Run for Your Life
IT IS WHAT IT ISBy Lisa SugarmanI run. I run a lot. Less than some, more than others. But I’m not an ultra marathoner or one of the elites. I’m no one glamorous, just a soccer mom and a third-grade reading tutor.I run because I never could and now I can. It’s simple, really. Growing up I played school sports and ran my share of suicide drills on the middle school soccer field, but I could never run — just didn’t have the endurance for it.I used to envy people I saw running. I envied the solitude and the strength and the peace of it. So I trained for and ran my first 10K in my late 20s. I finished, but the only thing behind me was the ambulance and some woman pushing 60 (I smoked her at the finish). It was brutal and exhilarating all at once. I loved everything about it.Then I had my kids and I stopped running. I stopped for almost a decade. I’m really not sure why; I just stopped. Then, on a family holiday to Florida five years ago (at 36), I went out for a walk that morphed into a run. I haven’t stopped since. I can’t say why I started to run that day; I just did. I just couldn’t sit there watching people anymore. We all have our tipping points and I guess that was mine.I’ve gotten faster over the years. Nothing dramatic, but definitely noticeable. I’ve run 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons, and now my husband and I are running our first marathon later this month.But I don’t run for speed (anyone who sees me running knows that); I run for clarity. I’d be lying if I said I don’t run for the obvious reasons like: good cardio, to keep weight off, to stay fit. But mostly I run for the mental health of it.Funnily enough, the more I run, the clearer things are. And when you do any kind of distance running you’ve got a LOT of time to kill. There are Zunes and iPods, but those will only take you so far before they become monotonous and even a little annoying. So eventually you’re going to wind up just running.And it’s amazing what your mind conjures up when you’re alone in your own head for any real length of time. It’s a real exercise in isolation. Even though life is moving all around you, you’re completely alone. It’s like you’re in some wacked-out version of solitary confinement that moves.But I actually do much more than just run when I run. I solve problems, make decisions, plan out my day, mediate fights — I pretty much run the gamut (no pun, I swear). I’m usually so engrossed in whatever I’m thinking about that it’s like I’m somewhere else altogether. It’s amazing I haven’t fallen on my face yet. (OK, well, maybe I have, but it’s only happened a couple of times and not when anyone was looking.)I’ve realized that running is a metaphor for my life. (Of course I figured all this out while I’m running.) You’re alone when you run, yet you’re surrounded by people most of the time. But they can’t run the run for you. No matter how much support we have, we have to do it on our own.And there’s no perfect run, either. Like there’s no perfect life. My runs mimic my days: they’re never exactly perfect but some are as close as they can be. Some runs are epic, just like some days are, and those are the ones we live for. I’m just glad I keep tallying them up.I run in the ice, the snow, the rain, the heat and everything in between. Just like I get up and move forward every day, whether it’s raining, snowing or scorching (you get the idea).I run races I know I could never win, but I do it to challenge myself and to break up the status quo. Just like I’m trying (yes, still trying) to learn to play the guitar. I’m not doing it to be Joni Mitchell or Joan Benoit; I’m just doing it to improve the quality of my days. Because whenever we’re pushed, we usually respond by pushing back. And I think pushing back is exactly what helps us to keep moving forward.Lisa Sugarman lives in Marblehead, Massachusetts. Read and discuss all her columns at facebook.com/ItisWhatitisColumn OR read her blog at http://itiswhatitiscolumn.wordpress.com.