Dear Running, I miss you
I never miss running more than the times when I’m incapable of doing it. Whether it’s an injury, weather, or some other random reason I can’t lace up, I spite my past self for the times I was able to run, but instead chose not to.
Throughout my life I’ve had a very on-again-off-again kind of relationship with running. Emphasis on the ‘off-again’ phase. Like many people, I imagine, I ran around a lot as a kid, did the required 1-mile run in gym class, and dabbled in track and cross country in high school. I say ‘dabble’ because from what I remember my cross country experience went a little something like this…
Join cross country mid-season — run first cross country race and get demolished — quit cross country
I ran track for at least one or two seasons, also getting demolished in most things, but found my stride in the 4X4 and 4X8 relays. I think my 4X8 team made it to the state finals, but honestly my memory is not the most reliable. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to call/text my mom to fact-check my stories.
Wait, why did you name me Elizabeth? [after one of my great great grandmothers]
Did Grandma’s mom actually wear pearls to vacuum? [yes]
Was I born breach? [yes]
Was I almost born in the car? [no]
One thing I distinctly remember is that in my Junior or Senior year of high school, my track coach called to see if I would be joining the team again. Without a moment of hesitation I bluntly told him ‘no’. He pressed a bit more before I confessed, “Listen, I’ve finally grown boobs [something I had been waiting a very long time for] and I wasn’t about to give them up to run another season of track.”
You see, in my mind, I thought when I lost weight while running I would therefore also lose my boobs. Silly, I know. But I had quite literally grown up in the shadow of my older sister’s marvelously plump breasts, and I didn’t see running as a valid reason to sacrifice my tiny molehills I’d worked so hard to grow.
I’m pretty sure I was finally convinced to join the team, but yet again my memory fails me.
We can fast-forward through college, since I only remember maybe one attempt at running. My friend Mark convinced me to run with him and that ended with me bent over on the side of the road vomiting lemonade. Why I thought it was a good idea to chug lemonade [undoubtedly a mixer that was leftover on the table after a night of drinking] and try running 2-miles after partying all night, is beyond me. Oh college.
My on-again phases of running only seem to start when I’ve hit the ‘submit’ button to sign up for a race. Unfortunately, that is still very much true to this day. My relationship with running looks a little something like this…
Sign up for race — train for said race — run race — quit running for the next 6 to 9 months — sign up for new race and repeat the cycle
The last race I ran was the 2019 Brooklyn Half-Marathon. It was amazing! I didn’t challenge myself to beat my PR in time, but I did challenge myself to beat my PR in fun. I ran side-by-side with one of my best friends Carrie, and even stopped to take some fun selfies with our best friend Anne at mile 6 of the race. We FaceTimed family and friends during the race and I even stopped to use the bathroom [something I have never done while racing]. After we met up with Anne at the finish line and sat to devour all of our hard-earned post-race snacks [standard apple and pretzels], we walked along the boardwalk at Coney Island and ended the day with a dip in the ocean. It was perfect!
And then, in true Elizabeth style, I didn’t run anymore. I mean I went out for a light jog here and there, but according to the Nike Running app which I use to track my runs, for the remainder of 2019 I logged a whopping 17.97 miles [over the course of 6 months].
Which brings us to January 2020. I get it in my head that I am going to run the NYC marathon this year and there is nothing that can stop me. At this point I’m living in Northern Michigan. It is cold and snowy, and icy, and the road I live on is ‘plowed’, which really means the snow and ice are just kind of packed on top of each other. Far from ideal running conditions. But I’m not letting this deter me from my goal, because once I make my mind up I will stop at nothing. I buy a body light to wear while running since there’s like 7-hours of daylight at that point in the year, all of which are used up while working. Just one mile, I tell myself. That’s not so hard. One-mile a day was my goal, and for the most part I accomplished it. I took some rest days and managed to complete 24.96 miles in the month of January.
Then, on February 2nd I work my shift, get in my car to make the 3.5-hour drive down to my sister’s house and head to bed when I get there. I wake up the next morning in excruciating pain. I shrug it off, thinking I just slept funny. After all, I made the drive to attend a friend’s wedding, and I wasn’t about to not go because of my leg pain. Bad idea. Horrible idea. I dressed up, heels included, and made my way to the event. Thankfully most of it was seated, so it wasn’t until the end when we were standing to take pictures that I realized something was really wrong with my leg. I said my goodbyes and drove back to my sister’s where I proceeded to lay on the floor in the fetal position and cry about how much pain I was in. I called and got a massage the next day, which mildly improved my condition, but not by much. All I can say is sciatica is a bitch! For such a tiny muscle, the piriformis can really be a pain in the ass [pun intended].
The incapacitating pain lasted for 2 months. Then to really put things into perspective, just as I was finally feeling better, the entire world shut down due to Coronavirus. So here we are. All the time in the world to lace up and get out for a run, yet my body is still stiff and recovering. I miss running, oh so much.
I’ve filled my running void with podcasts, books, and articles about running. I am very slowly training to build my strength and increase my mobility to prevent future injury. I think it’s safe to say, I most definitely will not be running the NYC Marathon this year. But honestly, with the state of the world as it is, I’m not sure anyone will be.
“At one point, my stride became smooth and fluid. It seemed like running was welcoming me back. I expected nothing from it, so I just ran, and it felt good enough that I smiled back.”