Yesterday was a beautiful sunny Sunday in September. But it wasn’t just any Sunday, it was Berlin Marathon Sunday. On another sunny Sunday in September 2005 I was on my way towards the starting corrals of that marathon at 8 in the morning, feeling more nervous and sick and excited than ever before in my life. I was about to run my first marathon. And I did. And then I did it again half a year later at the Hamburg Marathon. And again in Berlin and then again in Hamburg. Because clearly I am crazy. Why else would I want to do something again and again (and then again and again) that hurts, takes months to prepare, makes me feel physically sick and then I don’t actually enjoy it when the big day finally comes? Because let me tell you, after 20km no marathon is “fun” anymore. You just want to get home as fast as possible and at least for me running more than those 20km really isn’t all that fast.
The reason why is much more simple than being crazy. It’s because I love it. This morning I went on a trail run through the forest for the first time in over a week because I had been ill the last few days. The morning sun was shining lazily through the trees, a misty haze made everything look soft and pretty and the air smelled so good it felt like breathing in liquid honey. Okay, no. That sounds horrible. It just smelled good. No metaphor needed here.
Everything you’ve ever heard about running? It’s all true.
Except for the weight loss. That’s a lie.
Running makes me happy. It makes me sleep better. It also makes me feel like dying occasionally but since I haven’t (so far) it should be fine.
I am not very fast but I like to run races. I can be really competitive. So I run long distances. The longer I run the better it gets.
Running made me realize that I can get through everything if I persevere and achieve whatever I want to as long as I try hard enough.
Also running makes me grin like an idiot. Might be the endorphins.