Why I Run

Every Day, I Find Home.

For a quarter of a century, I have run nearly every day.

Overall, I have missed a total of maybe two months for things like injuries, illnesses, travel, or truly horrible weather conditions.

Running over the years has gone from a way to keep fit to a way to stay sane to the way my day begins. It’s my daily practice, a moving meditation. In the past, I have run races, but I never enjoyed them. Racing was a source of stress and anxiety, which made no sense, since both are conditions running helps me relieve.

I like to run alone. I set my own pace, think my own thoughts. It’s a wonderful space to occupy, really. It’s familiar; I know the contours of my route elevations and my breathing. Cars or even other runners feel intrusive to me, so I like to go out very early. This morning, for instance, two cyclers passed me from behind and one yelled “heads up” and scared the shit out of me. Heads up? What an idiotic thing to yell. I’m still annoyed about it. But because I run, I can let it go.

When I started running my plan was to get into shape. That’s it. I have always liked to walk, but I knew running was better for my heart and legs. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, entering this pragmatic backdoor to a daily ritual that has allowed me to write, figure shit out, grieve losses, center myself.

I am no longer fast and I’m not sure I was ever graceful, but I am a calmer, happier person for leaving my house every morning at dawn to take to the road. At one point, I felt like my run was transformational, ground gained each day, but that was years ago. I now see my run as the means through which I return to myself, a routine where every step, every breath, is you are here.