For the Sake of Our Daughters

Arriving in Denver, returning from a trip back east, I pop into the restroom. As I wash my hands I see out of the corner of my eye a mother deftly applying mascara to her 5 year-old daughter's lashes. The girl stands very still, face up, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face. It seems clear that this is a comfortable and familiar routine for both mother and daughter.

Why am I so disheartened, so concerned, so upset by this seemingly harmless act? One of my primary areas of interest and research in my philosophical work concerns the ideas of authenticity, integrity, autonomy, and self - and what those all mean. I observe people through this lens of concern. I am worried because we seem to live in a culture more concerned with image than substance. Our celebrity obsessed culture seems to think it's okay to sell padded bikini tops for preschool girls. It doesn't matter what you do - what matters is how you look. What does that have to do with running, you ask? Well it doesn't really, and yet it does, because nothing happens without something of substance - We must DO and BE in life. Image IS nothing. It DOES nothing. Running is an obvious example of this. You run or you don't run. You do it or you don't, and it doesn't matter how totally rad you look.

When I watch the video of the first women's Olympic Marathon I am struck by the effort, the doing, the being, the focus that changes our world in so many ways. Today I want to thank those women for being and doing. Their actions changed my life. My actions, likewise, will change my daughters life.
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Each day I pull on my shorts and shirt, slip on my shoes, open the back door and head off down the trail. I give this simple act and pleasure little thought. No one hassles me about my obsession with running. No one worries that I might wear myself out. I take for granted my ability to choose to push myself physically, mentally, and spiritually through running. Today it seems unfathomable that women were not permitted to run the Boston Marathon until 1972 or an Olympic marathon until 1984. I do not feel old enough to have grown-up during a different era, but the fact is, that I did.

With the passing of Greta Waitz we have lost a pioneer in women's running. The women who were so influential in changing the climate of women's distance running were quietly, yet forcefully, persistent and confident in their convictions. Cathrine Switzer, Julia Chase-Brand, Roberta Gibb, Jaqueline Hansen, Greta Waitz, Ingrid Kristiansen, Joan Benoit Samuelson, among so many others, simply wanted to run, and run they did.

Change is often resisted. When we look at the pictures from the 1950s Civil Rights movement of whites blocking the path of black children going to newly desegregated schools, we recoil at the venomous looks of hatred in the eyes of the white adults as they spit, curse, and shake their fists at the children simply trying to go to school. Likewise, the pictures of men attempting to pull Katherine Switzer from the Boston Marathon course, appears hateful, repugnant, and regretable. To my mind, this remains a dark point in the history of marathoning.

There are many parallels between the civil rights movement and the quests for equal rights for women in long distance road racing. Martin Luther king Jr. argued that individuals have a moral duty to fight against injustice, and to break unjust laws/rules. With regard to racial segregation, that required all people of good will (black, white, male, female) to break segregation laws. The point here is to make a statement through your actions - to show the world that this injustice must not stand. This is civil disobedience.

I don't wish to trivialize the larger women's and civil rights issues that have and continue to challenge our country, but the quiet fight women runners engaged in during the 1970s and 1980s proved, through their actions, that marathoning does not damage the health of women and that it was sufficiently (internationally) popular to warrant inclusion in the Olympics. The point is that change happens through ACTION - EVERYTHING happens through ACTION - Not acting is also an action, but the outcome will be very different. These women runners did what they could. Small in number, their only real avenue to change was to do what they weren't being permitted to do - to run. How simple. Yet that simple act was enough to get a lot of men's shorts in a bunch. Why? Their act of civil disobedience gradually changed minds and reality.

As a woman runner benefiting from the courageous actions of those who came before me, I want to thank them for their persistence and commitment, and their quiet yet effective actions. It is easy to forget that things were very very different not so long ago. For the sake of our daughters (and our sons) let's not forget. Let's show them how DOING changes the world. Image changes nothing. It is nothing.

