welcoming. I run because it is the only thing that can drain me and fill me up at the exact same time. I run because, no matter what, I am a runner.

- Anonymous