OPhoto courtesy of Anne Martino

ne of the best T-shirts that I’ve ever seen had “I Run To Live” on the front in orange letters. That’s me! I run to live! Running is what makes me feel alive. On the mornings when I want to turn around and go back to bed or just lie down on the path and quit, I am grateful for the wind on my face and the sun streaming through the clouds to dance on Lake Michigan’s waves. I feel a connection to the runners I see each morning who share my dedication. I don’t know them by name—the guy who wears only shorts, winter and summer; the kerchiefed lady who wears a bandana on her head; the speedy fashion plate who wears makeup no matter how early it is; the tall guy with the amazing stride. We smile and nod; sometimes we say good morning or comment on the weather as we pass, each absorbed in our own reverie. For the

 The author running in Shanghai with Peter Neumann.

last six weeks, I have not seen my nodding, smiling running pals. I have been sidelined with an injury. Craving my 20-mile-a-week habit, I’ve been taking a closer look at what running means to me. I thrive on running’s gift of power, the invincibility that comes from hauling myself out of bed to run six miles in 22-degree, windchill-frosted darkness or running farther than ever before. I know that I’ve trained not just my body but my mind to push beyond what I think is possible. Running, to me, is more mental challenge than physical achievement. There is a pride in the strength that gets me out the door and keeps me going even when I want to stop.

A PUPPY LOVE THAT GREW My love affair with running began at 12 at my first track meet. I bounded through high school cross-country and track, adding longer distances in college to ward off the freshman disease of adding 15 pounds of body weight. By then I was hooked running half-marathons regularly, and my first marathon came at 32.

Running has been the most constant fixture in my life. It has stayed with me like a loyal family member through all of my crises. I’ve run through broken hearts, deaths in the family, graduate school, and work stress. I managed to run even when I lived and worked in Shanghai for two years.

Tethered to a treadmill because of poor air quality (coal burning and heavy particles in the air because of construction), I refused to give up my first love. On Sundays, I would hire a taxi to drive a group of like-minded expatriates and me an hour outside the city for long runs. In Shanghai, I discovered that running was a means to explore the rice paddies and small farming villages in the countryside. I would run for hours, enjoying the camaraderie and freedom of bounding through green spaces after being trapped in a concrete world all week.

I loved the discovery: pig farms, fisheries, orchards, a small church, a factory, a quarry, abandoned buildings, haystacks, grain, and freshly laundered clothes drying in the sun. We found paths through bamboo forests and did hill work through brush, blazing our own trails.

It was fun to run as if there were no obstacles. My legs would often be scratched and bleeding and my shoes soaked and muddy from running through hip-high moats in the rice paddies. It was follow the leader, finding new routes, getting lost, dead ending, and wondering how we would get back where we had started.

I can’t imagine a life without running. Back home in Chicago, I am proud to call the 18-mile lakefront path my home turf. Snaking along the water, Chicago’s lakefront path follows the waves and offers the best views of the city. When I was offered a job in Paris, I turned it down in large part because I didn’t want to give up sunrises along the lake, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and finding my stride. Until I moved to Shanghai,

Photo courtesy of Anne Martino

 After being trapped in a concrete world all week, the author would take a taxi out of town to explore by foot the rice paddies and small farming villages in the countryside.

I think I had taken Chicago’s extensive running paths and supportive running community for granted. I’ve chosen a life that prioritizes running at the top. I’ve run through injury, run through pain, run harder and faster than I thought possible, caught up in the excitement of a race. I’ve run through every kind of weather imaginable: whiteouts and 40-mile-an-hour winds in Chicago, even a typhoon in Hong Kong.

THERE ARE PRIORITIES I know that running can be a selfish, singular sport. I know I’m guilty of putting running front and center to the exclusion of friendships and even my boyfriend, who doesn’t run. It’s the one thing we fight about. To me, my running is not negotiable because it’s an integral part of who I am.

Sunrise runs on the weekends chafe his love for late-night dinners and morning snuggles. Marathon training guarantees 9:30 bedtimes, and he is not a fan. Only rarely will I stay out late. The morning run trumps smoky bars and drink-fueled confessionals.

Part of the power of running is dietary freedom. No diets for me! Amazingly, I end up making mostly healthy choices because it makes a difference on the trail. I just run a few more miles if I’ve overdone it on the cookies. Running has

Henderson’s writing for us, so now we have to sell his #*%*#!! books?

Maybe you have heard (and read!), Joe Henderson has taken over writing the “On the Road” column for M&B. We are extremely excited and know he will be a great addition to our writing staff.

$16.16

$22.46

Maybe you haven’t heard. We have ALWAYS sold Joe Henderson books in the M&B bookstore. We feel they are among the best on the subject of running available today. Now, through the graciousness of Joe, for a limited time, we are offering autographed copies of all his books we have available.

$14.36

To order, call the M&B bookstore at 877/972-4230. Fax us at 217/359-4731 or simply order from the back of a M&B renewal form. We suggest that you hurry and place your order soon. We’ll always sell his books, but once we get Joe writing for us, we may not give him enough time to sign his name. $14.36

maintained my weight since college, and since I’m pushing 40, I’m thrilled that I can still wear jeans from 20 years ago. Running gives me control over my life. I control my mileage, my training regimen, and the races I run. I’ve always believed I can deal with injury. I’ve had shin splints and plantar fasciitis more times than I can count. I take time off, hit the gym instead of the lakefront path, and wait for my legs to heal. Even when an injury brings disappointment, like pulling out of marathon training, I may cry and whine for a week, but I don’t doubt that it’s just a matter of time before I’m lacing up my shoes.

I’ve never questioned whether I can run. It has been such a constant that I’ve never wondered what life would be like without it. And now, I haven’t run in six weeks. I haven’t even exercised in six weeks!

I’m trying hard to hold on to the belief that just as with past injuries, I’ll be back soon. But this one is different. I’ve tried to soothe the disbelief with rationalization. I’m getting older, and injury is more likely these days. I’ve been repeatedly pounding my joints for over 25 years, so something was bound to give eventually, right? In reality, I feel betrayed by my body, frustrated and angry because marathon-training season is just around the corner. I am stunned that those little back twinges that I experienced every now and then would become severe back pain. I am shocked at my frailty, my difficulty standing, much less walking. I thought my body was strong, my mind trained in toughness.

I see running slipping away from me, and I feel lost. If I run to live and can’t run, then what? Who am I if I’m not training for something? I find myself wondering about the superstars who are still running marathons in their 90s. That’s my ideal! Is that an impossibility for me now? What about that ultra that I haven’t attempted yet?

As I wrestle with inactivity, I find I’m more grateful than ever for those runs in Shanghai and for the friendships I’ve forged along the lakefront training for the Chicago Marathon. I miss the familiar faces of the runners I recognize but don’t know by name. I wonder whether they’re still out there every morning. Do they wonder where I am?