Finding Your Strengths and Working Your Weaknesses

A Facebook friend recently posted a comment/question about the difficulty of determining one's best distance. This got me thinking: I believe this issue, of finding what one is truly good at goes to the heart of much in life, including running.

When I was in 5th grade I remember trying to earn a badge for the President's Physical Fitness Test. It was this experience that made me all too aware of what my strengths and weaknesses were, and still are. At that age I had no concept of inborn propensities or talents, but I soon learned that there were some things that came to me more easily than others.

Take, for example, the 50 yard dash and the 600 yard dash (Yes, this was so long ago that we ran yards not meters). My memory of the 50 yard dash goes something like this: Lots of kids lined up across the track. The gym teacher says "Ready, set, GO!" - and off we go. Or, at least everyone else goes. It seems, if memory serves me, that all the other kids were crossing the finish line while I was still pushing off at the start. I'm really not exaggerating here! I really sucked at the 50 yard dash. Next, I found myself starting, shoulder to shoulder, with the other kids for the 600 yard dash. Here's how this memory plays back: We start, the others take off like a shot while I do my darnedest to keep up, but then something truly unexpected happens - the other kids start slowing down, but I don't. I just keep plugging away at it, feeling good, passing one gasping runner after another until, miracle of miracles, I'm in the lead. And that's how the race goes. Hmmmm. I think this should tell me something. Today I remember that experience as formative for me as a runner. I knew from that day forward that I could not run fast, but I could run for a long time. I understood something about myself that I did not know when I woke up that morning.

So here I am many many years later still well aware of this fact - one of the few truths I'm fairly certain I know about myself. In other areas of life it is not so clear and simple discovering what one is naturally best at or drawn to. However, there's a catch to all of this. While it's all well and good to work and maximize one's strengths, often we improve the most by working our weaknesses. Again, this doesn't just apply to running - it applies to careers, relationships, parenting, friendships, and on and on. I know that I often get in my own way. The problem here is that it's rather unpleasant to work on the things you are not good at. I'd much rather go for a cruising 20 mile run than run 6 half-mile repeats at 3k-5k pace. I dread half-mile repeats. Why? Because I suck at them and because they hurt. But at some point, when we really desire to push ourselves, to see how fast we can run a particular distance, to beat or best ourselves, we must acknowledge that it is probably our weaknesses, not our strengths, that make the crucial difference.

So, what will I be doing this coming week?: One session of half-mile repeats. And, I really will be a better runner, and perhaps a better person, for it.

Freedom - What Does it Mean?

One reason why I love to run is the feeling of freedom it affords me. I slip on my shoes, open my door, and it's me and the world, and nothing gets between us. It doesn't matter where I am: in the country, in the city, in the mountains, at the shore. It doesn't matter what the weather may be: I've run through Nor'easters in Maine, forest fire smoke (not advisable) in Colorado, stifling heat and humidity in New Jersey. I've run through: pregnancy, illness (also not advisable), relationship break-ups, losing a parent, losing a best friend (my first dog), fear, joy, confusion, and utter contentment. Everyday is a different run - a different experience - another piece added to the puzzle of the being I am.

So today as I ran along a quiet trail in Boulder, Colorado on a magnificent, crisp spring morning, I embraced my freedom - and acknowledge how fortunate I am to be able to exercise this freedom.

And then I hear something coming from behind, approaching quickly. I look over my shoulder to see a mountain bike bearing down on me. No warning other than the sound of tires bouncing over the clay-mud rutted trail. I move to the right and the bike moves quickly past. I mention that this is a "no bikes" trail (which is exactly a quarter mile north of a well maintained dirt bike trail that runs exactly parallel to this trail). The biker says, "Oh, sorry". There are signs at every entry point onto this section of the trail system saying "no bikes". And the the rule in Boulder is that it is the responsibility of the biker to know where they may and may not go. I mention to the biker that his behavior is not helping the cause of cyclists hoping to gain more access to City of Boulder Open Space and Mountain Parks trails. This has been an extremely contentious and divisive issue in Boulder. He responds "I'm willing to pay a ticket if I get one. Cars speed, they get tickets, everyone does it." I ask him to slow down if he wants to say something to me, and he does. I run alongside him for about a 1/4 mile as we civilly discuss this issue. I appreciate his civility immensely - this has been a rarity in my experience when dealing with cyclists. However, his arguments are illogical and untenable.

