I run because stopping isn't an option..

I am perilously close to stopping. My legs cry out in pain. The lungs labor painfully.

The mind weakens. Insidious thoughts of surrender creep in. Stopping is the only thing that will soothe the pain.

It would be easy to stop. I would feel better if I stopped. The pain would ebb.

The cessation of the pain would be blissful. I've earned it. I've suffered enough.

I grimace. I wince. Searing jolts of pain assault me.

The fatigue rolls in like an angry storm. It unloads its fury on me. The voice urging me to stop, to surrender, to quit becomes louder.

I am deep in the valley. Darkness descends. My peripheral vision fades. I cannot see beyond what is directly in front of me.

I am inches from packing it in. I can't do this. I can't go on. I must stop.

Then, it happens. Deep within me another voice emerges. It's words are faint and hard to make out. I can barely discern a few mumbles.

Then it gets clearer. Stopping is a slippery slope. Stopping leads to not starting again. Stopping leads to quitting.

An object at rest tends to stay at rest. To rest now is to perhaps not start again. Stopping is not an option.

My steps can be slow and plodding. They may only cover inches at a time. It can be ugly and awkward. 

But, stopping is not an option. Move forward glacially, painfully, but keep moving forward inexorably.

I run because stopping is not an option.

I run because the fire needs to be lit...

I run daily. It's a tonic. It's a salve. It helps me preserve some vague semblance of sanity.

It's akin to sleeping or breathing. If I don't do it, I feel off. Things feel awry.

But, something's been missing recently. Running's become bland. It's unnerving.

I'm doing it, but I'm going through the motions. There's no passion. There's no pop. There's no spark.

I haven't felt this in a long time. I struggle to remember how I dealt with this inexplicable ennui the last time it encroached.

The answer coalesces. I haven't laid it on the line in awhile. I haven't toed the line for awhile. I haven't been tested recently.

Tests challenge. They intimidate. They frighten.

But, it is during these tests that you discover yourself or re-discover yourself. You discover just how tough you are. Epiphanies abound in these moments.

What also happens during these tests are moments of transcendence and inspiration. To endure despite doubt, fear, discomfort, and fatigue is to conquer.
 
I toe the line. I take the test. Ablaze, I fly across the finish line with nothing left.

I find my pop. I find my spark. I find my fire. The ennui burns leaving only a pile of ashes. This is why I do it.

This is the reason. The fire burns brightly. It won't be waning anytime soon.

If it does, I know what to do. The distance doesn't matter. The outcome doesn't matter. All that matters is I spend it all when I toe the line.

Inspiration can be found on a daily basis from simple runs down the street or up the hill or along the trail. It can be found in just a few easy minutes of running. A loop or two around the track can do it.

But, the tests one encounters on race day is where the fire is lit. It's all the wonderful moments of running amplified, augmented, and enhanced. If a test doesn't light your fire, nothing will.

I run because the fire needs to be lit...

I run because life is survived one mile at a time...

Life is not for the faint of heart. It's rife with hills, valleys, and bumps in the road. It's a journey of epic proportions any way you slice it.

Sometimes, I wonder how I've made it this far. I still have a long way to go. This journey is so long.

There are heartbreaks looming on the horizon. Fortunately, there are moments of bliss and ecstasy out there as well. Thinking about how much is left to be done can be overwhelming.

I don't know how I'm going to pull it all off. My heart races thinking of all that lies ahead. I wonder if I'm tough enough to finish.

Some call life a marathon. But, life is much more than 26.2 miles. There is no set number of miles one covers in life.

The finish line is rarely visible. It lurks in the shadows waiting to end things for us. We have no real say in when or how things end in this race.

The only way I know how to approach life is the same way I approach conquering 26.2 miles. I don't think of the entirety of the distance. It's too much.

I simply focus on the mile that is immediately in front of me. I knock it off and move on to the next one. The miles add up.

