In freshman year of high-school, I was the queen of the 12-minute mile.
I did not care for running. In fact, I prescribed to a distinctly anti-running mindset. It seemed awful, sprinting around, sweating profusely, on purpose. Running on accident while playing sports was one thing, but actively seeking an excuse to just go, without any real destination or mental occupation? No thank you. I avoided all things sporty, and stuck with what I knew, which was riding horses, and not much else.
But things changed; I went through a breakup, I was cast in the spring musical, I turned 15. And I wanted to revamp myself, and to some extent, my image. My closest friends ran on the cross country team, and I decided that perhaps a pair of sneakers would be the thing to change my life.
And surprisingly, I was right.
But nothing worth having comes easily.
And at first, running sucked.
I'll be the first to admit that I struggled with a mile. I had to hype myself up every day, just to get out the door. But gradually, it got better. Little by little, I got faster and faster. Soon I was running two miles, then three, then four. We got a treadmill, and I started waking up before dawn to get in three miles before school, and knocking out three miles after. My sneakers were my happy place, the rhythm of my feet filled my head and brought me peace.
My regular runs were my constant companion; a guarantee of solitude, a space to think.
And so my runs began to stretch on, to four miles, or five, or six. They were a vital part of my days.
After I graduated high-school, I threw myself into my weekly mileage.
In my freshman year of college, I made it my goal to run one thousand miles in a year. So my daily six mile run once again grew, suddenly eight miles, or nine, or occasionally, twelve.
All of the difficulties of transferring to college flowed into my running. It was my therapy, and my happy place. I spent hours by the ocean, with sore legs and insane tan lines.
Running was the center of my free time, and it taught me about what I could do.
Memories of my running project follow me wherever I go. Waking up early, as dawn broke across the horizon, and racing down to the sea. I would pound out miles and miles beside the ocean, and watch for whales breaching in the distance. I met strange people, cute dogs, and came face to face with who I am.
Running is, in many ways, the love of my life.
I love it because it gives me independence. Because it makes me strong, mentally and physically.
Nothing feels better than reaching the top of a hill, and the feeling of my heart pounding in my chest.
Running has helped me in so many ways, I don't know where I'd be without it. I still run almost every day, and learn something new every time I hit the pavement. But something about that first year did something special.
I got to know my body through the distance I covered, and when I finished that last run, my thousandth mile, it felt like coming home.
