Creator1

‘What more can you give?’ it’s my annoying habit I sometimes have to answer questions with other questions. What more can you give? Aims to respond to a quote from the 2005 NYC Marathon winner, Paul Tergat who said, ‘Ask yourself: ‘Can I give more?’. The answer is usually: ‘Yes’.

Naturally, as logic would suggest, I think about this when I’m doing desert runs. It’s often a self check, motivation attempt, perhaps to guilt myself to carry on. The quote extends beyond the sandy, windy trails of the desert, to all facets of life. ‘What more can you give?’ usually musters up another 200 ft or so of running, until I’m asking myself the same question again.

As I pump my legs up a large hill, my heartbeat thunderous over the music in my headphones, I beg myself, ‘What more can you give?’ mustering up the strength to crest the hill. The ground ends, revealing only squiggly heat waves, distorting the distant decline ahead, as the wind picks up and something catches my eye. It was a cluster of bright orange flowers growing alone in the sand. I paused, struggling to catch my breath, chest pounding, I’d given all I had. I paced at the top of the hill, whipped by the harsh wind, and filled with immense satisfaction as I look down the mighty hill I had just persistently climbed. The primal satisfaction of accomplishment, the conquering of the hill is enough fulfillment for me, something that Sisyphus will never experience. The struggle, enjoying that struggle, and the inevitable self-improvement that comes from it is my meaning to life when I ask ‘what more can you give?’ It applies in desert runs, being a better parent, a better person in general.

 But just as I was contemplating the basis of this article, I am presented with unlikely beauty in the desert. As if the desert, in appreciation for my efforts, has asked itself ‘What more can I give?’, serving up countless flowers, creatures, sights, and more. Even after I return home, exhausted from the day and run, the desert continues to answer ‘what more can I give?’ Opening up completely, clouds being forced out of sight, revealing a canvas unseen by most people. Pope Francis never shared in the celestial live painting I have the privilege of gawking at every night. A night sky that may convince an atheist of God’s existence more than a theological debate.

I often call these appreciation runs rather than ‘endurance runs’. Perhaps it is a game of mental gymnastics to make me feel better, but there are people, friends of mine, who can’t push themselves over that hill. I even have friends who can’t comprehend the beauty that stumbles upon me daily. These are not hardships to be endured but moments to be adored. I’m appreciative that I’m able to have my feet on the ground, head in the sky, and know that nothing’s wrong. A place that makes me ask, ‘What more can you give?’