By the time you read this, I’ve officially run 100 miles since the start of 2023. That’s a sentence I thought I’d never, ever write.
For most of my life, there were few things I hated as much as running. My negative experience with the sport began way back in middle school, when my friends encouraged me to sign up for cross country in 6th grade.
It didn’t take long after lacing up my shoes for the first time that I realized how little I enjoyed jogging around the soccer field everyday after school. I blame a lot of things for that – the uneven ground, my overly strict coaches, the hot afternoon sun, and the fact that I spent most of my time comparing my slow pace to the fastest kids in the pack, who unlike me had been playing sports since they were old enough to walk.
I also had horrible outdoor allergies, and spent most of the cross country season choking on snot and phlegm as I miserably moved one foot in front of the other. One time I asked my coach if I could take a break and blow my nose in the bathroom. He replied, “no – you need to blow your nose like a runner.”
What that meant was plugging one nostril in order to forcefully blow boogers out the other. Which would have worked great if I had no hair, but I was a tween girl in my Rapunzel era with hair down to my butt. Any forceful nose blowing would likely result in streaking boogers through my long locks.
So every day after school, I held it in. I coughed and choked on my bodily fluids as our coaches yelled at us to run faster and push ourselves. Unless I was panting, my heart beating so hard that I felt I’d pass out, then I didn’t think I was doing things right.
And so I came to believe that running was supposed to be painful.
Because of this, I developed a deep sense of dread before every cross country meet. The crushing weight of anxiety made it hard to eat or sleep properly in the 24 hours leading up to the Big Race. Both the mental and physical anguish that I carried with me into the meet made every single race miserable.
My mom has these embarrassing photos of me during these meets where I look like I’m gonna cry. Literally every time I ran past her, my eyes would plead, get me off this course! It was a relief when I crossed the finish line, often feeling sick or overly exhausted. Most of the time after a run I’d spend my evening on the toilet, my stomach in turmoil. But that was normal, right?
Even after I left middle school cross country in the past, I didn’t meet many people who even liked running, even if they did it for some reason. One exception was a guy I dated in college, who actually inspired me to try running again.
I remember him telling me that running helped clear his head. Which sounded nice, considering how busy and stressed we were all the time.
So I downloaded Strava and started going to the gym at like 5:30 in the morning, because it was the only time I could realistically squeeze in a workout before class and extracurriculars. On the days I couldn’t drag myself out of bed, I’d attempt to jog around campus for at least 30 minutes between classes and meals.
I had this goal in my head that I had to run under a 10-minute mile in order for running to be “worth it.” Otherwise, God forbid, I’d consider myself slow.
I don’t know where the 10-minute mile ideal came from – probably a gym teacher or a coach when I was younger. But oh my goodness, it became a golden rule I had to follow in order to not consider myself some kind of ridiculous failure.
My Strava from that time is full of workouts with titles like “weak” and “slow af” because most miles I put in took around 10 minutes to run. The thing I told myself back then was that if I couldn’t be fast, then there was no point running at all.
You wanna guess how I felt during those runs? Let’s just say I often wondered why my arms went numb while I was jogging – nay, sprinting – for 20 minutes or more around campus. It was also super common for me to come back with a sore throat because I had to breathe with my mouth open the entire time in order to get enough air in my lungs.
Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy. I believed that running was supposed to be painful, so I made it painful even when I was left to my own devices.
Just like middle school cross country, a sense of dread started to creep up on me whenever I stepped outside for a jog. Hence why, just a few months after downloading Strava, I abandoned the app and my workout routine.
It had been at least two years since my last failed running attempt when Ryan, my current partner, started to pick up running just for fun.
I have to admit, the first few months of that new hobby were rough for me. While he started out running just for himself, he also expressed that he wanted running to be something we could eventually enjoy together. I had to tell him that I simply couldn’t imagine a world where I would ever enjoy it, even if it meant spending time with someone I loved.
It was hard enough to watch him have fun with an activity that had caused me so much pain and self-hatred over the years. The first few months of Ryan running consisted of me trying to avoid seeing him in his workout gear and dodging conversations about running as much as possible.
But that wasn’t a sustainable – or healthy – way to cope. Ryan started to spend more and more time running, and I knew sooner or later that I’d have to figure out how to come to terms with his new routine.
Things changed when Ryan signed up for his first 5K in 2022.
He asked if I would tag along and watch from the sidelines. It would mean a lot for him to see me there, cheering him on.
That request made my stomach drop. The last running event I’d gone to was in middle school, where I felt sick and sad and full of miserable little thoughts. Figuring out how I was going to support my favorite person in the world while working through a mental block that had been with me for over a decade was going to be a massive challenge.
