Running Home

Distance running to me is a spyglass into rejuvenated perspective. It’s the purest athletic form. This solitary exercise represents a transcendental pathway to happiness through repeated voluntary immersion into personal self-sacrifice. It’s my very own self-serving jab on the chin to remind myself just how insignificant my own sense of self pity means in the grand scope of the universe. In times of diminished self worth, running reassures me that my spirit within is a beacon burning bright. When the tide of failure is drowning me out at sea, running is my life raft of reassurance, offering tangible accomplishment, and assured self-control.

Running is a beautiful art form. A rhythmic canter evolves into flowing stride; flowing stride becomes a churning turbine; the churning turbine transitions to a fluid blur of force in motion. Then like a lasso at your waist, you sense the imminent scream of lactate burning throughout your legs, lungs and heart sense capacity, and the mind drifts into chaos. You’re to the brink of submission through self-induced doubt. In an instant you come to realize… I’m still plenty capable of achievement. That’s what it’s all about. Going neck deep into what you initially perceive as the boundary, then re-contextualizing your condition into rejuvenated hope. That’s what it’s all about. An arbitrary, self-imposed daily challenge that keeps me craving just one session more. Live to run another day.