Why Do I Run?

The blog has been full of deep thoughts lately...questions regarding old life, new life and job status. I lightened it up a bit yesterday with my thoughts on Rex, Kurt and Kobe, but now I'm about to delve into more personal waters.

They say it's good therapy to write things down so let's give it a shot. There's some stuff in here the members of 501 likely don't even know.

The only reason I have ever been good at sports is because of my feet. I can run, and not particularly fast mind you, I can just run for a long time. Whether it was basketball, soccer, baseball, lacrosse, even tennis, my endurance carried me. Others were getting tired just as I was getting started.

I admit though, I was lazy as an athlete. It's something that I can't stand to say, but I know it's the truth. I rarely practiced my craft...I just enjoyed playing. Whether it was throwing the lacrosse ball against the wall, kicking around the soccer ball down at the park or playing hoops in the street until 9:30PM, I wasn't doing it to get better.

It's around 7th and 8th grade that you begin to identify which sports you have a potential in and which you're better off leaving behind. Junior high school of course meant tryouts, cuts and the occasional tears. I probably weighed about 100lbs soaking wet at this time...no physical specimen, but I always felt I had the mental edge.

It was at this time that I was introduced to cross-country. I decided to give it a shot, after all I was that kid you hated during the annual physical fitness challenge in elementary school. Remember those? Pushups, situps, sit and reach, the rope climb and of course, my favorite, the mile. I always fared well in the other events (mostly because I was as light as a feather), but the mile...ahhhh, I looked forward to that one. Lapping the fat kids, showing off to the girls, I owned that event.

I ended up running throughout my junior high school years, oh don't worry, I didn't give up lax, hoops or soccer...they were just put to the side, ready to be pulled out at a moment's notice. One sport stood out from the rest though...that orange leather ball, 10 players hustling up and down the hardwood floor, running, jumping, diving...it was like a Broadway play with sweat. It owned my heart.

After running cross-country the fall of my freshman year, it was time for bball tryouts (I put lax and soccer out of my mind...stupid and stupider!!). I had been going to summer camps for years, I played almost every day; still wasn't the biggest or strongest, but I had those feet...endurance would be my ticket!

I didn't make the cut. You see, out on the playground, in front of my house, shooting around with the guys...there were no nerves in those situations, that was all about having fun. Tryouts made me nervous, tense, reluctant. It took me a while, but I shook it off...I'll get 'em next year!

In place of basketball, I ran indoor track in the winter and then outdoor track in the spring. Hey, I was pretty good at this! His name was Kevin Buckley, he was my coach, and he quickly became my friend, mentor and father away from home. Oh and he was a diehard Giant fan! I loved the man, I listened to everything he said. He was a man who belonged in the 70's...beat-up tweed jacket, old-school personality, hundreds of great sayings and quotes...he did things his way. "No good deed goes unpunished Droge," he used to say.

Back in school for my sophomore year, I had a great season running cross-country...never quite hit the times Buckley wanted, but he knew I still had time to develop. I was a phenomenal runner in practice, one of the best he ever had in 20 years he'd say, just gotta get you more confident come the meets. No worries coach, it'll come...it could wait until next year anyway, I was off to get my revenge on the sport I loved.

I'll never forget the sarcastic tone he said it in,"Droge, you're not gonna make it, why are you wasting your time."

I didn't tryout for the team that year, I was crushed by what the man I'd grown to love said to me. Sure, he was probably right, but I didn't even give it a shot. I'll never let myself live that down.

Flash forward to my final race of my high school career....May of my senior year, on the fast track at Mount Saint Michael's. I was running the mile that day. At that point, I had still never broken 5 minutes in the mile (I want to put my hand through a window just writing that)...not because I wasn't good enough or fast enough, I never gave myself the chance to do it. I blew the field away in practice for 4 years in high school, but I never put in the extra effort when no one was watching. I never reached my full potential.

My teammates, friends, girlfriend, parents and grandparents watched as I flew around the track easily on pace to go sub 5. As I turned the final straight-away, I still thought I had it in the bag. As my foot crossed the line, I felt a knife go through my heart. I walked off the track and saw the man that I'd spent more time with in four years than some members of my family.

"I can't lie to you Droge, you saw the clock."

I had planned on running in college, but opted against it midway through that summer. Did I ever really enjoy this sport? Could I ever get over the heartbreak of that race? Could I ever forgive myself for not trying out for the basketball team my sophomore year?

It took me a while to get over the sting of that last race. I drank my face off freshman year and left the keeping in shape to others. It wasn't until the rugby team was being put back together that I saw a chance for rebirth, maybe new life?

I told myself from that point forward that I would never leave anything in the tank, I'd work when no one else was watching. As rugby started becoming more a part of my life, ironically so did running. It started out as just as way to get back into shape, but slowly it started once again feeling like that mile in elementary school.

After graduating, it started to consume my life. Every week, I looked forward to that weekend's race. 5k's, 10k's, half-marathons, full-marathons, even triathlons...I couldn't get enough of them. I loved the feeling of out kicking someone down the stretch, the feeling of blowing by someone who hadn't put in the work I had, the pain that circulates through your body from start to finish....I crave it all. At last, I started exercising those demons from high school.

To this day when people ask me why I run, I really don't know what to say. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I wonder if it's simply a representation of how I deal with problems in life...just run.

One thing is for sure though, tomorrow morning, around 5:15AM when most of this country is sound asleep, I'll lace up my sneakers, throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, head out my door into 20 degree weather. And right before I take that first step, two things will flash into my head (they're the same two things that come to mind any race I've done...whether it's on the start line at the Fourth of July 4-miler or starring up at the towering Verrazano Bridge before the New York City Marathon)...sophomore year basketball tryouts and the time I saw as I crossed the finish line that day in May of 2005.

5:00.7...sometimes 7 tenths of a second is all it takes to motivate someone for a lifetime.