I failed the unit in high school gym which required us to run a mile.
At no point in any part of my upbringing was physical fitness or activity something to aspire to. We didn’t even enjoy the fairly common practice of revering professional athletes. Apart from WWF, there was nothing even approaching sports ever on the roster of entertainment.
My parents had a slightly different relationship to “fun” My dad was an avid golfer, a one-time skier, and general gadabout. He liked to go and do things. My mother, on the other hand was an inveterate couch potato. She liked to sit still, stay home, and smoke weed. This difference in preferences was cited as an enormous contributing cause for their breakup.
Even though my dad was active, it never occurred to him to include me in any of these hobbies. He did take me fishing once, which I hated, but never any of the things I would later grow up an embrace on my own.
My mother held all athletic endeavors in contempt. She thought it a trivial waste of time and energy to exert oneself. As an adult I developed many hobbies that required me to move my body and maintain a certain degree of endurance. She beheld this trend in bafflement.
She herself was something of a cautionary tale. One evening, while on the way home from my apartment, she tripped over a tree root and fell on her side. She injured her hip badly enough that she developed a serious limp which she sustained for the rest of her life. She refused to go to physical therapy or try any rehabilitative exercise to improve mobility or restore function.
When we would talk about my hiking, skiing, golfing, tennis, biking, triathalon, ect she would always say, “It’s like you never sit still.” To which I would reply “Well, I’m afraid if I sit still too long, I won’t be able to get up again.”
I didn’t start running in any meaningful way until I was in my mid-thirties. As an asthmatic who strongly preferred strength training to cardio, I had never seen the appeal. Plus, every time I tried, I hated it. It was uncomfortable, it was boring, and I was bad at it.
Then, after multiple false starts, I finally hit on a strategy that allowed me to learn to enjoy – nay, even love – running; I had to slow way down.
This was incredibly difficult to figure out. So too in the rest of my life, really. I like to go and go fast. I am often in a hurry for no discernible reason. It has taken concerted effort on my part to intentionally reduce the speed at which I make decisions, take action, and meaningfully here, run.
At my most physically fit, I would run a 7.5 mile route 2-3 times per week. I was also weight lifting and doing some kind of stretching routine. I felt invincible and very pleased with myself. One Sunday, on a whim. I rode my bike 11 miles from the Sellwood bridge to the St. John’s bridge and then ran back. That kinda shit.
In the intervening years I have maintained… variable degrees of fitness. I spent 4 years profoundly sick with untreated endometriosis that impaired my function so much it was all I could do to stay alive. After that improved, by means of a total hysterectomy, my energy level was simply zero. For years after my procedure, I struggled with intense fatigue. No amount of sleep seemed to leave me feeling rested or energetic.
Nevertheless, in 2021 after I had my long-awaited breast reduction, I decided to train for a half-marathon. I ran the Holiday Half in a little over 3 hours. My pace was slow as cold molasses, but I was exceedingly proud of myself for making it through. The toll that race took on my body was so intense that it halted my running altogether. The combination of poor form and the wrong shoes had left me with intense sciatic pain and no real concept of how to treat it.
By the middle of last year the pain I had been enduring became intolerable. It was beginning to impact my ability to sleep and function in normal daily activities. I had even – to my great dismay – begun to notice a limp. So, I did what my mother had not and booked sessions with a physical therapist.
It wasn’t my explicit intention to start running again when I started PT. My primary and sole focus was to help reduce my near constant pain. Happily, this also coincided with the beginning of hormone replacement therapy that began to restore my energy in a way I didn’t think possible.
I was at absolute zero. I could not run a full half mile the first time I tried. Even at a 15 min + pace, I simply could not maintain for that long. Rebuilding has been painfully slow compared to other times in my past; where I was once able to add .5 mi of distance to any run until a desired 7 mi max, this time it went far more gradually. Some weeks I wasn’t able to add any distance or improve my pace.
Even though it has been frustrating at times, I am starting to notice the skill building taking effect. I am now adding .25 mi to each run and alternating between flat and hilly terrain. I have also integrated interval training – which I detest – into the mix since I know it’s the most effective way to improve pace.
Running has become tangible proof that transformation is possible, reinforcing the belief that capability grows through sustained effort rather than innate ease. Part of it is the total mental focus it takes. Another part of it is being able to see tangible progress in my efforts from when I started. Running used to be something I hated as a kid. It was too hard and I didn’t want to try. Being a runner now makes me feel like I’ve overcome something really challenging and I’m proud of my ability to do that.
I am scheduled for a 10k at the beginning of April and plan to run the Holiday Half Marathon again this coming December. My goal is to beat my previous time, and not come away so hurt it makes me want to quit running again. Hopefully, I know better not to.
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