At some point during the first Covid lockdown, I found my running mojo. Finding my mojo was unintentional, but for the first time in my life, I found a consistency and rhythm to my running which had thus far not existed.
In my 50s and for the first time since I was in my 20s, I ran a full no-walk 5k. Then, I ran a full no-walk 10k. I also managed to maintain running streaks extending well into double and then triple digits, only ending them because of debilitating injuries or thanks to a rogue appendix and an emergency appendectomy.
This year, I reached another long-term goal, managing a full one-year run streak. That streak continues today. Beginning on 16 February 2023, I have run at least one mile (or at least 1.6 km) every single day, a milestone and achievement I’d never dreamed possible. My run today — run streak day (RSD) 489 — places me tantalisingly close to RSD500. Absolutely crazy! But, I now know that I can reach that milestone, so long as I train smarter and run smarter. So long as I believe in myself. Mostly, I must believe in myself.
Since reaching my one-year runniversary in February, I’ve struggled to define my next running goals. Partially, I’ve simply been too busy with work to think much beyond the day-to-day grind. My daily runs have allowed me to empty my head and simply cope with the stress and mental exhaustion I’ve felt. Sounds silly, I know, but running helps me enormously with my mental focus. Anyway, initially and after I reached my first and primary goal in February, I next aimed to run a full no-walk 10k again, something I had not done since January 2022 when I twisted my ankle. The ice of Helsinki winter defeated me when my dull Icebugs and over confidence left me rather humbled. On 28 April, I ran a full 10k again, besting my previous fastest 10k time by a fairly decent margin. That was a rather unintentional achievement, and demonstrated to me that I am stronger now and a better runner now.
But, now what?
I’ll never be a Jasmin Paris as inspiring she is nor do I have any desire to become an ultra marathoner. But, I’ve had the Torremolinos Half Marathon on my mind since I passed a few runners in 2023 when we were on holiday in Spain. Plus, I really, really love running there, something I have enjoyed immensely on our holidays but found a new joy in this past year.
Years ago, I had signed up for the Helsinki Half, planning my training with the help of Hal Higdon and a healthy dose of ‘I have plenty of time’. Well… my training went off the rails when we were on holiday in Cuba and I never really resumed it after our return to Helsinki. I could have likely walked the half, but self-doubt and shame got the better of me.
That was then; this is now.
I have not yet signed up for that half in Torremolinos. But, I have signed up and officially began training for the Helsinki Midnight Run in mid-September, setting the goal of running it in one hour. Right now, my fastest ever 10k clocks in at 1:12:07. Clearly, I have some work to do, which began today with my first run with a clear training plan and targets.
And, then? We shall see. Borrowing from a book on writing, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, I’ll take it run by run, goal by goal. Today, I absolutely believe in myself much, much more than I did several years ago when I struggled to finish the c25k programme. Today, I know that I can do hard things. Particularly if I take it step by step, run by run, and week by week.
And, for now, I’ll start with that 10k. Then? We shall see…
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. This was step one on my journey towards my next goals.
My training calendar from 2023. Green circles indicate a walk, yellow circles indicate a run and red circles indicate yoga. My current runstreak began on 16 February and has continued to today, runstreak day (RSD) 489.
My training calendar for this year, 2024, thus far.
I love running. I really do. And, that surprises me. Still.
In July 2012, a crafting friend of mine was training for the Helsinki Midnight Run and invited me to join her on a run. Realising that I could certainly do with a bit of physical activity and understanding that I was far from in shape, I accepted her invitation. That first ‘run’ was more walking than running, but it was a start. Without much training and far from confident, less than two months later in September 2012, we finished that 10-k run dead last, neither one of us running the entire route, but simply focused on finishing.
Since then, I’ve logged a lot of miles (my SportsTracker app tells me, 11 203 km in total). But, it wasn’t until 2017 or 2018 that I really approached anything resembling consistency in my running habit, although winter running was still a bit more challenging. I was a run-walker, occasionally managing a 20- or 30-min run without walking, and a few very slow 5ks here and there.
