I run. Mostly I like to run. Sometimes I don’t, but I do it anyway. I was supposed to do a half marathon this weekend, but something came up and I had to back out of the race. There will be other races. People who do not run, often shudder at the thought of running and can’t fathom why someone would engage in the activity. I can understand and feel the same way about plenty of other activities; skydiving, white water rafting, even playing video games. 

 

Runners who run, know about the high. The feeling of joy when the endorphins are released well into your run. So you run, till you feel that feeling. But along the way, I run to think. To sit (or stride) with my feelings. How often are we able to really do that? So the weekend long runs are something I look forward to. Me, my shoes and my mind, mile after mile. My kid used to ask me on my way out the house for a run, “What are you running from?” I assumed they were joking, needling me as kids do. But as I get older and head out on my runs I do wonder, what am I running from?

 

Feelings of overwhelm. The current state of affairs in this country. Getting older. Fear. Anxiety. There is something hopeful in lacing up my running shoes, strapping on my hydration vest, taking a few deep breaths and then beginning a long run. For 60, 90, 120+ minutes, all those worries slowly slide away and I can focus on the present, one foot in front of the other, my gaze on upcoming lifts in the sidewalk, fallen logs and other obstacles to navigate. So I run.