Welcome to another installment of The Bittersweet, where I share moments and memories from my search for a richer perspective on the bittersweet moments that make up modern life.
I had some things else written for this week, but the feelings behind the words aren’t fully baked yet. So instead, I want to tell you a story about a Run Club.
At 5:30 on a Tuesday morning, cold and dark, and I was in a high school parking lot, nervously stepping from foot to foot. A few weeks before, I reached out to a runner friend to ask about the run club she’s a part of, and today is the day I finally didn’t talk myself out of joining.
I saw a group of runners with headlamps and reflective gear gathering at one end of the parking lot and figured this must be the palace.
I didn’t immediately see my friend, plus I knew I would be one of the slower runners, so I hung back. I kept up with the pack for the first half mile, but they got so far ahead of me that once they turned into a neighborhood I didn’t know well, I figured it would be better to double back to avoid getting lost.
Once I got back, I briefly met with the coach, and he asked a few questions. How many miles a week do you run? At what pace? What are your goals?
“I just want to get back to a ten-minute mile,” I said. “I run a 14-minute mile now.” I was suddenly embarrassed, but he didn’t bat an eye.
“We can get you there,” he said.
I’ve been running for over 20 years. I was 18, alone in a new city, and fresh off the death of my mother earlier that summer. The previous Spring, she was diagnosed with advanced-stage breast cancer. There were surgeries and chemo, and my boyfriend dumped me. I write this like the two things were related. My denial was so strong that, at the time, I thought they were. I cried more over my boyfriend than my mother’s illness. It was a welcomed distraction from the reality that my mother might not make it. It took a long time to forgive myself.
In the meantime, I ran.
I had a general idea but never paid much attention to pace, or form, or the difference between a tempo run and a fartlek1. I'd never even heard these words until I trained for a marathon in 20082. I just laced up my shoes and went outside.
Over the years, I got better at some things. I learned how to pitch forward uphill, and the pain in my knee taught me not to run downhill at full speed. I evolved from the CD player I had to hold flat so it wouldn’t skip to the wireless AirPods I have now. Next, I hope to conquer the settings on my Apple Watch. I wear a ball cap to keep the sun off my face.
I’ve run thousands of miles, including every street in Santa Barbara, mostly alone. I like it that way. Partly because I don’t want to slow people down and partly because I like being alone, my route, my music, and my thoughts.
In my 20s, I ran around 9:30/ mile; in my 30s, it slowed to around 10:00/ mile and has been pretty steady ever since, but when I returned to running after having Tatum, my pace isn’t picking up in the same way it did with my previous pregnancies and rather than flail around and possibly get injured I resigned to the fact that solo running might not be serving me in the way it used to.
“Some of these people are crazy,” my friend tells me, gesturing to the entire cluster of people around us. I got the feeling she was trying to soften the blow of the more competitive personalities in the group. Like I might be scared off, but I know the type, I am the type, just not in the same way. I mean, there has to be some definition of crazy that includes running for no apparent evolutionary reason.
Barring an emergency, I put running first. Before household chores, paying bills, grocery shopping, scheduling a mammogram, meeting a friend for lunch, writing this post… almost everything. I’m not proud of it but accept it. I’m also more likely to do all of the above, if not better, at least happier, after a run.
I listened to the coach explain the workout. You jog the first 100 meters; then, you run the rest of the lap at a threshold pace.
Ok, I can do that.
“And you repeat 12 times.”
Wait what??
The coach partnered me with someone maybe 10 or 15 years older than me and in phenomenal shape. She was in “recovery” after running a marathon the weekend before. He said she was “taking it easy.” All I could think was, “#goals.”
“Stay in lane one,” she barked. I was a little startled by her tone, but a second later, I found out why when two runners came flying up behind me, inches from my shoulder. I listened to her closely after that.
We exchanged pleasantries in the beginning but then settled into silence. I couldn’t keep up a conversation anyway. I made it through half the workout before I had to get home to get the kids up for school. I’m not ashamed to say I was grateful to have had an excuse to leave early.
My lungs were screaming, my fingers were numb, the three layers of clothing I had on were soaked through, and I knew I would be sore later, but at that moment, just as the sun was coming up, I was so happy, I felt like I could touch the stars.
Later, when alone, I checked the stats on my Strava app. My pace read 10:00 / mi
This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.
xoxo
Emily
Tempo runs: Comfortably hard, sustained efforts, no rest. Fartlek runs: Fun running - like an off-leash dog in the woods!
A way to distract myself during my first year of sobriety.
I’m with you on the needing to run/workout before moving on to the rest of my day! I’m a much happier/much more relaxed person after a workout.
I’m not good at planning my runs - which means I’m typically a solo runner these days…but always up for a running partner if you ever want!
Emily I LOVE that you run first thing. Thank you for doing that and thank you for telling us about it. I feel like we all need permission to front-load what makes us happy, and trust that prioritizing our joyfulness will lift everyone around us up. Run on!