I’m suspicious of people who say they love running. The happy-go-lucky folks who come back from a run beaming with seemingly more energy than when they started. The people who can knock out mile after mile with no headphones, a basic Timex and a positive attitude.
Those are the real people we all need to watch out for because they’re aliens pretending to be human.
I’ve known plenty of people like this, who Instagram how incredible their last run was and all of the beautiful things they saw while out and about. I see their positivity and wonder what they’re taking because I have almost never felt like that after a run of more than 3 miles.
And yet. I haven’t stopped running since high school. I might break up with it for periods, but after a spell, the thought of putting some mileage on is just too strong of a draw.
This is the paradox of the sport to me.
In high school I decided to run cross-country after my freshman year. I was committed to basketball and baseball, but my freshman hoops season was a real wake-up call. I spent the entire fall trying to adjust to high school. Then basketball came and the first two weeks of conditioning were brutal. After a frustrating season of not getting playing time on a junior varsity team stacked with older guys, I doubled down on baseball and conditioning, hoping it would pay off the next year.
Late that spring Vernonia’s cross-country coach talked to me about running the next fall. I didn’t play football, and he knew I was a good athlete. He thought at the very least he could get me in shape for hoops and at best maybe help the team compete. To this point in my life, the only time I’ve willingly gone for a run that wasn’t somehow connected to baseball or basketball was during P.E. when we had to run the timed mile for the Presidential Fitness test. I dreaded those runs. I wasn’t fast, they felt like torture and I always thought it was dumb to run without some ball to chase.
Remembering how awful I felt during basketball conditioning, though, I decided to give it a chance. Mostly I was interested in getting an easy varsity letter so I could get a letterman’s jacket as an underclassman.
That summer my brother and I spent a month in Eastern Washington at my grandparents’ house. Every day the specter of cross-country practice hung over me as I made up reason after reason not to run. Procrastinating is a baked-in part of my life, and I feel like I have a finely tuned feel for how far I can push something before I actually need to just do it. This was no different. Two weeks before the start of fall training I finally put on my brand-new Asics my mom bought me and a pair of basketball shorts and went for my first jog. It was 90 degrees and as I plodded along the gravel road that led to my grandparents’ I literally thought I was going to die.
I walked the rest of the way home. I think I did 1.5 miles and was shocked it wasn’t longer when I later had my grandpa use the odometer in the car to track how far when we drove to town.
That first fall I learned a lot about myself. That’s the thing about running, it strips away all of the other elements of sport. In basketball you can score 30 points and still lose the game (not to brag, but this happened to me and my best friend multiple times in high school). You’re reliant on others. In cross-country, yes, you run as part of a team, but your teammates can’t run the 5 kilometers for you. They can’t force you to keep going if your mind is telling you it would be so easy to just go a bit slower or to walk. I learned I had some resolve. I wasn’t naturally the quickest but I was the second-fastest on the team because I disliked losing. I loved kicking over the last half mile. The chase to the finish always felt normal to me because then it was just sport. It was about being mentally stronger than the person in front of you.
I was an all-league runner as a sophomore, which was genuinely exciting for me because I went into the year with zero expectations. I learned a lot about what I could and couldn’t eat in the afternoon before practice, I learned I could run fast and I also learned I didn’t enjoy it. I suffered through it, but it was really the thought of disappointing my coach and team that kept me from walking or quitting.
After the state meet my senior year I vividly remember saying to my teammates that I would never run another mile again. I was over it. I definitely didn’t see myself putting on running shoes and going out on my own volition.
But.
My high school coach had done his job. Despite my theatrics, I soon realized running was literally the easiest thing I could do to stay in shape. After college and after I lost access to the campus rec center, a couple jogs a week kept me in shape. I didn’t look forward to these runs. I instead needed a day or two between them to mentally prepare for the next one. They were necessary evils to enjoy the other things I liked doing.
During my aimless years of jogging I slowly learned more ways to make it bearable. Getting fitted for shoes to help with my overpronation helped. Learning proper nutrition and recovery methods were pivotal. Running with music was almost a must. I also learned having a training plan to follow and a goal was perhaps the most important. Without something driving me I would default to my quiver-full of excuses that would keep me inside on the couch with a beer in my hand.
After I turned 30 two years ago, something changed. I fully gave in to running. I had some great experiences running with our local shop, Run Hub Northwest. I got invited to run on a Hood to Coast team and had a blast. I ran poorly during my legs, though, and it motivated me to start training immediately for the 2020 race.
I also realized by running during the fall, winter and spring I could more thoroughly enjoy a summer of hiking, trail running and climbing mountains. It finally clicked with me. I enjoyed looking at a spreadsheet that had my mileage goals laid out. Tracking progress on my Garmin watch, logging numbers and planning routes became ways for me to wrap my head around running and a way to make it fun. I was chasing mileage and fun routes.
And now here’s where I reveal my mindset is dangerously near those happy-warriors out there who actually say out loud they love running. I started 2020 with a running goal I’ll share more about in a future post. For two months I was going strong, then I got a bad cold that stopped me in my tracks for three weeks. Then came COVID-19 and the races and plans I had shriveled up. But I kept running and riding my bike. They were escapes from the house and a chance to make my brain focus on one thing instead of the myriad stresses bombarding me on social media and at work.
Running is still hard, it’s just less so because mentally I’ve decided to lean into the challenge. I pretty much never go on a run where at some point I don’t think about how easy it would be to just walk the last bit.
But there’s a world of adventure out there that wouldn’t happen without running. The longer week-long backpacking trips, mountain runs and long bike rides I want to do would be exponentially more difficult if I stopped running. Now my daily runs are a means to an end. I mentally feel better from clearing my head of the crap that piles up through the day and I get the satisfaction of knowing the 4 miles I run today will make the 40-mile backpack next summer feel just slightly easier.
I don’t think anyone is as surprised as I am about my transition into a begrudging runner. I haven’t exactly made it easy on myself, but the benefits just outweigh the negatives at this point. My personality won’t ever allow me to be one of those happy, smiling joggers you’ll see on the river path, but I’m aspiring to embrace the suck a bit more. I hear it’s good for you.