Here's the gist of it: It's okay to do whatever you want as long as you're willing to pay the penalty when and/or if you're caught. He fully accepts that what he is doing is against the law and he's ready to accept the consequences. He uses the analogy of speeding in a car to illustrate his point: First, everyone does it; Second, if you pay your ticket it's all good.

So my question today is: Does one's ability and willingness to pay a fine grant them the right and freedom to do whatever the hell they want to do? Notice, I'm focusing on his second claim because the first claim is blatantly weak.

Well, to begin with, the analogy doesn't work: If you speed and get caught, you get a ticket. If you continue to speed you continue to get tickets, but eventually you lose your license (even if you pay your tickets). And if you continue to drive even without a license, you will be thrown in jail. Paying a fine does not guarantee your right to exercise unlimited freedom. Why? Because in this case your actions effect others. In this country we live in and consent to a social contract - that is, we agree to live in a manner that is mutually beneficial to all. So, for instance, I agree not to kill you as long as you agree not to kill me. This agreement benefits us both. Given the reality that some of us are neither reasonable nor rational, we have laws. Those laws are meant to protect rational members (those who recognize that others have rights) of this social contract from irrational members. Traffic laws are there to protect us. It doesn't matter if everyone does it (which is just not true). It doesn't matter if I'm as rich as Oprah Winfrey. Having the the means and willingness to accept the consequences does not give me absolute (moral) freedom. Absolute freedom results in state of nature or anarchy. And as the 17th century British philosopher Thomas Hobbes noted, such a life would no doubt be nasty, brutish, and short.

Now, there seems to be another undercurrent to his argument - which he did not state, though in the spirit of charity I'll entertain another possible angle. That is Civil Disobedience: Let's suppose that bicyclists are unfairly discriminated against - that is: laws are imposed on them that unfairly limit their freedoms.

Martin Luther King Jr. argued against racial segregation laws claiming that discrimination based upon race is unjust. In "Letter From Birmingham Jail" he called for all Americans of good will to break immoral human created laws: "One who breaks an unjust law must do so openly, lovingly, and with a willingness to accept the consequence." But, importantly, unjust laws are not unjust merely because I don't like them. (And to clarify: unjust=immoral) I may not like speed limits, but that doesn't make them unjust. According to King there are two criteria useful in determining whether a law is or is not just: It is a law made by the majority/those in power (my addition)and imposed on the minority/those without power, but that law does not apply to the majority/those in power. 2) A law that undermines the human personality (it makes a person feel like a lesser human being). So discrimination based upon race, sex, disability (possibly sexual orientation) qualify based on this criteria. I believe that King's criteria makes a lot of sense.

Do laws limiting trail access for bikes, or dogs, or equestrians, or people in general, qualify as unjust according to this criteria? No. The restrictions apply to all, not some segment of the population. I may be a runner first, but I do also mountain bike. I'm not allowed to bike on those trail, just like everybody else. And those who call themselves cyclists are permitted to use the trails, just not while riding their bikes. Does this law in some way make bikers feel inferior? No. The laws do not condemn bikers as lesser humans. They're aimed at safety and resource/environmental protection. Now, we may dispute the need for such restrictions, but it certainly isn't a case of civil rights being denied, and therefore, breaking the law is not an admirable act of civil disobedience.

