Why do we run?
The challenge? The Competitiveness? The Glory? Whatever the reason(s), we do it.
For me, the reasons vary, depending on the day. I get more inspired to run in a thunderstorm, than in 60-degree weather. This voluntary act of punishment has existed in my family for most of my life. I attribute it to my father, of whom most of you know, or have at least seen around. For reference, he is the guy running with no shirt on in February. He is a runner defined. I can recall a basket that hung from the ceiling in our kitchen; it was a dark woven wicker basket, very wide and deep. To me as a young boy it felt bottomless. My father however managed to fill it. He filled it with thousands of memories, and thousands of miles, all under the guise of Race Numbers. A small unassuming piece of paper with some numbers on it. That’s it, just ink and paper, the power is in the meaning, what they represent. Each one was a race, a memory, a struggle, a success, a story. That was what running looked liked to me. My dad coming home from a race unpinning the number and tossing it in the basket.
It was not until my mid twenties that I started running with any great devotion. I can say I started for many reasons, but if to mention only one, than it would be to have a better relationship with my Dad. We would suffer together out on the road, suck it in when the girls drove by, and occasionally give the finger to a discourteous driver. It was a wonderful time. I have always been more of a biker than runner. So that led to bi-athlons. My dad would run and I would bike. The only problem being, he was to dam fast! He would crush the run and then I would get thrown in against world-class cyclist, and I don’t wear spandex! So I just pedaled as hard as I could until my legs pumped battery acid, and then I pedaled some more.
I am a lucky guy; running has had such a positive impact on my life, whether as a participant or as just son anxious to hear how his father finished in the marathon.
The bug has also spread to other parts of my family. My Uncle Donny (a Boston Marathon veteran), my sister Andrea, who was great at running…away after she pushed me down the stairs, or some display of equal love. Also, my Uncle Billy, who took part in the very first Danvers Fun Run, and continues to shave off seconds weekly. He recently completed his first marathon in Florida, and is currently training for his first Boston Marathon. Look out Kenyans!
One of the reasons for me writing this is humbleness. These guys have accomplished a lot in their running careers, but choose to duck the spotlight, quiet in their victories, but always boastrous towards others on theirs. If I were to define the characteristics of what makes a true runner, I would need look no further. Even as I write this now to share with you, I can picture my dad being reluctantly flattered, and a bit embarrassed, Well T.S.
On a side note, when you see me at Cody’s with my running shoes (IT’S ON!) So you keep training, and I’ll keep talking.
Thanks, Adam.
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