Why I run

We had a surprise visitor at our Mastermind meeting on Sunday. Internationally recognized speaker, educator, and writer, Denise Jacobs!  Denise was between trips, and chose to join us at our monthly pow-wow at the Coral Gables tea house. When my turn came to share, I brought up the marathon training schedule, and the difficulty I was having in following it.

“I have to run 4 miles today. I have to run 12 miles on Saturday. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep up with this schedule I have to follow.”

Denise sipped her tea. Thought for a moment and then spoke, “Is it something you have to do. Or is it something you get to do. Think about why you run, and what that means in your growth.”

She sipped her tea again.

Denise changed my entire perspective. Between 2 sips of tea.

I love spending time with people that love what they do.  They encourage you to do what you love. They encourage you to do. They encourage you to love. They encourage you to live.

When you tell anyone what they have to do, you can expect resistance. People don’t do things they have to do. They do things that they want to do. You can find a plethora of information on how to run a marathon. But you have to have your own reason for why.

What am I doing? I’m preparing to run a Marathon in London, to raise money for tuberculosis research. TB put me in the hospital in 2013, and I almost didn’t come out.

How am I preparing? I have a training schedule. I have Flip running with me and holding me accountable. I have Julie pulling me away from the computer and making me run. I have a strong support group of people that are hosting me, encouraging me.

But WHY am I doing it? Why am I deciding to run 26.2 miles? I could raise money for TB without taking a step. I wouldn’t have to worry about my knees, or my back. I wouldn’t have to get special permission to self-monitor my daily medication treatment. I wouldn’t need to fly to London, England to run in a crowd of 30,000 people. I could make a charity campaign, write a check. Be done.

So, why do I need to run?

Well, there was a time when I did not have the option.

Watch a child step onto a playground. They don’t stroll from the monkey bars to the swing. They don’t mosey on over to the slide. As soon as they get out of the stroller, their jacket comes off, they look at the world before them.  They don’t inch over to the sandbox.

They haul ass.

They might fall down on the way. They dust off, and keep running. Don’t let them get into a group. The whole group runs from one piece of equipment to the next. If there’s no equipment interesting them, they run in circles. I might be thinking of dogs. Still, it doesn’t matter.

Maybe it’s because they know what it’s like to be in a closed space for months, They know they don’t like lying on their backs. The fight to lift their heads. They struggle to sit up. Then to stand, holding on for support. They fall, and learn to get up and try again. Your parents can give you all the love and support, but they can’t take the steps for you. They learn to walk. Eventually, they learn to run. You can’t take kids to the park and expect them to walk. Thats like telling them to crawl. Walk?! That’s last year’s class. That would be going backwards.

I have always lived by movement. Varsity swimmer, varsity track, beach volleyball, biking, whatever. I live in motion. I was born in the car on the way to the hospital. You can say that I hit the ground running.

36 years later, I started going backwards.

I stopped being able to play. I stopped being able to run. I ended up where I never started – in the hospital.

I opened my eyes that November in the hospital, and saw my mother.  I couldn’t move. I was stuck in a closed room. Lying on my back. I could barely sit up. Eventually I crawled out of bed. I fell the first time I tried to stand. My brother held me as I learned to walk.

It’s been a year and a half since that day. A year and a half working towards a life in motion. The first day out of the hospital, I got on my bicycle and…ran into a pole. I got up, started again and smashed into the curb, flipping over onto my back. I laid on the sidewalk, my eyes watering. I thought of the comfort of the hospital. Being surrounded by people that would pick you up, roll you in a stretcher. Get you a wheel chair. I didn’t want a stroller. I wanted to move forward. I picked myself up.

I recorded my first accomplishment – walking. 1 mile. Eventually I lumbered through 3 miles, with breaks.

In January of 2015, I completed a half marathon. 13.1 miles. that’s the farthest I had ever run in my life. In April I am running the London Marathon.

Not because I have to. Because I can.

There is a finish line that I am training towards. I’m preparing to cross it. It’s going to happen. But that’s not why I run. I run because I refuse to go backwards.  Life may eventually put me into a place that I can’t run. Or walk. Or even crawl. Again. That might happen.

But not today.

Today, I strap on my sneakers.
Today, I look at my training schedule. I smile.
Today, I step into my playground.
Today, I haul ass.

-sGB

#WhyIRun