I'm not a Japanese monk running and prostrating and running. I'm not a 3,100 Mile racer going around a city block for 70 miles a day. I never will be at Bad Water, Leadville or Western States. I am here in the boring midwest, a girl doing situps, bench presses and running through the early morning darkness. I love it. Running fills me with happiness. Happiness tells me I can have it with me all day. Happiness is a gift and a decision to receive.
Running for its own sake is a different paradigm. Running without asking it for anything is the end of running as I know it. Running is being, the reception of the gift of heaven, the contemplation of God, the existential mountain top of life. Running, the ontological tool of transcendence beyond the merely physical. The metaphysical bottom line of running is the early morning silence where even the runner makes no sound.
The 51 year old woman who never grew up wants a t-shirt and a shiney medal. The 51 year old woman who is a cranky adult poo-poos the idea of the shiney medal. The 51 year old running spirit will be running, one place or another as Spirit calls. Its really none of my business.