A year's worth of strides

We ran four miles this morning. Evan and I, out along the river, a good way to start a Sunday morning. But it wasn’t an easy four miles. My leg muscles felt like pudding, each leg a giant tree trunk I had to drag along, step after step. But we finished, eventually, with a couple walk-breaks in between. And it feels good. Four miles is a distance I definitely could not have run a year ago, a feat that would have been so out of reach to me then.

That’s not the only thing that’s changed in the past year. A year ago, I was flying solo, navigating all the ups and downs of life by myself, and admittedly, I wasn’t doing too great of a job at it. Today, with Evan by my side, I'm cruising around each bump and bend with much more ease. And I’m so much stronger for it.

Last year this time, I was stagnating at a job that I knew wasn’t going to take me anywhere. And I was feeling the stresses of running myself ragged for something that wasn’t going to lead me where I wanted to go. And I knew it. But it took me a while to get up the courage to break away from that “dream career”, to quit the job, and to move on with my life. Today, I may not have a job that is taking me somewhere, but I’m taking myself somewhere, and it’s way better than it was a year ago.

Over the past year I've also met some of life’s greatest surprises, and they’ve all turned out to be fantastic ones. A year ago, I never would have imagined that I’d end up falling in love with Evan, and end up planning a wedding with him, getting ready to make a lifelong commitment to him. But I am, and it’s better than anything I ever could have expected.

I did imagine that I’d get up the courage to get my life together, though. A year ago, I hoped that I’d be able to get myself into an exercise regime that I’d stick with, and to make progress on my life goals. Looking back over the past year, I can proudly say that I’ve managed to scratch a little check mark next to all of those things, or at least made significant strides. In the past year, I’ve given up old vices, fallen in love, figured out a way to put my writing to use, and gotten myself back into shape, both physically and mentally. It's amazing what a year can do.

And I’ve replaced the running shoes that have sat on my closet floor since senior year of high school. Of all the things I’ve done in the past year, this may prove to take me the farthest. At least the new sneakers took me four miles this morning.

A work in progress

Today I don’t feel like running at all. I know I will when I get out of work, because I have to face up to the 5K in Groton on Sunday and I want to make a good showing, but right now, sitting at my desk, I just don’t feel like it.

I know it’ll be worth it, though. I know I’ll be happy I ran once I get out there, once I get into the rhythm of my stride. And when I finish a couple miles and get back home, that familiar rush of accomplishment mixed with fatigue mixed with adrenaline and empowerment is going to feel great. And then I’ll be glad I did it.

That’s the thing about running; it’s one of those few activities that you almost never regret undertaking. Because you always feel better once you’ve done it.

But that’s not true about everything. There are certain things we regret in life, even after we’ve done them despite being apprehensive about it in the first place. Sometimes you take a leap, go for something that you’re unsure of, and it turns out to be a mistake after all.

But should we do those things anyway? That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If something ends in failure, would it have been better if I had never started it in the first place? Would I be happier today if I hadn’t done those things that I now regret?

I don’t think so. Sometimes I think it’s the experience of regretting that is most valuable. We need to realize our mistakes so that we can go back and do it better the next time. It only makes our future actions that much stronger. If I didn’t realize the errors of things I’ve done in the past, then I’d just repeat them. And then I’d regret it all over again.

Life is all about learning from the past to make the present better. Everything we do is a work in progress - including life. It’s a mixed bag of figuring out what’s effective and what’s not effective. Sharpening your skills for the next time around.

But with running, all progress is good progress. Thank God for that. Because I never regret going for a good run.

Making myself proud

When it came to me and running, it was almost like destiny. I wanted to be a runner before I even ran. When I was still wearing dresses to school every day and weaseling my way out of gym class, running was there, nascent yet ready to explode.

I can remember the first time I thought that I wanted to run. I was little. Really young, like seven or eight or so. My dad was running marathons, or training to, and I would ride my bike alongside him as he jogged the streets of our neighborhood. How far he ran as I biked beside him still eludes me today, but what stands out in my memory is the awe and respect I felt for the sport, his sport, and the endurance, his endurance.

Running was cool, I remember thinking. I’m going to be a runner just like dad, I told myself, pedaling along with the pink and purple streamers on my handlebars swishing in the wind.

Years later, when I grew to devote myself to the sport in high school, I remember thinking back on our runs/bike rides, so pleased to be so grown up, so ready to do it myself. I had reached that point that I dreamed about when I was little. I was pounding the pavement now too, not just rolling alongside Dad on my bicycle. I was becoming a runner, and it was everything I’d ever dreamed of.

I still feel like that eight year old girl, grinning on the deck next to dad, elated after completing the one-mile fun run on Memorial Day. And while I don’t remember the race, I do remember the pride I felt after crossing the finish line. I guess it’s not the effort we remember, but the result. As I push through each increasing mile today, I know that it won’t be the running that’ll make me smile years from now, but the recognition that I did it, that I accomplished what I set out to do. And when my book reaches the shelves of a big box book store someday, I won’t remember days like these, furtively typing away between menial job tasks, but I’ll remember the days to come, when people start paying attention, and my writing becomes something.

