My friend K. and I have decided to run a half marathon this fall.
13 LONG miles.
Very, very long miles.
As most of you know by know, I love running but I am not a terribly serious runner. I try and get out on a regular basis, but my weekly mileage is rather low, and I am not super fast. Yet for some unknown reason I decided to run this race.
Why?
I've been thinking a lot about why this race is important to me; about why it matters. Is it because some other, more dedicated runners I know suggested it, and I don't want to seem like a wuss? Perhaps. Is it because sometimes all I do seems silly and empty and extremely boring? More likely.
My husband has been a runner for almost 20 years. In that time he has run only one race. He never charts his weekly miles, and after any given run he has no real idea about how far he has gone or how long it took. He simply enjoys getting out there and feeling fit and free and strong.
I want to have that kind of freedom. I want the freedom to just run out the door, no GPS strapped to my wrist, no race to train for, no calories to burn off. I want to revel in the fresh air and quiet and the sound of my own footfalls.
Oh, don't get me wrong. I do enjoy the actual act of running, but I still find myself having to tie it to bigger goals and achievements.
Recently I reconnected with my freshman year suite mates from college. They have all done so well for themselves: a doctor, a PhD in history (from Stanford!), a chemist, a museum curator, and a computer whiz.
And then there is me.
Maybe I need those t-shirts and metals to prove something to myself and the world. Maybe when I talk to everyone else out there I need to feel like I have Something Interesting to add.
Maybe this 1/2 marathon will be that Something Interesting for while, at least.