WHAT ARE YOU
RUNNING FROM?
Ever more of us are donning our runners and pounding the pavement – but are we running towards
what we want to be, or away from what we don’t?
WORDS: JASON KARP
have a friend who thinks I, like other hardcore runners,
am self-absorbed and elitist, that I am all about
running all the time, that nothing else matters, and
that if you don’t run yourself, you are judged as less than someone
who does. She is not alone in her opinion. What bothers many
people about runners is our almost arrogant attitude that we are
somehow better than everyone else because we run and that by
running we are somehow fulfilling some grand destiny. We look at
people who don’t run as somehow inferior because their resting
heart rate is not below fifty, and as somehow complacent
because they’re not willing to push themselves physically for the
pursuit of a faster time on a stopwatch. We wonder when they are
going to have a heart attack.
It doesn’t take long for non-runners to figure out that runners
are indeed a different breed. We spend a lot of time reflecting on
our runs and races. We talk about PRs (personal records) and
whether a run felt good or bad. We lay out our clothes on the floor
the night before a race like a five-year-old preparing for school
tomorrow. We spread a substance called Body Glide on our groin
and nipples to prevent chafing during long runs. Most runners are
a bit crazy.
Runners have an obsession with running that rivals most other
obsessions, perhaps because runners truly believe that they are
running toward who they want to be, toward some panacea. For
me, and I suspect for many other runners, running narrows the
gap between who I am and who I can be, between my reality and
my aspirations. If Body Glide helps me to become the person I
aspire to be, so be it.
People should do whatever exercise they want to do, as long as
they do something. People don’t have to run. I guess I’m guilty of
believing that if people ran, their lives – and the world – would be
much better. I really do believe that. There is something about a
runner’s approach to running and life – and their search for meaning
in their running and life – that distinguishes them from all other
people who exercise. Problems are solved on runs. Running gives
us the promise of hope for a better future. If the world’s political
leaders ran together for their meetings, and the rest of the public
followed their lead, the world would indeed be a better place.
With all of the running I’ve done over the years, I’ve been asked
I
16 | NETWORK SUMMER 2016
many times what I’m running away from. People, especially nonrunners, seem to think that because I run a lot, I must be running
away from something. Why else would I run so much? Their
question always startles me because I’ve always seen myself as
running toward something. What it is that I’m running toward I’m
not always sure. However, it’s usually toward getting faster. This
was certainly the case when I was younger and my fastest races
were still in my future. I always wanted to be faster. The challenge
of getting faster was thrilling. Over the years and through different
phases of my life, what I’m running toward has changed.
Lately, I’ve been running back toward my youth, chasing the
times of my younger running self. But, being in my early forties, I
reluctantly realise that my fastest races are behind me and I have
to find new meaning for my running. I’m still trying to get faster,
to get at least within arm’s reach of the times of my youth, but
now my running is about getting faster relative to my age and to
how fast I am today rather than to my personal records I ran in my
twenties. It’s humbling to say the least. When I race now, I can’t
help but compare my times to what I used to run. It bothers me
that I am running slower than I used to. When I run a bad race and
I don’t feel sharp, it negatively affects me. I don’t feel good about
myself. ‘Why do I feel this way?’ I ask myself; ‘It’s just running.’
Ultimately, in life’s bigger picture, running is just an activity I
choose to do. It shouldn’t define my self-worth. Yet it does, and
I am perplexed as to why. I suspect that other runners feel the
same way. Are runners so self-absorbed – am I so self-absorbed
– that I cannot feel good about myself if my running is not going
well? Has this been my destiny all along? Running gives a lot of
people confidence. It’s why I included it as a chapter in my book,
The Inner Runner. For me, however, that confidence is too often
tied to how fast I run, and now, in my forties, to a comparison of
how fast my races used to be and how fast I used to feel. When
I run fast, when I feel fast, it creates a powerful confidence that
penetrates everything else I do. I feel on top of the world. I post
pictures on Facebook and Instagram of me racing and include
a clever and inspirational caption for my followers. Somehow,
being physically fit and fast influences the way I feel about myself
and my outlook on the world. It gives me a sense of achievement.
For most of us, our confidence is intimately connected to our