Why I run

In 2017, a group of my friends committed to a beer league softball team. We were… not good.

But we had fun! Well, sort of.

It was fun. Until I tore my hamstring swinging a bat in the very first flipping game.

No joke.

Let me tell you: Tearing your hamstring in rec softball is an eye-opening (and eye-watering) experience. That’s when you really know with undeniable certainty that you are not in shape. (Still made it to first base, though. What an athlete!)

The thing was, I didn’t really think I was out of shape before I swung that bat.

Sure, I was breathing pretty hard after sprinting around the field in my just-purchased-as-cheap-as-they-sell-’em Champion running shoes because I literally had no sports shoes of any kind.

But unhealthy?

Didn’t know. Or maybe didn’t care.

After that day—and an agonizing trip to the emergency room the next morning to hear a doctor say, “This is the worst hamstring tear I’ve ever personally seen”—I kinda got the gist that I needed a change in my life.

Six months later, I could finally walk without limping.

And that’s when I started jogging.

On the bright side, being at your worst means better is inevitable

Right after I healed up, a buddy asked me to go to the gym with him. He had a guest pass. And he didn’t want to let me (or himself) down by not showing up.

So I went.

There was so much equipment there. I didn’t even know the names of most of the machines. Or what the hell you would use them for. So I spotted a treadmill, knew what it was, and hopped on.

A half mile later, I was dying.

But I was proud of myself.

I hadn’t pushed myself like that physically in a long time.

So as the weeks went on, I bought my own gym pass. I showed up for myself when my buddy couldn’t make it.

What started as a half-mile run eventually turned into a mile. And then a 5k. And then a 10k. And then a half marathon. And then a friend asked if I’d pace him on a 107-mile run through the North Dakota Badlands.

Some people are crazy

I knew my friend was starting to run. We chatted about a marathon. And then I saw him complete a 50-miler pretty much right after his first marathon.

Like a crazy person.

At this point, I hadn’t even run a marathon. Seeing him complete a 50-miler was impressive. And inspiring.

So when he decided to double that mileage (and then some), I felt pretty honored that he asked if I’d pace a few legs with him.

If you don’t know the Badlands, let me tell you: That’s a good name for them.

When you train in the flatlands around Fargo, North Dakota, the Badlands are pretty much the complete opposite you can possibly get in the same state. The Badlands are full of hills and plateaus; you run up and down and back up and down again. Over and over.

The Badlands feel downright mountainous when you live on the plains.

Failure only makes you want it more

My friend made it 70-something miles that day before his quads wouldn’t let him walk downhill without falling.

He didn’t finish.

But he signed up for his next hundred-miler that same week.

This time, we headed to Kansas. I joined him at mile 40 and on-again-off-again for a total of 33 miles or so (with big breaks between some legs).

He finished that 100-miler.

Defeat breeds determination in the ambitious among us.

The next time my friend signed up to run a 100-miler, I began training to run the entire second half with him.

Fifty miles is just a half marathon for ultra runners. How bad could it be?

Three weeks before his race, we decided to run a 30-mile out-and-back in the Sheyenne National Grasslands. After 14 miles, I was feeling rough. But my friend was patient. It was hot—90-something degrees. I remember finding a creek and immediately bellyflopping right in the middle of it.

With only four miles to go, I was utterly spent.

But the most motivating thing right then was that I had just completed my first marathon. And every step I took would be the longest I’d ever gone in a single run. We finished. I threw up six times on the way home.

And then I went back the next weekend and ran that entire 30 miles again. By myself.

I had to prove to myself that I could do it. Failure only makes you want it more.

After helping my friend with his 100-miler—and me not running an entire 50 miles with him due to unforeseen events—I had this desire to sign up for a 50-miler on my own. I had never run that far in my life (I had never even signed up for a normal marathon). But I believed I could run 50 miles.

So I did.

The push + gratitude

I have a tendency to push things. Maybe a little too far.

But there’s something rewarding in knowing how far you’re willing to go to achieve what you once thought was impossible.

I like running because I have time to reflect on life. I am so grateful for the ability to run.

Running gives me time to understand how much I love and appreciate my family, my career, my community, and so much more. Running gives me time to reflect on how grateful I am for my home, my working vehicle, my canoe, and (of course) my pets. Running gives me a perspective I never had until I tried.

That’s why I run.