How I Became an Avid Runner

Getting high with my feet on the ground

When I joined taekwondo at age 40, I was significantly heavier than my ideal weight. A family move to a different state had afforded this positive lifestyle change. I started training to spend time with my 11-year-old son, though I had not worked out in three years. While my son’s lean and agile body went airborne with ease, to say my body struggled is a gross understatement.

Yet, I loved the nature of the new sport. My body wanted to move, and I wanted it to move without pain. I had been active most of my life. I knew committing to martial arts life would force me to get in shape.

Personal Evolution

Most of the people I met and admired for their fitness were runners, an activity I had rejected all of my life. The taekwondo instructor required us to run around the gym, as well as do pushups and sit ups. To my chagrin, I practiced walking on the treadmill for 30 minutes to condition my body.

My extra weight made running extremely uncomfortable. I got terrible, painful, shin splints. Within six months, my new fitness lifestyle dropped 15 pounds off my aging body. I began to run the 30 minutes on the treadmill instead of walk. I found treadmill partners but still hated it.

Invitation of a lifetime

I met a Black woman in the grocery store, a rare sight in Iowa, so we stopped to chat. We both had our pre-adolescent children with us. We lived on opposite sides of town, but she had stopped to shop while taking care of errands in my part of town. After getting to know one another for fifteen minutes, with our children becoming impatient, she invited me to join her running group of women. “We run at 5:00 every Wednesday. You should join us.”

I had never run outside, only on the treadmill. I ran three miles, but her group ran six. She responded to my concerns by insisting six miles outdoors would feel easier than three miles on the treadmill, especially with a group. Desperate for community and distraction, I agreed to meet her the following Wednesday.

In our farewell, my new friend confirmed our scheduled run. “I’ll look for you Wednesday morning,” she stated as she walked off. A shocking reality set in, as I thought she meant 5:00 p.m., not the crack of dawn. I had enjoyed talking with her too much to reveal my misunderstanding. Therefore, I accepted the confirmation for a 5:00 a.m. run.

Wakeup call

I was in deep mourning over the loss of my brother ten months ago. Some nights I was barely getting to sleep before dawn. I had been mentally shut down for months. I didn’t know how I was going to find the strength to run that early.

I set my alarm clock for 4:30 a.m. to drive twenty minutes downtown for my first outdoor run. I did not brush my teeth or even wash my face; I just slipped into my running gear, grabbed my mp3 player and earphones, and slipped out the door without waking anyone. I arrived first, half-awake, at 4:55 a.m., and my new friend Charlene came immediately afterward.

There was a brief introduction to the other two women who arrived after Charlene. With four head nods for ready confirmation, we started. I trusted Charlene’s advice about the transition from indoor to outdoor running. Still, this idea seemed crazy. I clearly understood it as a response to grief and an indication of how much pain I was carrying.

We trotted off slowly as the sun barely peeked at us. I started in the rear, and they kept checking to see if I was ok. I was overcome with the awe of the morning, but I was OK. About a mile into the run, I felt a shift from deep within as if my spirit had re-entered my body after months of absence. I ran around my comrades and asked how far ahead I could go because I wanted to pick up the pace a bit.

The rhythm of my feet

As the sun came up in its fullness, the sky opened up to the rhythm of my feet. Joy met me in the cadence of my footsteps and the rhythm of Whitney Houston. “I’m Every Woman” played in my ear while conversations with my deceased brother ran through my mind. I almost forget about my comrades. My sensory perception became keen as all anxiety left my body, and I felt in sync with the entire universe for the first time. The treadmill never made me feel anything other than pain and fatigue.

I slowed down so the women could see me. For safety reasons, we had agreed to remain in sight of each other. We ended our run with short affirmations of “see you next week.” I drove home full of hope, crawled back in the bed, and went to sleep. We met again and again, and again. I became more alive with each run. My treadmill partners couldn’t believe that I was running that early when they had tried to get me outdoors for months.

One morning about a month after we began running together, I felt betrayed by my new friend. She had failed to notify me in advance of the group’s plan to run eight miles instead of six. They had started training for a half-marathon. I loved running, but it felt like a challenge, and no marathon was in my future. I would have sat that run out if I had known their intention.

