On Running: Motivation
Of all the recent posts I have had on running, this is easily the hardest one to write. My thoughts are hard to articulate (a psychologist could probably explain myself better), though I will do my best.
I do not really like running. I hate it less than I used to, but I don't like it. I'm not competitive, I have no runner friends, and I have bad knees. It's kind of ironic that so often I pay someone money for the opportunity to get up early and engage in an activity that I don't really enjoy. So, why do I run so damn much? Here are some of the reasons why I think I do.
There is something primitive about running. It's one of the few physical activities out there, that is completely inherent in human beings: unlike most sports, no one needs to teach you how to run, you just know. I like pushing myself. Running is also a loners sport, and I am very much a complete loner. In Timothy Noakes 'Lore of Running' he cites personality characteristics that have been attributed to runners: "an overwhelming desire for solitude, daydreaming, procrastination, and an inability to make decisions". I've also read this in other books as well, such as Dean Karnazes 'Ultra Marathonman' where he mentions that distance running is a complete loners activity. There is something fulfilling about just getting out and running for miles and miles by yourself and putting everything behind you with each step you take.
It's no secret that I have low self esteem. Running gives me a sense of accomplishment that I don't get from much else. When I'm in a race, and I put on a bib with a number on it, I feel like I'm a part of something. When I'm running my heart out and people I've never met stand on the sidelines cheering me on, it gives me such an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, that I can't even put it into words. When I've torn through a finishline, completely spent, I feel like I have actually pushed my human form and done something somewhat cool with my body. When I get medals, I have a tangible item that tells me that I actually accomplished something on some level, regardless of how small.
As much as I don't want to say it, like many things in my life, I often wonder if I do it not out of love, but out of hatred. I think back to when I was a little boy and everytime I'd do an easter egg run, everyone else would run by me and I'd get no candy. I think back to middle school and how I couldn't even finish the mile run at school. I remember my peers laughing at me and my PE teacher shaking her head in disgust at me. I remember always being told I was weak, slow, and being made fun of for many years. I think back to all the "athletic" people in school and how much more credit they seemed to get for everything they did, and how much resentment I always had towards them. I think about my last surgeon, the one who told me that my knees were too destroyed and that I should never run again. All these experiences eat at me with every step I take. Well, what now, bitches?
With hatred comes pain. Sometimes I get so angry at the world around me and how my life has turned out that I just put on my running shoes and tear into the pavement, bent on pushing myself faster and further than I have ever gone, so I can embrace the creeping pain, pound on my chest, and scream "Is that all you fucking got?! I can take anything you throw at me!"
I often wonder if this is a phase. I've been running off and on for many years, but this is the first year where I actually started training seriously to the point of near obsession. I'm a passionate guy when it comes to activities, but exactly how much am I really truly into running? There is only so much you can do with running. Will it get boring? Will I get to physically tired? Too mentally beat up? Will I get to a point where I feel like I have nothing left to prove? Will I do all the races I want to and give it up? How long will this last? I guess only time will tell...