In the end though, we worked through it. I have mostly Ryan’s empathetic listening skills to thank for that.
He had to hear me literally cry about how much I hated running and why it always made me feel like shit, both physically and mentally. One of my fears about the 5K was that someone would make fun of me if I came as a spectator but didn’t actually run. I thought people who went to 5Ks were all super athletic assholes, and would see right through my impostor ass who couldn’t run a mile in less than 10 minutes.
Thankfully, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
At the 5K, I watched people of every size, age, and speed take off from the starting line. Of course, there were plenty of serious runners tearing through the course like an Olympic medal was on the line. But there were also people pushing strollers and jogging at a steady pace. I saw families run-walking and even a group of Starbucks ladies sipping their coffees and going for a leisurely walk around the course.
The best part was that no one said anything to me. No one even took a second glance at me standing in jeans near the finish line.
By the time I realized that I wasn’t out of place at all, I started to focus on Ryan’s joy. My anxiety fizzled out as he crossed the finish line, wearing a big smile. Being there for him made all the difference, for both of us.
So at this point you’re probably wondering, how did I make the leap from spectator to runner? Well, it was a slow, slow transition. The challenge, for me, was just as mental as it was physical.
Last fall, I signed up for my first 5K and walked the course. If other people could do it at a leisurely pace, so could I.
Then in the winter, Ryan and I started going to the gym to lift weights whenever we felt cooped up. Ryan also wanted to train for springtime 5Ks, and eventually a half marathon. I thought I’d try the treadmill too, since it gave me an excuse to watch reality TV while moving my legs.
The first time I ran, I just wanted to see if I could jog a mile without stopping, which I couldn’t. But after a few tries on boring winter afternoons, I did – in about 20 minutes.
Damn, that was so slow! But Ryan encouraged me to keep running at that pace, since at the end of the day I was still running.
Instead of focusing on my mile time, I started to measure my progress in other ways. I paid attention to my breathing, and slowed down when I felt like it was hard to keep drawing in air through my nose. On days when I was really tired, I took walking breaks and tried to jog as slowly as possible. Small progress was better than none.
Ryan would always tell me, “even if you ran just a mile, it’s a mile that you wouldn’t have run if you just stayed home.”
He also taught me how to train within certain heart rate zones in order to not poop myself out. That was a game changer. I started to learn how my body felt when my heart rate got higher or lower during a jog. Things finally clicked that when my heart rate was too high for too long, running became exhausting and painful. But it didn’t have to be that way if I just slowed down.
By the time spring came around, I was ready to try jogging outside. It was the opportunity Ryan had waited for for over a year – a chance for us to run together.
These days, we jog together at least once per week. I set the pace, which usually falls around 13 minutes per mile.
And you know what? I don’t care that I’m slow. What I care about is that I feel stronger and more confident in myself, knowing that I worked through a lot of the mental hurdles that came with enjoying exercise. Most importantly, running doesn’t hurt anymore.
That’s because I stopped pushing myself to fit the standards set for me by somebody else. I stopped worrying about mile times or personal records or prepping for some big race. Why was I ever taught that running, and exercise in general, had to be about competition?
Being active just makes me feel better overall, physically and mentally. Isn’t that enough?
Since I started running, my body aches less on days when I spend hours at a desk. I feel more alert, less anxious, and I don’t get winded when I walk up the stairs. And I know that if I take care of my body now, my future self will thank me.
Running has also given me a new opportunity to spend quality time with Ryan. When we go out, we’ll take scenic routes and watch for birds, or explore a new trail we’ve never been on before. We run slow enough to talk and discuss our days, which often feels easier when our legs are moving.
When we sign up for 5Ks, we try to do them in towns and cities we haven’t been to in order to have the experience of exploring a new place on foot. It’s genuinely fun, even if I tease that we’re becoming a Turkey Trot family.
Anyone who tells you running equals pain isn’t doing it right. Sure, it’s one thing if you want to be competitive and push yourself, but if you don’t want to, then don’t.
Shed the notion that the only purpose of going for a jog is to be better, stronger, and faster than everyone else. Most of us will never be #1, and even the fastest person at your local 5K will probably never be in the Olympics. So why worry about it?
I’m encouraged by more modern running movements like Martinus Evans’ Slow AF Run Club, which has shown me (and many others) that running can be for everyone regardless of body type and skill level. Being fast isn’t what matters – what matters is that you enjoy it.
I only wish that idea had been more mainstream when I signed up for cross country back in middle school. The messaging about how to be a runner, and who can be a good runner, led me to believe I was never meant to run.
But the 100 miles I ran this year proves otherwise.