When I Run I Die More SLowly.
I run to run.
To live. And longer.
Through Paris’ vascular streets to the snake-winding trails of the Virgin Desert- when I run, I die more slowly.
But running isn’t just about adding days to my life.
It’s about why I want them.
Some call running a gift—and it is, but only for those who hear its call.
Like the sun that rises for all to see, but some sleep through it.
Watching Prefontaine doesn’t compel everyone to red line a 5k.
Some watch greatness and feel content, others dream of becoming it.
What sparks the need to chase what others only see?
Why wasn’t I content with just hearing Jeremy’s 100-mile story?
Why did I need to try it myself?"
When Mike climbed Half Dome, I admired him, but I didn’t feel called to do the same.
Every running story I consume makes me want to run farther.
A half-marathon became 100 miles.
100 becomes 200.
Maybe a Transcon someday.
Running is survival, building me from the bones out: strong legs, a steady heart, a quiet mind.
But survival is only the starting line of something more.
Running slows the inevitable, giving me a better chance to watch my sons become fathers, my daughter a mother—a ripple effect of purpose.
Running is something else.
In the middle of an ultra, reason slips away.
It’s not about longevity or health.
It’s about now. No phone, no appointments—only this step, this moment.
Complete presence gives me life.
And I don’t mean “more days.” I mean, I’m glad I’m alive.
When the world crumbles—bankruptcy, job loss, hopelessness—running reminds me what life is worth.
And so I run.
To die more slowly.
31 May 2025
10k | Half Marathon | 50k
Run. Race. Belong.
A mobile app for hosting and finding run clubs coming 2025.
