I run because I love taper..

Most people loathe taper. Questions bubble to the surface. Second guessing, self-doubt, and anxiety tend to run rampant.

There's a tendency to dwell on missed runs, missed workouts, and missed chances. Minutiae is examined and scrutinized. The significance of any misstep is over ascribed.

The recognition that perfection was not achieved haunts. The desire to make amends at the eleventh hour creeps in. Irrational acts are sometimes committed.

I've seen normally sane, rational people do unspeakably inexplicable things while in taper. Taper can loosen one's grip on sanity. Taper is an albatross for most.

For me, taper has always been a gift. It's a reward. It's a vacation at the end of a long and arduous journey.

When I wake up flat with no interest in running, it's the taper on the horizon that keeps me going. When fatigue permeates every fiber of my being, it's the knowledge that taper is close that keeps me on my feet. Taper is a blessing.

The arrival of taper is blissful. Sedentary and perhaps even slothful behavior is tolerated in taper. Taper includes additional sleep and no shortage of naps.

While my diet is never as great as it should be, I'm a bit more self-indulgent during taper. I've earned it. Cheeseburgers may appear a bit more frequently during taper.

Kinks that have been neglected get the attention they need. Adhesions get broken down. General maintenance is performed.

Rather than dwell on shortcomings in my training, I revel in the successes. I've worked hard. I've done the work.

In the waning days of taper, I sharpen my mental spear. I read about Ernest Shackleton. I seek stories of those who have battled incredible odds and overcome.

I will soon be confronted with a battle of my own. It's one I am ready to win. I run because I love taper...

I run because the finish line approaches....

I'm neck deep in this one. The fatigue weighs on me like a ton of bricks. Each stride feels like a jarring body blow.

The insidious voices of doubt make their presence known. They are not welcome. I take a deep breath and do my best to ignore them.

I glance to my left. I am not alone in my suffering. A glance to my right provides further confirmation. Misery loves company.

My peripheral vision begins to fade. Unfortunate, but I don't need it now. My focus needs to be exclusively on what lies ahead.

Single minded focus is what is required at this juncture. Simply keep moving forward. The wheels labor, but keep turning.

The investment just to get here has been non-trivial. Minutes, miles, hours, days, weeks, and months have been banked in preparation for this. This will pay dividends.

The ton of bricks weighing me down becomes two. The voices of doubt become a bit more vociferous. How do I get through this?

I've been here before. I've conquered pain before. I've slogged through quagmires of fatigue before. I've done this before.

The wheels keep turning. I gaze off in the distance for any indication the end is nigh. There is none to be found.

I glance at the ground. It flies beneath me in a blur. Sooner or later, this will come to an end. It must.

I throw my head back and glance skyward. I mouth a silent prayer to the running gods. I've given so much to them. I beg them to smile on me one last time.

My focus comes back to the horizon and the sign I've been looking for is there. The final mile is upon me. But, it's too much.

A mile is an eternity. A mile might as well be ten given the load I'm carrying. I can feel the wheels coming off.

I'm perilously close to the edge. My body is throwing red flags all over the place. My world is a seething cauldron of fatigue.

Just maintain. Just regulate. Just don't stop.

It's mere minutes away. I can't see it, but it's there. It's anxiously awaiting my arrival.

I run because the finish line approaches....

I run because I love to kick....

I was a burned out soccer player. I had the choice of playing football or cross country. I knew I wasn't a football player, but I suspected I could run as soccer frequently required it.

I joined cross country and found quickly that the running I did as a soccer player was quite different from the running cross country required. I was used to going full tilt in pursuit of a loose ball or breaking up a play. It was in these moments when I laid it all on the line for a few seconds that I loved soccer most.

This was the only kind of running I knew. But, cross country required running for a few miles, not a few seconds. I labored mightily at each practice logging a few miles.

I'd collapse in my mom's car at the end of each practice. I'd usually fall asleep on the way home exhausted from just trying to stay in contact with my teammates. Maybe I wasn't a runner.

