I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with running. My dad was a runner and college cross country/track and field coach for decades, so I grew up around runners. On some level, I felt I should be a runner, too.
So I tried.
In high school, I ran spring track my freshman year — on the boys’ team, though, since my school didn’t have a girls’ team at the time. I wasn’t very fast, but I was faster than the slowest boy, so that was something. However, without other girls to form an official team, I wasn’t allowed compete.
I quit after one season and joined the tennis team instead.
During college, I would occasionally run when I was feeling inspired — or particularly fat (I had gained the Freshman 15 and then some). But I hated every step, so it didn’t stick (although the extra weight did).
After college, I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I didn’t make enough money to afford rent, a social life, and a gym membership (NYC prices were, and still are, outrageous), so I took up running again.
I ran around Central Park a few times a week. I struggled, but came to enjoy how running allowed me to clear my head.
I gave up running again when we moved to Long Island, largely in part because life was just too hectic. I was a working mom with a toddler and another baby the way. I was tired and unmotivated.
When we moved to PA six years later, I picked up running again. Intermittently at first. The boys were a little older by then, and with both of them in school for a few hours a day, I had more time.
I ran — or rather, jogged — a few days a week. Never very far and certainly never fast.
I did occasionally push myself. I ran in a few 5K races to support local charities (some with my boys, which was fun), and I even completed Philly’s ten-mile Broad Street Run when I was 46. [FYI: Ten miles is hard AF when you don’t train, have stress incontinence, and suffer from social anxiety. Read more about my experience here.]
Yet, I still didn’t consider myself a real runner.
Running wasn’t my first choice for fitness. Around that same time, I discovered that I liked lifting weights. When I wanted to get my heart rate up, I took HIIT and spin classes or walked on an incline on the treadmill.
Running kinda fell by the wayside again … Until the pandemic hit.
During the first year of COVID, I ran outside to break up the monotony of being quarantined at home and working out alone in my basement gym. I welcomed the fresh air and all the farm animals, but the terrain was hard AF. Struggling to breathe as I climbed each hill reminded me once again that I wasn’t a real runner.
These days, I’m definitely a #gymgirlie more than anything else. I lift weights six days a week, and mix in a little HIIT, cycling, rowing, climbing, and walking to round out my workout.
Recently, I started running again. Not very far or very fast, and only on the treadmill.
I still don’t consider myself a real runner. But at least if I’m ever chased by a bear (or a man), I’ll be ready … As long as there are no hills.
—LJDT
