3. I run because I can (and won't always be able to)
I guess its the kind of perspective that comes with middle-age.
Life has been good to me thus far and, at 42, I'm still young enough, fit enough, and lucky enough to enjoy pushing myself physically with no apparent ill effect.
And I love the feeling of care-free abandonment that (sometimes) comes to me when I run - especially when (to quote the title of a poem and book by Ian Adams) I'm 'running over rocks'.
It's an incredible feeling, a privilege, a gift.
Over the past couple of years, I've become increasingly conscious that being able to run is a relatively short-lived, temporary, gift. Given that life is so unpredictable and fragile, I've no idea how much longer I'll be able to keep running for. (Though I love the thought of being able to continue into old age like the guy in the picture on my wardrobe door, I've no idea if that will happen).
And so I run while I still can, "laughing" (as Ian Adams puts it) "at the brilliance of it all - the sunlight, the sea, this supple body..."
Life has been good to me thus far and, at 42, I'm still young enough, fit enough, and lucky enough to enjoy pushing myself physically with no apparent ill effect.
And I love the feeling of care-free abandonment that (sometimes) comes to me when I run - especially when (to quote the title of a poem and book by Ian Adams) I'm 'running over rocks'.
It's an incredible feeling, a privilege, a gift.
Over the past couple of years, I've become increasingly conscious that being able to run is a relatively short-lived, temporary, gift. Given that life is so unpredictable and fragile, I've no idea how much longer I'll be able to keep running for. (Though I love the thought of being able to continue into old age like the guy in the picture on my wardrobe door, I've no idea if that will happen).
And so I run while I still can, "laughing" (as Ian Adams puts it) "at the brilliance of it all - the sunlight, the sea, this supple body..."

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