Four reasonS for running

When it is discovered that I like to run, there are always two questions. But they are, for me, the wrong ones. The real question is: why would I stop?

Most recently, it was while enjoying a rich dinner in a San Francisco eatery. This place is a place that travellers drop into and locals use to commemorate milestones – for us it was both. First trip to the City by the Bay and the marathon (first outside of Canada) completed. The couple seated to the right were celebrating her birthday.

Conversation began with usual information exchange: where are you from, why are you here, what do you do. The fellow was an ex-Marine, with ink bleeding out from the tight line of the short-sleeved shirt established around his bicep. He was fit, without doubt. Those arms the size of my thighs, maybe bigger. But to him, the 26.2 distance was something mythical, he wasn’t fit enough to manage it. Except, there’s different types of fit. Told the fellow that, as an example, pretty sure I could only manage one chin-up, while he could do a host of them – even with me hanging off his back.

His partner asked the ‘what do you think of for such a long-time’ question. Which is a fair question. Music helps. So does just taking in the scenery, seeing new things or old sights in a different light. But the alone time is just that – it’s your time. For someone who is a bit of an introvert and doesn’t mind the silence, a long run can be fruitful. Questions asked and answered; some real, some fantasy (yeah, Leafs can win Stanley Cup this year – which category is that?)

The answers to the common questions, even as the word come out, don’t sound that convincing. Trite, almost. As if read in a running magazine. It’s difficult to explain the why and then it dawns: forget the ‘why do it’ and focus on ‘the why stop.’

There are four reasonS reasons to not continue the journey that running leads me on.

Slim: Fairly obvious one. Shedding pounds was the major factor in leaving the couch and trying to get around the block. And it has worked. Down probably 75 pounds. Feel healthier, possess more energy and clothes fit. It wasn’t all the exercise, as it had to be done in conjunction with diet. MyFitnessPal was an invaluable tool in tracking diet (throwing up a few shockers as to what is healthy and what isn’t), as was SkinnyTaste cookbook that showed food doesn’t have to have taste and texture of drywall to be healthy.

Sober: It’s called a beer belly for a reason. Pregnant women used to compare own progress against static size of mine – won all early rounds, I did, and even beat a few who are just about ready to birth. To say a drink was appreciated was an understatement – a side-effect of two careers that have drinking culture while remaining largely sedentary (journalism and politics). Running has meant discipline. No need for one or two every night, at pub or at home. Have to get some mileage in or go to yoga. A friend saw the screenshot on my phone – ‘a picture of yourself, really?’ Yep. It’s a shot of latest race as reminder of the steps taken and not wanting to go backwards, especially when perched on a barstool.

Sane: Maybe it is a result of being an only-child but solitary time is not frightening. In fact, it is welcome – a respite from the craziness and quickness of the world. Always being bombarded with information and stimuli, a run offers a break. Doesn’t matter if it’s just 30 minutes or three hours, that time on the pavement is yours. And the data being absorbed is restricted: some tunes and what your mind generates (guilty, I am, of flooding my own mind with material when not running as the Samsung is always pointed at face, with fingers redirecting from website to website as tangents pop up).

Non-Smoker (mostly): Okay, hesitated here. For years, was a Shane-smoker – which is lighting one up off the end of the other. Then quit. Then Vegas and recaught the bug a bit. So went from a cig snuck on a night out to full bum mode to ‘owe you a pack, so let me give you this one’ mode. The worst part is I didn’t really feel it in the lungs. But the legs is where it made its presence known. Poison seeping through. As an old man running, only have a few years to make improvements and no need to self-sabotage. So, yes, refocusing on being non-smoker.

There was one question that was more unspoken in early years – you’re a runner?

People were too kind to explicitly phrase it that way, but the eyes don’t lie. This fellow with chipmunk cheeks and hosting an industrial-sized tire around the waist is a runner? Does he carry his health card with him?

The worst part is they were kinda right. In my mind, I knew I was a runner; but the body had forgotten what it once could do. Pride wanted to skip the run/walk part of getting back into shape; reality had different ideas on how long it would take. Some of the early jaunts around the neighbourhood were harder than anything done now. They set the foundation and now can build on it.

So the why I run is simple and so is why there’s no stopping.