Something shifted in 2020, however, moving from sporadic to consistent runs. By 2021, I became a daily runner, affectionately known in running circles as a ‘streaker’. [No, I am not a ‘naked runner’, also a term with a very different understanding amongst runners.] I blame Covid-19 — not testing positive, but the luxury of time in my schedule once commuting was no longer necessary, along with the desire and need to do something besides sit behind a computer all day every day, prompting me to go outside every day for a run. Run streaks — running at least 1.6 km or 1 mile daily — challenge and motivate me in equal measure, and have taught me that smaller goals help achieve much grander and seemingly impossible, unattainable ambitions.
Since 2021, running a full 10k was no longer impossible — I’ve achieved that once unachievable target. Just running daily for months on end, once unthinkable, is now normal; not running is abnormal. My current run streak, during which I have run on 118 consecutive days as of yesterday, is inching ever closer to my longest run streak (run streak day or RSD 173, which was halted thanks to a rogue appendix and emergency appendectomy last September). Barring injury or illness, my plan is to reach 174, hopefully reaching RSD 180, and then we shall see. Another goal is to run a 5k in 30 min or less (I’m currently inching closer, with new personal best of 33:07, down from ~42 min just a few years ago). My running goals shift, and that’s absolutely fine.
Had you asked me in 2012 if any of these things were possible, I’d have told you that you’re crazy.
None of this happened overnight. Comparing the woman who took those first tentative steps towards running in July 2012 to the woman writing this who kitted up for yesterday’s run astounds me. I see (and feel) how far I’ve come. It’s been an incredibly long journey, not just in terms of miles, but in terms of the mental battles I’ve fought on various runs, losing some, winning others. More than anything, I am much more confident in my ability to set running goals, forgiving (of myself) when I abandon or alter them regardless of reason, and knowing that not every run will leave me feeling awesome either about myself or the world. Some runs sucks, just like some days suck. But, I now know I can achieve the goals I set for myself, bit by bit, navigating peaks and valleys along the way, eventually reaching that destination I’ve mapped out for myself.
I’m currently reading Running Like a Girl, by Alexandra Heminsley. So much of her own journey resonates with me, from those first awkward runs to not knowing or understanding the specific lingo and language specific to runners, terms like pronation, wicking fabric, pace or hydration or fuelling needs, chafing, and the all-important but simple understanding that consistency matters and that it takes more than one run to make any progress at all.
Running has afforded me some mental space to process … shit. My own shit. I use that time on trails and paths working towards my running goals to also work through various problems and concerns in the rest of my life, to disentangle and leave behind the day’s woes. And, I yet to regret a run, even the bad ones. Weirdly, I also approach my daily life like I do most runs, particularly the harder ones. It’s all about the simple action of continuing to place one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, until I get where I need / want to.
But, running daily has also allowed me time to step away from everything else in life and this world, and simply focus on run the run I’m in, sometimes focusing on a single solitary kilometre. No comparison to others, beyond a comparison to myself. No competition or race, other than attempting to outpace myself.
My approach to running works for me, and demands I find my own path in order to reach that finish line, whatever and wherever it is.
And, these lessons have so much relevance to life as well. To my life specifically.
I have learned these last several years that I can do hard things. More so, the hard things seem less daunting more manageable and reasonable when broken up into smaller bits. Just as there have been days when simply getting out of bed has been hard, the hardest part of some runs has simply been kitting up or getting out the door. But, I also know that I can do all of these things, and then some.
Over time, hard things become easier. More accurately, I become stronger. Because I *am* stronger.
And, more than anything, this is why I love running.
My first ‘run’ from July 2012. [Thank you, Tiina!]Reading about running: my fav hobbyA 5k from July 2020A 5k from June 2023 (yesterday’s in fact)
Normally, I’m quite content to spend time on my own or in the company of my little multispecies, multinational family, going days on end bonding with my freakishly fun kitten and The Cuban, foregoing the company of others, parties, large crowds and a busy disco card. As an only child, I learned early in life to find ways to entertain myself. In this home, there is no end to the entertainment on offer given my flatmates.
