I remember in Kindergarten running around like a crazy man. Yelling, screaming having a great time. I then remember going to the doctor and being told I had some disease (Leggs-Perthes) in my hips. I was admitted to the hospital and my legs were put in traction. 5 years old. I could no longer walk. The hospital bed contained me for two weeks. It was there I learned to whistle. Apparently I pushed the call button too many times. Unfortunately, the only whistle I knew was the cat-call; probably taught to me by my brothers. So, when a nurse would walk by, I would whistle a cat-call. She would come in and I would ask for ice cream. Never mind that it was only 6 am. A cast from navel to my feet was the next treatment. I think that lasted for 6 weeks. Then, a wheelchair. A wheelchair. That lasted for the next 5 years. Not until the middle of 4th grade was I able to get up and use those legs to run around and act crazy. Not until I was ten years old was I able to ride a bike, go out for a pass, play hide and seek effectively (hiding is tough when you're in a wheelchair) run from my siblings, or simply run because I could. What a glorious day. I remember the day my dad came home from work and knelt at one end of the hallway. I got up out of my chair and walked towards him; into his arms.
Why do I run? Because I can. Running is a gift. When we lose something valuable we have feeling of regret. We wish we would have had more time with a loved one or not taken a friendship or relationship for granted. I have been told by some doctors to not run. And I quote "Your running days are over." Never! My running days have just began. I had lost my ability to run. I value every moment I can walk, every time I can run and every opportunity to run around like a crazy man.