I don’t think I ever had a choice when it came to running.

When I was 6 or 7, I begged my mom for a solid week to allow me to do gymnastics or ballet. I don’t know where I got the bug to ask for either of those things, but I knew that my body was meant to move in remarkable ways.

As a middle kid of twelve, there were a few barriers to me doing something out of the norm of the family and beyond the budget of extracurriculars. Who would take me to gymnastics when all of my siblings ran cross country and track? Who would pay for ballet when we were on the free lunch program at school and accepted charity clothing from my 5th grade teacher? How could I possibly do something new, different, and expensive?

So, I ran.

Because all of my older siblings did.

Because my dad did.

Because I could get hand-me-down shoes.

Because I could join the same team as my sisters and get in on the same transportation to and from practice.

Because, I think, I was meant to.

Because, I think, there was no other choice.

I know many people understand the running world through the lens of social media. The start and finish lines. The race day prep and the fueling advice and the logged miles and recaps and technical brands.

I understand running through the art of showing up. The ragged breath and the burning thighs. The long run in the woods and the lonely one on the pavement and the partnered or group one across the city.

I understand running as spiritual. A connection to the trees and the paths that lope beneath them. The birds diving into lakes and creatures scuttling across trails in front of me. The tears that have sprung and the laughter that’s bellowed and the victory cry that one can only crumple into, in agony and relief.

I understand running as a lifeline. When all else seems to go quiet and the world spins so many others in the rich direction they are meant to go — I fall inside the truth that I never have stillness, never have frozen decades, I always have the movement and the rhythm of many miles yet to run.

I understand running as my own and as my link to humanity. As my quiet space and as my deafening roar of support and cheer. It’s my safety zone and my reckless adventure, my comfortable home and my trek toward the great unknown.

I don’t think I ever had a choice when it came to running.

The gods chose me. My spirit chose this life.

I arrive at the trailhead, I lace up, and I move the many miles meant for me.

I am a runner.