words by Mulan Xia
In our first session, my therapist asked why I run. I didn’t have an answer. In our last, he answered for me. “You’re a bit of a masochist, huh?”
(moments in running that may or may not illustrate his statement)
moment #1: mid-race, fully convinced that the only reason I’m not faster is because I’m not gritty enough
The best and worst thing about running is knowing that the person in front feels just as awful as you do. In fact, they probably feel worse. Because they’re in front and pushing harder than you. I've never been one to be competitive with the human next to me, but running finds an innate desire to want to improve and tugs at its strings. In that precise moment, it feels insultingly attainable to be better- have I considered running faster?
moment #2: still mid-race, realizing I’m about to get dropped, hard
There’s a quote out there that goes something along the lines of “identity is simply the limit of what you’re willing to become. And that’s why people spend so much time poking around its edges.” And perhaps that’s what running is for me- a question of who I think I am. If I've set my goals properly, I fail. And I find myself craving the feeling that hits when I’m about to fail. The moment of realization (I’ve gone too far)- it’s fear.
Every time I talk about running, I sound like I hate it. I focus on how much it all hurts in the moment, and somehow the conversation is devoid of anything that suggests enjoyment. But really I just keep these moments to myself (the small bubble of pride when I find myself more capable than I thought; the satisfaction of a run done well).
Because if I were to just tell you about it, it wouldn’t be the same. You had to be there.
