Why do we run? The question gets asked so much that it has become a cliche. Why do we run? Why do we punish our bodies like this? What are we running from? What are we trying to prove?
Well, I can't speak for other runners, so I won't even try. So then, why do I run? In the simplest most generic terms, I run because I love to run. But that doesn't really answer the question does it? Why do I love to run?
I've been thinking about that lately, mostly when I'm running. I love the sense of community that I share with the local runners whom I share the trails with, they are like family to me. I enjoy a certain level of competition, though it is mostly myself I compete against. I appreciate the level of fitness running awards me, not to mention the ridiculous amounts of food I am allowed to consume. I enjoy the satisfaction of running distances that seem daunting to so many. But these are the wages of running, these are not why I run.
I think that sometimes we don't know why we run. Maybe some of us have forgotten. Sometimes we don't care. Sometimes it is just a routine, just what we do. But sometimes it is right there, clear as day. An epiphany that can only happen when you are barreling down a tricky single track all by yourself. Whether you are with a group or just chasing one of your fast friends, when it happens you are always all by yourself. A moment of clarity, when everything makes sense and the universe is in harmony. These kinds of moments are fleeting, and the clarity fades as we drive home from the run.
For me it is truly a spiritual thing. Those moments are what keep me coming back to the trails. Running through the woods like an animal, free of all of the weights and chains of everyday life. It is a primal connection that we are lucky enough to still be able to make. There are times when nothing matters but the next step. Mileage and mortgages don't exist, it is the simple joy of your feet moving gracefully over the forest floor.
I have been lucky enough to have two of these runs in the last week. On Wednesday night I was trying to explain this phenomenon to Blake and Kevin as we descended a technical single track in the dark. I don't think that I articulated my thoughts very well, so I am trying again now.
It is a feeling like being 10 years old and playing in the woods. Or what I imagine it feels like to be a deer running free through the trees. A feeling that overtakes you, replaces you with a stripped down version of you. I run in the woods because it takes me back to my childhood, when things were more simple. When life was still an adventure. It is like devolving to an animalistic state where we are allowed to follow our instincts. A place where it is OK to have fun. Where every step is a quest for solid footing, every hill a foe to be conquered.
I don't like road running for the same reasons in reverse. Road running is about safety and control and pace. There is no adventure there for me, only work. And life has enough of that already.
Don't get me wrong, I am not slighting road runners. On the contrary, road runners are some of the toughest people I know, both mentally and physically. They train their legs to move with robotic precision and strength. They run grueling amounts of miles at solid and steady paces that I can not ever seem to keep. Road runners are tough people, I just don't want to be one.
Running for me is a journey and an adventure that is meant to be wild, dirty, and unpredictable It is a passage to another, more exotic world, filled with beastly climbs, and treacherous descents where footing is unforgiving and the scenery is awe inspiring. Where you leap over fallen logs and splash noisily through frigid creeks. The forests and the mountains offer us an unordered world to explore where we can lose ourselves.
I love to run, because I am just a little boy, and running is what I do.
-Todd
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