So, no matter how charitably I interpret my cycling acquaintance's arguments, they don't work. Freedom is never without limits. My (moral) freedom is always limited by the rights others have to exercise a similar freedom. Freedom should not be available only to those who have the ability to pay for it. And, when freedom and rights are denied in a discriminatory manner, civil disobedience is not only allowed, it is required.

My Journey to a Boston Qualifier

I spend a restless night at the Marriot listening to the elevator go up and down, up and down, all night long. The digital clock continues clicking though the numbers as the time slowly moves toward 3:45 a.m. - my wake-up time. The Colorado Marathon begins at 6:15 a.m., but you are required to take a bus 17 miles up Poudre Canyon to the start. The last bus leaves at 4:45 a.m. I am wide awake at 3:30 and figure the extra 15 minutes of tossing-and-turning will do me less good then a nice long hot shower. I look up the current weather conditions - it's in the 20s and cloudy with a chance of showers (rain or snow). Light winds - that's good. I shower, I eat my specially formulated pre-run/race super chocolate-chip cookie, I thoroughly enjoy some much needed coffee - and I try to figure out what I should wear and what I should bring, just in case it's raining or snowing. I make my way to the car and drive through the deserted streets of Fort Collins blasting "The Verve" on my stereo. An hour later I am at the start. It is cold. Runners jog around in plastic trash bags, drink one last hot cup of coffee, down a GU, visit the loo...

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I've been running for a long time, but I've really only considered myself a marathoner for, oh, perhaps a year. After all those years of running mostly 10ks to half marathons, I was bitten by and smitten with the marathon. I don't know how, why, or when it happened, but the malady seems to be getting worse with time. When I was younger I was fairly competitive usually winning or placing in my age group at bigger local races, and sometimes even placing overall. But those days are behind me. I'm probably not going to be setting any personal records at this point in my life. But there are still other things I hope to do with my running. One thing is to just keep on running for as long as possible. Another is to run some of the races I've always wanted to run.

When I was 30 I ran my first marathon, the Maine Marathon (1993). I trained for that race in a fairly haphazard manor. This was my first experience with the marathon and I approached it with great respect and low expectations. The morning of that race I drove the half-hour from my apartment to Portland in a torrential downpour. The temperature hovered around freezing. At the start I looked at my (then) boyfriend and said "Well, we'll see how this goes". It continued to rain and blow hard for about 16 miles. I had no idea what my pace was and I didn't have much of a time goal. I just ran. The idea of qualifying for the Boston Marathon occurred to me, but it wasn't something I was particularly invested in. For some reason I believed the qualifying time for my age was 3:30 (I don't think I actually checked on that). As I hit the last mile the proverbial truck fell on my back. My shoes, completely sodden, felt like leaden weights of torture as I made slow progress to the finish. I remember passing people and wondering how it was physically possible to go slower then I was going without going backwards. I crossed the finish in 3:41:20. I believed I had missed the Boston mark by more than 10 minutes. Later I found out that I actually missed it by 20 seconds (3:40 + the 59 sec. grace which was still allowed then). Well, that's a bummer I thought, and let it go. But did I?

I wouldn't run another marathon for 14 years. While I continued running many miles a week, I pretty much stopped racing entirely. I was burned out and my athletic focus became rock climbing. Years later I was recovering from an injury many doctors told me I would never recover from. I remember promising the forces-that-be that if I did manage to recover and run again that I would run a marathon to raise money for a charity. Slowly I began running. After 10 months sitting on the bench, even a mile challenged me more than I ever could have imagined. I had always taken my ability to run long distances for granted. Suddenly I found myself so very grateful for any running I could manage. And I began thinking about the promise I had made. That year I signed up for the Boulder Marathon and raised money on my own for Camfed (Campaign for Female Education). This marathon was a horrible experience. I probably ran it too soon after my recovery, and it was hotter than Hades the day of the race (and the race ran out of water and Gatorade). The last 7 miles were a cramped hobble to the end. I can only compare the experience to child birth without the happy ending. Never again, I proclaimed to all who were willing to listen to my sad tale.

