Picture Perfect

I sometimes curse my running career because I didn't turn out to be the runner I wanted to be. I get angry when thinking about the races I choked in and the times I unraveled in front of total strangers. They had no idea how I trained or how hard I tried every day I was out on the run. But as soon as I calm down just a little, I realize all the things that I should be grateful for because of running. I have seen some beautiful sunrises and sunsets, sometimes on the same day. I have felt the joy of a cold rain on a warm day. I have felt the sun on my back and the wind on my face. I have glided down the road and trampled through a trail or two. I remember the first time I really felt like a runner. It was a Sunday afternoon in southern Indiana, before me I had one hundred and twenty minutes of running. I still couldn't understand why people enjoyed running even with running 60 or 70 miles a week at that time. I took off running, feeling the same awkwardness that I had felt before. After ten minutes I finally put it on autopilot and felt for the first time what many people know as a runner's high. The feeling lasted the rest of the run. I came up on the last hill on the dirt road and began sprinting. I ran to my truck and immediately put my hands on my knees looking at my legs. My legs thought that they were still running. My skin was covered in dried sweat and dust from the road as the warm sun shined on my back as it began to hide over the horizon. I was a runner from that day forward.
On another run I had began to doubt why I ran. Everything in my life was going wrong and it seemed that I could do nothing right. I was angry at the world and hadn't smiled in what seemed years. I went out for a fast run. I had planned on doing 6 but when I got out there I decided in route to run 10. When I hit the 3 mile mark I was feeling pretty bad then I felt something cold hit my face. It was only one or two drops that I felt on my face on the blistering hot summer afternoon. Then it poured down. It was so heavy that I could barely see in front of me. The road was nothing but mud in front of me. I cracked a small smile and then busted out laughing. For the rest of the run I was smiling, even though the rain stopped and the heat came back (and I was muddy). I felt like crap, but that smile made me feel so good.
I guess I am happy that I had the chance to see all the stuff that I have seen on my runs, whether it was the cougar and her cub or even running up to two crackheads dealing meth out in the country. Maybe it was being chased by wild turkeys or seeing a pack of coyotes in the middle of the day. It could have been the time I seen wild goats run out in front of me on the road or the wild boar that didn't want to waste energy chasing me. It might have been the first time that I realized that racism was a real problem when some hillbillies decided to scream profanities at my friend. It could have been the friends I made and the friends I lost out on the run. But I am almost certain that it was the way I found myself and thought over all of my problems on those long Saturday and Sunday runs.

Thoughts from the Road

I hadn't been on the road for months. I missed the road dearly. Every time I looked out a window I could hear the road calling out to me, simply saying, "Run... Run..." It took all of my weak heart not to go out on that inviting road and run away my problems. It was how I dealt with the majority of my problems. An alcoholic would drink, a drug addict would shoot up, a glutton would eat, I ran. The winter air had crept on me. I was getting weak and strong at the same time. I did cross training that kept my fitness up, but I started to doubt if I would still run as if I had no limitations, no boundaries. I bundled up in three layers, for it was only 15 degrees outside. I sat and stared at my shoes, thinking of how they represented my running life; old, worn, and seasoned. They would definitely be getting those last few miles in them today. I realized these shoes had never been worn by another soul in their entire existence; I tied them tight. I walked to the door. It was still early; the sun was rising but did nothing to stop the bitter coldness from hitting every piece of exposed skin. A new layer of snow was on the ground as more gently fell from the sky. I breathed in the cold winter air and smiled. I started my run; tired, cold, stiff, and grumpy. My body seemed to remember every injury I had collected over the years. I smiled simply because I could run again. There was complete silence out there, other than the crunch of snow and my heavy breathing there was nothing else. I focused, remembering all the miles from the past and the trials I had been through and simply ran. Six minute pace. I had tried to explain it to my friends why I ran, but they will never understand the simplest reasons why a runner runs. They will never understand why a runner would get up early on a day off from work to run for three hours. They will never understand why someone would pay money to run down a road with people you may not even know. They will never understand the camaraderie that is represented from a simple head nod in mid-stride. Most importantly they will never understand the soft crunch of snow.