My dad doesn’t run anymore, not since his second marathon. He didn’t run when I was in high school, either. But he did come to my track and cross country races, and passed along all sorts of running paraphernalia, from training journals to vests with reflective tape for night running. And he still passes on inspiration, not only in running but in all areas of my life and growth, whether he knows it or not. I may not be four feet tall anymore, but I’m still reaching for greatness. And I hope that someday, I’ll not only make my dad proud, but I’ll make myself proud.

But why?

Why running? Why not something else, like knitting or video games, perhaps? I’ve asked myself that question time and again, particularly out one of those runs when it seems like every cell and every nerve in my body are screaming STOP! But you can’t give in, you can never submit to that command, no matter how deafening and how persistent it can be. You just gotta run through it, I shrug. And I do. I run through it.

When I was in high school and I first took up running, the practice taught me just that: to run through it, in more ways than one. At 14-years-old, I was flying solo, and I was scared. I was at a new high school, I knew no one, and I was on my own to forge my own way. It was both terrifying and humbling. There was nothing to fall back on anymore, no way to just slide through. The volleyball team wouldn’t have me, I made a fool out of myself at swim team tryouts, and in cheerleading… well that was about the mandatory split. Never was flexible. But, as I quickly learned, I could run. And I could keep myself going. And I could win.

Once I found the track team, there was no going back. I learned the tricks of running quickly. Not only could I power my feet to keep pushing me forward, despite fatigue, but I could run through it all. And with each mile that I tacked on to my distance, I became better and better at it.

I ran through the grueling process of making new friends, of forging new bonds with people. And as we ran, we opened up to each other. Through running, I shared parts of me that I keep bottled up during the day. Out on the road, there was no bottle. There was just me and running, and new friends, and new roads ahead.

Running was a mental challenge for me, then, too. If I could run for over an hour after school, then I could spend the next four hours studying for a biology exam. I could make sure I held my own in all the honors classes, make sure I got into the advanced placement ones too. Through the process of running, I learned discipline and drive. If I could place in a cross-country race, I could ace my test.

And I ran through everything else. Everything else that comes along with being a teenager. If I was mad at my parents, I ran. If my boyfriend and I got into a fight, lace up the shoes and take to the road. My clothes were too tight – run. I was bored – run.

In that way, I guess running became my best friend. It was my respite, my break, my time. Without that, who knows? Running was my strength.

For a while, I forgot what a good friend running is. But today, I remember. And it’s good to be back.

Today, I run.

“Whatever doesn’t kill me will only make me stronger. Whatever doesn’t kill me will only make me stronger. Whatever doesn’t kill me will only make me stronger…”

There it is, the chorus of my thoughts, the inaudible yet ever-present cadence that goes through my head as I climb each great hill in front of me. Step after step, one foot in front of the other. You can do it. Don’t stop now. Get yourself to the top, just get yourself there. Sometimes I listen to it, sometimes I don’t. But it’s there, chanting, cajoling, bringing me back.

Today, I run. Today, just three miles, two laps around the reservoir, a nominal distance to some, a triumph for me. Today.

I’ve been away from this too long, I think to myself, as I suck in yet another breath, bound forward yet another yard. It’s been too long since I’ve pushed my body to this threshold, too long since I’ve felt the cramping in the shoulders, the soles of my feet numb, the pressing and tightening of my chest. But this is running, and it holds the same truth today as it did yesterday: It will make me stronger.

There was a time when these three miles would be cake for me. A warm-up. A nice jaunt fit for a sunny afternoon. I was a runner, once. But then I let it all go. Cigarettes were just one of the temptations that made me weaker; college years just begged me to choose the couch over the course, resting over running. I gave in to it all, and I loved it all, but today, I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to come back to it.

Because I know it won’t kill me. I know it’ll only make me stronger.

That’s my main goal right now, I suppose, to become stronger. Not even halfway through my twenties, I can already feel it, sitting on my shoulder, waiting for me to act. Life is here. It’s not just fun and games anymore. It’s time to pick your own adventure. Like those books in the children’s library, those fun games where a turn of the page spelled either danger or conquest, I stand at a crossroads now, with more prospects ahead of me than imaginable. And I don’t have the same safety nets anymore. It’s just me. Time to buck up and make this adventure mine.

But what does running have to do with it? If I can run, I can write. And writing is the end-goal. To put my words on paper and have them mean something to someone else. When I get there, I'll have climbed the biggest hill yet.

If I can make my body work through its aches and pains, if I can make myself ignore its protesting, then I can achieve anything. I can surmount any obstacle, bear as many rejections as will inevitably be sent my way. I can make myself do it because I’ll know that I have the strength to do it.

So today, I run. And tomorrow, I’ll run farther, faster, longer. I’ll push through it all, I’ll bring back the pain and the pleasure of reaching each runner’s milestone. And I’ll chronicle them here. And when I get to that mile marker, I’ll let you know.