running medicine

I was sitting eating my doughnut at the end of a recent race and I overhead a couple of old guys (you know—men, my age) talking about their running journey.

“How long have you been at it?” —and that kind of chat, strangers meeting at the breakfast following a fun run and sharing stories.

“Five years.” one of them said.

“You know running is my medicine.” The other one replied. “The small things hurt a little more but the big things get healthier.”

I couldn’t help but relate. It was my last race before switching age categories into the fifty-to-fifty-nine group and I had just run it nursing a sore foot and a gut cramp and knowing I could have probably used an extra hour or two of sleep the previous night. All the small things hurt a little more.

But the big stuff?  Heck, I’ve had two doctors tell me the same thing after going in for my annual physical: tell me when you can’t run anymore and then we’ll start worrying.

Running, for my docs, is apparently a bit of a diagnostic tool. One of them explained that it “just uses so many critical systems that if something is wrong enough for me to care you’re not going to make it very far on a run.”

I’ve said it multiple times here: I’m not doctor and this is not advice. But I go for my annual checkups and oil changes, and so should you.

But that old guy logic holds. Running for me has been a kind of medicine, not just for the big things, keeping the ticker and the lungs working well, but mentally, emotionally and maybe even deeper than that sometimes.

I probably shouldn’t eat too many post-race doughnuts though.