How I Became a Runner
I spent most of my life believing I wasn’t a runner. So, after 27 years, want to know how I became one? Well, here it is, the big secret.
I started running.
Yep, it’s that simple. I put on an old sports bra, uncool Nike Tempo shorts, running shoes that were too small, and I just took off.
Running is this beautiful and wonderful gift that my body has given me. A gift I didn’t even take advantage of until I was almost 30, but a gift I am so grateful for. Running is supposed to be uncomplicated, something that can be done anywhere by anyone. It doesn’t matter how fast or how far you go, you just have to go.
The first few months I started running were extremely difficult. I definitely didn’t have the right shoes or sports bra, I didn’t have a clue what pacing was, and I was still trying to listen to music when in reality I needed podcasts and audiobooks. Even though it was a disaster, I still did it.
Once I moved to Boston, I got fitted for a pair of running shoes, learned I needed a full size bigger, and I decided to use running as a way to see my new city. The amazing thing about cities is the number of running trails and endless sidewalks that exist. I mean I could literally get anywhere I needed to go with just my feet to take me. I explored through the seasons, running much less in the winter, but I fell in love with myself on the streets of that city.
During my time in the city, one of my coworkers convinced me to sign up for my first half marathon. I found a random half-marathon training plan on Google, and within 12 weeks, I was running one. It was the absolute worst weather imaginable. Pouring rain and freezing wind on the Cape did not make for ideal conditions, but when I crossed that finish line 15 minutes ahead of my goal, I was absolutely thrilled. I mean, I was frozen solid, soaking wet, and had blisters under my boobs, but I was so happy. I don’t know that I had felt that accomplished in a long time. My body carried me through the elements for 13.1 miles, and it was amazing.
Since my first half, I’ve run two more, and neither were in excellent conditions. The next one was only a few weeks later, and the course had to be rerouted due to snow and ice, meaning none of us had any clue there would be the hill of death on mile 9. After that, I ran a random one that wasn’t even actually 13.1 miles. I’ve thrown in quite a few 5k and 10k races in there as well, but honestly, I’ve just been running to run.
I’ve got my sights set on another half sometime this fall or winter, and I would love to do a Disney Princess race weekend in the next couple of years. On the inside, I know I would love to test myself with a full marathon, but I’m not going to die if I don’t. I mean, I might actually die if I do.
Running races does not make you a runner. Running makes you a runner.
If I never actually “race” a distance it doesn’t make me any less of a runner than if I’m running just to finish. If I never sign up for another race, it wouldn’t make me any less of a runner.
Running doesn’t require anything special. Sure, having the right shoes helps a ton, and I highly recommend going to a running specialty store and getting fitted, but it doesn’t make anyone a runner.
Running is special. It’s time for me. I’m not someone that gets my best ideas running or solves a problem I’ve been working on. Running is just running.
So, if you’ve been thinking about running, I challenge you to throw on a pair of shoes and just take off. Run to the end of the street and back. Run 3 miles, hell, run 12. I don’t care, and you shouldn’t either. Just run.
Love,
Lilly
