I run because life is short and there are no moral imperatives save only these: to the weak you owe solidarity, to yourself you owe change. My father in his youth raged against the “bowler hat”, by which he meant the prospect of a life predictable from day to day, a life structured always around the same few relationships, a life overwhelmed by the routine of work. He saw that possibility and he rebelled equivocally against it. I share with him that restlessness. A life of movement, he grasped, and I agree with him, is a life fulfilled. A sedentary life is a life voluntarily diminished.
Running has taken me to places that I would not otherwise have seen, it has made the familiar wholly exciting and new. It has taught me a discipline in myself that was all the more powerful because it was embedded in my chest, arms and legs. It has taken me away from the person that I might otherwise have been.
I will be old; I do not doubt that I will be alone. And in that moment, when I look back at my life, I demand the right to reminisce fondly and regret nothing.
[from my book Lives; Running]