Each mile conquered is a victory. Each mile left behind is a reminder that I can endure another one. The miles accumulate.

Fatigue sets in. Muscles ache. The mind starts to ruminate on the enormity of the task. I quickly exorcise these thoughts and get back to the rule of one.

Run the mile in front of you. Just complete one. Then, complete another.

Stay present. Stay in the moment. What is directly in front of you is where your focus needs to be. What lies beyond will be dealt with when it arrives.

I can't see what lies ahead, so there's little point in sweating it. I take a deep breath, exhale, and tackle what is in front of me. Nothing I have encountered thus far has stopped me. I can handle the next mile.

Slowly, but surely, the journey becomes less daunting. It's a journey that can only be completed one mile at a time. It's the only way to survive it.

I run because life is survived one mile at a time...

I run because there is little I can control...

We live on a rock flying through space. Innumerable celestial objects hurtle through the solar system threatening to collide with us. I lie awake at night with these ideas rattling around in my head.

Volcanoes erupt. Earthquakes level. Tsunamis destroy. Sweet dreams are not made of this.

People make mistakes. Poor decisions are made. Bad things happen. It's a wonder anyone sleeps at night.

We do our best to establish order and control amidst chaos. We adhere to a regular schedule. We go to work. We do our job. We come home.

This routine soothes. It also deceives. It lends credence to the idea that we have control. But, we're neck deep in chaos.

This chaos manifests itself in innumerable ways. Still we ardently plug the dam with our fingers. We futilely attempt to prevent the floodgates from opening.

The chaos can overwhelm. My head spins with the infinite number of things that are beyond me. Life can feel like a runaway freight train from hell.

It's easy to get derailed. I find myself on the verge sometimes. The fears, doubts, questions, and anxieties swirl.

Not all hope is lost. There is one thing I can control. I need to remind myself of this. Running provides the reminder.

I'm in the driver's seat. I am the master and commander when I run. I am in complete control. Speed, distance, and destination are all within my hands.

The world spins. The wind howls. Torrential rain falls. But, none of these things can stop me. None of them can control me. 

A few controlled strides calms. The churning maelstrom of chaos that passes for life becomes less threatening. It becomes less foreboding.

I put distance between myself and the chaos. These miles are all mine. The thoughts that lead to sleepless nights fade away.

A few rhythmic breaths stabilizes. I will be the eye of the storm. Chaos can rage all around me. But, I will keep it together.

I will control the only thing the one thing I can. It's not much, but it's enough. I will control me.

I run because there is little I can control.

I run because I am a lone wolf..

I spend a lot of time alone. I don't have co-workers. I operate independently the vast majority of the time.

It's not the best way to operate. I've undoubtedly endured more discomfort than necessary as a result of this. I've put myself in tough spots because I'm reluctant to rely on others.

I've always been this way. I've become even less inclined to lean on others in the past decade since I've been rolling solo. Being fiercely independent is standard operating procedure.

Some might say I've got trust issues. Maybe I do. Whether I do or not, this is not the whole story.

While my job requires me to be Mr. Congeniality, this persona is only a part of who I am. I love my alone time. I love doing my own thing.

It's always been this way. I loved losing myself for hours in a book when I was a kid. I'd kill countless afternoons in the backyard imagining myself living off the land and fending for myself.

I played team sports, but I rarely enjoyed them. I attended parties, but never really felt comfortable at them. Spending time around people not infrequently stressed me out.

It was during my alone time that I would recharge. I'd recover. I'd lose myself in my own world.

Age has softened me a bit. I'm more comfortable around others than I used to be. I enjoy the company of others more than I once did.

But, the lone wolf is still there. He growls when his style is cramped. His hackles stand up when he needs room.

When the lone wolf is baying, I know it's time to create some space. There is only one thing to do. I take him for a run.

His snarl fades. The fangs retract. His tongue lolls and the hint of a grin emerges on his face.

We roll on in search of solitude. It doesn't take long before it's just the two of us. No one can keep up with us. No one can catch us.