Despite my constant companions and sources of fun, support and love, I genuinely miss lunches with friends and colleagues. I miss being out and about in the world beyond our lovely neighbourhood. I miss interacting in person with people other than at the supermarket and postal office. I miss the three-dimensional world. I miss a lot of things I took for granted, much as I suspect we all do. It’s no comfort really that I am not alone in missing these things. Beyond a few lunches with friends safely distanced outside our flat and bumping into a friend or two in the neighbourhood, we’ve spent the last 17 months on our own. And, it’s seriously fucked with my mental health.
After the pandemic forced us all to spend more time on our own and largely exist within our own homes and following a rather heart-breaking early beginning to 2020 for other reasons entirely, I confess: my own ability to find hope and joy waned. So, I did what I do when depression and anxiety hit: I laced up and resumed running. Remaining rather inconsistent until March and April of last year, I improved, I logging more miles and steadily progressing more than I had in… years. July of 2020 found me getting out and moving each and every day, either walking or running, an accomplishment which seemed impossible just a few months previously. Following a foot injury in August, in October to cope with pre-election nervousness and stress, I attempted a running streak — a period of time whereby runners log at least 1 mile or 1.6 km on each and every run each day. That streak lasted until election day on 3 November — 33 days — when I freakishly stubbed my big toe and broke it whilst cleaning my desk of all things, leaving me pretty much unable to walk much less run, despite trying to lace up that day. [I made it down the stairs in our building before giving up and heading back up the stairs feeling rather defeated if not thoroughly silly.] Through that first streak, I logged about 112 km. And, you know, I was proud of myself. Gutted that the streak ended, but I gained so much confidence in the process and along the way.
It wasn’t until 1 January that I resumed running. And, again, I began a running streak. That streak was short-lived (15 days), however, since I incurred yet another injury. Too much, too fast, and another valuable lesson was learned: listen to your damn body, V.
For the remainder of the winter and early spring, once my foot (and pride) healed sufficiently, I resumed running, albeit more modestly this time around. With the deep freeze of February, my runs were short yet thrilling. My plan was simple: no training programmes or plans (like couch to 5k or 10k), opting instead to simply listen to and adjust the length and pace of my runs individually based upon what my body told me it could take each day. One run at a time. I started with 1-mile runs, supplemented with walk–run intervals, typically lasting no more than or just a bit more than 30 minutes. The runs lengthened incrementally, although some days all I managed was a measly mile. But, week on week, the distances grew and my confidence did as well. At some point, I decided that my goal was to comfortably run 5.1 km by my birthday when I turned 51. And, you know what? On 22 May – the day after my birthday – I did it! (I would have accomplished this on my birthday, but the weather that day was absolutely dreadful. So, the next day it was.)
And, this, my friends, is where it gets interesting. From 22 May until this past Sunday, 1 August, I did not miss a single day of working out – either logging a run, a walk or an Ashtanga yoga practice. Not. One. Day.
But, something else happened within this period: from 30 May through 31 July, I ran at least 1 mile or 1.6 km every single day. During that time, I also walked and/or practiced yoga each day as well.
Y’all, I am proud.
My running streak lasted for 63 days, meagre amongst streakers, but massive for me. And, really, the only person I’m competing with is myself.
The only reason my streak ended is because the second Covid-19 vaccine messed with my body a bit, leaving me feeling incredibly poorly on Sunday and Monday after the jab on Saturday. So, rather than risk injury and making myself feel even more miserable, I took two days off.
So, what did I learn?
First, the first mile always lies. It’s rather like depression, curiously – don’t trust anything that first mile says.
Second, ignore the voices of doubt. Running a full 5k is now something I know definitively I can do. It may not be a quick 5k. That little inner voice of doubt once silenced means nothing when it comes to getting to 5k.
Third, pace means nothing, although adjusting it can mean the difference between struggling and finishing strong. I no longer focus on checking my Garmin often to see how fast (or slow) I’m going. The less I look, typically the more surprised I am by how steady my pace is and how fast that last km becomes. I run by feel: starting as slow as humanly possible and focusing on my posture and foot falls, as well as my breath. Slow and steady and further beats fast and short, unless I am short on time, when I will push myself just to see how fast I can go.
