love can mend your life, but love can break your heart.

Many, many times, I have tried to articulate the appeal of the marathon. Running, to me, seems to be a nearly universal expression of freedom. The open roads, the endless trails, and the many wide-open fields all call our weary legs for one more mile. Still, I understand how running can seem like a club you could never be a part of. Something just out of reach, like the crush you had in junior high. No matter what level of interest you may hold in wanting to know more, there is this invisible barrier that says, “You could never.” In some ways, our extreme passions are our SOSs to the world - a way of expressing our deepest loves.

Recently, I’ve been reflecting on all the things my friends and social media “acquaintances” do - the cooking, the long treks, the two-a-days in the gym, the photo projects, the blossoming careers and the marriages that compose the long stream of images I choose to spend time scrolling past.

All these activities take investments. Of resources, yes. But more so, they require time. The magic in these things is that at some point, they catch fire. You might just pick-up a camera on sale one day, and the next thing you know, you are outside every evening and weekend, looking for those moments. You start to spend your free thoughts on angles, on camera settings, on color pallets, and so many combinations. You wake up earlier and earlier to catch those golden sunrises. The new chef starts to binge YouTube videos, to test new kitchen equipment, to sweat and salivate in the produce aisle. Giddy in the moments between the plating and the steps to the dining table. There is a particular type of sacrifice in those gym rats - the ones that enter the gym two or three times a day. They know the machines in a different capacity. To them, the locker room is an office. There is time to chat on the weight room floor because there are hours to spend in this church of discipline. The emotions and the passions that ignite loves and careers, they activate a different level of excitement. The kind of stirring that will pop you out of bed when you barely slept. A joy that has you whistle your hopes in time with the honking of horns during rush hour traffic.

In each of these things, there is a sense of purpose. In many other pastimes - the purpose is waiting for you. When it finds you, though, it will fundamentally change you. You will pour and pour. You will empty - only to be refilled. Amidst defeat, you will swear you are done, broken. Still, within minutes, hours, or days, you will collect yourself - ready to give it all you have once again. Often, these things fill some part of us that we didn’t fully recognize. Until one day, we are doing this thing and hoping, praying that we can do it for as long as possible. Our sacrifices and our concessions are all symbols of our commitment. We roll our little notes of purpose and send them into the water each day.

Whether you go it alone or tackle a challenge with someone else, there will be a hardship. Your brow will furl. You will cringe. At times, you may whimper. Those around you will observe some of these glimpses of pain. Some will watch the paint crack before you get a chance to paint a fresh layer. However, for many, they will know only smiles. The highlights you’ve shared on social media. The stories you tell - of victories and triumph.

In running, you can experience the journey of love, devastation, triumph, humiliation, and redemption all in a single day. Once you have accepted your journey on the road - the days become a different set of rules for you. Bedtime, meals, free time, and clothing all become substantial thoughts. On race day, you will feel the love of the sport, joined in a union with all those at the same start line. At your first unplanned porta-potty stop, you will feel the sinking feeling of a failed plan. Like that day you set out to purchase something only to find out the store was sold out. Still, you hit the road again and run incredible splits. Mile after mile, you’ve been within two seconds of the same pace. Then, all at once, that tight quad starts to pull at you. In an instant, you remember every lousy run you’ve ever had. You remember the awful hills — the blistering speed workouts.

Nevertheless, you cross the finish, bow your head, and are donned with a medal. At which point, you limp over to the bagel box and sink your teeth into what must be the most perfectly baked bagel on the planet. Living, it seems, is simply a matter of being so tired that your brain loves literally everything.

The people watching these races see these journeys. You should spend some time on the sideline of a race, and you’ll see them too. If your loved one is running, you will feel the investment in their race. Like football on Sunday, you will scream from your heart. You’ll pace the sidewalks and check your watch constantly. You’ll see yourself as a tool on race day, a cheering mechanism with only one setting - loud. Your heart will swell and sag. You will not know how this all came to mean so much to you until you see those eyes pass by you. The eyes that are full of vigor, surrounded by hard lines and beads of hard work. You’ll watch smiles turn to grimaces. The road will be your enemy too. When it all ends, whatever the outcome is, you will swear it was an act of absolute athleticism. This type of passion is contagious. All of us are sending messages of hope and purpose out - hoping someone sees our bottle, reads our note, feels our pain, and our joys.

In every cycle, there is heartbreak. In the training - there will be heartbreak. In the building of anything, there will be days where you hang your head. Whatever passion finds you, it will heal you, but it will hurt you too. Along the way, we hope to inspire our loves to love the same things. We hope our passions make us more in so many different ways. To be vulnerable is to allow yourself to feel something so completely. Allow yourself that investment, without caution or fear. In between the miles, you will find what you are looking for and more. Let the journey be the journey. Allow yourself some hard days, and rejoice on the days where you catch sparks. In whatever message you are waiting to send, put ink to the paper. Let your message be clear. Most importantly, let your message float.

I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle.