I have done it again…signed up for another half marathon. I figured physically signing up would give me the kick in the butt I needed to start pounding out the miles again. And it did…for a short time. At the moment I clicked to pay the monstrosity of an entrance fee vision of running schedules and fast times began prancing across my brain. Oh the goals I formulated within those few minutes. I was ready…this time I would be the next Haile Gebreselassies, posting world record times. Needless to say that did not last long. The elation quickly transformed into a “why exactly am I doing this?” frame of mind. At this moment I am still not quite sure. It is not like I have anything to prove to the running world…no one is clocking my times or keeping a record of my sparse running related accomplishments (except for maybe the creepy guy I see on the trails every morning…ah but I digress, I shall save that story for another time). Maybe it is the inner running ego that makes me not want to be confused with the morning “jogger.” If you are a runner like myself you will understand how we loathe the word “jogger”. A runner is stealthy and cheetah-like, prowling the streets in the early morning when no one else is awake. We lay claim to trails barely graced by dawn’s light. We blow by walkers and dismiss the bikers because we are running and taking part in that sacred ritual of cavemen times and are propelled forward by only our own brute, power. We have advanced past the jogger stage. We have thrown aside our fuel belts and headphones. We do not need the distraction from the pain that music provides because runners crave it. Without the discomfort we are not satisfied. We do not wear heart rate monitors because we know we are working hard when our chest is about explode. We do not wear shirts (just a sports bra for the ladies) and we regularly don shorty shorts because our years of running have sculpted our stomach and legs to a point where we feel comfortable displaying them to the world. Even if we don’t want to…runners need to run. So I guess that is why I entered the race. I was compelled to; my running spirit was pulling me back from the trenches of “jogging”. I WILL lace my shoes and I WILL run that half marathon. Saved, once again, by running’s amazing grace.