Fourth, did I mention telling that inner voice telling me that I can’t to shut up?
Fifth, consistency. I knew each day that I would go for a run, even if it was short. Adjusting my plans or schedules or to-do list necessitating putting a run in there somewhere. I knew each day I would practice yoga after my run once I figured out that it was a nice way to get some stretching in. I missed maybe one day a week, but that was intentional. I knew that each day or at least most I’d go for a walk with my husband in the evening. And, whatever else I planned or needed to do, at least 30 minutes of my day was set aside to run.
Sixth, try not to have too many expectations for a run. The days when I expected my runs to rock were typically my worst. The days when I expected my runs to suck were typically when they were awesome. Weird. But, now I know.
And, finally, take support from wherever you can find it. There was one day recently in that last week when I was certain my streak was already over. Rain and thunderstorms plagued our neighbourhood all day and it wasn’t until about 9 in the evening that a window opened up. The rain wasn’t the issue; lightning was. My darling husband, knowing how much this streak meant to me and providing the support I needed, watched the weather and declared, ‘You’ve got a window! Go! Go for your run now!’ Quick change into my kit, I laced up and ran. And, it was sweet and glorious. (Thank you, Tweetie!) I’ve also received some incredible support from fellow runners and streakers, both individuals I know beyond running and individuals I’ve connected with virtually via various running groups and applications. We all need cheerleaders and I’m grateful to and for mine.
Here are a few statistics (‘STATISTICS!’, as my super supportive says) from this run streak:
Run streak days (RSDs): Kilometres (miles) run: Total distance (walking + running): Number of individual workouts: [Runs] [Walks] [Ashtanga yoga practices] Hours spent running:
The journey of a 1000 miles (or a run streak) begins with a single step (or, in this case, a single run). Thus, I’ve already begun my next run streak. Today, once I complete my run I will be on RSD2.
My first goal is to reach RSD64, to pick up where I left off. My second goal is to reach RSD100 for the triple digits. And, then, who knows? I’m also aiming to finish the year logging 2021 km total distance on foot (I’m at 1402 km as of today) and finish the year with more kilometres logged running than walking, although I’m allowing myself an out on this goal. Injuries, yo.
Running may not allow me to resume lunches with friends or bring this bloody pandemic to an end any sooner. I may offer me the peace of mind I crave knowing that my loved ones, whilst impossibly far away, are safe and out of harm’s way. But, running does afford me some sense of accomplishment and does give me a bit of a respite from obsessing over the news every few minutes and far more frightening statistics. Running certainly keeps me from doom scrolling. Running lifts my spirits, because it really is a form of therapy for me even during relatively carefree days (remember those?). And, that ain’t nothing.
So, rather than focus on the Covid-19 statistics, I’m focusing on my own stats. At least a little bit. And, it helps.
Streak on, streakers.
My year in review for 2020. Yellow = a run; green = a walk; and pink = yoga.
My activities for 2021 thus far.
When my streak began: 30 May 2021.
Running through June 2021 (133.94 km or 83.7 mi in total for the month).
Running through July 2021 (154.02 km or 96.2 mi in total for the month).
I couldn’t have a more amazing place to run, even if taking pictures whilst running is hard and results in some weird shots.
Even when it’s frozen, there is beauty in abundance.
The Cuban and I have diligently stuck to our evening strolls for several years now, our moment each day when we step away from gadgets and the rest of the world and meander around our hood and bond, chatting about whatever tickles our fancies on that particular day. Since June and the last of my lectures from the 2019-2020 Covid-thwarted academic year, I’ve been rather committed to walking and/or running in the morning and in the evening.
In an attempt to manage my own stress and find my long-absent running mojo, I began taking walks or running in the morning as well. It’s been awesome, and helpful, and definitely helped me learn to love running once again. (Mind, I still hate running when I’m doing i; but I LOVE it immediately upon completion, and look forward to lacing up and heading out for my ritual of cursing running so that I can declare my love and devotion to it immediately afterwards all over again. Yes, it is a thoroughly dysfunctional relationship.)
Given this commitment, however, in June, despite missing several days of walking and/or running, I still managed to log just over 200 km, one of my best months ever since I began keeping stats.
