20,000 miles and counting

I have to own up to the fact that I like things to count. This, for example, is my 94th Contentious Introvert posting.

Yesterday, my counting compulsion was evident as I reached a new running milestone (pun intended): 20,000 recorded running miles. 20,000--I must confess to feeling very satisfied by that number. Obviously, it has involved hundreds and hundreds of runs over the years, with record-keeping going back to 1975.

Some of those years are pretty lean--1986, for example, when our son was born, I was teaching at 5 different schools and working on my dissertation: 58 total miles for that entire year! On the other hand, 1500 miles in 2007 means that I had to average over 4 miles per day, and I'm not sure I'll ever get back to that number. At any rate, suffice it to say that I've done my share of running--in the dark, in blazing sunshine, in 15-below weather, when it's 98 and humid, in a thunderstorm/hailstorm (I was laughing so hard I almost couldn't continue), up north (where I once encountered a timberwolf), in our local nature center (where I encounter many deer), on the California beach, in Malaysia, etc. etc. etc. And it has involved 77 different races (there's that counting again!), including 6 marathons, 6 25Ks, and 26 half-marathons.

I have to think that running has saved my life in many ways--it's my Jesus. This past Saturday was the 41st anniversary of my dad's death; he died at 58 in the middle of bypass surgery. Although I could still keel over and die tomorrow (or even today!), I've passed that number, and even more important, I've felt good doing it. Physically (and in many ways psychologically and spiritually), nothing makes me feel better than a good run. I'm happy to have had a little quantity (not the time to list all my friends and acquaintances who have already passed on), but even better has been the quality of my life, and running has made that possible. I am still haunted by the many years during which dad experienced chest pains; several of those later years were more miserable than I could have possibly realized at the time. Up until dad died, I pretty much figured that anyone close to you lived forever, or at least into their 70s or 80s.

Anyway, the next goal is quite obvious to anyone looking at that number of 20,000. Yes, 24,901--the circumference of the planet. I'm now out to (sort of literally) run around the world. Hope to be there in just a few years--lord willing, as they say. And to go back to the opening sentence here: why do I like to count things? Although it may seem cold and clinical, for me, doing so helps to make them count.