From the Pitch to the Pavement
Soccer has officially taken over my summer. For the past week and a half, the World Cup has been a mainstay in my home. My mornings start with podcasts rehashing the previous day, my afternoons are filled by group-stage drama.
But as I've sat glued to the screen, I've realized I'm not just watching a tournament. The deeper I get into this World Cup, the more familiar it all feels.
Because, in a lot of ways, the World Cup and what it represents is alot like running.
Hope Doesn’t Have to be Rational
Every four years, fans convince themselves this might be the year. With the expansion of this year's World Cup field, we're seeing countries qualify that normally wouldn't. Deep down, supporters know how the story is supposed to end. They know lifting the trophy is unlikely. But hope is not interested in probabilities.
We've already seen it in the group stage. Cape Verde held Spain to a draw and you would have thought they'd won the whole thing. Supporters in tears, players celebrated in disbelief. Why not them, right? Cape Verde's goalkeeper went from around 50,000 followers on Instagram to over 14 million almost overnight.
The United States may never win the World Cup, but every four years I'll show up carrying that same hope. I'll hang on every pass, every shot, every save, believing that maybe this time anything is possible.
Runners do the same thing. We sign up for race distances we've never run before. We chase PRs we've failed to hit before. We plug ambitious goal times into race predictors and convince ourselves this could be the training cycle where everything finally clicks. Running asks us to believe in outcomes we haven't earned yet. Without hope, that sometimes irrational hope, none of us would ever toe the line or reach for something bigger than what we've already done.
Nobody Gets There Alone
The goalscorers get remembered. The players who made the run before the run often don't.
The midfielder who spotted the opening. The defender who won the ball back. The teammate who made the unselfish pass that created the chance. Success on the world's biggest stage usually comes with a long list of people whose names never make the highlight reel.
Running looks like an individual sport, but I've never accomplished anything on my own. Katie has rearranged weekends so I can disappear for a few hours on a Saturday morning. Ellis and Dean have stood at finish lines waiting for me to come around the corner. Volunteers hand out cups of water to complete strangers. Friends send texts asking how the race went or reminding you that you've got this. Even the running community itself has a way of celebrating someone else's success because they understand what it took just to get to the starting line.
None of us do this alone. Whether it's on the pitch or the pavement, there's always a team behind the individual.
The Group Stage is Often Forgotten
We remember the trophy lift. What we often forget first few weeks of the tournament.
In 2022, Argentina lost their opening group stage match and still went on to win the World Cup. In 2002, South Korea entered the final day of the group stage staring elimination in the face before advancing en route to a historic run to the semi finals. The moments that shaped those tournaments didn't all happen in the final. They happened in the early matches that most people have forgotten.
Running works the same way.
Race day creates the memories, but the story was written long before that finish-line photo. It was written in the early morning runs before the sunrise. The rainy runs you almost skipped. The workout that crushed your confidence and made you question whether you were capable of reaching your goal. Fitness might get you there, but consistency is what carries you across the line.
Race day may end with a medal, but don't forget the mettle that got you there.
Because We Care
I've built my daily mileage around however many goals were scored the day before. I'm all in.
I've found myself cheering for countries with smaller populations than Mobile. Celebrating 0-0 draws because a 40-year-old goalkeeper played the match of his life. Getting emotionally invested in qualification scenarios that require more thought than warranted. In a country where soccer is still discounted by many, it probably seems ridiculous.
I can remember a version of myself wondering why anyone would voluntarily go for a run. Now I wake up before sunrise to squeeze in miles on the weekend. I run through Alabama summers, melting and bargaining with myself one mile at a time. I pay money to run distances that don't make sense to people who don't run.
From the outside, it probably looks ridiculous too. I've come to realize that some of the things that have made my life richer are the very things that make the least sense to people who don't love them.
Whether that's passionately cheering for a country most people couldn't find on a map or lacing up before sunrise for a twenty-mile long run, we do it for the same reason.
Because we care.