But a few months later I was back - this marathon bug is a sickness. That marathon was so bad I just had to do another one. This time I approached things more methodically - and I wanted to qualify for Boston. One fatal flaw doomed my plan: I went into my training with a case of calf tendinitis hoping it would improve, which of course it did not. I missed the Boston mark by 8 minutes. Now, this was becoming a issue.

Something that initially really didn't matter to me started to matter way too much. This time I had a plan and I trained with that plan in mind. I raced a bunch during my training getting used to running hard when I was tired. I did tempo runs and long runs and VO2 max runs all based upon my target - which was set to be reasonable and conservative. And I had a plan for the race itself. I was determined to stick with it.

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The tuba player plays a somewhat tortured, frozen lipped, National Anthem and the horn sounds. We are off, some still donning plastic bags. The first 17 miles of the Colorado Marathon move down the canyon, a very gentle downhill grade. Everyone is off like a shot. I look at my watch as runners stream effortlessly past me. "No" I tell myself "stick with your plan, don't go with them", and I don't. The first 5 miles feel painfully slow, but I stay on target. I've written my aimed for 6mi, 10mi, 13.1mi, and 20mi splits in ballpoint pen on my arm. I'm a little ahead at mile 6. I back off. A pit stop around 10 miles puts me on pace, and at 13.1 I'm just about spot on. We leave the canyon and head up the one long hill on the course from miles 17 to about 20 - and I feel great! I decide to start pushing it just a bit. I start passing people who flew by me earlier - I look at my watch - I'm still on target. By mile 20 I feel I'm hitting my stride and I start to really push it. This is where the race begins. I focus on my form, on running the tangents, on continuing to drink, - and I stay on pace. The last few miles I push hard and find I'm able to do what I will my body to do. It hurts and it's hard but I can actually do it. At this point many runners are struggling, many are walking, and many are stopping to stretch cramping muscles. There is one other woman running about 100 meters ahead of me, and we're both cruising - passing one person after another - her form looks strong - And in a way I feel we are in this together - I'm running with her not after her. At this point my watch goes blank - a "low battery" message covers my time. I'm on my own. As I approach the final stretch to the finish I look for the clock and push with all I have left.

I cross the finish in 3:53:22 - a Boston Qualifier by 8 minutes. I thank the woman ahead of me for being there and she thanks me for pushing her. We congratulate each other and disappear into the crowd of satisfied, blissfully exhausted runners.

But, now I know I can run a faster marathon...Dang it all...

When It's All Just Too Much - Run!

“Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.” ~Leo Tolstoy

The police light comes on, flashing in my review mirror. I feel the rush of dread as I pull to the side of the road and the police car follows me to a stop. "Oh, I don't need this - not today". He takes a minute to get out of his cruiser, does the cop-saunter to my window, and asks for my "papers". Into the glove-compartment I reach rummaging through a pile of old registrations and insurance cards - looking for something that just might have the right dates on it. Registration, check. Current insurance card - well that is sitting on my desk at home, where it usually is so that I will remember to put it in the car which, of course, I never do. Ugggg. I lose it. I immediately brake down into tears. Now, this is NOT my usual mode of dealing with "the man". I recognize when I've screwed up, and accept my just punishment - but today, somehow, this is the last straw and I snap.

This got me thinking about what I believe I should be able to handle and how much I should and can demand of myself. And, what keeps me sane when so much seems to be falling apart?

This week I have a marathon to run - and I've been training fairly intensely since February. I've run 4 longish races (10-13.1 miles each) over the past two and a half months. I've trained through a Colorado winter of cold, snow, ice, and wind maintaining about 55-62 miles a week. A month ago my mother, who lives 1600 miles away, was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of breast cancer. I spend several hours each day on the phone with her, and have flown to New Jersey to see her once, and will go again after the marathon. When I'm not talking with her I am worrying about her - usually during the wee hours of the morning when I should be sleeping so that my body can recover from a 20+ mile run or hard tempo session. It seems that the news is never good, and she is now in the hospital due to her reaction from an overly aggressive chemo treatment. Add to this the fact that the end of the semester is fast approaching, and with it piles of work to grade and frantic students to console, advise, and admonish, depending on their situation. And then there's my 4 year-old, who is the light of my life - but at times a whirling dervish of energy that is challenging to direct and appreciate.

