People often ask me and my running partner, Rabbi Ben David, why we run.  The questions generally start off with the “why would anyone run a marathon” variety, then progress to the “why do you bother running at all” type.

To be completely honest, there are many reasons why we do it.  Some reasons are lofty, others more mundane; all of them, however, are rooted in who we are as Jews.  If I had to choose one guiding principle, it would be that of Rabbi Hillel: “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?  If I am only for myself, what am I?  If not now, when?” (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

When I returned to running two years ago, the undertaking was in essence ‘for myself.’  It was great exercise, I would be in great shape and perhaps – with luck – it would keep me feeling young.  The selfishness, if you can call it that, extended running into my Judaism as well.  I didn’t undertake these running adventures all by myself, I had a partner, my chevruta partner actually (chevruta is the traditional Jewish study model of learning in pairs).  Out on the roads you have a lot of time to talk.  We talked sermons, congregations, we talked each other through the more trying times of our rabbinates, and patted each other on the back for jobs well done.  In doing a twenty mile practice run, we not only became better runners, but we became better rabbis.  In doing so, in being able to vent and brainstorm, to discuss and wrestle ideologies, Judaism stayed fresh and vibrant for us.

If we ran only for our own betterment, what would good would we really be?  Neither Ben, nor I, could feel really good about ourselves if we devoted so many hours each week along with other resources to a project that was solely about us.  It wasn’t really in our nature.  It was that thought process that lead last year to run the marathon for the HUC-JIR Soup Kitchen (http://www.huc.edu/academics/continuing/soup.shtml) and homelessness awareness last year.  This year, we ran with Team for Kids (www.teamforkids.org) to get inner-city youth some much needed exercise and sorely missing role models in their communities.

There is a great chance that on November 5^th of this year I would have been sitting on my sofa, doing next to nothing.  I likely would have been watching football and perhaps, if I remembered, I would have watched the NYC Marathon on TV.  But, two years ago, a friend basically told me that if I didn’t enter the marathon lottery right now, I never would.  Looking back, I’m pretty sure he was right.  I went and did it.  “If not now, when?”  It is an attitude that can change lives.  It changed mine.  It is the kind of attitude that we are implored to have by our tradition.  Lech L’cha Abraham was told – GO!  Not, “Abe, when you have a chance, get out there and change the course of human history.”  We aren’t supposed to feed the hungry later, we’re supposed to do it now.  The Talmud tells us that each of us should repent daily, we don’t know if it will be our last chance.  Now, time is of the essence as it is with so many things.

All three parts of Hillel’s statement apply to our lives out on the roads as we train and race.  We are out there for ourselves, we pay keen attention to everything internal; from what we eat and drink, to our heart rates and mind sets.  We become completely absorbed in ourselves, listening to our breathing, our feet striking the pavement.   We have personal goals of time and accomplishments (we made ours!).  We are also attuned to the others around us.  We chat up other runners that seem to be struggling; there is a bond between all of us.  Running is an individual sport, but it is the knowledge that we are not alone out there that keeps us all going.  There is no feeling of self, only group, when you step up to the starting line with nearly 40,000 runners.  “If not now, when?” might as well be the motto for the marathon itself.  There is nothing in the world like taking in the totality of the moment of crossing the finish of the marathon.  That one moment is made of a thousand others and they are all “when?” moments.  It comprises the rainy, freezing mornings when you drag yourself out of bed to train because if you didn’t do it then, you never would.  It also includes, that last hundred yards when you could coast in, or push it to the limits of your ability because you may never be in that position again.