A year ago at this time I was eerily close to hanging it up. I could not seem to heal myself. I thought my body’s inherent ability to run had been erased through a cyclical pattern of injury.
I can recall running at the lake for long runs; Wherein, I would injure myself for the next six days, only to return the following Sunday with my running buddy to do it all again. This is how I ran Disney. This is how I ran Boston.
One of two things would happen. I would either solider on to the next thing, ignoring the pains and suffrages that I learned to embrace - Or I would simply stop.
At times I thought maybe I had run too much for my own good. Degenerated my tissue and skeletal system to an ignominious level of peril. What was most disconcerting was the fact that none of my ailments were “clinical”. I didn’t have a torn meniscus, a ligamental tear, or even shin splints. I had pains that wouldn’t leave which rendered me incapable of walking without some limp or stride deficiency.
Waking up on a rainy May morning, the day of commencement, I walked down to the hotel treadmill and gave it a whirl. I ran two miles absent the sharp, snapping pain of compartment syndrome.
Throughout the summer I ran more and more, but still careful not to do anything that would elicit the old pains of autumn, winter and spring.
I feel blessed to be able to run now. Going out without thinking of what I’ll feel like after; Not forecasting how hard it will be to walk to class the following morning; Or even if I’ll be able to run many years from now.
Every step I take at this place is one of understanding.
Every hill can spark a flash-bulb memory of some sort of pain.
But sometime between the pre-dawn hours and the ride home, I have begun anew.
I long to run with those who presently cannot. On these trails I learned to become a distance runner. Every time I run here, I think of someone who painfully can’t. I no longer begin the run and condemn those whom are not out here. I breathe the same cold air in ecstasy today that I breathed a year ago on the most familiar trails, but under the most uncomfortable of conditions.
A runner whom is removed from his habits faces a test far greater than any race, or of any physiological capacity. The best runners are those who can recover from forced physical inhibition, and find a renewed passion for the sport.
Whatever the ailment, wherever the recovery, and however long the leave of absence, the human will soldiers on. It’s what brought me back here. It is what ensures the survival of contentment. It is the antagonist of false security. It is what has ensured the democratic promises of the English-speaking peoples for centuries.
The human will is a simple organism, which is engineered for a single quality:
To prevail.
