Why I run
And the story of my first marathon
In middle school I failed PE because I couldn’t complete one mile on the track in under 12 minutes. In high school I couldn’t even make the JV softball team. I was your run-of-the-mill un-athletic, scrawny kid, destined for a future of basic pilates classes and elliptical machines.
That changed in 2010 when I singed up for my first half marathon. Nothing about my physique or my athletic aptitude improved, it was simply that the second I said, “I could never run” something in me said “fuck that, I can do anything”. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know anyone that ran and the only watch I owned was a knock off Chanel j12 (remember, it was 2010). But the funniest thing happened (and still happens) every time I went out for a run — I would come home with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. It was almost a feeling of shock, not quite believing that I just did something that was so difficult. Pride in myself in a way I have never experienced before.
Now I tell people that I run because I’ve discovered that there are so few other opportunities in our adult life to feel quite so satisfied. Most accomplishments aren’t nearly as frequent — a promotion, buying a house, big vacation? My moment of accomplishment comes weekly: when I notice a marker on a run, and remember that last week in this very same place, it was so hard, I was dragging. But today, I’m cruising by without a problem and think “hell fucking yeah I’m cruising!”. The moment where I don’t want to get out of bed, but I do, and I think “damn girl, good job, that bed was seriously warm”. The act of pushing yourself is so rewarding.
The ultimate moment is race day; your goal is now a medal in your hand, and you have tangible proof of your achievement. And last Sunday I held the marathon finisher medal and I touched it with that same feeling of shock — blasphemy that this actually happened. That you went from literally not being able to run a mile, to running a marathon. I laughed. I still laugh. It’s truly funny to me how amazing we humans can be, how much we are capable of.
It’s not easy — during my marathon training I broke many times. I cried in the fetal position before a little ol four mile run. For a week straight I kept telling everyone I know how scared I was to run 18 miles this weekend — ‘the longest I’ll have ever run!’ The inner monologue got dark, there were a lot of negative thoughts, doubt, fear, stress, tears, pain (OH THE PAIN!).
But I did it.
And that’s the story of why I run. I’m not telling you to go run, running definitely isn’t for everyone. But I hate when people say they can’t do something, and I hate to think that someone could be missing out on such an opportunity to take on the world. What will make you proud?