In lieu of any other viable alternatives, I kept showing up. I somehow managed to survive the first few weeks of practice. I wasn't the slowest runner on the team, but I had no illusions I was a ringer.

The season started and simply showing up regularly managed to get me on the varsity squad. But, I had no idea what I was doing when I toed the line. I merely tried to hang with the guy in front of me and not pass out.

September faded into October. I notched the miles and toed the line week after week, but I still wasn't sure if running was for me. There was nothing I could find in cross country that matched the rush I used to feel when I'd score a goal or shut someone down.

Then, everything changed. It was early November. It was a brisk morning. A long season would come to a close in twenty minutes (or less).

The gun fired and masses of young harriers bolted. Once again, I simply tried to stay in contact with the runner in front of me. I was keenly aware of the finality of this effort.

Win, lose, or draw, it was all on the line today. Whether I was meant to be a runner or not, I would spend it all. I would find out what I could do.

The race unfolded no differently from any other race I had participated in that season. I hung on. I hung in.

Two miles felt like an eternity. One more mile seemed staggering. I was running on fumes.

I crested the final hill of the race and made one final turn. Off in the distance, I saw the finish line. A sea of runners was before me.

Something deep inside of me stirred. I was tired, but something inside wanted out. I unleashed a war cry.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through me and I exploded. The gear I had used for so many years to break away and score a goal or stop an attacking striker had been engaged. I was unleashing hell.

Runner after runner was left behind as I put everything I had into my final finish of the season. I knew I couldn't hold this for long, but the finish line kept getting closer. I just had to keep the wheels turning a bit longer.

Gasping, heaving, and laboring, I soared past a few more runners before careening across the finish line. I had discovered my kick. I hadn't scored a goal or shut down an opposing player, but the rush was unmistakable.

From that day forward, my kick would be my secret weapon. I lived to kick. My kick won races. My kick snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

Most importantly, my kick made me a runner. I loved running so fast that no one could keep up with me if only for a few seconds. My kick gave me confidence.

More than twenty years later, my kick still keeps me in the hunt. My kick makes me a runner. The surge of adrenaline that washes over me when I floor it keeps me coming back for more.

I run because I love to kick...

I run because I am slow...

Countless people tell me they are slow. I hear it all the time. I hear it so frequently from so many people, the word 'slow' means very little to me anymore.

Usain Bolt can cover 100 meters in just a hair over nine and a half seconds. This is fast, but it is glacial in comparison to what a cheetah can run for the same distance.

There are those who can run a mile in five minutes. Some can run a mile in less than four minutes. But, this pales in comparison to what your average gazelle can notch a mile in.

Then, there are the world's best marathoners. The current world record stands at 2:03:23 which is nearly 13 miles per hour. Your average golf cart can roll at 15 miles per hour.

Setting aside the handful of athletes who win major races and hold world records, there are the rest of us. We toe the line and rarely (if ever) win. There is almost always someone in front of us when we cross the finish line.

But, it's more than likely that there is at least one person who finishes behind you. Even if you are the last to cross the line, there are countless who would never consider toeing the line. There are innumerable who will never get off the couch.

So, you never need to worry about being slow. There will always be  someone who is slower. But, there is nothing wrong with being slow, however one defines this.

In the grand scheme of things, all of us are slow. There will always be someone (or some thing) faster than us. Being slow isn't a character flaw, it's a universal.

That doesn't mean you have to like it. I don't like it. I yearn to run faster too.

I run because I am slow...

I run because I feel small..

Some days simply kick your ass. They bring you to your knees. They make you beg for mercy.

I don't relish these days. I crumple in a heap on the floor. Defeated and spent, I wonder how to get up off the floor.

Life can make you feel infinitesimally small sometimes. It can make you feel decidedly diminutive. I feel so small, I could simply disappear.

