Why I run

Sunday, I ran 15 miles. I will run my first marathon in Burlington, VT, on Memorial Day weekend, and Sundays are the "long run" days that build up to around 20 miles to get my body ready to survive the 26.2 mile run on race day.

Fifteen miles was my longest run so far; previously, I had run a half marathon in October, and 13 miles last Sunday. This winter, I have been sick for several weeks, and I fell behind in my mileage/training schedule. But Sunday put me back on track with a run that capped a 36-mile week that also included two days of bike to work commuting--another 48 miles total.

Sunday was a beautiful day. As I ran through Needham and Wellesley, I could begin to smell the first hints of spring in the air. And as I briefly ran down Washington Street along part of the Boston Marathon course, turning off to go down Quinobequin road alongside the Charles River, I felt the essence of why I run.

I feel great about myself. I was about 8 miles into the run and I knew I was doing a decent pace and felt strong. I was proud of myself and felt the wind from the speed, the rythym of my feet hitting the road, the hint of warmer air to come, the sound of the water on the river, propelling me along like nothing could ever stop me.

In all my life, I have never been as physically active or fit as I am now. I remember in high school, I was such a pasty computer geek kind of guy. I didn't play sports and I was embarassed about my body. The only running we did was a once per year thing for the President's Physical Fitness award--it was a 600-yard "run/walk" that was agonizing. This morning, I got up at 5:45am, changed my baby's diaper, fed her, handed her off to my wife, ran 5 miles, changed into bike clothes and rode my bike 12 miles to work.

But it is not just about "fitness"--the running itself is something compelling. There is a feeling of speed and calmness I never knew about before. About 12 miles into the run, I chose to run up a hill that I use on my daily runs--it's 100 feet of elevation gain in 1/4 mile--a pretty serious hill after running 12 miles. But I adjusted my stride, increased my "cadence" and just let myself go up that hill. It amazes me how that is possible. You would think it's crazy, but you can make it as hard or as easy as you want and so much of it is psychological. It's much harder on the downhill, trying not to kill your knees as you descend that grade and then go the final 3 flat files just wishing it was over as you begin to really feel the pain. When I arrived at home, I popped 4 Ibuprofen and kept moving. Then I went out for a 2 mile walk with my wife and baby!

I started running a little over a year ago. I had been an avid cyclist for a couple of years and as February and March rolled around, it was still too cold to really enjoy riding my bike. I wanted to be ready for an April century (100-mile) ride and my basement stationary trainer was getting pretty boring. So, on a whim, I decided to see what it would be like to run around the neighborhood and how fast I could do it. I ran, timed myself, and measured the distance--I think it was about 2 miles in 17 minutes or so--not bad for a 37-year old guy who had never run before. I was really suprised at how much more enjoyable it was given that I had a solid aerobic base from cycling.

I found that running was much more efficient for me--it was much easier to get a good workout and sweat like crazy. I generally like the cold, but on a bike, in sub-freezing weather, your hands and feet get REALLY cold, even with a lot of protection. But I found that in running, I generated more than enough heat to stay warm. I didn't buy long pants/tights until after one run in shorts and a T-shirt at 17 degrees...that was pushing it a bit.

I also discovered a whole new world of perspective. Getting up at 5am, when it is 5 degrees outside, to run in total darkness in the quiet, sleepy hours before dawn is a special sensation. As the Red Sox were winning the World Series, I (not a huge baseball fan), went out in the 6th inning and ran the deserted streets of this Boston suburb under the dimming moonlight of a lunar eclipse--returning in time to see the end of the game and the curse broken. I love running in the rain--feeling a clean sensation with that smell of freshness everwhere. I love unning in the snow--total quiet except for the crunching sound of my shoes and a feeling that perhaps I should be on skis as I flew down hills of roads covered in packed snow.

Currently, my favorite experience is my 5-6 mile morning run, as I crest a series of hills into the dawning sunlight of a late winter morning. Then, I descend a long downhill into the sun as I build up speed and fly, fly, fly into the homestretch of the last mile before getting home. The hills always make me consider going around them...but I go up, up, up, and it is not so bad at all. When I get tired, I breath deeply and I can feel the oxygen metabolizing and generating the energy I need. The hills are exhilirating because they force that reaction, they force me to work hard and reward me with that rush of energy and sense of accomplishment.

It is not always easy to get up and do that 5-mile run. When my pager has gone off at 2am and the baby has gone off at midnight or 4am, and I have not gotten to sleep until 11pm or later...the 5:45 alarm is not my favorite sound. And the run is not like having an orgasm or anything--it is very mental and the joy is really in the composite of many experiences, not a constant thing for 45 minutes or 2 hours. Sometimes, I just don't feel like it and I miss the run, then I feel like I lost something for the rest of the day. That's why I set the goal of the marathon--to give me a compelling reason to get up and do what needs to be done every day.

But I think the essence of why I run was really captured as I ran along the Charles River and felt an "authentic" moment: "I'm doing great!" I've motivated myself to accomplish a lot of things in my life and almost subconsciously generated that kind of feedback to keep myself going and move me on to the next thing. I've felt great "satisfaction" after an accomplishment or pride in some achievement. But the moments when we truly hear an inner voice congratulating ourselves for just being in the moment are special and rare. They are distinct from objective things--even in running--I know I will feel a great sense of accomplishment after running the marathon--but it is different from the spontaneous feeling of a moment when I told myself, "You are awesome!" We need to find more of those moments.