Why?

This past Tuesday, I had the freedom to run, but I didn't have the will. I try to run on a 10 day cycle. So, that means I alternate between Tuesdays and Fridays for my long runs, well, at least while my weekends are tied up in kid sports and activities. I'm usually chomping at the bit to get out and get some miles in whenever I get a chance. I like to run with a buddy, but solo is fine as long as I'm out there. Weather doesn't really matter. Unless it's unsafe, I'll be out there. Hot, cold, rainy, sunny, icy or snowy even, I'm out there. Sick, tired, crazy, unless I'm injured or bed ridden, I'll be out there. Running is something I usually gravitate toward rather than away from. I look forward to it, crave it and need it to stay sane. It has become so much a part of my life now that I can't imagine my life or my personality without it. Tuesday, though, I was ready to scrap the plan almost as soon as I drug myself out of bed. It was rainy and cold. I was tired. I was going solo. I didn't eat well the day before or that morning. My fireplace and a good book were calling my name. I just wasn't feeling it. I was even questioning why I run in the first place.

I texted a friend to tell her I didn't want to run. She offered to give me fake time splits or call me ugly names (we're reading the same running books right now, that's from Born to Run). I told her to yell at me in Spanish (that's from Eat and Run). She texted back "Soló quince millas!" Only 15 miles. Only. Ugh. I complained to myself as I strapped on my junk. I griped to the bathroom and back out. I forgot my hat. The rain stung my face. I trudged through the 1st mile. Had to pee, so I turned around. Passed people smiling, looking all happy. I was miserable. My hips were stiff and sore. My stomach was not happy with my cereal bar and water. My feet were aching. 2 miles in, and I felt like I had run 20 miles already. Back out there. "Just suck it up and get it done. You know you'll hate yourself for quitting before you're done." Over and over, I told myself. "Suck it up and get it done." By mile 4, I was soaking wet, cold and tired of the rain in my face. Then I started to settle in. My pace evened out. My heart beat and breathing combined with the rain, my hair brushing the back of my shirt and the sound of my feet hitting the ground, it all started to sound like music. It felt like music. I finally felt like running.

So, I ran. The next 11 miles were bliss. I prayed. I sang. I soaked in the rain. I enjoyed the scenery around me.

I reveled in the beauty of the run, and I was so glad I didn't scrap it all. I would have missed it. If I ever have to give it up for good, I'll miss it 'til I die.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain why I run. The time to myself, the connection and community I get from other runners, the endorphins and other happy side effects of pushing myself physically, the connection I feel with the world around me, it all somehow intertwines into this beautiful thing that makes me happy. I run because I can, and I'm so very grateful for that.