Mario Oliverio: What are you running for?

My first thought just as the starter signal sounded last year for the Ohio River Trail Council 10K was not “I hope I set a personal record” or “I’m so glad to be raising money for a good cause” (sorry, ORTC), but rather — “Wait a second, am I really going to running for the next hour?”

That epiphany is what brought me to the big question: Why do we run, whether it’s around the block or in races? And I don’t mean for the super-fast people out there who do it for the validation of another trophy, plaque or medal. I mean for those middle-of-the-pack runners who gasp and stumble each step of the way in hopes of reaching the finish line before that wonky hamstring of theirs pops for good. (Disclosure: I “won” about five trophies/medals, etc. — not that I’m fast, but I was one of only three in my age group. Yeah, you run enough races in 25 years, it’ll happen.)

Why do we do something that, as many college or high school varsity shirts snarkily say, is the punishment for any other sport? “Hey Moretti, I saw you dogging it out there! Go run a lap!” “But coach!” “Make that TWO laps, Moretti!”

It’s not because of the ease. Running in this city is tough, man. With all these hills? If I want to run around in my neighborhood, I’m presented with an awesome choice — go right and start with a steep hill, or go left and end with a steep hill, and unless I’m just going for a one-mile gadabout, I have more hills in between. Hey, this ain’t Nebraska, fella. You want to run in Pittsburgh? You earn it.

A lifetime ago in 2010 I wrote a story about running 5Ks in order to earn the T-shirt that comes along with paying for the privilege of a good muscle cramp. Well, that’s still kinda true. Gotta love a good race design, but enough’s enough for me. My dresser is overflowing. My goddaughter, when she sees me, would say, “Another 5K shirt, uncle?” and one can only accommodate so many T-shirt quilts. Running for shirts? That’s so 10 years ago.

So once again, what’s the reason?

Maybe people run since it’s cheap exercise. No equipment needed, no court, field, rink or diamond to search for, no need to find at least three other people to get a game going. Expensive running shoes are good, but not absolutely necessary.

But I still don’t think that’s all of it.

There’s always the social aspect. The return to in-person running is wonderful. My last race prior to the ORTC 10K (yeah, go ahead, look up my time, it ain’t pretty) was back in March 2020. I was never so happy to be running with people again. The virtual races? Good try, but running a virtual race is like teaching in a virtual classroom. You just need that social interaction.

At this race, teens were so happy they bounced with enthusiasm, women were so happy they beamed ear to ear, men were so happy they ran shirtless and decided deodorant would only slow them down (Wait, that last part I could do without — and yes, sir, I’m talking about you!).

Still, that can’t be the only reason. There are less sweaty ways to socialize. Jenga, anyone?

Years ago when I lived in Bellevue, I was running over the bridge that connects to Brighton Heights. The bridge contains a pedestrian path but it’s barely able to fit two people side-by-side. I was about to pass someone with his back to me, but his ear phones prevented him from hearing my “on your left.” As I passed him, he jumped and said, mostly to himself, “What are you running for, man!” Exactly. What am I running for?

For me, it’s the peace it brings me. I don’t use earbuds when I run; music doesn’t coexist peacefully with traffic sounds. So my company is my own stream-of-consciousness. A scary thought, to be sure. Lots and lots of existential thoughts running through my head as I run through my same three routes ad nauseum. And no, silly, not thoughts like, “What’s the meaning of life,” “Why do we drink the milk of a mammal 10 times bigger than we are” or even “How come Hollywood’s never done a good reboot of the 1977 film ‘Wizards’,” but rather the real important stuff: “Why does the BLUE Gatorade always go first at the 5K races,” “Why do fake green or red popsicles taste far superior to the all-natural ones” and “Is that older gent in the neck brace really about to lap me?”

Seriously, the peace of thinking whatever you want is priceless. When else do you have time to do that? Running for me is, dare I say it, an act of mindfulness. My one time to think what I want to think, bereft of any thoughts of work, bills or obligations. If I want to plan out my day, fine. If I just want to hum the lyrics to Pink Floyd’s “Run Like Hell,” then I go for it. The limits are nonexistent.

What am I running for? What are yourunning for? Isn’t that the more important question?

Mario Oliverio of Ross is an English teacher in the Pine-Richland School District.