Oct 4, 2000 Me, Myself and I By Laurel Park :: Views- 1576

I ran my first "official" race when I was in 4th grade. It was Sports Day
at my elementary school and one of the events was a 600 yard run. I'd
always enjoyed running through the fields near my house, so I decided to
give it a try. I finished second overall (boys and girls) and was hooked.
Running, I discovered, was something I was good at and, even better,
something I liked.

My participation in organized running didn't resume until my sophomore
year of high school, when I joined the track team (our high school was
grades 10-12). From that point on, it was a fairly steady progression
through post-high school recreational running, college competition,
another phase of recreational running, and finally my current eight-year
career of competitive road racing. Throughout that 20-year span, running
slowly evolved into a fixed part of my daily life, rather than something
that I did only when it was time to get into shape for the upcoming racing
season. Planning my daily run became as natural as deciding what to have
for lunch, and almost as necessary.

Also within those 20 years, a second evolution took place: my sense of
"self." Somewhere along the way I had made the conversion from "someone
who runs" to "a runner." Running became a part of my identity, on par with
"female," "Midwesterner" and "alumnus of the University of Michigan." I
am surprised at how often - and usually involuntarily - that phrase pops
out when I describe myself. "no, I don't smoke - I'm a runner"; or "of
course I don't mind walking to the store - I'm a runner."

Unlike many of my colleagues, I have no formal training in philosophy, so
(luckily) I can't go into a detailed examination of what this means in
terms of existentialism and psyche, or whether you've actually done a
workout if no one sees you do it. All I know is that this sense of
identity - "I am a runner" - is rooted as deeply as any other element that
I would use to describe my attitude, my personality, and my being.

I'm not quite sure when this transformation took place. I think it started
sometime during my senior year of high school, when my peers began to
associate me almost naturally with the track team. Certainly by the time I
graduated from college, it was solidly set in my mind. I guess it's a
classic case of "positive reinforcement"; after a sufficient number of
years hearing people describe me as "the runner," I believed it (if only
they had described me as "the genius").

I can't think of many other sports in which the activity can be integrated
so thoroughly with the person that it becomes a defining characteristic.
Certainly athletes at the world-class level such as Tiger Woods, Steffi
Graf or Michael Jordan are immediately associated with their respective
sport, but rarely is the average recreational athlete described in terms
of "being" rather than "doing." People play basketball or tennis, they
ride bikes, they go swimming. I doubt that any weekend duffer with an 36
handicap would regularly describe himself as "a golfer," but I know many
20 mile per week/25:00 5K people who describe themselves as "runners."
Running seems to bestow an identity exclusive of natural talent; you don't
have to win races to consider yourself a runner. Being a runner is a state
of mind rather than a level of achievement.

I've sometimes wondered: if I had to quit running tomorrow, would I still
refer to myself as a "runner"? Of course I would. It has been a part of me
so long that the mindset would long outlast the physical fitness. And you
can bet that I would do everything in my power to resume running, no
matter what it took.

Many years ago I was watching a T.V. show in which one of the characters,
a police officer, described her attitude towards her job. "It's not what I
do," she said, "it's what I am." I'm sure every runner out there
understands exactly what she meant. 0