Why I Run

There’s a popular column in the back of Runner’s World that has famous people answering “why I run”.
I’m not famous and no one asked, but here’s one reason why I run.
On Sunday, I ran the Las Vegas marathon.
From miles 12 to 22 or 23 or so, I ran with a youngish man, originally from Guatemala, now living in LA.
We fell into pace and started talking as we ran.
This was his 20th marathon; my fourth.
He ran track in high school—not very well, he said–but enough to kick start his interest in running. At mile 14, we talked about his love of cooking and he detailed a recipe for lasagna he memorized working in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant. At mile 16, we talked about his girlfriend and whether or not they should move in together. At mile 17, he told me had “visions” since he was a young boy. At mile 20, he told me how his father was murdered three years ago on Thanksgiving.
I can think of no other place in life or work that intimacy happens so quickly and so easily as on the path of a really long run.

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