There really is only one reason to run: A poorly fed tiger is in pursuit of your hindquarters. That right there is a damn good reason. Also, maybe a flood. Or if you’re on fire (although it’s actually better to stop, drop and roll, unless, of course, the tiger is behind you. In which case, just keep running!)
But truth be told, I can think of very few reasons — logical, good, rational reasons — to go out and pound the pavement. To wear those short running shorts. To get blisters. To hear endless people shout out their car windows, “Run, Forrest, Run!” To put one foot in front of the other for hundreds, if not thousands, of steps so you can get from point A to point B.
And I say all of this as a runner myself. As someone who loves — yes, loves — to run. But someone who also can’t quite figure out why in the world he does it.
I ask myself these questions every year about this time. It’s after I’ve spent a couple months training for a single race — the 9.3-mile River Run in Jacksonville.
See, something occurred to me the other day. In other sports, you can’t wait to play them. A good game of basketball or soccer you hope will go on forever. But in running, the whole objective is to get it over and done with as quickly as you can. You’re literally racing to finish … so you don’t have to run anymore.
And I thought to myself, “What idiot sport have I been partaking in?!?” I had never really thought of it this way before.
Not that it really matters. Running doesn’t make a lot of sense, which is maybe why we diehards enjoy it so much — that it “runs” counter to rational thinking.
Think about it: In other sports, the more you do it, the stronger and more healthy you look. In running, the more you do it, the more people ask, “Are you sick? You’re starting to resemble a pencil.”
If you go run, say, 13 miles one morning and tell people about it, they don’t reply, “Wow! Awesome. You’re super cool and amazing.” Instead, they crumple up their face, stare at you like there’s a hole in your head and finally say, “A tiger was after you, huh?”
I ran track in high school. The 440 yards was my race, and I loved it so much that after every single race — EVERY RACE! — I would trot off behind the bleachers and immediately lose my lunch. A combination of nerves, excitement and over-exertion, I guess.
“Good race,” people would say as I was hunched over, hugging the grass.
“Oh yeah,” I would reply. “Feels great. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish coughing up my spleen.”
A lot of people say they run to experience a “runner’s high” — that all-natural cocktail of endorphins or whatever chemical courses through your body. It makes you think, “This is so incredible! I wonder when my left knee cap fell off.” Truth is, it’s a whole lot easier to get that rush with a six-pack, a bag of Fritos and your couch.
So why do we do it? Honestly, I don’t know.
But we do!
I looked up the word “run” and the definition was, “to go quickly … in such a manner that for an instant in each step all or both feet are off the ground.” (By the way, there was also an illustration of a man being chased by a tiger.)
I thought a lot about that definition … in particular this: “for an instant in each step all or both feet are off the ground.” That was curious to me and made me wonder if our running itch has something to do with man’s desire to fly. That great dream to take to the air like birds. To spread our own wings and fly, completely free of all that binds us to the world. That maybe running is as close as we can actually, and naturally, get. (This would also explain why I flap my arms and make strange whooping noises after mile 6.)
Could it be? Hard to say.
What I do know is running is one of those sports where you’re constantly explaining to people why you do it. But I think I’m done with that. And I’m done trying to figure out why I enjoy it so much. Maybe there doesn’t have to be an explanation. Maybe we don’t need a good reason why. Maybe we do it simply because we do, and that right there is enough.
So I’m going into the race tomorrow with that mindset … along with the belief that there’s a salivating feline hot on my tail. That should get me to the finish line even faster.