A Moment of Reflection

I don't think of myself as a whiny person, but I guess I am. I suppose it has something to do with being introverted; since I don't talk to people all that much, I probably start most conversations with whatever's on the top of my mind. And lately, those mind-top subjects are mostly tied up in things that have been frustrating me. Regular readers will recognize many of those topics, since they've been discussed here multiple times. You know -- stuff like Commies in Congress, idiots who don't use their turn signals and go slow in the fast lane, and Middle East dictators who don't gracefully step down and turn their countries over to the wise and benevolent folks who create SuperBowl commercials. And oh yeah, my running.



Thank goodness I have wonderful friends who tolerate my grumbling, and sometimes even offer insightful feedback. The other day when I mentioned my most recent struggles with my stride, one of my runner friends held up a hand to pause my monologue and asked, "So why DO you run?"

"Huh?"

"C'mon, Terry, you're always complaining about how hard running is, and how you always get hurt, and how much you suffer every time you lace up your shoes. Why in the world do you keep doing it? There are plenty of other ways to exercise."

"Um, well....ummm." I knew I had an answer for the question, but I couldn't immediately articulate it. And of course, any time I can't immediately spew an opinion about something, it sends me into deep introspection. Why do I run?

The first answer that popped into my head was that it's a good way to burn calories, and with my deep affection for both chocolate and pizza, I absolutely require an effective calorie-burning outlet. Swimming doesn't do it, since nature has seen fit to settle upon the "whale" shape as the default aquatic form. And strangely enough, watching TV and reading science fiction novels doesn't really strip off the pounds, either.

But let's face it, I could do all sorts of other exercise to burn calories. I could ride bikes, climb stairs, or toss medicine balls around. I could go for long walks. I could take a jazzercise class. I could also choose to eat less, I suppose...but if we succumb to that kind of thinking, then the terrorists win.

No, it's clear that it's not just about calories. There are other reasons I continue to pursue a sport that I'm so clearly not suited for. For one thing, many of my closest friends are runners. They inspire and motivate me, and often urge me (or at least invite me) to join them in their exercise. There are social benefits, then, as well as the cardio-vascular ones. I may not enjoy running all that much, but I seem to like runners. In fact, behind swimmers and Star Trek aficionados, runners tend to be the finest people there are.

I know what you're thinking -- I could hang out with runners without needing to subject myself to the various tortures involved in slapping feet to pavement. So there must be more. Oh sure, there's the philosophy of the book "Born to Run", which states that humans are built for running, and that it's a natural thing to do...and therefore should be pursued for the pure anatomical rightness of it.

But I could be a mutant. There is ample evidence that I'm not quite "normal". In fact, when I mentioned to one of my friends that I was reading a book on flying saucers, she said "Nobody else is like you." I think she meant it to mean something along the lines of "Dude, you are egregiously mentally irregular", but I interpreted it as a compliment, as in "You are a unique and special individual." So, it's not inconceivable that I am not one of those humans who was born to run, but instead am involved in the sport for another reason entirely. I'm going to blame it on the Boy Scouts.

Somewhere in my youth, the "Be Prepared" motto took on attributes above and beyond keeping a first aid kit in the car and knowing how to start fires without matches. I got the idea that being prepared also means that a person should be ready to use self-propulsion to save himself if his car broke down outside of town, or if he ends up being chased by a rabid wolverine. Therefore, it has always seemed to me that a person should be able to run, at least a moderate amount. And therefore I guess I feel a bit of guilt every time I think of giving up on running. I'd be a disgrace to my old uniform, wouldn't I?

Besides, there are occasionally moments of triumph and inspiration that make it easy to keep going. In fact, last Saturday I was struggling to finish the last mile of my run when I passed a woman running in the other direction. Her legs were flailing wildly and her arms were swinging like a palsied gorilla. My friend Kristen noticed her, too, and turned to make a comment to me. "Hey," she said, "at least your form is better than hers!"

So, as long as I'm not the most horrifyingly hideous runner on the road, I guess I have to keep going, don't I? And besides, it gives me something to write about besides flying saucers. But more on that topic later. In the meantime, I'll try not to whine too much. And you have a great day!