The universe is gigantic. I am a speck of dust on a rock hurtling through space. My life is a blink of the universe's eye.

But, some of the greatest things start with small things. My business started with a craigslist ad. Now it is a tribe of thousands.

There was a time when I could barely run a mile and now I have completed innumerable. I felt small when I started. There is no question I am bigger now.

I pull myself off the ground. I uncrumple myself. I get a little bit bigger.

There was a time when I could barely get anyone to respond to an email. Now, I have to fight them off. I once barely got by, now I fly.

I stand up. I take a few deep breaths. I am bigger still.

Once, I could barely write a page. Now I can't stop writing. Pandora's box is open.

I was broken once. But, I fought my way back to the top. I have taken a few cheap shots, but shook them off.

I look off to the horizon. It is huge. It goes on forever. But, I am big too.

I just need a reminder. I take one small step and then a bigger one. I run because I feel small.

I run because there is still much to explore...

In a previous life, I was an explorer. If not an explorer, maybe I was an adventurer. It's possible I was also once a detective. Maybe I have been all of the above.

There are some mysteries still out there, but not as many as there once were. The great unknown is not as vast and as great as it once was. Most stones have been unturned.

There aren't many blank spots on the map. The Antarctic continent has been conquered. Many lost cities have been found.

For those who seek adventure and conquering the great unknown, things have changed. The desire to explore points elsewhere. This desire now points inward.

The limits of what an individual can do are unclear. The map has not been written. Exploring these limits is perhaps the greatest adventure of all.

This adventure doesn't require a huge budget or a team of explorers. You don't have to travel anywhere exotic to begin this journey. It starts right outside your door with just a few steps.

I have ventured far and wide. I have found myself alone in the middle of nowhere. I have been places I can barely describe.

I have asked things of my body few would ask. I have brazenly ignored the warning signs in pursuit of one more mile. Caution has been thrown to the wind on countless occasions.

I have run headlong into the wall. I have spent miles in the pain cave. I have been knocked down many times. But, I am still here.

The boundaries and limitations of what I can do are still nebulous. They are still unclear. They probably always will be.

But, the quest to find them never gets old. I always learn something new. I always push a bit further and just when I think I have gone as far as I can, I go farther.

I run because there is still much to explore...

I run because I don't know what to say..

I'm flummoxed. I'm tongue tied. Words fail me.

Maybe the challenge is the person I'm giving the message. Will they understand it? Will they receive it the right way? Will I deliver it the right way to them?

Getting the thoughts to crystallize might be the problem. They bounce around like socks tumbling in a dryer. Nothing coalesces. Nothing comes together.

Maybe it's just a bad message. If you're lucky, you never have to deliver this kind of message. But, there aren't many who don't eventually get the unfortunate task of delivering a bad message.

I find myself in a quagmire. Unable to figure a way out, I remain silent. The thoughts fight to come out, but the lips resist.

I find a few words. It's barely a fragment of a sentence. My lips nearly open.

Then, it all falls apart. The nascent beginnings of something lucid, something coherent fades away into the ether. I'm left mute again.

Maybe I simply need a change of scenery. They say a change of scenery is therapeutic. Maybe it will serve to loosen my tongue

In lieu of a better idea, I take flight. Where I find what I need is anyone's guess. My destination is unknown.

Nor is it known if this will serve to help me find the words I seek. The feet turn over in rhythm with the wheels turning in my head. The thoughts continue to tumble like socks, but it is now a slower tumble.

The ground rolls by beneath me. The fragments of coherent thought become less fragmentary. A few of the words I need make an appearance.

My breath enters and exits steadily, rhythmically. The words start to come a bit more readily. A few half baked thoughts are spawned.

Sweat emerges. Along with this sweat comes the stringing together of a few coherent thoughts. My lips purse as I rehearse delivering the message.

I've run headlong into the wall and survived. I've spent time in the pain cave and came out unscathed. Finding what to say is not impossible.

I run because I don't know what to say...