I love running. (But I didn’t always, remember?)
I love running because of how it uplifts and humbles you all at once.
It uplifts you whenever you finish anything – even if it was just an easy run. It humbles you when you can’t even finish an easy run due to injury or fatigue or stomach troubles. (If the Olympic marathoners have to bow out of the race sometimes – after they’ve lived, breathed, and trained Olympic marathon for the past four years, that means everyone has bad days!)
It uplifts you as you charge with ease up a huge hill. It humbles you when more people see you coasting back down that huge hill and none of them know you just kicked its butt.
It uplifts you whenever you run faster or further than you had ever run before. It humbles you when babies or job stress or travel or family emergency or getting older throws a wrench in your training and you can’t run as fast or as far as you used to run.
It uplifts you when you beat a thinner or more experienced-looking runner in a race or even just once around the track. It humbles you when you get beat by a chubbier or less experienced-looking runner in the last mile of the half-marathon.
It uplifts you when you nod to fellow runners, knowing that they, too know the unspoken discipline it takes to be a runner. It humbles you when you wave whole-heartedly at a fellow runner and they don’t even acknowledge your existence.
Isn’t that great!?