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Why I Run - Why I Run - Chris Gates
Club: Concordia, Montreal
Since early on, I've always been trouncing around whether it was on the furniture at four, on the mats at fourteen, or on the roads and mountain presently. The earliest sign that I was weak on speed was came early on when my Opa suggested a race around his house at with my sisters, who I lost to. This startling revelation reappeared to me one early summer morning in Singerman parc in Cote. St. Luc when my wrestling coach wanted to train us to react to the word “now”. So he had us doing sprints on the field where the reality sunk after I was repeatedly outrun by guys 90+kg's. What I lacked in speed though I made up in conditioning using an aggressive intense style that would make my opponents hyperventilate. Sadly, not all the joints in my body could withstand the ferocity of my style. Having the habit of being active, and having the experience of placing top 15 in several GMAA cross country and Halo races, as well as placing in some GMAA track races I turned my sights on middle distance running, quickly improving my 1500m time to a level that was nothing to call home about, but still not shabby. I was chronically injured running track, probably due to poor coaching, and partly due to my aggressive mindset. I turned my sights on running longer distances, running my ½ marathon debut in 1:29:25, and my 10k debut in 40:05. Since then I have improved slightly, and I have high hopes for myself in the future.
While having the previous experiences led me to running, greater powers kept me in it. The solitude of my runs allows me to fill void of the friend I've lost since I stopped wrestling. I get together with my brain and think about my complicated problems, I'm on drugs when I run, (note: the most potent thing I've ever taken was Lamisil) putting me into a glaze or making me overly aggressive. I listen to music, although it's often the same song, if not the same verse. Sometimes I get flashbacks like a Vietnam vet, turning the run into a fartlek session, where I'm back defending against an Olympic medalist telling myself to initiate my attack. If Marx says religion is the opiate of the people, running is my opiate, my elastic recoil. Through all the struggles I endure during a run, I somehow reach serenity, come up with solutions to my problems, and usually come back in one piece, ready to go to sleep for the next day. Sometimes when I don't feel like playing while running, I dissociate, let my mind wander, listening to the roar of the highway, chasing down the planes (that should have landed an hour before) as they come over the river with me trying to reach their flight path before them. Running is my vacation of the day, sightseeing things that seem simple yet amuse me, taking in the Gothic sights, smelling the sometimes pleasant, other times funky (think plant fumes) odors, all the while running away from the dynamic nature of the world and chasing a point of stagnancy.
Simply put, running for me is an exercise of my mind as well as body. I'm not a spiritual, or religious person, but running is a sanctuary for me. I don't reach this sanctuary through the act of running, rather I reach it through getting away from the unrest that's plaguing me at the moment. I run to push myself to new heights, both physically and mentally. While I can't stop the world and the environment around me from changing, I can shoot for the point of no returns—My ultimate peak, an infinite plateau. There is probably no coincidence that that two of the repeating songs stuck/played in my head deal with going higher--Luftballons by Nena Hagen, and Reach by Gloria Estefan. While I probably would suffer less injuries and suffer less in general if I toned things down a notch, my enjoyment would also cease with it. This fire gives me the impulse to often drive myself from the bottom of Lionel Groulx with a heavy bag as fast as possible to the top all the while feeling the burning in my legs. This form of masochism helps me reach new levels but is also my oxidizer. My life as a runner is a series of accidental self inflicted wounds done in the name of improving my situation.
So this begs the question: Why do I run? Well as can be seen, I run for my sanity. I run for a challenge. I run for my happy hour(s). I run for the empty space in my life that needs to be filled to counteract implosion, to keep that constant rigidity that I can easily work with.
Chris Gates