The air is cold and nippy. My husband and I huddle together for warmth and comfort. The familiarity of someone you love is calming when surrounded by so many strangers, 2600 of them. My nose inhales the aroma of the fire pits, a pleasant, comforting smell, which enhances the views around me. The chattering of voices drones on, disturbing the peaceful tranquility of the majestic mountains. Experienced runners prance around like excited ponies, anxious to start the race. The inexperienced stretching cold muscles, without thought to the tearing of unyielding fibers. The average runner (my category) watching, waiting, ready to take advantage of the weeks, months, and for some years of training.

An hour later, the time has come at last. The loud speaker vigorously urges runners to the starting point for their pace-set. I make one last necessary stop at the port-a-potty with the count down broadcasting loudly throughout the crowd, 5 minutes....4 minutes...3 minutes...2 minutes...hurry, hurry...after waiting for so long, now they want me to hurry? Having taken care of bodily functions, we quickly proceed to the beginning of a 13.1 mile journey.

The only indication the race has begun is the roar of the crowd that ripples like the tide of a wave hitting the shore of enthusiastic athletics. The crowd surges forward, and just like the previous years, quickly stalls whilst the race fanatics squeeze through the starting gate. The realistic runners patiently take it all in stride, knowing the upcoming hill will quickly tame their fervor.

A quarter mile into the race, my lungs and legs warm and readied, we start the ascent of the gradual 1 mile climb. As we climb, lungs breathing deeply, muscled legs flexing elegantly, the beauty of the man-made dam enthralls us. The morning sun is just beginning to peak over the mountains and splashes onto the clear, rippling water. Ducks and geese are lazily drifting along top the vast blue water. I think with delight in doing so myself, once the boating season has begun.

It is here that my training pays off; I'm not a slacker, I've faithfully devoted one day a week to hill climbs. A technique that enables me to dodge and weave around the huffing, puffin, and ultimately walking, participates, who normally are of my fitness level. As I reach the crest of the climb, the full sun breaks over the mountain. I'm taken aback as I gaze in wonder at the extensive sea of runners that stretches out before me. Looking over my shoulder, the length of the sea extends behind me, stirring a sense of comradely. I turn my attention back to the task at hand, the road wraps around the apex of the dam and starts my descent into the canyon. The canyon winds kindly reward me for my efforts with a fresh breeze that cools my skin by quickly vaporizing the sweat of my labors.

This is now the part of the run for which I long. The beauty of the canyon. The magnificent rock formations, the eagles taking flight miles above me and the morning songbirds singing their songs of praise for the dawning of a new day. A swiftly, flowing river is bursting at the seams with the melting of the winter snow and runs along side me, becoming my constant companion for the next 11 miles. The rustling of the trees spurs me on and the steady striking of the $100 sneakers of my peers sets my pace, matching me stride for stride.

Mile 10. No amount of training can prevent the awareness of the blood pulsating through my now aching muscles. My calves flexing and straightening are growing increasingly tighter. The mouth of the canyon appears before me, ready to spit me out into a crowd of eager observers, cheering us on, ringing their cowbells, clapping their hands and waving signs of encouragement. A necessary ingredient of the run to entice the weary into the final 3 miles.

Weary yes, but exhausted no; for the next 2 miles are my home turf. At the mouth of the canyon lays a pathway and the pathway is my training field. The next 2 miles are only a portion of the 10 miles I train upon. I've frequently run this pathway beginning to end, year round. I know every bump, every twist, every step and every stone like the familiar touch of my lover, and I welcome it's caress. I'm home.

I quickly glide along now, the supportive crowds thicker here, the noise level becoming louder at the end of this 2 mile portion of my 13.1 mile journey. I turn off the path and onto the city streets for the last mile. The cheers of the crowd and booming of the band become louder and louder as I stride through streets normally choked with traffic. The drudgery and dullness of the city streets does nothing to appease my senses and I force out the last mile of the race, no slowing down now, the finish line awaits!

The finish line. I'm almost there, 2 more blocks. My lungs are screaming now, my muscles throbbing as I force out every ounce of energy left, knowing there is no need to conserve it anymore, the end is neigh. I'm pushing with everything I got, then the band, as if sensing I have no more left to give, breaks into the theme song from Rocky. "Growing strong now, Gonna fly now..." and that did it, I give a little more and flew over the finish line, a smile on my face, my husband by my side.

Yeah, that's why I run.