Running groups

🛑 If you want to bleed to beat me... go right ahead!

I visited a new-to-me running group a few weeks ago.

People were friendly and chatty, and the course was well-marked. My good friend Vanessa had invited me, and though we didn’t run together, we still got to hang out after. The coach even bought us bagels, for goodness sakes. I’ve been casually considering joining a running group, but this one didn’t feel like home. The problem is, no group sounds appealing to me. Here are some reasons why I’ve decided I couldn’t possibly join other local groups:

• Meets too early

• Meets too late (it will be hot)

• They run too fast

• They run too far

• People are too young

• Too bro-y

I am apparently not looking for a running group; I am looking for a fairy godmother who will fix everything back the way it used to be before I had so many other things I cared about besides running. 🧚🏻‍♀️

Oh! “But having babies doesn’t have to ruin your athletic career!!!” Well, allow me to be petty, it ruined mine. My life was full before I had kids, of course it’s even more packed now, and something would have to give. I’m just apparently so drenched still in narratives about success and “wanting it bad enough,” that I’m judging myself so hard for being here.

Maybe I can define “ruin.” I feel like a whiny teenager saying this. Yes, I still run. I am able-bodied and have the privilege of having some time to run. I do about 80% less mileage than I used to, with the performance decline and body changes to match. I don’t have the freedom to pursue it with leisure. I think that’s the biggest thing I wanted. I’ve never felt like the all-in, ascetic distance runner devotion suited me. The few times I did try it, I ended up getting hurt. Pre’s “Somebody may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it,” does not resonate. Respect to the man, but if someone wants to bleed to beat me, then they deserve it.

Ego

And here’s something else humbling: I’ve known for a long time that the thing that made me my best at running for so many years—my drive, my perseverance—was tied to ego. I could dig deep for a fast set of 1Ks at my college practices simply out of pride and wanting to beat my own teammates. I was dedicated and I prioritized running, but I was talented too. It was clear from a young age that I didn’t have to work as hard as most of my peers for the same results. I ran less miles and with less sacrifice. People called me balanced, which I do think was part of it—but I trained so that the races wouldn’t hurt. My best races were the ones that “just felt good,” the ones in perfect weather where nothing went wrong. I wasn’t as good at handling adversity. There were some notable impressive races in tough conditions, like the 2018 Boston marathon where I broke 3:00 in record rain storms, but for the most part as the conditions deteriorated, so did I. And now that I’m here, where any resemblance to my old ability and accomplishments seems like a fantasy, where it’s clear that the only thing standing between me and my goals is sacrifice. And call it enlightenment, burnout, or just feeling like it’s all too hard, I’m not willing to go there.

Faster ≠ better

Would I be a better version of myself if I were able to run like I used to? I mean, it cannot only be about speed, right?

Sure, I enjoyed my results, my status, my friends, and my gear sponsorships. It was bigger than that though. I think that prioritizing running was also just a lot of fun, good for the mental health, planning trips was fun, it was belonging. I can see logically that the finish times may never come back, and that should be okay.

Everyone slows down eventually and would have to grapple with this. I had a satisfying training block for the Austin Half last winter; I ran 30 minutes slower than I had a few years before, but was much happier. So why isn’t that enough? Is it still the ego holding me back?

I’m just afraid I’m not ever going to get that fun part of the sport back. I can’t make it make sense to myself. The old life still feels like me that’s gone missing. It’s been four years since I got pregnant with my first, when things shifted. How long am I going to keep holding on with this vise grip?