I never understood why people hate running. With every sport that I played growing up, I longed for the sprints that would come if ever I got a breakaway in soccer or a great hit in softball.

With this love for running, my dad suggested I do track. I am thankful every day that I followed his advice, as I found something that truly made me happy. Although I no longer run competitively, I still run on my own. People ask why, and I wonder what there is to question.

The start of the run always gives me butterflies: the good kind. I know it will hurt at some point, but I also know that the feeling of achievement will overpower the pain at the end.

As I take my first step, I feel the breeze in my face. I hear the sound of the ground underneath me crunch every time my foot lands.

I feel the power in my legs. The turnover as my thighs guide my knee drive. My calves as I land softly on my toes.

I feel the strength in my arms. With each step, they pump more energy into my body. They stay loose, but they have such great power.

Each breath is better than the last. My favorite time to run is the crisp mornings in the fall and spring, before the world is cluttered with people moving too fast for too long. I love wearing a long-sleeved shirt with shorts as the cool air hits my face, only to become a comfortable temperature as I begin to feel the toll of the run.

Perhaps the best part is the high I get towards the end. That feeling of being invincible. That feeling of being able to run for hours, or even days. That feeling of the perfect rhythm and being in sync with my whole body.

No words could ever begin to describe the love I have for this feeling. The rush of a great run is like no other. When people ask why, I know they’ve never had this feeling. This feeling of greatness and strength combined. This is why I run.