To A Woman I Will Most Likely Never Meet- 12/21/08

EDIT 1/5/09: To a woman I have now met. Maybe even, we are friends.

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Runners are eccentrics who have signed the pact. I mean, perhaps if one is naturally fast or has a college scholarship, running is justified. But adult distance running—especially belonging to a running club or team—is an exercise in Type A self-loathing and -competition. In broad, sweeping terms I truly believe that runners are anti-social by nature and, in NYC especially, we use the fact that there are thousands and thousands of us to mask the crazy.

That said, once you are able to rationalize the act, the thrill is biological and all-encompassing.

I was never an athlete (true, I swam for three years in high school, always in the slow lane, I think because I had a crush on someone who was also on the swim team) and smoked cigarettes for 11 years from ages 20-30. Then I woke up on New Year's Day 2006 without the smallest desire for a cigarette. Not a New Year's resolution, just a change in my mind or body's chemistry. I did want one a few days later, for a few days, but that quickly passed.

So I started working out maniacally. Up to two hours on the elliptical machine no less than five days a week. Anything less and I was in a guilt spiral. My company entered the Chase Corporate Challenge that summer and instead of walking it, as planned, I ran the first two miles without stopping, walked the next half-mile, then ran the last full one. This is what I imagine the first drop of heroine feels like to a destined addict.

Of course, with my own predisposition to addiction, and no sense of control or patience, I ran on the treadmill the next day, and the next day, and tried to run the following one, developing what may be the most quickly-contracted case of overuse tendinitis, ever, in both ankles.

Relegated to physical therapy and the elliptical for six more weeks, I read every running blog, magazine, message board, and book I could get my hands on. When I was cleared to run again in August, I had convinced myself that I was a runner. I built up mileage quickly and joined the Flyers in October, once I could run the six-mile Central Park loop.

Had I not become a runner and, most importantly, joined the Flyers, I would not be in NYC today. I would be in Berkeley or San Francisco or living with my parents in Albuquerque, most likely, working for a small advertising studio rather than on Madison Ave. Running gave me purpose and distraction and identity when I nearly all but lost mine, and the Flyers saved my life.

I know I didn't explain to you what running feels like, just what it means to me. You would have to determine both of those for yourself anyhow.