I don’t know why I started running.
Scratch that. I know why I started running, but I don’t think I can put it into words.
Some of it is the “traditional” stuff. I needed to lose weight and to be fit. I’d been swimming pretty consistently for about a year, a feat of which I’m very proud, but I was starting to burn out. I didn’t want to come to a place where I would burn out on exercising entirely, so I knew I needed to try something else.
Part of it is my own desire for an accomplishment. I still have vivid memories of being the last kid to finish running in PE as a child. I’ve never been a runner. I thought it would be pretty cool to finish a race (like a 5k), because then I could call myself a runner.
But I think the biggest reason I began running is to give me something that I could do myself. That sounds like mumbo-jumbo, and it doesn’t really explain the way I felt. A lot of changes were happening my life, very unexpected changes, and all happening at once. I was dealing with a lot. I was struggling all over again to find my place in life. I needed something that could be mine.
So I ran.