Step. Step. Pause. Breath. Step. Step. Sprint. While wearing only a thin tank top and shorts, I recently found myself running a three-mile race in nearly 30-degree weather. For fun. My lungs felt like a floating icebox in my chest. In my ears, I could only hear my heavy breaths reverberating from side to side. I remember looking straight ahead at the trees and dirt path in front of me, not really comprehending what I saw. My head and thoughts were frozen in time, although my legs were still moving forward. All my body knew in that moment was that I was running. Running seemed to have this power over my body: My brain no longer controlled my movements, and my legs took their own course.
Upon finishing the race, I felt like my legs simply said, “You can stop now,” so I stopped. I was suddenly thrown back into reality, one that escaped me for the past 22 minutes. I had blurry vision and a hazy understanding of what my body just went through. Tears fell from my eyes and my forehead was cold with dried sweat. A doctor might think I was going to pass out, but this feeling was something beyond medical explanation. I didn’t realize it at the time, but running had an almost mystical power over me.
I felt something I never thought I could feel. I steadily came to realize that running has some power over people. This is the power to rise above human limitations and defy the notion that we humans are flightless.
Our species tends to assume we are the strongest and smartest creatures in the room. While scientifically we are the most intellectual of creatures, the notion that we are the strongest is far-fetched. The truth is, humans are fragile, not only physically, but mentally. Physically, we have several limitations on our bodies. We couldn’t even lick our own elbows if we wanted to.
While being physically restricted, people are also mentally fragile and have complex emotions that are hard to fully understand. One feeling that incapacitates us is fear. It can paralyze us in a matter of seconds. Like that feeling when running, when feeling fear, the brain and the body separate. Running, however, offers a relief from that fear, a way that our body can rise above the things that hurt and hinder humans. Limitations are left behind, somewhere among the trees and that dirt path.
Running for pleasure is often misunderstood. I’m often asked, “Why do you run for fun? Are you crazy?” Having more than a few miles under my belt, I am acutely aware and have been on both sides of this question. The “fun” runner usually answers this with a mixture of modesty or the casual, “Well, good exercise, I guess.” Sure, running is a great exercise, but really, running is an escape. When you run, you might not realize it, but you are pushing yourself both mentally and physically. When I ran in high school, I would tell people that running was the hardest sport. There’s no real equipment involved and no teammate that you are face to face with. You are running against yourself. There are actually moments in running where reality’s problems become the driving force in your speed and your endurance. It’s a chance to escape.
Forces that once held you down and challenges that once seemed impossible simply disappear when you run. You can focus on where your legs are going and where they will take you. In this way, you are embodying what it means to take control and make your body move even when your brain might resist. This power, this conquering of limitation is attainable when you run. This is why running seems so crazy to people. When you run, you are attaining a seemingly impossible feat.
While not physically running all the time, I feel like I am constantly being outrun by the high standards and goals of perfection I set for myself. Trying to reach these standards is a constant race I may never finish. Somehow, I’m a minute too late, a few steps short, or too slow to start. The way I escape this is through the long stride, and the push I feel when I run. The feeling that my mind will finally release the white-knuckle grasp it has on me. Instead, the green grass and pavement cushion each heavy step. With each stride, my feet create a rhythm for my body to follow. With this rhythm, I feel strong, empowered, and secure in my own skin.
Izzy Wollfarth is a Rhodes College student and intern at Contemporary Media, Inc.
