Long Distance Running: A Love Story

Since running has become a big part of who I am and this is not just a DIY blog but a place where we share about ourselves as real people, I thought I’d put into words some thoughts about how I started running and why I’ve kept doing it. Maybe it will convince you that there’s runner inside you too. Maybe it will encourage you to try something else that scares you or you don’t think you’re capable of. Maybe you’ll just enjoy looking at pictures of me super sweaty and unphotogenic.

First, let me stress how much I have never been an athlete. I went to the gym a grand total of 3 times during college, and was the furthest possible thing from a jock while growing up. I actually did run track in high school — I joined the team because I’d played softball before that and I was so terrible that they were talking about putting me on the freshman softball team as a sophomore. Track had so much less pressure, because I couldn’t let the team down by missing a fly ball or striking out. I was very slow, and never ran more than 2 miles (the furthest distance in high school track is 3km = 1.86 miles).

Between 2004 (when I graduated from high school) and 2010, I ran exactly one time. It was in 2008 or 2009 after Sam suggested I try running again. I set out to run a 5k (3.1 miles), and stopped after less than a mile in a heap of wheezing and self-flagellation. No, this running thing was not for me.

Somehow by the next spring, though, he’d convinced me to try a 5K with his family members (none of whom are really runners either). And then that October somehow I’d agreed to run a 10K leg of a relay alongside him as he completed his first marathon (and I got my dad, also not a runner, to join as well).

And then that January, I found myself signing up for my first half marathon the following summer just to try it one time and be able to say I’d done it (also, I may have had a few glasses of wine, making me extra susceptible to Sam’s encouragement). I’m rigidly committed to my calendar, and so once I’d signed up for the race, I found a training program (Hal Higdon is — and forever will be — my god when it comes to race training) and put each run on my calendar.

And then in my mind, I had no choice but to do each and every run, even though each week I found myself going further than I’d ever run before, waking up early before work to run on days I had conflicts in the evening, slogging through an 11- and then 12-mile run on a treadmill because it was too hot to run outside (yes, Boston gets both too hot and too cold to run outside — it’s the best!), and doing all sorts of things that seemed out of character for non-athlete, non-runner me.

The race was incredible (not *I* was incredible…I was pretty mediocre, and nearly lost to a 10 year-old in the final two miles). The awesome thing about long distance running is that finishing, no matter what speed, feels like a wonderful accomplishment — the culmination of so many hours and miles spent training, the reward for every time I didn’t want to lace up my shoes and go for a run but did anyway.

My biggest piece of advice if you’re interested in trying running is to figure out what motivates you. It’s different for everyone. For me, it’s two things: scheduling out all my runs on my calendar, and the shadow of a race. I have to have a race planned and a concrete training schedule to get me there, or else I just can’t get myself to run regularly. In the 2.5 years since my first half marathon, I’ve done three more half marathons, two Tough Mudders (a 12-mile obstacle course type thing), a Ragnar (a 200-mile overnight team relay), and a full marathon. Right now I’m training for my second full marathon, which will be in May, and in June I’ll do my second Ragnar. The race is both the stick and the carrot — the threat of a terrible, painful experience if I don’t train now, and the promise of something wonderful if I do: the runner’s high.

I’m going to be honest, I thought the concept of the “runner’s high” was something I would never be capable of experiencing. I think many non-runners probably feel this way — that the people who claim to be “runners” are a different, magical, athletic species apart from us regular folks. But what I’ve learned — through my own experience, and through seeing the diversity of people at the races I’ve done — is that this just isn’t true. I mean there are those people who are naturally gifted and do annoying things like run 7-minute miles without trying, but most runners seem to be normal people who decided to challenge themselves in this particular way. I know that’s true for me, Sam, and my dad. When Sam convinced me to give this running thing a try, I never thought it would stick. And when I convinced my dad to do that first relay with me he thought I was crazy. And yet a year later we were standing at the finish line of a half marathon together — something none of us would have expected.

What *is* the runner’s high? For me it’s two very different kinds of experiences. The first is when I zone out and lose time — I’m able to forget that I’m running and when I look back down at my watch (which has GPS to track distance) I’ve somehow gained a mile since I last looked. Those times are lovely, obviously. I never listen to music when I run outside, I just like to get lost in my own thoughts and the scenery around me.

That kind of runner’s high almost never happens to me in a race. Usually in a race, it’s something different — I feel every second, every ragged breath, there’s no sense of comfort because I’m fighting for every step and every breath and if I’m not then I’m not running fast enough. But it’s the thrill and confidence of knowing that even though I’m pushing myself this hard, I can keep doing it for many more miles…that I can be out of breath and in 10 more miles still be out of breath and still be running. It’s a body high from the endorphins but also an emotional high that comes from an excessive amount of self-confidence  — the empowerment that my body and my mind can do this. That even though I’m the girl who was terrible at softball and slow and uncoordinated, I’m also the woman who can run 26 miles and still be standing and smiling at the end. Like the challenge of training, the reward of a good run is just as psychological as physical.

I’m not fast. I’ll never be fast. And running has never stopped being hard for me. It’s always hard. Some days it’s just a little bit less hard and I get in the flow. Good runs can come out of nowhere, and so can bad runs. Most of the time I’m just running because the good runs aren’t possible without the bad runs. Unless I maintain a certain level of fitness, I’m never going to have the good days when it all comes together and I just go — when the weather is just right and I can feel the sheen of sweat melting away the stress of the day. So I keep lacing up my sneakers and hitting the road with the naive optimism that no matter what happened on my last run, today is going to be one of the good ones.

Oh, and if you want to know the training programs I swear by for running a half marathon and marathon (I build training for all other races off of these), here you go!

(Sharing at Tip Junkie)