Blog Hop: Why the heck did you start?
|September 14, 2014||Posted by Melinda under Uncategorized|
This article, “Why the heck some good runners started running in the first place“, was interesting because it asks a question that I assumed was rather obvious.
Didn’t all good runners keep running because they were good? Or because they absolutely loved it and then got lucky because they were good?
It’s interesting how easily we presume other people’s stories or motives.
They all seem so talented, so dedicated, and so driven… So, it’s fun to see why all these brilliant runners started running in this articles short but sweet glimpse into these runners’ past.
- …Started running in junior high because at the end of the season for celebration they got locked in the school at night and tackled eachother in the hall ways.
- …pay for grad school
- …get a letter jacket so the girls noticed
- …spend time with family
- …cross train for another sport
- …because her friends were doing it.
None of us are Olympic quality (at least not that I know of….) runners or riders here, but I want to put my assumptions aside and find out the real reason you started running or riding.
Running was the first activity that I did FOR MYSELF – not for my parents, not for a boy, not for school, not for an award.
I started running because I thought it would make me skinny and because I felt happy after runs because of the infamous runners high and the calmness that it brought. Since not much made me feel happy as a teenager, this alone was enough to keep me running even though I never did lose weight and by every measurement was not something I particularly excelled at. How fiercely I stuck with my running probably also had to do with the amount of control I could exert over running, during a time when I had very little control in the rest of my life.
My self-worth is highly tied to running and “being a runner” and my biggest fear is that some day I won’t be one of those little grey haired ladies that is still kicking ass on the trail. For me, running is a metaphor for living. I’d be happy driving horses if I could no longer ride, but there isn’t a substitute for running.
I started riding because I was in love with the spirit of the competitive horse.
You know that tingly/butterfly feeling people talk about when they talk about being in love? I had that at 5 years old when I read The Black Stallion for the first time.
To this day there are scenes in my favorite childhood horse books such as The Black Stallion, Old Bones, that will bring me to tears and set the butterflies aflight in my gut if I don’t distance myself and skim passages. Listening to race commentators at big races, watching National Velvet, or reading either real or fictionalized accounts of individual horse/rider’s competing at high levels can bring me to tears of hope and joy in a second. In all seriousness, I don’t watch the Kentucky Derby because I’ll be crying by the end, never mind the Preakness and Belmont when even more is on the line (and I’m not even a Thoroughbred racing fan!)
BTW, it’s only the competitive horse. I’m “eh” about the other classic books such as Black Beauty, Misty the Island Pony, or stories of horses overcoming odds that are outside of the competitive setting.
I started riding because I couldn’t stand to have that much emotion about something I wasn’t doing. Now, I look back at some of the stories that *I* made with *my* horse, and I get the same rush of emotion I get with other people’s stories. It’s the best drug in the world.
Now it’s your turn! In the spirit of the original article, I suggest you keep it honest and keep it short, and then add your URL below :).
(Apparently inlinkz has changed it so that only “extended” – ie paid – accounts can create blog hops with thumbnail pics. Disappointing. If someone has another service they like, let me know)
Ha ha! *i started riding because I couldn’t stand to have that much emotion about something I wasn’t doing.* that sounds just like me taking up a musical instrument. I’m not all that great, and won’t be, but I can hardly listen to something that moves me greatly and not feel an incredible need to do it myself.