If I had a running diary, it would look a little something like this:

Sunday: Ran two miles. Right heel hurt. Pain in my side.

Monday: Ran three miles. Note to self: NEVER wear these ill-fitting ten year old running shorts again. Ever.

Tuesday: No running today. Too tired, too cold, not enough time, and heel still hurts.

Wednesday: Ran a 5K with BIG hills! Running is great! I am going to shoot for a 10K tomorrow.

Thursday: Heel hurts. Don’t know how fast or far I ran. Just wanted it over with--felt like cement, slow as molasses.

Friday: No running--went for a walk at Chambers Bay. Felt okay. Wish I would have run today.

Saturday: Ran a solid 4.3 mile run. Running RULES!

I am a true runner.

Really.

Okay, so I have no desire to do a marathon, half marathon, or even a 12K (well some days anyway). I don’t like running “off-road” because of my penchant to trip and fall. I am not the kind of runner that minds taking a day off, or two, or ten. While I think I eat rather healthfully, I tend to have a magnetic response to candy bars, butter, cheese, and beer. My body is not necessarily the best build for running. On Wilson High’s cross country team back in the eighties, I didn’t have the light weight, lithe limbs, and the prowess of a cheetah. I was bigger, taller, thick legged, and had the stride of a Clydesdale horse. I have “butterfly” kneecaps and shortened calf muscles. I have exercise-induced asthma. I NEVER stretch before I run. I’ve sprained ankles in races, messed up my kneecaps, really messed up my right Achilles tendon (twice—once in college, once about six years ago), and a year ago, I busted a bone in the ball of my foot that took forever to feel right again. My running outfits look ridiculous (except for the shoes which I pay a small ransom for to accommodate my overly narrow feet). I was caught by a neighbor hiding behind a shrub because I saw my old high school coach running in my neighborhood, as thin as a blade of grass and still running top notch. I was out running, too, miserably, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed, I mean, er, recognized.

Somehow, some way, despite it all, I made running work for me over the years. Sometimes I was pretty good. Sometimes, I was awful. Sometimes I would declare (or doctors would declare for me) that I’d never run again.

Running is completely unpredictable and it’s tough to make declarations. You never know how your body is going to take it. Environmentally, the air is different, the sounds and smells are different, and the terrain feels different below your feet every time you go for a run. Even if you do the same run, same course, everyday, you are bound to notice a different experience each time.

Differences can be emotional too. Some days I feel like a capable runner—one that’s powerful, strong, and confident. Other days, running stinks and it’s not fun. Those are the days you want to hide behind the bushes so your former coach doesn’t see you (see above).

But the beauty of why I keep coming back for more is the fact that I will never know what the run is going to bring until I actually run. Runners are gamblers. Some take the gamble to achieve the perfect run. There’s always that one run that feels good physically, mentally, and spiritually all around—and it just goes over the top. For others, it’s perfecting the practice in meditation or feeling otherworldly, going outside of your body. And yet for others, it’s survival. Getting through the run without too many issues or problems, well, that’s the perfection.

For me, it’s a combination of all of those things. So, with my imperfect body, imperfect rituals, and imperfect running, I keep running to surprise myself.