What I Learned From Running

In June I ran a half marathon. No small feat, for sure. But for me, the girl who was never remotely athletic, it was almost unbelievable.

Back when gym teachers allowed the cruel task of picking team members fall to specially selected "captains," I was often the last one picked -- the leftover. In grammar school, during a game of floor hockey, a gym teacher teased me because the opposing team had scored a goal while I was on duty. Bad enough, I suppose -- but worse was that the goal had been scored after bouncing off my butt. Bored with my goal tending duties, I had begun spinning in circles within the net. In my six years of playing community youth soccer, I never once scored a goal and had little contact with the ball. The one time I came close, I believe I was headed toward the wrong goal posts.

So, considering my less than stellar athletic history, signing up for a "couch to 5K" class last year was no small challenge. I had always exercised and managed to stay in shape after two pregnancies. Still, exercise was simply a means to an end: "I want to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes, thus I will work out." I didn't enjoy it and usually counted down the minutes until I was done. With the class, I wanted to prove, finally, that I could do something athletic. Prior to the first class, I had not run more than a mile -- ever.

Years before I took the class I cheered on my brother as he ran a marathon and my husband as he ran a 5K. At both events, I marveled at their determination and strong will. I was impressed with their ability to decide they wanted to accomplish a goal, work toward it and then see it through. I longed for the same dedication and mental focus I had in my professional life in my own athletic accomplishments.

The first class was a shock: I discovered that I could run. More shocking was the discovery that I enjoyed it! I suddenly knew I could definitely stick with the 10-week program, which meant running a minimum of three times weekly as we worked toward our 3.1-mile goal.

That first class was just over a year ago, and when I look back at all the miles I have clocked since, I am proud, but also a little wistful for what could have been. I wish that as a high school student I had believed enough in myself to try and join a sports team. While to entirely escape the social pitfalls of adolescence is almost impossible, being part of a team, something separate from my academic achievements, would have also instilled in me a sense of belonging and confidence.

Having trained for (and completed!) a half marathon means that I now know I likely could have delivered my first daughter without an epidural. I know about breathing and pushing through pain and going "just a little further."

On those dreadful, dark fall and winter mornings, when my alarm goes off too early, I somehow stumble out of bed and soon find myself pounding the pavement of my still-sleeping neighborhood. It sounds so simplistic and yet it is the only way I have ever accomplished anything: I just put one foot in front of the other again and again.

When I begin to waver or feel weak, I am able to talk myself through it: "If I did this before, I can do it again." What a difference it now makes to start the day knowing I have already run a 5K or more before 7 a.m. And when my young daughters see me come back in the house, sweaty but energized, my greatest hope is that they are taking mental notes and realizing that running, or anything athletic, is possible for them, too. HL

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