William Purkey, a well-known professor of education, said, “Dance like no one is watching, love you'll never be hurt, sing like no one is listening, and live like it's heaven on earh.” It seems like the perfect life philosophy — and one I've learned to apply to running over the year.
But I didn't always feel this way. In my early days, when I weighed 240 pounds, I ran like everyone was watching — and judging. If I was on a run and saw a car approaching, I'd stop and pretend I was looking for something I'd lost. I bought the high-tech gear and clothes that I thought would make people believe I was a runner. And I didn't have a clue if the expensive shoes I was wearing were the right kind for me — I just wanted to look like I fit in with this group.
To be honest, I felt a certain satisfaction in believing that someone was watching. I really thought that other people cared about my performance. The best example of this was a combined, two-lap marathon in Florence, Italy. As I approached the finishing line, the crowd began to cheer. I was surprised. Here I was, thousands of miles from home, and the Italians were shouting for “IIPenguino.”
About 20 yards from the finishing, the truth set in when the winner of the full marathon went past me as I was finishing the half-marathon. No one was cheering for me. No one probably even noticed that I was finishing. I couldn't help but smile at my own illusion of self-importance.
That's when I realized I had been running for every reason except the right one. I ran to make other people happy, ran to live up to their expectations. But no one was watching — no one cared. So I decided I was going to run for me—just me—and gained a new enjoyment from the sport I hadn't truly experienced yet. I've learned to run like no one is watching.
So if you see me at race, and I look like a 60-year-old guy waddling(蹒跚) along, don't worry. I'm fine. The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start.