The longer the run

The six miles took us an hour to run. I had never done any exercise for more than an hour. Completing 8 miles would add 20 more minutes, at least, to our run. I did not feel mentally or physically prepared to increase my distance. The women told me to let them know if I became too tired. They agreed to back off the distance if I couldn’t make it.

I started a few feet ahead of them, as usual, and kept my frustration to myself. They ran slower because they talked to each other. I didn’t want conversation with humans that early in the morning. I reserved my chats for my brother.

I let the fresh air wash over my mind as I found my cadence. I relaxed into the run and accepted that it wouldn’t be a difficult as I thought. Forty-five minutes into the run, I heard my friend yelling to get my attention. I stopped to let the three of them catch up. My friend explained that I had run too far past the mid-mile-marker. Since we were already four and a half miles out, we had to complete nine miles instead of eight.

To my surprise, I loved the long run. The extra endorphins, sun grazing my face, and watching the street fill with cars for people to start their day made me feel alive in the world. Charlene also enjoyed the extra distance, so we added it to our weekly schedule. Just Charlene and I ran the weekly nine-miler Mondays. I learned to talk and run with her but did caution her that I prefer mostly silence. So, she saved most of her chatting for the six-mile Wednesday runs with the other women.

I would never have predicted I would become addicted to running when I was nursing shin splints from the treadmill. I let my treadmill runners drag me through the streets puffing on my asthma inhaler after Charlene moved out of town. My treadmill runners were much faster than me. Trying to keep up with them was a buzz killer. So, my second year into outdoor running, I started running alone and decided that I liked that the best.

I never cared about speed. Running has always been about feeling the high and the stillness in each breath. Finding my cadence was meditation, how I felt oneness with the universe. My knees hurt, and I did not care. Shoes were expensive, yet I broke the budget on them anyway. Neither asthma nor hip arthritis deterred me from the pure joy I found in running.

I set a goal to run one thousand miles the third year and met the goal by the beginning of January. Eventually, I ran a marathon, and a second one four years later. I felt married to running because it will be in my life forever. Instead of writing wedding vows, I wrote a poem.

Getting High

I ease out of bed just before dawn, trying not to disturb my spouse

I have a rendezvous I don’t want to miss, so I gotta leave the house

I sneak past the children’s room, headed for the closet at the end of the hall

Before I start my hectic day, I have to answer this call

Won’t grab no coat, no hat, no purse, nothing to slow me down

The only thing I need is just a little bit of sound

Gonna grab my running shoes, I gotta lace up my Asics

Gotta get these six miles in, three times a week — that’s basic

See, I gotta run now,

That’s how I have my fun now

I meditate on my feet

The pavement keeps me grounded from defeat

I wasn’t born a runner. I’m not that fast — Don’t run for speed

I hit the pavement cause that’s what my mind seems to need

The fresh air is my Zoloft, the sun is my Xanax, the open sky my Prozac

When I’m running through the streets there is nothing that I lack

Nope, no dog chasing me — No police in sight

I’m just out there watching the day take over the night

It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’m three miles in,

Another 3 in 30 will have me back where I began

Each round trip keeps me from tripping

Negativity flows from my body in the sweat that’s dripping

No marathon, no triathlon, I keep my mind from racing

Living a fulfilled life is the only dream I’m chasing

I have too many scars still left to heal

But they seem to disappear when I’m running the hill

Finding my strength on the deepest incline

As the body gets stronger, so does my mind

People tend to put an expiration on pain

Grieve too long and they call you insane

But running extends the grieving expiration

The asphalt always gives me validation

Breeze on my face dries my eyes

Yes, I run so I don’t have to cry

I pound the pavement to soothe my heart

Run through the trauma that tore it apart

This is my therapy three times a week

I get a runner’s high just like a crack freak

A protein bar will enhance the sensation

A Gatorade chaser slows the perspiration

Every junkie needs a little pill

I take 2 — Tylenol, Motrin or Advil

Cuz 20 miles a week can leave a little physical pain

Especially in cold weather or too much rain

But achy joints and sore muscles are a small price to pay

For the joy of feeling empowered the rest of the day