Why Do You Run?

It is a simple question from a seven year old thatpain, sometimes weeping, sometimes cursing as
starts me on a life review. "Why do you run?"my legs carried me numbly over stones and
she asks when I stop for lemonade at herrubble. When my husband passed away after an
make-shift stand, the one sporting a sign thateleven month battle against an illness that had the
warms my heart: " lemonaid 10 cents."upper hand from the very beginning, I ran to
But I can't answer her. For several seconds, I sipmake peace with the pain. Somehow in the
at the cup and smile at her sun-freckled nose.echoes of my falling steps, I found a rhythm that
"Why?" she asks again.seemed at one with the sky--stars suspended in
"It makes me feel good," I reply, tossing thedarkness that made brilliant their light. And I
paper cup into the garbage pail, glad that I can sliprealized that there was not much difference
away without saying more. Her question unsettlesbetween this world down here and the one up
me though. The answer I have so glibly thrown atthere: we leave the way we live because nothing
her does not seem to ring true.shines brighter than a dying star.
Why DO I run?Now in my fifties, I am running more than ever. I
I have been a runner for 27 years, yet I am hardcan't help but sense that the question "Why do
pressed to say exactly what makes me run. Myyou run?" seems beside the point. I cannot live
first turn around the local high school track waswithout running; it has become as much a part of
motivated by sheer vanity. Having gained over 40me as breathing is. I run because running has been
pounds with the birth of my first child, I wasthe only constant in my life, the only thing that
determined to make running the means to an end.hasn't changed or has survived despite the
I shed the pounds, but found in the process ofchange. My children are now grown, my eldest
doing so a new enthusiasm. Those were headyson the father of two. We have new additions to
late twentysomething days when running seemedthe family, even as my husband has moved to a
more like a cult than a sport--part of the Bravedifferent peace. I have changed; my hair has
New World of Fitness that made me feel like agreyed and my body has shifted to a more
colt. It made me feel sleek, toned and fit, fillingmatronly cast. I forget recent events, but my
me with a kind of coltish momentum, as though Imemories of the good old days are etched
were riding the crest of a fast, furious wave.forever in stone. No longer the colt nor the cow, I
Ten years later, I was still running, but thehave the permanence of time. Change seems no
momentum had slowed to a trot. With a secondlonger a menacing beast because I know I have
child and a full-time job, I found a different reasonbeen blessed--blessed with life in whatever form it
for running: it was now my way of slowing downtakes. And I know I will survive in whatever form
the pace, my refuge from the frenetic rush ofI take. I know because there is nothing in this
schedules and deadlines. Feeling more like a cowworld--nothing-- that can beat the beauty of a
than a horse, I ran to be still, allowing the rhythmcool, steady run.
of a body in motion to be a kind of stabilizingCome to think of it, my answer to the little girl is
grace. During those years of music lessons,not quite so glib after all.
daycare and baseball practices, running becameWhy do I run?
my still point in a turning world.Because running has made me feel good. It does
Twelve years later, when my husband fellso still and God willing, it will make me feel even
terminally ill, I ran to stop the pain from swallowingbetter in years to come.
me whole. I ran against the pain and through the