I always have to laugh when I tell someone I run because it’s beautiful and they look at me with pain in their eyes.
Or when I see those posts that say running can’t be fun; have you ever seen a runner smiling? (I smile a lot when I run, by the way! Some may say I look like a crazy person!)
Running is probably one of the most beautiful things, aside from marriage and babies, I’ve ever done.
I’ve run through numerous states, over a variety of landforms: hills, valleys, rocks, grass, sand.
I’ve run up mountains and down mountains; along the beach and past fields of flowers.
I’ve run in places I would forget if not for the specific running memories, like the small town in Utah that smelled so sweetly of wildflowers, and the snow-covered back country streets of West Virginia, where I prepared for my first-ever 5K.
I’ve run during sunrises and sunsets.
I’ve run in rain, in snow, in wind, and, once because I was mildly stupid, a small hurricane.
I’ve run through mental pains, like when my close friend died, my aunt died and my mother had a stroke.
I ran my first half marathon to commemorate a miscarriage at eleven weeks, an event that left me devastated. At each mile marker of that race, I said goodbye to the baby I never got to hold.
On some of these runs the tears and heaping gulps of frustration stopped me, doubled me over; and when they did, I looked out over wherever I was – ocean or country, hills or flatlands - and I thought, Wow. Life is beautiful.
All runners understand the beauty that rests in nothing but the feet and the mind. It’s tangible.
I can’t imagine living my life without it.
I had two excellent birthday runs this weekend. Both were beautiful; just see for yourself:
