When I was younger, running was a competition. You didn't practice running, you just did it. You raced your friends from the house to the tree and back again. You stopped for breaks all the time. It wasn't an endurance thing. It was all about the speed. I loved it. I loved the competition. I loved it when I beat the boys on the playground and win some "girl-power" points. I wasn't the best runner in my elementary school. I was far from it. I was kind of in the middle. The only thing that set me apart as far as running went was my determination to keep trying, born out of a competitive spirit and distaste for failure.
As I got older, however, running stopped being a friendly competition among peers. I started hating running when it became a measure of my physical fitness. Running became just another example of a state standard that failed to make kids any healthier, and just made those of us who couldn't keep up look like failures. You could be the best academic whiz-kid out there and still feel like a complete and total failure because you couldn't run a mile in under 9 minutes. The state standards failed to consider that running might be something that doesn't measure just physical fitness, but also talent. Running is a talent. Anyone who can push themselves forward when they can barely breathe and their legs feel like they're falling off is talented. Enjoying running is an art form.
When I got to high-school, I still wasn't a fan of running. My Dad and I had started this new sport, Ride and Tie, which combines riding horses and running. This meant I had to train and start running on a regular basis. Bless my poor father who put up with his 15-year-old daughter throwing 3-year-old tantrums about not wanting to run. Bless him for calling me out when I had period cramps two weeks in a row. And bless him for not giving up on me. I don't know how many times he told me that, "you're my partner, I want to compete with you."
With the onset of high school, however, also came the onset of my weight gain. I started Freshman year of high school at around 120 pounds. I started my freshman year of college at about 160 pounds. I blame this on a lot of things. My number one blame-game is the fact that we got a Quick Trip. I now refer to QT as the devil. If you haven't been to one, QT is a gas station that is basically the most magical and evil place on earth. They will sell you a 32oz fountain soda for 75 cents. They will sell you an incredibly addictive parmesan soft pretzel with dipping sauce for a little under $3. Going to QT nearly every day after school, that didn't help me. The second thing I will blame was my schedule. I could literally leave home at 8 AM and not return until 11 that night because of various activities I was a part of. I also blame it on myself. I ignored the fact I had gained weight. I lied about my weight on my drivers license. I pretended that I was going up in jean sizes merely because my "hips had gotten wider" which was something I "couldn't help".
Fast forward to this summer when I started college. I was still in denial about my weight, and I still hated running. I had to take a health class as part of my required classes and we had to keep a food log. I ate healthier with the food log than my normal diet dictates, but I drank soda just like normal. If you're trying to lose weight, the number one suggestion I have is to cut soda and drink water. It has so much sugar and so many calories. They're amazing, and the caffeine boost is great. I still drink soda sometimes, I'm just very careful and a lot more selective about when I drink it. Through this and an increase in my overall activity level (walking all over campus, hiking, going canoeing, etc.) I was able to, by the end of fall semester lose 20 pounds. Now, almost halfway through spring, I've lost almost 30.
Losing weight was the key for me to finding running enjoyable. Running honestly isn't what helped me lose weight, but when I started doing it more, training, thinking of how this would help me to keep my new figure and how it was healthier for me in the long run, that's what made the switch go off in my head.
I still struggle sometimes to find the motivation to go run. I don't have a set running schedule. I do, however, get angry at myself (and the world) if I haven't run in a while. That never has been the case for me before. I recently sprained my ankle and had to take two weeks off from running. Today was my first day back. I lost some of the speed I'd built up, but man did it feel good to push myself and keep pushing even when I'd passed my goal for the day. It felt good to know that I could "just do it" even after a short rest period. It felt good to be running again.
Running is not something that I ever thought I would love. It's something I started loving only once I came to accept it and myself. I was limited by my weight, but also by my attitude. I thought that in two weeks of training I should be like Usain Bolt, and I was still only running 12-minute miles. For any runners out there who might read this, I know that's slow. But that is also my point. If you're going to run you need to know how to push yourself. You also, however, need to know your own personal running characteristics. I am not a fast runner. Since I lost weight I've sped up a little bit, but not to 8-minute miles or anything. I accused my phone of being a dirty liar when it said I'd run a mile in 9 minutes a few days ago. I haven't run a 9-minute mile since elementary school. But I've grown stronger. When I started college, I made a commitment to myself. I made myself stronger and healthier, and now I can run 9-minute miles again. I can love running again. I'm not competing with someone else, but rather against myself. I'm competing against that girl who thought running was a waste of time or too hard. I'm showing her what she can do. I'm not going to stop until I reach the end of the race, because this girl is one who can handle anything. I'm done denying who I was or who I am. I'm done making excuses. I'm ready to take on the challenge. I'm done limiting myself. I'm ready to see just what I can do in the long-run.
