I worried that my running experience wouldn’t be very meaningful to kids. My running philosophy can get pretty abstract; after all, it tends to take shape when my brain is full of endorphins. Like most feel-good chemicals, endorphins can form some pretty obscure connections and leave one with heady ideas.
I had forgotten, however, that the core of long distance philosophy is actually quite simple. Easy to stomach? Popular? No. But very simple.
Of further aid was my former coach’s introduction. He mentioned that I had run 50 miles in a recent race. This piqued the kids’ interest, unfathomable though it must have been. I had their interest for some time at least; there was no longer any need to implement my original fireworks-and-wild-arm-waving plan.
With the kids so amenable to the crazy man before them, I began to speak from the heart. I explained to them that we often say we can’t do something when we know that we really can. I can’t lose weight, I can’t shoot three-pointers, I can’t run a mile, I can’t get a good grade in this class. When I say these things, what I really mean is that I don’t want to do this thing because it means working hard or maybe trying and failing. It’s easy to say “I can’t,” but then that never makes me feel very happy.
I told them that I love running because it reminds me all the time that I can do just about anything, if I’m willing to work hard, and maybe even to fail. I explained that each of them is capable of doing whatever they want, whether it’s running a mile, scoring that three-pointer, getting that “A.”
“I can”, “I will”, even “I tried,” will always leave you happier than “I can’t”– even if the latter is easier.
(cue fireworks)
