Do you ever find yourself longing to be young again, running around effortlessly with boundless energy, except this time around with an acute awareness and appreciation for the gift you’ve been given?
When I was a kid, I was very fortunate that running, and sports in general, came naturally to me. My father passed his athletic genes down to me, blessing me with the ability to run pretty far and fast without even really thinking about it. Playing sports every day from dusk until dawn was inherent and I loved every minute of it. Soreness and fatigue was never an issue because I was having too much fun to notice. As far as I can remember the closest I came to a bonafide injury was when I competed in the state XC championships as a sophomore where I crossed the finish line with bloody feet because my spikes were too tight and tore the skin off my heels. It didn’t slow me down though and during those years nothing ever sidelined me. Being active, training and competing was where I felt powerful and confident so I rarely gave it a second thought.
My late teens and early twenties gave birth to a new storyline. Puberty and hormones caused a shift in my body so what had felt natural and right morphed into something burdensome and awkward. Sports took a backseat after high school as I pursued other interests while trying to figure out if I even liked running anymore. Whenever the urge hit me to run again it was inspired solely by the desire to lose weight. Fortunately, because I had built a solid foundation from sports, it didn’t take long for me to get back into the rhythm because my body knew what to do despite feeling uncomfortable. Unfortunately my mind always interfered. Each run was accompanied by incessant chatter in my head insisting I was too fat, too slow, and washed up. What used to be second nature turned into an unpleasant chore.
In my mid twenties, after my husband and I got engaged, I convinced him to go for a run with me. If memory serves me right, I wanted to look good (aka skinny) for my wedding and honeymoon so I used that as motivation. He was a total newbie to running, we were both overweight and unhealthy, so we started slowly. It wasn’t long though, before we were both addicted. Eventually we found ourselves competing in local 5K’s, 10K’s, half marathons, triathlons and eventually two marathons. I loved witnessing him falling in love with a sport that had been a part of me for my entire life. But I have to admit that there was a hint of jealousy residing in me, because I hadn’t figured out how to fully appreciate it yet. I loved running with my partner and I was lucky to be able to share so many fun experiences with him, I just wished I could love it like he did.
Looking back I realize how fortunate I was to run (much of it competitively) for almost 4 decades, basically injury free. The physical aspect of running had been relatively easy, even after taking time off, thanks to the strong foundation I had built growing up. However, my mental game was a mess. It was a daily battle that I struggled with throughout most of those years. I WANTED to run. I FELT like I SHOULD be running, but when I did I typically got frustrated because I was forever comparing myself to others. I was way too competitive for my own good so I was caught in a never ending cycle of berating myself for not being fast enough or skinny enough.
Now that I’m in my 50s, the physical aspect of running has become more challenging. There’s rarely been a run where I’ve thought, “Wow that FELT amazing!” More often than not, they’re super slow and defined by aches and pains thanks to age, long-haul and pericarditis. Effortless, graceful and free no longer characterize my runs. But what’s so amazing to me is there’s significantly less chaos in my mind than ever before. It seems crazy because I have more reasons than ever to be frustrated – I am annoyingly slow, often in pain, heavier than I’ve been in ages – yet I’m more determined and have a healthier attitude than ever before. My body may not FEEL awesome, but the runs are awesome nonetheless, especially when I remind myself of the incredible gift I have been given. Looking back on what I have overcome really puts things in perspective. The gift of hindsight is priceless.
I didn’t pause to appreciate it then, but looking back on the days when I finished a local race, nursed my son, then accepted my award with him strapped to me in his baby Bjorn, I can’t help but think “Wow! Our bodies are pretty damn strong and resilient.” However, after facing the reality that I could have lost the ability to run altogether, I’m able to run with pride because I’m out there doing something good for my body and I’m finally able to appreciate its strength.
Armed with the gift of hindsight and wisdom from my battles with both the mental and physical aspects of running, I feel like I’m toeing the starting line of a new adventure, and for once I’m really excited. After all, this is my opportunity to rebuild myself from the ground up with the skills I’ve learned that will strengthen me both physically and mentally.
I wish it hadn’t taken 50 years and a scary illness to finally open my eyes to the countless positive aspects of running and to appreciate my body’s capabilities. This shift in perspective has been crucial in helping me overcome the physical obstacles I’m facing and have inspired me to approach this new phase of life differently – with experience, knowledge and wisdom, but more importantly with excitement and gratitude! I know it won’t be easy — nothing worth doing ever is—but I feel like a kid again who’s discovering the joy of running for the very first time.
The questions I’m asking myself are no longer, “How much weight can I lose?” or “Why can’t I be as fast as her?” but instead, “What stereotypes can I break about age? What will it be like to push myself and workout with gratitude? What boundaries can I push? If I nurture my body instead of punishing it for falling short of some arbitrary and unrealistic goal or number on the scale, how far can it take me?”
I wish I had appreciated the days when I could run for miles with endless energy day after day, but since I don’t have a time machine, the best I can do is apply all the lessons I’ve learned to each day moving forward. When I think about it that way, I can’t help but be excited to see what the future holds.