When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile.
~Author Unknown
I was only two miles into my 14-mile run when I saw a ghost. Halfway between the Lincoln Memorial and the U.S. Capitol Building, my ex-girlfriend and I shared an uncomfortable nod as we sprinted past each other. A single “Hey” echoed in my mind as our shoes slapped pavement, adding distance to freshly opened wounds.
We met when we were young, fresh out of college and dropped in the middle of a city that promised exciting career opportunities in exchange for souls and firstborn children. She introduced herself to me as a university track enthusiast, and I quickly bought my first pair of running shoes to make a good impression.
Our relationship was marked by workouts. There was the run when we randomly bumped into each other on the National Mall and ended up going to dinner. There was the sunset run when I asked her to be my girlfriend by the Potomac River. There was the marathon in Philadelphia that we signed up for together and completed, falling asleep in each other’s arms on the bus ride back to D.C.
We ran to other countries, and we ran to family vacations. We ran to different hobbies and late nights at the office. We ran to long business trips and separate dinners. We ran to tough conversations about changing expectations. We had always run at different speeds, but we had started running in different directions. Eventually, we ran away from each other.
After the breakup, I kept running. Putting one foot in front of the other allowed me to leave my problems behind. With my neon laces, I could run away from anything.
One morning, I was running by the Lincoln Memorial steps when I heard someone shouting at the top of his lungs, “Bring it in, bring it in! Get closer, get closer, make it tight!”
A man dressed in a neon green shirt, surrounded by a sea of oranges, yellows, and blues, commanded an audience like an orchestra conductor, “We’re gonna start this workout with a little bounce!”
And as soon as the word “bounce” was uttered, the sea of neon began jumping up and down, chanting in unison with the man at its center. When the climactic “Good morning!” screams were exchanged, the group revealed itself to be a running group with an above-average enthusiasm for running up stairs.
Over the next few weeks, these people became my new family, a support group for the emotionally scarred. Everyone was made of hugs and friendships, name recognition and happy-hour invitations. Their motto was, “Just show up,” and it wasn’t only about showing up to workouts, but showing up for each other in life, too.
When I ran away from the neighborhoods my ex-girlfriend and I had frequented, they joined me in rediscovering a city I had lived in for the past six years. When I ran away from a job that had become stale, they advised me, giving me escape options. When I ran from the city and moved back to my parents’ home in Massachusetts, they were there to catch me, with new faces and names but the same “Just show up” attitude at Harvard Stadium instead of the Lincoln Memorial. And when I ran away from the country to start an overseas adventure, they were there to send me off.
I ran to volunteer projects and expat communities. I visited islands, beaches, mountains, and cities in different countries, with my laces tied tight to keep me moving. If I was moving, I had no time to be sad about everything I had given up.
One evening, I found myself at a campsite with volunteers from over 15 different countries, gathered on a mountainside to build a school for the local community. Someone had designated it “culture night,” and brave volunteers were sharing different traditions, demonstrating Chinese calligraphy, Latin dancing, and Australian folk songs around our campfire. Until this point in my travels, I had been a silent observer, seeing the sights and taking photographs. But on this particular night, something inside urged me to step up.
I looked out at the daring volunteers who had gone before me, admiring the way the firelight danced across their faces, searching for a smile to give me confidence. I was met with pure adrenaline, a series of steps appearing in front of me that no one else could see, so I cleared my throat and began.
“Bring it in, bring it in! Get closer, get closer, make it tight!” I paused, breathing in deeply. “We’re gonna start this workout with a little bounce!”
On that day, I began running toward life instead of away from it.
— Brian Wong —