Yesterday, I topped 300 km for July. And, with a few days left in this month still to run and walk, and with at least two more runs planned, plus our daily evening strolls, I may yet reach 350 if I get out there as much as I have been. [Insert joke about Sod’s Law and/or best intentions. Go on.]
I suspect once my teaching obligations at the university resume next month, I won’t have nearly enough time to continue this little experiment. But, I’m well-chuffed at the moment. To have been afforded the luxury of time (and no injuries other than a few blisters yet, touch wood) and decent weather to embark upon, this peripatetic experiment has been a gift. Instead of the hour I’ve set aside each morning, maybe I’ll cut the time down to half an hour. We shall see. For now, I’ll enjoy the time I have.
As much as I love our evening strolls, my morning meanderings have also offered me a chance to step away from the screen and consider and process so many things on my own. And, that’s allowed me to be a bit more present with The Cuban when we are out and about. And, allowed us the opportunity to explore our surroundings a bit more together.
My next goal is within reach, although I have no definitive timeline for its completion. But, I’ll get there.
One step at a time.
A scene from favourite evening stroll and walk from July.
The last month has been enormously stressful and emotional. Highs and lows abound, and many a run has been completed as I quietly (or not) choked back tears. After each of those runs, however, I felt better, either less stressed or if not less emotional at least less immediately in need of a good long cry.
In Running Is My Therapy, Scott Douglas confirms much of what I already knew to be true about running. At least what running means and does for me. Running, these past few years, has certainly helped me stave off the pits of despair and keep that little black dog at bay, both those periods induced by life’s curve balls and trials, but also my own life-long battle with depression. Yet, I am not a life-long runner–it’s only within the last four or five years and certainly the last year when I’ve become a consistent runner. Running truly IS my therapy. In many respects, lacing up and hitting the trails helps me employ various tools I learned from cognitive behavioural therapy years ago.
Backed by a plethora of references and research documenting the benefits to running, this is an incredibly insightful read. But, for me, the most important message was relatively simple, although often repeated. That isn’t a complaint. Running when we least want to is often when need to the most and when we gain the most benefit. Indeed. I’ve experienced this myself several times during this past month.
In the midst of life’s turmoil at the moment, I had to take about 10 days off–unfortuante timing related to an appointment for fresh ink. As my skin healed, I really, really, really wanted and needed to run during those 10 days. My husband and I try to walk every evening in addition to my regular running schedule. But, running is when I truly empty my head. And, too much noise was accumulating during that 10-day break. My first run back was long and labourious, and at times the urge to quit was strong. I kept telling myself to just go a bit further. Make it through the next interval. Focus on X rather than Y. Still, after those 12 plodding kilometres, I felt better and better able to simply cope with what comes next.
Now, I understand that a) I’m not alone in this mental reset benefit from running and b) the science behind it. My rational brain appreciates that immensely, particularly the latter.
Obviously, for the darkest times and those facing the darkest of thoughts and deepest pits of despair, seeking professional help is best if not altogether necessary. And, I’ll keep this in mind should I sink into a particularly black period in future. For now, I’ll continue my planned runs, forgive myself when I don’t quite achieve what I intended and use the mental and physical strength running provides me to push onward through life’s bittersweet lemons.
I should have been running on ice since we returned from our holiday in the sun. To put it incredibly simply, I have not. I’ve lost my running mojo. And I blame it entirely on… me.
Despite my best intentions, despite my desire to train and be ready for not one but two half marathons this May and June, respectively, it’s time I admit that I won’t be. Not even close to ready.
I certainly won’t be ready for anything until I hold myself accountable and get out there and hit the trails once again.
So, how do I reignite that running fire and get out there more than once a week?
Perhaps it’s cosmic coincidence that landed a link on the 10 laws of productivity in my news feed today. This week, I have thought so many times about wanting to run, but simply can’t seem to lace up. So, any link that mentions my fellow runner and eclectic music lover, and favourite author Haruki Murakami is certainly going to rank high amongst the reads of day. Combine that with a bit of self-reflection on re-establishing some necessary and beloved habits, and I’m in.
