What is running, after all?

This story is my first attempt to answer this big question of my life.

I can’t say this question concerned me when I first started running. What concerned me was the pace, the time, the photos, the medal, and the image I would present to others. Ah, those “others”… In recent years though—almost the last two in particular—my concern about what running truly is has grown stronger and chases me faster and faster.

We all agree that running is, to some extent, one or more of the following: a good finishing time, the result of solid preparation, a beautiful “click” of the camera lens—fair enough—during the marathon, nice shoes, and a stylish pair of shorts. We agree even more that running is physical health and beauty. All of the above are nice, important, and useful—to a certain extent.

However, from my small experience in running so far, I feel it is something greater than that. Something addictive, something I cannot describe with words. The only requirement is to experience it. To experience it consistently—otherwise, do something else.

Running, for me now, is the love I choose to give to myself during preparation, to the runners I meet along the race—you know, there are many—and to my own people at the finish line. Running is that last training session of a difficult preparation, the one where I stop my watch, look up at the sky, the trees in Zappeion, feel the air, and time in my life stands still—and I get emotional.

Running is the “good morning” I say to other runners when I go out for a long run. It is also the song that moves me, that playlist I’ve made with songs by Dalara.

But I cannot hide it. Marathon day, wherever it takes place, strips away every emotional defense I have. It completely unlocks me from the very moment of the start. Running is the faces I see in the first three kilometers, the spectators, the energy they send me, their smiles.

Running is the runners I meet at the fifteenth kilometer, when we realize we share the same goal and the same pace. Running is Giovanni from Italy, the fifty-year-old runner of life. Running is Luca—Luca at the twentieth kilometer, telling me it’s his first marathon; he wants a sub-3, but he also wants to enjoy it.

And what does Luca do, guys, what does he do that captivates me so much? He touches every child’s outstretched hand and smiles—even at the trees. He smiles so much that it makes me feel uncomfortable. Me, the serious one.

Running is also the love I give to Luca when, at the twenty-fifth kilometer, he is next to me. I’m aiming for a slightly faster time and, raising my voice, I tell him: “The marathon punishes—please be careful, slow down.” Running is the three seconds of Luca’s serious expression when he says to me: “I needed that strong advice, thank you,” and falls back to meet his goal.

Running, my friends, is Giovanni again at kilometer forty, when I tell him: “I’m here with you, I’m following you.” He smiles at me as if he needed me. I felt his need and gave him mine.

But even more than that, running is our silent struggle at the finish line, the embrace with Giovanni—his fatherly hug. That embrace with our foreheads touching, soaked in sweat—sweeter than the finest perfumes in the world. Emotions I doubt have ever been recorded by psychologists or anyone else.

Five minutes later, Luca arrives. He chooses to love me with a strong hug. “Thank you for everything,” he tells me. “I did it because of you.” “Thank you, Luca—and I’m sorry for shouting,” I reply.

Running is also, a little later, your own person—the one who slipped past security, rushed in, and you both cry together in an embrace. Telling you, through tears, how proud they are of you, while you feel their heartbeat as if they had run alongside you.

If all this is not running, then I don’t know what is—or where else I could find it. And if such a place exists, I will stop running to go there.

I have also noticed that writing honestly about running and writing honestly about myself are almost the same thing. (Haruki Murakami)

These are the moments…

Vasilis G. Vasilarakis
Marathon Runner