Born to try

Sand in my shoes (Photo Courtesy : Praveen Chavannavar)

The legs feel like lead. There is a slight pinging pain in your left knee. A remnant of an old injury is making a comeback at the worst of times. The strides feel out of sync. I feel like I am stressing my right leg more. The Michigan August summer is peaking. Perspiration refuses to evaporate in the hot humid air. I am at mile marker 2 and seriously questioning the wisdom of going out for a run.

For the first 21 years of my life in India I never considered running as an acceptable form of exercise. In the United States I witnessed runners in all shapes and sizes and at all times of the day. On the coldest of days as I returned from the Lab having completed my homework, I would come across a runner dressed in winter tights seeming pleasantly content with him-self.

When I began my first job, my roommate happened to be a runner himself. I was sufficiently intrigued and decided to put on my sneakers and shorts and started to run. As expected, I thoroughly hated it. Perhaps it was because running exposed how out of shape I really was. Or perhaps it was because it did not seem like there was any objective to the exercise at all. There wasn’t any victory and there wasn’t a first place. It seemed like hauling your body mass around the block and coming back exhausted was the worst way you could spend the evening. I wasn’t even built like a runner. With a large mass at the mid-riff and short stocky legs, I resembled more a hurried Rhino than a galloping Gazelle.

Mile marker 3

Yet, strangely, I persisted with the act. I wanted to understand why so many people were doing it. Why someone would choose eagerly to do this? And why would someone attempt to run 26.2 miles in one go? The more runners I came to know the more I was puzzled. So I stuck with it. My distances slowly increased. My post running exhaustion decreased. My strides gained a resemblance of rhythm. And I slowly began to enjoy the ability to zone out in amongst throes of cars on a road or within a dense trail.

The simplicity of running is its most attractive trait. The fact that you need a pair of shoes, socks, shorts and a t shirt to head out for a run makes it always an accessible form of physical exercise. If you run in the city you end up noticing people and objects (I saw tiny fairies once in Ann Arbor) that you wouldn’t have seen had you just drove. It is one of the best ways of checking out your neighborhood or new surrounding whens you move/travel. As miles rack up you begin to understand how far and close things really are. In a park you can hear nature at its patient best. On the best of days, the perspiration cools you down to a level where you feel you could just go forever. The heart beat feels relaxed and your legs seem to be on cruise control.

Mile marker 4

The competitive factor is its most discrete trait. For the longest time I convinced myself that I couldn’t run past three miles. Until one day my body and my mind made a deal on a state park trail and the three of us continued running six miles. Running constantly exposes boundaries that you surpass as if they were never real. It is this implicit competition that you have with your body that finally had me hooked. The added aspect of discipline and regularity only makes it that much more attractive.

The evening is cooling down. My legs have regained their stride. My shoes feel like they don’t exist. I am relishing the dripping of my sweat on the trail. My breathing has relaxed. Mile markers seem like eventualities. My mind is free. My vision is clear. My calves have no fear. I am here to outrun my boundaries. I am here to burst through imaginary boxes.

Mile marker Home. Post shower.

I convince myself that even if I wasn’t born to run long distances, I was meant to never stop trying.