For some runs, I feel graceful–stag-like– as my stride finds harmony with the wind. I smile at everyone I pass. I feel like I could go forever. Those runs are the easy ones. I live for those runs.
For some runs, all I can feel is each ache and pain in my almost 40-year-old body. Each steps mocks my efforts and erases my concept of myself as a “runner.” Those runs suck.
For some of them, I am all Chariots of Fire– in full possession of glory, endorphins and positive thoughts. On those runs, I look up and see I am almost home. Time passed without me thinking about the running. During those runs I compose blog posts or let memories slide in to keep me company or think about the quadratic equation. Those runs touch my heart.
And there are other runs where I feel rage coursing through my body. I have imaginary fights with people I haven’t seen in years. I pick fights with Jeff and myself and with you– all while my feet pound on the pavement. I use my feet to process the injustices and slights and confusion that otherwise bottle up inside. During those runs, I keep going until I feel the sweet release of forgiveness and tolerance, even if I have to do a few extra laps.
Some runs are a hybrid of them all– they may start out effortless and end with me in a raging huff & puff. Others begin with the greatest of exertion and end with the sweet thrill of accomplishment and gratitude for my healthy body.
During some runs I can get out a good cry, but I have to run slower because of the blurry vision. Some runs I can laugh at a joke I heard hours before but didn’t get until about mile 2.
And sometimes, I just stop in the middle. I tell myself: “I’ve had enough. No more running for today.” On those runs, I let myself off the hook. I let myself walk and slow down and breathe. I let myself be someone who can bail out if she needs to. It’s hard to stop in the middle of a run, but when I do, I know I’ve done something harder than actual running: stopping. Those runs make it possible to be a runner in the first place.
My dad was a huge runner before his knees gave out. I, myself, only run if chased by zombies. It’s interesting to hear you describe the different kinds of runs you have because, as a non-runner, I honestly didn’t realize that each one wasn’t always the Chariots of Fire kind. Good for you for pushing on with all the ones that aren’t!
And sometimes I stop for a delicious ice creamy snack.
Oh my god, yes. This could have come out of my own head. I have had all of those runs, many, many times. Runners are a strange breed.
It’s true we are. I wanna see the ven diagram for weirdness overlap: runner, lawyer, writer.
I am a bawling mess here. Thank you for this. If you — do-it-all, nothing-slows-me-down, I-can-juggle-more-things-at-once-than-you-can-handle-in-a-year superwoman — if you stop once in a blue moon, it gives little ol’ me permission to as well. Without feeling the tremendous guilt of having you to keep up with all the time.
I almost skimmed this post because I am not a runner, but this was about life and I absorbed every word. Beautiful.
This is how my runs are too, which is why I run at all. I work out so much in my head and heart while moving along…
Yes. Clears my vital organs.
I don’t run, but I feel the same way on my walks. I can’t wait for Daylight Savings in a couple of weeks! More time to be outside–Yay spring!
Awesome post!
Same here– daylight saving and snow melting. Feels good to move.
I run with a posse of fabulous women (we are now all over 40). They are my soul mates. My runs are my talk-therapy and my girl time. I sometimes go it alone like a “real runner”. And I know those good days and bad days. And I haven’t quite gotten past the shame of the days I just can’t hang in there. Maybe I can now that I know I’m not alone.
Those are the days I know I’m taking good care of myself. It provides consolation.
Well said.
I tell myself you never have these days. The quitting ones.
Wait… By you do you mean me? You tell yourself that Laura never has these quitting days? Or a general you? Cause I definitely do have quitting days.
I meant Laura. I have you on a running pedestal.
Holy crap! Get me off that!
I’ve run all these runs as well. Great post! I could personally use a rage run today which would probably turn into a crying run.
That’s a special run I do twice a month!
You have the right approach! I never got in the right groove. I was too all or nothing. I ran 6 miles every day in grad school until my knees hurt. I guess maybe I was running from the stress of school. I.could.not.skip.one.day. It was not healthy. Now I mostly hike b/c my body is almost 50 and well, that extra decade….
It seems like you hike every day!!!
This made me miss my old running days. What a perfect descriptionof it!
Wow, what a fantastic post! And it’s so true. I never exactly understand why running the same path can be such a different experience on a given day, but it’s definitely part of running. And now you’ve inspired me to get my butt out the door, so off I go!
Me too! I need a good winter run.
Yes.
I can’t decide if I miss running. I do and I don’t. I want to go back and I don’t.
Thanks for making me think about it again.
When I’m not doing it, I miss it. When I can I often dread it.
That’s how I used to feel. When I ran a lot. Now that it’s been so long, I don’t miss it. And when I can I go for a delightful walk. An I’m-walking-fast-but-dang-this-is-slow, 4-calorie-per-mile walk.
There is something holy about walking.
There really is. But I need a good two hours to work through the voices in my head and find peace. I don’t have two hours. A forty-five munute run does the same thing.
My what cute feet you have!
My runs are similarly filled with imaginary fights and ongoing dialogues. Thankfully I don’t run very far so the arguments are short. And surprisingly one sided. Hmmm … I love what you wrote about stopping, easily the hardest part for me to wrap my head around.
We should run together– imagine the run rage work we could do. And short is good when it comes to running.