Why do I run?

Damned if I know.

Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. If you’re going to while away the years, it’s far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essence of running, and a metaphor for life - Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

I am honest enough to admit that I do not understand Murakami’s writing. I understand the words and sentences in isolation. But when those sentences collectively paint a picture of a man dreaming about a woman with a cat’s tail, dancing on a table, I am nonplussed. I suppose some people are really attached to their cats, who are we to judge.

And yet I keep wanting to read his books. There is something inexplicably hypnotic about the way he writes. And occasionally, you find that rare thing - words stitched together to describe an emotion or an idea, perfectly. The above quote fits snugly into that category.

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I started running in the early 2010s, a few years after moving to Bombay. Unlike Murakami-san, I did not take to it right away. I have lived my life adhering to one core principle: avoid work, both mental and physical, as much as possible. Given this credo, I do not recall why I signed up for the Mumbai Half Marathon in 2013. It probably just seemed like a cool thing to do at the time. I am ashamed to admit that far too many of my life choices have been motivated purely by the fact that they will make me seem cool. (They do not.)

Nevertheless, I enjoyed the experience immensely. The energy of the participants, the enthusiasm of the crowds lining the roads in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, the exultation when you cross the finish line - once you experience the race day high, you keep wanting to relive it. And that was how I became a lifestyle runner¹.

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The pandemic struck at a time when I was slowly getting back to long-distance running, after a hiatus of around 3 years. During the first wave, I was immensely fortunate in not having to face problems greater than figuring out a way to clock distances while in lockdown. The ‘solution’ (I use the term loosely) was simple: jog around the house in loops. In addition to being excruciatingly boring, this was terribly annoying for my family, whose nerves were already frayed from having to deal with me every second of every day. Win!

Thus commenced the lockdown project of indoor jogging while listening to Murakami’s semi-memoir on running. A friend and I finally ended up jogging a half marathon distance indoors, sometime in May 2020. It took us around 2 hours 20 minutes - the entire time spent jogging a 30 step loop inside our respective houses.

People asked why we did it, and I would smile vacantly at them. “Because I am desperately stupid, please save me from myself”, seemed too dramatic a response. In truth, it seemed fitting to try something bizarre while listening to Murakami’s thoughts on life, running and writing. Now that I think about it, I should probably have done it in a cat’s costume. Maybe next time.

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I think my approach to running changed once I found trail running. To me, running had been about going fast.

Tempering your speed depending on the distance, relishing the adrenaline and dopamine hit that came as you willed your legs to pound the tarmac in time with the song playing in your ears. Perhaps that is why I could not run without music - I still cannot when I am running in cities.

Last year I participated in a trail running event for the first time. It was unlike anything I had experienced before. I spent the first half of the race in a euphoric stupor. I took pictures of the breathtaking views: the wooded trail, the valleys and the river threading its way around the hills. I called people and told them how I was experiencing an epiphany. I felt at one with my surroundings, in complete solitude (no music) with nothing but the path in front of me. Running, at that time, was no longer about speed. If anything, it was about stillness and slowing oneself down to appreciate every moment.

Unsurprisingly, the utopia did not last too long and things soon took a dark turn:

In his book, Murakami talks about how pain is inevitable. It is the pain, he says, and the need to overcome that pain, which makes you feel alive. When you run, you know that at some point your muscles will burn and your mind will scream at you to stop. You run because you know that pushing past that point is what it’s all about.

I had known this but I truly lived it on that run. And I realised, to my dismay, that I run because I am a masochist. What else can explain the willingness to wake up before sunrise to train or traverse the country to run in different cities and hike up mountains?

In fact, I would say that most runners are evangelical masochists since they revel in preaching about the benefits of running. So, the next time you are at the receiving end of a sermon on how great running is for humanity, feel free to punch your tormentor. If they are a true runner, they will welcome it and thank you. If they don’t, well, then you would have initiated your own journey of running.

1. A term used by hardcore trail runners to ridicule and mock boring city dwellers running on boring city roads. Synonyms: Noob, Doodh Bhaat, Kachha Khiladi.