I started running in the mid-1990s during college. Donned with cotton shirts, cotton leggings, and *gasp* cotton socks, I’d run (and walk) up my sidewalk, cross over, and down the other side of the lengthy street I lived on. Round and round I went. Sometimes I’d venture to the nearby park, or the next residential street over, but I preferred mine.
Running became my “me time.” That is, me away from the studies, away from people, alone with my thoughts, trying to do something healthy for my body while listening to my Sony Walkman. It was the 90s, so I’m sure I had some Dave Matthews Band, Hootie & the Blowfish, and Toad the Wet Sprocket mixed in amongst the 80s jams I had on my cassette tapes.
But I never considered myself a runner until 2000, the year I ran my first marathon.
Running for the past 25 years has been both consistent and inconsistent. There have been high mileage weeks and years when the training log was filled with blank spaces.
There have been extended breaks due to a lack of energy and motivation, and a fair share of injuries stemming from a sprained ankle and from doing too much too soon.
Some runs came with tickets for the struggle bus, and other runs felt effortless, like you could run on that energy continuously for days.
The calendar has been filled with multiple races, or none at all.
I’ve eased into appreciating the run merely for the joy of it with no crowd support, no finish line, and no medal.
During elementary school, I hated running. I experienced the activity as a form of punishment for when students acted up in class. Mind you, not me, of course.
“Go run laps”, the teacher would tell us. My heart would drop. I was a slow runner (still am), and my classmates were always so kind to remind me of that. Bless their hearts. When we had to run the 100-meter dash, even with every ounce of effort I could muster up, I was always last. Yes, I Hated, with a capital H, running.
As a young adult, I craved movement. Exercise that didn’t require a partner, a team, an instructor, a gym, a bike, or a pool. Something I could do alone. Something that challenged me. Something I could work up a good sweat with. Something I could do on my terms without self-imposed rules or boundaries. Walking is great, but I needed something with a little more gusto. I somehow found my way back to running.
One day I’m running up and down the block, and several years later, I’m running a marathon, then another one, and another, eventually increasing the distance to 100K and attempting 100 miles. I don’t always like running, but it sure does have its moments.
Running has taken me to places I never thought of visiting before. Allowed me to see parts of cities I never would’ve wandered into otherwise. Helped clear the mind, bringing focus and clarity when there was none. Left me with more questions than I had answers for. Filled me with excitement when running shoes and socks were on sale. Brought people into my life, I may not have ever met if it wasn’t for running.
Running doesn’t owe us anything, but it has given so much.
If there’s anything I could’ve told the runner I was 25 years ago, it would be this:
Avoid comparing your journey to someone else’s. Your journey is yours alone, and their journey is theirs.
Avoid diminishing your accomplishments. Celebrate those milestone victories, no matter how small, because some of that shit will be hard and you’ve earned every right to celebrate.
Forget about pace. Focus on how you feel. Because the number isn’t a measure of your worth.
Appreciate everything your body does for you every single day. The strength of your legs, heart, lungs, and mind will carry you through distances you never imagined you would complete.
Running a marathon, or any race for that matter, doesn’t make you a runner. Showing up on days you don’t mentally feel like it, even for 5 minutes, because for 5 minutes it makes you feel alive, that is what makes you a runner.
While we’re on that subject, remember this: running, regardless of pace, makes you a runner. Running, even with walk breaks, still makes you a runner. Period.
Running is hard, and it doesn’t always get or feel any easier. I know it’s cliché, but with time, patience, and consistency, you do get stronger. So give yourself some grace and enjoy it, even during those many times on the struggle bus.
Wait until you discover trails because you’re in for a treat.
Strength train, strength train, strength train.
There’s more I could add, but that’s enough for now.
One day, that last finish line could be the final one. Hopefully not anytime soon, but until that day arrives, keep running, no matter how slow those miles are.