The truth is, I’m a bit intimidated by that number: 13.1. Thirteen-point-one miles, all in one go. Can I do that? I’d like to channel that little engine that could and say, ‘I think I can’. But, the voice of doubt creeps in just as I think about lacing up.
The trick, I know, is to quiet that particular voice, and allow all of the other cheerleaders to drown out the dissenting opinions. Deep down, I know that anything is possible, as long as I just get going and believe. But, my journey of however many steps there are in 13.1 miles will never get started until I train for it. And, I know that the hardest part of any run is simply lacing up and getting out the door.
So, borrowing from Murakami and those laws of productivity, I shall develop a routine and start small. I will break this little journey up into smaller chunks and phases, the first of which entails that routine and starting small.
And, when I fall behind or can’t quite accomplish what I want, I’ll forgive myself first and then regroup.
I’d like to blame my lack of motivation on the weather. But, it’s gorgeous when running in snow.
Shortly after struggling through a mere 10 k, I foolishly decided to sign up for not one, but two half marathons. Yes, yes, I really must be mad.
I have 221 days until the starting line of the Helsinki City Run, the first of the two half marathons. That’s 31 weeks give or take. After struggling to find my motivation following that soggy Helsinki Midnight Run at the beginning of September, I’m returning to base training starting this week.
Many runners including a good friend (who also happens to be my own personal running hero) recommended Hal Higdon‘s half marathon training programmes. My mornings since receiving his book largely consist of reading a chapter from his training book and attempting to keep the panic at bay.
Following a few longer yet rather difficult runs the past few weeks, runs which left me feeling completely uncertain and lacking enough confidence to get beyond 5 k let alone 21 km, I decided to start with Hal’s base training programme and work up to the novice half marathon training programme. These two programmes consist of a total of 24 weeks of training, giving me 6 weeks of wiggle room for any potential injury or illness in the interim. Touch wood I don’t need those extra six weeks for either.
Today’s run? A very simple 1-mile (or 1.609 km). It felt great and helped boost my confidence, even if it was short and sweet. But, also given my shortage of time in recent weeks, beginning with short runs helps me sandwich in training around everything else. This might just work.
It’s a long way to 13.1/21km, but I’ll get there.
The view along the paths on today’s run. Day 2 of week 1 of 24; countdown to half marathon #1.
I run because it helps me battle my worst inner demons. I run because running is one of the only things that allows me to empty my head of all the nonsense that accumulates each day. I run because I can.
Yesterday was tough for a multitude of reasons. Today remains anxiety-riddled, largely because Irma has adopted Cuban time and appears stalled in between Cuba and Florida. She’s ravaged Cuba, although perhaps sparing Havana her worst. But, we still await word on those we love in Cuba, and continue to hope that they are well. Florida is another matter entirely. And, all we can do is continue to wait. Wait and hope we shall.
But, yesterday was also a victory for me. A seemingly small one. But, a victory all the same.
I can’t say that my Helsinki Midnight Run went at all smoothly. But, I finished, and I am proud.
Here’s what I’m taking away from the experience:
Two weeks ago, mentally I hit a gigantic, immovable brick wall. For reasons that don’t really matter and which I’m still processing, I sank into a state of despair and antipathy that I’ve evaded for a while. My little black dog barked and growled loudly and stripped me of my running and all other mojo. Thus, my last run prior to yesterday was two weeks ago today.
In addition, the last week or so, I’ve also been trying to ward off a bit of a chest cold or bug. Thus, earlier this week, when I looked at my schedule (which is mental) and the weather forecast for the run (which predicted rain, rain and more rain), I was certain I would not line up. Rather unfortunate given that I’d spent the last several months working hard towards that 10 k / Midnight Run goal.
But, sometime on Friday, I decided, ‘Fuck it. I’m running it. I may not have a great time and I may walk bits. But, who cares?! I signed up. I’ll at least start it!’
