Truth be told, I never quite figured out why I started running. I had spent my school career a bona fide nerd; the last place you’d think to find me was out on the track. But whether by parental pressure or divine intervention, something dragged me away from my Descartes and Hemingway and landed me square in the middle of the cross country team.
Admittedly, running was not love at first sight.
It hurt. There was the exhaustion, the soreness, the callouses. The things that, for some, immediately trigger the gag reflex at the sound of the word “running.” I spent a decent chunk of time not knowing why anyone in their right mind would readily do this before something finally started to click.
It wasn’t what I expected out of a sport. It wasn’t fierce or aggressive; the gratification didn’t come from a heated moment of competition. It was meditative, calming, a quiet place to escape. Heading out to run each day gave me a chance to put aside school for a few minutes and focus on my body, the world around me, and just moving forward.
Beyond the basic being-decently-in-shape-ness, I can’t really attest to the physiological benefits of running. I’ve heard that it’ll do anything from enlarging the heart to curing cancer; all I’ve managed to procure is sports-induced asthma and some nice, thick blisters. But I do know that there’s no better cure for midterms than a good run. Spend a day pouring over textbooks, and the famous gush of endorphins (so aptly labelled the runner’s high) is nothing less than a clean shot of euphoria.
I won’t lie -- running hurts. But like so much of life, it’s not theft; it’s exchange. Running might take a lot of grit teeth and tenacity, but it offers some great moments and a place to go when the world is just too much.
