I’m not a good runner.
Thanks to the efforts, advice and patience of many good friends and coaches I’m no longer a frankly bad runner. But my running form is still terrible, my nutrition plagued by bad habits, and my training discipline a mess that jumps all over the place.
It’s quite a miracle that, in spite of myself, I’ve somehow managed to become a fairly proficient runner who’s tackled distances, beat challenges and achieved times once I only dreamed of, and even managed to come out of it in pretty decent physical and emotional shape.
Perhaps this is why there are people who, to my surprise, have actually told me they consider me a good runner.
The truth is my only real quality –or curse– as a runner is that I’m not only very tough, but also incredibly fucking stubborn.
Once I’ve committed myself to reaching a goal I have to keep running, walking, limping, crawling… no matter what it takes, I have to reach that goal.
I just don’t know when to quit.
When I’m running, I don’t even know HOW to quit.
It may sound harrowing at first glance, almost like a refined form of masochistic self-torture. And perhaps it might be, if it wasn’t for the fact that running is itself my saving grace.
Running makes me feel alive.
Running I have learned to enjoy the simple pleasure of the wind caressing my face, the rhythmic beating of my feet on the ground, or the tide and flow of my breath
Running I have experienced that surge of adrenaline that comes from facing your fear of the unknown, and conquering it.
Running I have discovered the warm feeling from the smile of total strangers whose shared battle has turned them into brothers at the finish line.
Running has brought some amazing and inspiring people to my life, and even given me the chance to call them friends.
Running I’ve found joy, and inner peace.
Yes, I am not a good runner… but I am a very, very happy one.