So, I started. One of the best moments came just before I started. As The Cuban and my close friend Jules escorted me to the runners’ starting area and relieved me of my jacket and bag of post-race crap, they believed in me even when I was uncertain. The Cuban, perhaps sensing more than anyone just how anxious and filled with doubt I was simply said just before the final pre-race smooch, ‘I’m so proud of you’. [Yes, I’m all choked up now reading that.]
After the finish and after the post-race swag grab, I snapped this before meeting up with The Cuban and my friend Jules. Yeah, I’m proud.
Images from a Helsinki Midnight Run: the start, the masquerade runners, my start group banner, the post-race hydration mission — G&T, and water of all sorts — and back home once the hat finally came off.
It struck me as odd since I hadn’t started yet or run a single step in two weeks. But, at the same time, that short little declaration said everything, and reflects why I’m proud of me.
I signed up. I laced up. I lined up. And, I started. More so, I finished. And, yes, I’m proud of me for that.
The race itself was hard and lovely at once. I went slow. But, slow beats standing still. I had breathing issues about 4 km in and had to find a port-a-potty, but I kept going. The skies opened and the rains came somewhere between the third and fourth kilometres and didn’t really stop, although it did let up to a gentle mist at some point.
I walked bits, but I kept going. I high-fived as many bystanders as possible because they helped me to keep going, and I’m grateful that they braved the elements simply to cheer us crazy, mad near-midnight runners on. And, I smiled. Even when it hurt, I smiled. Because I could continue to put one foot in front of the other, and just keep going. Before I knew it, I was passing the 9 km marker and then the 500 m to go banner.
And, just like that, I finished. Truth be told, it hurt I finished strong. More importantly, I finished!
As much as the worst critic (that little black dog barking in my head) wants to find fault in what didn’t go right last night, the runner in me is screaming, ‘Shut up, fool! You got out there and you did it! Who cares that it didn’t go smoothly?! Not every run goes well.’ And of the three Midnight Runs I’ve completed, this was my best.
For that, I’m proud.
My running story isn’t over — it’s just getting started.
I love running. I do. I’m slow, and I have yet to go very far. But, I love running. And, I suspect it loves me. It’s at least good for me.
Last summer after years of stifling the little black dog that barks and growls and nips at my heels and mind from time to time, I made a series of slight adjustments in my behaviour and routines. I’d sunk so low that breathing hurt. Changes were necessary and long overdue.
One of those changes involved recommitting to running regularly. Whilst various forms of exercise obviously carry benefits to one’s mental and physical health, running has always helped me empty my head, meditate on whatever shit floats around up there. Somewhere during those runs, I let go of the garbage that wears me down, both real and imagined. As August turned into September, and September gave way to October and November, regardless of how busy I was or how much I felt unmotivated to lace up and hit the trails, I did. And, it helped. The fog that had clouded my everyday existence slowly dissipated and lifted entirely, and I felt infinitely better as the weeks and months passed.
Running wasn’t so much simply physically beneficial; it was a mental health necessity.
After injuring myself in January whilst running the Malecón in Havana, I was forced to take four painful months off. My ankle healed by late March / early April, but then the flu season hit and, then, I fell and hurt my knees, running to catch a bus of all things. Fast forward to May — four months after my initial injury — and I’m finally getting back into my routine. A few days shy of four weeks back into my running rituals and again the fog is lifting.
This. This is why I run. And, this is why I love running.
I don’t really care how fast I get through a particular route — each run feels like a battle won and conquered at this point. I don’t have any long-term ambitions other than to continue running three or four times a week for as long as my legs will hold up, and hopefully taking part in the Helsinki Midnight Run come September. I won’t win races, but I will stay in the ultimate race — that crazy race called life. Undoubtedly, depression and my little black dog will come barking again from time to time. Whatever I can do to tame him quickly and without too damage to myself or those who love me most, I’ll do. And, I firmly believe that as long as I continue to add miles to my running logs, those visits from the canine beast that haunts me will become fewer and further apart.
I read a story several years ago about an incredibly young 92-year-old woman finishing a marathon. Harriette Thompson, that same woman, just surpassed another milestone by becoming the oldest woman at 94 to complete a half marathon. I won’t break any records, other than those I set for myself. But, I will keep running. For me.
A Tropical Fish Out of Water 