So, what the hell is my problem? Why am I having such a hard time coping with it all. "This isn't so much", I tell myself. And yet, there I sat, on the side of the road sobbing because I was pulled over for speeding! We all have a breaking point. There's good and bad stress. But somehow it was all blurring together into one mass of mess.

For a short time I thought: "Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I should just not run this marathon. Maybe this is just too much." But then it came to me - I am alive now and this is how I express my life now, moving through the world, powered by my own body and spirit. This is the animal I am now. Running is how I say "Yes" to life. Running is an expression of my humanness. Aristotle argued that what makes a human human is that we are reasoning, social, and political beings. Those are the things we do better than anything else. But I want to add running to his list of "distinctive excellences". We may not be the fastest beings - but we are made to run. A horse may be faster than us, but we can run farther than a horse (thanks to our calf muscles). Our bodies are meant to move, and when we don't move them we suffer physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And so I will run. And, I will keep on running, even if I am sobbing the whole way...

Running Through Pain: Why I Must Keep Running

My plane traverses the country from Colorado to New Jersey. We fly into the darkening night as we move farther east. It feels symbolic of what is happening to my family. I've made this flight countless times, and this time I wonder if it will be one of my last. Four years ago I took this flight with my husband and 9 day-old daughter to attend my father's funeral. I knew then that life would begin changing much too fast for my comfort. Now I am off to visit my mother, seriously ill and terrified - thrust into the world of hospitals, and doctors, and tests, and tests, and tests...This faced by a seemingly healthy woman who has never been sick, never been in the hospital (except for childbirth), and looks and acts at least 20 years younger than she is. But cancer ignores all these facts.

These events have left me feeling sad and confused - How can I just go on living my life when my mother is going through all of this? It seems somehow inappropriate to go on doing the things that make me happy, while she is living in a world of abject terror. I look at my beautiful daughter and cry because someday she will die. I sit in the hospital and wonder if this is what awaits me in the not so distant future. When cancer hits, life as we know it, stops. Everything is focused on the war within your body. Your life is now arranged around appointments, and tests, and treatments - to what end? - you know not.

Everyone says: "use running for strength and peace", but my mother has none of that. Life goes on, I am told - but not for everyone - or anyone, really.

So why must I go on running?

Because I have to believe
Because knowing I gave everything, matters
Because of my daughter
Because of my mother
Because I have to try
Because it's more than just a run
Because when I do, there's always a chance...

And this I must tell myself everyday.

The Road Not Often Taken: Girls and Running

I ran my first race when I was 8 years old. This was back in the days of gray sweats and Keds tennis sneakers. My parents took me and my 13 year-old sister to the track at a private boys Catholic high school not too far from our house in suburban New Jersey. It was covered in a green squishy rough material. I'd never seen or felt anything like it. I cannot recall what sort of event this was. There were lots of other kids there milling about. I remember noticing that my sister and I were the only girls actually running. Other girls were there, but I never actually saw any others run. The girls sat on the bleachers with their parents watching their brothers race around the oval. We lined up straight across the track, one girl, and five boys. I had never actually run around a track before, but I had run around my block many many times, and I imagined that it would be much like that. The starters gun fired, pop, and feet, knees and elbows flew. I remember moving my legs and feet as fast as I could possibly make them go. As we rounded the final turn I experienced for the first time the feeling you have when you push your legs to a point where you can no longer feel, nor control, them. When you make such an effort that your legs just sort of leave you - and you are your legs - they are no longer just part of you. I came in last, though it was close. That was it. I became a runner that day.

