Why the f**k do I still run?
Ruminations this Global Running Day (4 miles run)
*Rated PG-13: Strong language
Why the fuck do I still run? I suppose I’d say, off the top of my head, that I run to feel peace. “It’s a form of meditation,” or some shit. But, my runs aren’t really peaceful here in New York City: one of the loudest cities on planet Earth.
It’s also one of the most populated cities on this giant blue sphere. So, there are threats to runners around every turn. Roadblocks from construction sites and oblivious tourists fill the middle of the designated running path. Silly pigeons, sad reminders of our dinosaurs, don’t register that there is any incoming predator. I often find myself in a really stupid game of chicken with other runners, swerving to the left a split-second before a collision. Sometimes there are even actual banana peels lining the side of the cracked asphalt: more comic than hazard. And, since the COVID-19 pandemic’s start, there are more and more cyclists speeding by — some delivering food on motorized vehicles.
~
One of those cyclists nearly killed me three summers ago off the West Side Highway. Of course, I was on the phone with my parents at the time of the incident. In my naive hubris, I did that pretty often to distract from the pain in my legs. My parents were in my AirPods when the accident occurred. I was running the same Riverside Park route that I have continually traced since moving to the Upper West Side in 2017. Two wonderful people, a NYC Parks employee and an off-duty nurse, stopped to help me. But still, years later, I have no clear memory of the incident or the 30-block walk home (I refused to get in an ambulance because I had heard they were pricy). The man who hit me was largely OK, and rode away. I got home in a fog and went to urgent care. After an MRI, I was told I had sustained a traumatic brain injury.
“I have plans. But, you never know what each day brings. You could be on that same path, doing that same run, on a familiar feeling day and you could be lucky like me — or you could not,” I wrote in an Instagram post a week later. This message still rings true today.
It took a while for me to run back to that spot. I couldn’t remember what had actually happened, but maybe that was even scarier than knowing. Sometimes, I can still feel phantom pains in my scalp. But, I did go back, and I’ve kept going back.
~
Nearly two years after narrowly evading the great dirt nap, I saw a white “Ghost Bike” attached to the side of the fence by the river. It was just a few paces away from where I had been struck. The bike was decorated with flowers. There was a votive candle and a red cross that had been carved. “Jacobo Viliano Pardo,” it said.
Pardo, 33, was a deliverista who died at Morningside hospital after he hit a bench with his e-bike, according to West Side Rag. Benches line the tennis courts in that area, and the bike and running paths converge. He left behind his wife of 17 years and her three children.
I, like, Pardo, had left home to come to New York City. We both came here for our dreams. I don’t know how he ran into the bench, but I do know that the current systems for runners and cyclists on the West Side do not work well — and are sometimes deadly.
It’s a problem that is longstanding. In 2018, West Side Rag reported that a 22-month-old girl was hit by a cyclist who stayed at the scene. But in 2015, a woman who hit a two-year-old girl apologized and left, Gothamist said. That was the same year the now-defunct DNAinfo reported the death of 82-year-old Ben Jone, an avid cyclist who died on the path with a severe head injury. Jone reportedly rode his bike in Riverside Park every week for the previous 30 years.
~
I was turning 28 in 2021. I’m a seasoned 30.95 years old now. I played volleyball competitively for a decade and started running after I left the NCAA. My right knee sometimes clicks when I go down the stairs. I broke my foot during the New York City Marathon in 2019. That happened just four miles into the slog, and I kept “running” (limping) for 22.2 miles. You’d think, by now, I might have thrown in the towel. So, why the fuck do I still run?
I’m attempting to increase my chances of survival during the end of the world. I’ve watched a lot of disaster movies. There’s a scene in “The Day After Tomorrow” where a wall of water races over the streets of Manhattan, toward Jake Gyllenhaal and Emmy Rossum. There’s another scene in “Independence Day” where one of the alien spaceships strikes the Empire State Building, leading to massive waves of flames that spread around the city, destroying everything. And, “San Andreas” is particularly disturbing for a California native who grew up on a fault line. A less likely scenario would be a zombie apocalypse, but it’s still something to consider. I recently watched “The Last of Us” and they do quite a bit of running. I used to use an app called “Zombies, Run!” that presents a narrative and commands the user to run when there are brain-eaters nearby.
