AS I SIT DOWN TO WRITE THIS, I am sweaty, grimy even, from a windy November run that has coated me with dust. Although it’s the weekend, I’ve logged on to the computer in an attempt to capitalize on the fresh mind-set that is the gift of a run—as I so often do.
Today, I saw two friends out on the trail that meanders along the outskirts of town. It is a vast and hushed landscape where the Rocky Mountains give way to the quieter majesty of the endless plains to the east. Beth and Jennifer were with their three dogs, a spectrum of shaggy, golden- and cream-colored beauties. We chatted about the run, the day, yesterday’s workout, the dogs. The two mentioned how they looked forward to this time each week, this Sunday ritual. Time away from husbands and boyfriends, from work and home, from tidier pursuits. This is what it’s all about, they said. Yes, I said. This is what it’s all about. I felt a chill and noticed that I had goose bumps, although the air was not cold yet.
So I watched Beth and Jennifer resume running with their dogs, enjoying their piece of the day. And I tried to figure out why such a simple thing moved me so. Dozens of women were out on the trail today—some in groups, some alone. In fact, there were far more women than men. And then it struck me just how far we’ve come. A generation ago, women had no such model for companionship. Men alone participated in athletics and reaped its ensuing benefits: the bonds of friendship, the revitalization of time away, the healthy glow from movement. Women’s participation in sports—and, in particular, in the hugely popular second running boom—has given us a new paradigm. A refuge in the day that holds only good things. A place in which we develop friendships, love, and trust as solid and uncomplicated as the beat of our feet and the rhythm of our breathing.
When I learned that I would have the honor of writing this book—and it is an honor—I felt a deep sense of responsibility. How could I do service to the depths of feeling that I have for this sport? How could I possibly enumerate all the gifts that running has given me: strength and health; love and friendship; a sense of self, of discipline, of capability and power; and even a profession and a husband?
As I sat down over the course of a year to write this book, my goal was to impart the breadth and depth of what running can mean to women: more than just fitness or friendship or sanity but rather all those things together. I can only hope that this book offers you at least a portion of the strength and inspiration that I have drawn from other women along the way.
I hope to see you out on the roads, the trails, or the track. May your feet and your heart feel light.