It's always a bit awkward when someone tells you they're a bad runner. For one thing, running is incredibly easy to do. Basically, all you have to do is have your arms and legs working in some semblance of unison to propel you along in a forward direction. And, at some point during your stride, both feet need to be off the ground. Really. This is how no less an authority on athletic prowess than the Olympics defines the difference between running and walking. When I was young, the fact that there were actual walking events in the Olympic Games fascinated me to no end. I always pictured a bunch of ordinary folks out there just ambling along. I looked up the results religiously, thinking about how glad I was that the preeminent amateur sporting contest in the world had a place for those with no discernible athletic ability. Then, during the Atlanta Games, I actually saw a bit of one of the walking events. I'd had no idea that, for one, the events were so closely monitored. Additionally, I had never grasped how these events so completely combined a test of supreme physical skill with the opportunity to look so incredibly foolish. Have you ever seen this? To me, it looks like nothing so much as someone with a desperate need to go to the bathroom who realizes that breaking into an actual run would bring disastrous consequences. Seriously. YouTube it. You won't regret it.
My point, though, is that virtually anyone can run. Other than a decent pair of shoes and socks that won't cause your feet to blister like an albino in the Sahara, you don't need much. So I think that, when people say they're bad runners, what they really mean is that they are not as successful at running than they would like to be. I can accept this, but it all depends upon your definition of success. By any generally accepted definition, I am not a successful runner. I will never be mistaken for Usain Bolt (he's much taller, you see). Nike will never want to make a commercial featuring me running away from various speedy creatures. Asics is quite happy to have me wearing their most recent stability training shoe, but this is because I pay a good deal of money for them. If there are more than three or four members of my age group entered, I do not stand a good chance of placing therein. I have run races where I would not have placed in the 50-59 age group. This is not necessarily a huge boost to my confidence.
And yet, I know that if I enter a race, I can complete it. I can go out and run a decent number of consecutive miles if called upon to do so. I am in reasonably good shape, something I probably could not have said about myself ten years ago. I typically feel pretty okay when I wake up in the morning, and bit better than that when I go to bed at night. I do not worry about my daughters being able to outrun me at this stage in their lives. I'm pretty certain that I'm going to inhabit this planet for a good while yet, and be able to enjoy doing so.
To me, that's what success is about. Unless you're an elite-class athlete, you may be better served by paying more attention that what makes running special for you. It might be seeing the pounds you've accumulated over the years melt away. It may be that it brings you closer to your spouse, your friends, your children, your co-workers. It could be in seeing your PR at a certain distance improve, even as you get older. Whatever it is, you run for a reason. Don't let yourself lose sight of that. Because you have that reason. And that's why you run. And that is success, no matter how you look at it.
And if you are an elite-class athlete, don't expect to learn anything from me.
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