Ready to Run

One of my early memories of running is basketball practice in the sixth grade.  Coach Lady was a fan of suicide drills and whistles.

Next up, Freshman year PE class and the timed mile.  We were supposed to break six minutes running around the tennis courts.  (I don't know if I ever did.)

High school softball practice included running the perimeter of the outfield.  Our school was too small and rural for a Track & Field team so anyone who played another sport was recruited to run.  I wore a stranger's track shoes and started off the blocks.  I had no idea what I was doing, but I didn't drop the baton.

College running was on the football field as a wide-receiver.  Sprints didn't seem so bad if there was a ball in the air.

But I wasn't a runner.

Fast forward to 2006 when I decided to attempt to run seriously in an effort to get control of my life.  My partner at the time could run beside me backwards at the same pace I ran forwards.  I wasn't a runner.

I can remember the first time I ran 10 consecutive minutes and know exactly where I was when I ran 20 without stopping.  I ran two 5ks and then a half marathon, but I didn't call myself a runner.  

I logged thousands of miles.  I ran in a dozen states, three continents, at least five countries, and I owned more than one pair of running shoes.  And then I moved.  

I didn't know anyone in my new town so I ran without headphones.  I started to run with people.  One of my coworkers became a dear friend and we ran together step by step in 2011 for my second half marathon and his first in nearly two decades.  The night before the race, my yogi self attended a meditation class and our teacher asked us to find our mantra.  Mine inexplicably was, "I am a runner."

Now, I chant it when I jog.  It's on constant repeat for any mile after 10.  I embrace the label and yesterday when so many people sent me notes to see if my friends were okay, I know it to be true.  I am a runner.  

My heart goes out to the city of Boston, to runners, to spectators, and to those who use a different label for their "I am."

We are all different.  We are all the same.  

Author's note:  I hope you will forgive the absence to a book reference.  I've had running on my mind.