The trail meanders further. We run deep into the woods. We leave it all behind.

It is deep in the woods miles away that we find what we're looking for. No one's here. This trail is ours, at least for now.

I pat his head and smooth his coat. We have to head back soon, but we'll linger a bit longer. He sighs loudly at peace in the solitude of the woods.

I run because I am a lone wolf...

I run because I have to move forward...

Patience is not one of my strong suits. It's a chink in my armor. It's a developmental opportunity.

My patience is supremely tried when I find myself hemmed in. It wears thin when I am in the middle of a mass of humanity going nowhere fast. It runs out when I am stuck in traffic.

I breathe deeply. I try to not let expletives fly. I try to keep it in check.

Unable to move forward, I stew. I feel trapped. The hackles rise on the back of my neck. I have to get out of here.

There must be an escape. Staying here is a slow death. The only way to stay alive is to keep moving.

Life can gridlock you. The way to move forward isn't clear. You find yourself stuck in a morass of motionless frustration.

These moments infuriate. These times try. An alternate route is required, but finding it is not easy.

When I'm neck deep in these gridlocked moments, there's only one way I know to break free. I set it all aside and step outside. There are a million paths in front of me.

Infinite options unfold. Strides evolve into miles. There's little doubt, I'm going somewhere.

Slow or fast, I'm moving forward. The path rolls on over hills and towards destinations I can't see. But, I am free.

There's nothing hemming me in. There's no gridlock. The frustration wanes. A calm washes over me.

There's a way to move forward. The alternate route is out there, I just have to find it. I just have to keep looking for it.

I keep running. Miles pass. Vague possibilities start to percolate.

My journey enters the final phase. I can see the end. I let it fly and the world becomes a blur.

Breathless, I bend over. Lightheaded, I breathe deeply. Fatigued, I haven't found the answer yet. But, a few things have become clear.

I'm not stymied. I'm not hemmed in. Nothing can stop me from moving forward but me.
 
I run because I have to move forward...

I run because I must finish....

Many sports end when time expires. Football, basketball, and soccer work this way. Get ahead and stay ahead before the clock runs out is standard operating procedure.

Running doesn't work that way. Everyone must cover a predetermined distance. No one can do it for you. Win or lose, everyone must finish.

You can't complete a race without covering the distance. Anyone who doesn't finish gets assigned the inordinately unsatisfying 'DNF'. This simply means 'did not finish'.

I've never been a fan of unfinished business. I am not a fan of loose ends. I like having closure. Mercifully, I've never experienced a 'DNF'.

I was not gifted with exceptional speed. I will never give any Kenyans a run for their money at any race. But, speed is not the only gift one can have.

I will suffer. I will bleed. I will do anything to finish. 

Finishing no matter what was the first lesson I learned as a runner. Slow, fast, plodding, or flying, finish the job. Sooner or later, you start to believe you can finish anything and endure anything.

Starting isn't easy, but it's a heck of a lot easier than finishing. When you start, you're usually well rested, well hydrated, and ready to go. No one feels terribly spry finishing.

Finishing demands fatigue. It demands discomfort, if not pain. Finishing demands that you endure.

There have been numerous races in which the fleeting thought of not finishing has crystallized. It's OK. You've worked so hard. You don't have to finish. There's nothing at stake here.

But, everything is at stake. These insidious voices with their messages of capitulation can lead you to your doom like a siren. Embrace this soothing voice and you inevitably will quit. You won't finish.

Like anything else, not finishing can become a habit. Suddenly, small bumps in the road become reasons to rationalize bailing out. Quitting becomes the norm.

So, I grimace and tell these voices to fuck off. I tell them that quitting isn't my bag. Quitting eventually leads to not starting.

I don't have to finish, but the emptiness of not finishing haunts. Finishing elicits a blinding, ecstatic rush of affirmation. I can fight. I can endure. I can finish. I can do anything.

I run because I must finish....