There are happier reasons to run. Running is an activity you can do almost anywhere. It’s one of the best ways to get to know a new city, assuming you do so safely. There is a massive running community — both internationally and here in New York. The whole city shows up to cheer for marathon runners every November. This community is a way to make new connections.
And, there are often medals. Running is a confidence booster and I believe all runners secretly have an attraction to shiny things (see below). And, beer! Which can also be shiny…
I also run for vanity — “doing it for the Gram — and health. Running is one of the fastest ways to lose weight (for most people), and is specifically tied to heart and lung health, among other benefits. I don’t experience what you might know as “runner’s high,” when the body releases endorphins. But, I do experience an increase in the level of endocannabinoids in the bloodstream. According to Johns Hopkins Medicine, the substances are similar to cannabis and naturally produced by the body.
~
And, running has fascinating ways of altering the mental state. I’ve been in horrendous, infantile moods and come out the other side of a 5K totally fine. I’ve been doubled over in grief and uncontrollably sad, anxious, or guilt-wracked, and cried through most of the run. It’s cathartic; it’s a release.
Repetitive movements, sometimes known as stimming, can help people with autism or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). It’s self-soothing behavior, which the person may do consciously or unconsciously. I’m stimming right now, jiggling my foot up and down as a type. I have a tendency to obsess, so it makes sense that I would look for an outlet that would let me move in a familiar way. When you’re running, your brain needs to think about other things: moving left and right, stopping at a light. Alternatively, it’s also a time when you can hyperfixate, find clarity, or develop ideas.
It’s also the closest thing we have to stretching our wings and taking flight.
~
“Airplane
Airplane flying
I, on the airplane
The airplane
Flying
But still, though it flew
The airplane’s
The sky?” — “Airplane: Or, How He Talked to Himself as if Reciting Poetry” by Haruki Murakami
Beloved Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami has written extensively about running. In his memoir “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” he attempts to put similar feelings onto the page. “When I’m running, I don’t have to talk to anybody and I don’t have to listen to anybody,” he wrote. “This is a part of my day I can’t do without.” He also discusses how running is a metaphor: reaching higher and higher levels of achievement — a single-player video game in real life. “The point is whether or not I improved over yesterday,” he said. Sadly, this selection of writing earned him a pretty poor review in The New York Times in 2008. But, the book has stuck around.
Writing and running go hand-in-hand, like drawing and hiking or composing and dancing. One creates and the other helps lead to it; or is it vice versa? Both are independent acts, but can be collaborative. Both are repetitive — and practice makes perfect. Running and hiking are often cyclical: heading out from a starting point and looping back to your car. Great writing has an enticing beginning and a fantastic kicker, and impressive artistry usually necessitates going back to the basics: draw a circle.
But, pinpointing the reason why is incredibly subjective for each runner, each writer. Many people have stories like mine. They might use running as a way to remember a loved one — people run for good causes and write names on their shirts — or to beat addiction. Or maybe, it’s to quell the demons and wake up without all the background noise — even if they don’t live in a city of 8 million. It’s a way to take control of the suffering this life unceremoniously slings out: get up at 4 a.m. in the freezing cold, ride the subway for 40 minutes, and the day is yours for the taking. The suffering will happen either way.
While there are a million reasons not to run each day, some combination of these reasons and more — a competitive drive, a need for structure and a sense of accomplishment — send me into the streets.
But, maybe it also all comes down to belief? Belief is subjective and collective. It can also change. I used to hate running, like many kids do. The pain I continue to feel has not lessened over time. Is it the belief that I can do it every week? Is it belief that I can take control of my suffering (Is it Buddhism)? Is it belief that it will get better in my head? Why the fuck do I still run?