We have many experiences in life and different experiences effect different people in different ways. For some reason this race was life altering, or at least life directing, for me - it was one of those moments that changes everything. From the instant the gun went off I was a runner. It wasn't because some brilliant natural talent came to light. It wasn't because I won a ribbon (back then not everyone got ribbons!). It wasn't because my parents showered me with congratulations It wasn't due to any tangible outcome or result - it was the feeling I had when I ran. It was being on that track, standing and waiting for the gun, watching the other runners nervously step from foot to foot, and being part of an experience where we all really, really tried hard. Why did we try so hard? I really can't say. We were there to run around that track as fast as we could. The aim was pure and simple - and many would say, pointless.

That was almost 40 years ago. And that simple, pointless race turned out to be anything but pointless for my life. After that race I remember getting up early many mornings before school, driving with my father and sister to run laps around Cedar Brook Park pond. My father was a runner as a boy in Brooklyn. He ran many cross country races in Van Cortlandt Park. He ran on a banked wooden track in Madison Square Garden. In high school I ran races on the same cross country course in Van Cortland Park. And that wooden track moved to Setan Hall University, where my high school team had many meets.

I was not a good team player. My sister was the star athlete in the family. She played soccer, field Hockey, basketball, and lacrosse. She always lead the team and her name always turned up in newspaper reports. I ran. In 8th grade I could finally run on a team. My school had a boys team and a girls team. The only problem was that the girl's team didn't have any races scheduled. They practiced, a little, every afternoon, but there were no races. Really!!?? My friend Leslie and I asked the coaches if we could run with the boys. This was back in 1977 - Title IX was passed in 1972 - and the details were still being worked out. At first we were told "no", there was a girl's team and that was good enough. We threatened to go out for football if they wouldn't let us run with the boys. They gave in - I like to think, because of our threats. We were required to wear the boys uniforms which fell off our bone shoulders and skinny waists - but we did it and we ran the races with the boys as the girl's team watched.

And, I've never stopped running. I now find myself in middle age, looking at others around me, and I realize that running really has made a difference in my life. Many of my jock friends who played team sports in high school and college were left adrift following their collegiate careers. Sure, there's "adult leagues" for many sports, but it seems much more difficult to continue these sports after college ends and "real" life commences. Games and practices must be fit into work, and family schedules. With running, you walk out the door and run - and if the only time slot open is 5 a.m., then that's when you run. This is much more difficult, if not impossible, with other sports. As a result, many women (and men) become much more sedentary following college.

So, what's the big point of all this? I firmly believe in the power of running to empower and free girls and women. I believe that the self reliance I have developed through the challenges of running, the discipline, the hours upon hours of running with my thoughts, the appreciation of the natural environment, the physical strength and the feeling of strength it develops, all give me the energy and inspiration to do something important - to make a difference - to set an example. I am a wife and a mother and a teacher - but I am not entirely defined by those roles. Nor did I ever feel that I needed to be a wife and mother to be a real woman. I am not defined by what other people think of me: how I dress, what car I drive, whether my hair is just right (it never is;) - It is ultimately up to me whether I flourish or not. I was given an amazing gift when I was 8 years old (thanks Mom and Dad). I had no idea then. I do now.

While this could be a story about a boy or a girl, a woman or a man - I believe that boys and men are given many more options and opportunities and encouragement to take risks, to push and challenge themselves, and to trust that they can make it home again. We need to tell our girls that they can do it too. I am not alone in my assessment of the effects of running on girls' and women's lives. Here are some amazing organizations doing wonderful things for girls and women, today and tomorrow, and on and on. Check them out. Support them. It will make a difference in your world, their world, and the world of those who follow...

Girls on the Run
Girls Gotta Run Video
Girls Gotta Run


Girls Gotta Run Foundation: Team Naftech from sarah murrray on Vimeo.