Why run?

I could begin my first column with all of the health advantages of running. I could try and convert the nonbelievers with statistics, medical jargon, and case studies that would bore you before you finished the first paragraph.

If that didn’t work, I might try and explain the improved emotional and psychological effects running might incite.

Yet, in the end, there’s really nothing I can say that might convince the naysayers out there. Truth be told, my end goal is not to establish a new running movement of health conscious extremist running zealots. My wish is to help people discover who they really are.

My own story begins years ago. It begins when as a kid, I, like many others, at some point “forgot” how to run. No, not literally. All one has to do is look to the nearest elementary school, day-care, or their own children or grandchildren to realize to be young means to run.

Even my own son practically began running before he could walk. It’s who we are.

For some reason, as we grow older, somehow we develop a fear of running and begin to spend our time on the couch, in the movie theatre, in an office, or even watching other grown adults on the television who get paid to play a sport; doing the thing we no longer do.

Running is no longer the priority it once was, and our desire to “go outside” (as my own son demands daily), is substituted with a loathing for anything physical.

I realized about ten years ago I was unhappy with who I had become. I further realized I only had myself to blame. If I were to change, I also had only myself to depend upon. I dug out a pair of old sneakers, an old t-shirt, and a pair of shorts, and went outside. It was as easy as tying my laces. Once I was outside, the hardest part was over. That’s not to say the next part was easy.

Every step I took was harder than the previous. It was hard to breathe. It was cold. Or it was hot. Or it was raining. I was sore. I developed blisters. Running was nowhere as much fun as it used to be. The list of excuses quickly got longer. The one trait that probably frustrates my wife more than any other, my stubbornness, gave me the strength I needed. One more block. To the next fire hydrant. One more hill. Any goal I could set, even if it was a few extra feet, helped. Soon the blisters went away, the breathing got easier, and the excuses seemed to diminish.

It wasn’t easy, and “life happens.” I worked a rotating schedule. I had chores to do. I started going to college again. I got married and we had a child. The list of excuses got longer. Some weeks I would skip days. Some months I would skip weeks. But after time went by, guilt would set in, and I’d dig out those old shoes again, and go back to the promise I had once made myself, mile by painful mile.

I was never a great runner. Slowly, over time, I found some joy in the run. The peace, solitude, and time for self-reflection, combined with a 5k race here or there to keep it fresh and exciting, kept running part of my life (sometimes reluctantly).

That’s before running helped save my life. Every good story needs a climax, and mine happens to have occurred when I was at work almost a year and a half ago. I sustained multiple life-threatening injuries; others with similar injuries had died.

God was looking out for me that day, and as fate would have it, many things worked out in my favor. As I recovered, one of my doctors told me something that I will never forget, “If it were not for the fact that you were in as good a shape as you were in, you may not be alive today. The heart can only handle but so much stress.”

It turns out that in addition to God, maybe I did have a small part to play in my own recovery. Every fire hydrant I had run to, every blister suffered, and every difficult breath of air gasped, had actually mattered. They mattered far more than winning any 5k ever could have. Those old sneakers actually helped save my own life.

Ironically, running, and even walking, was something I couldn’t do immediately after my injuries. And I had no control over it. For the first time since I was a child I was like my own son demanding to play outside.

I found myself wanting more than anything to feel the sunshine on my face and fresh air fill my lungs. My wife may call it “stubbornness”, but I like the word determination. You never know how much you might miss something until it’s taken away.

Like a kid trying to bargain with their parents, I found myself bargaining with the doctors.

Months of rehabilitation, and even more months of conditioning went by. Before I knew it, I was “let outside” again, small steps at first.

Once I was given the go-ahead, I never looked back. I have told many people that having a second chance at life is one of the best things that ever happened to me.

What I don’t usually say is how I have not only learned how to live again, but also how to play. Now the distances get longer, the pace gets faster. The goals are larger. Marathons have replaced the 5k. Every time I pull out the shoes my smile is wider than the time before. I look forward to running like my son looks forward to playing.

I was asked to write a column about running. I’m not an Olympian. I don’t spend every free moment in the gym. If I ever place in a race it would be a major accomplishment. None of that matters. Alas, the true secret about running presents itself, and I’m going to share this trade secret with the whole world (or at least the handful of people that have actually read this far).

Anyone can do it. We are born to do it. It may not be easy. It may be painful at first. Nevertheless, more than any other sport, it’s you against yourself and the more you do, the easier it becomes. Yet, there is an even more tightly kept secret. Ask my son and he might tell you. It can be fun; it should be fun. Remind yourself.

Find you motivation. Set a goal. And be stubborn. Over the course of this column, I will do my best to share advice, motivation, and perhaps even answer a few questions. I will share others’ stories. I will do everything I can to convince you.  And if you still decide running isn’t for you? Like my son says, “Go outside!”

John Taylor is a running enthusiast and police detective who writes from Roanoke Rapids.