The Emotional Side of Running
I've never been a runner. In my previous life, before finding sobriety, and before having children I worked as a personal trainer who specialized in boxing instruction. I loved everything about boxing and although I never competed, I often spared with the "real" boxers in the ring. Although I spared almost every Saturday morning, I knew I couldn't compete because boxers have to run as part of their conditioning. I hated running and therefore accepted my fate to spar only. Many years later, even after running three half marathons, numerous 5k's and a full marathon I didn't consider myself a "runner".
When I started running, I hated it. I never set out to run any races. I've always walked and jogged for weight loss and to stay in shape, but I never ran. In fact, I stumbled into running when I was going through the 75 Hard program. 75 hard is a mental discipline program but it incorporates many fitness aspects into it. The program consists of completing several different tasks each day, every day for you guessed it 75 days. One of the tasks I needed to complete each day was working out for 45 mins outside. I chose to run mainly because I looked like a weirdo hauling my kettlebells onto my deck to do an outdoor workout.
I knew nothing about running when started. I laced up my sneakers and put one foot in front of the other. As much as I hated it and as much pain, I was in from wearing improper running shoes I was kind of amazed how I went from not being able to run a mile to running 3 miles over the course of my 75 days. After putting up with blistered feet which caused me not to being able to get pedicures over the summer, I decided I needed real running shoes. When I bit the bullet and purchased a pair everything changed.
I was no longer in pain with each step that I took. I learned that when you run your feet swell. Runners need to size up their running shoes to compensate for this. After a week or so of wearing proper shoes that fit my blisters healed and I felt better. I finished the 75 hard program and decided to tackle a half marathon. What can I say, I needed another goal.
As I trained for my half marathon, I signed up for a 5k and completed it. I thought I should at least know what to expect from a race. I finished the 5k in the middle of my age group and felt pretty good about that. Each week of Half Marathon training came a long run on the weekends. I was terrified when my long run was 5 miles. How was I ever going to make it? But somehow, I did, and it made me hungry to see just how many more miles I could run. That hunger took me all the way to training for a full marathon.
The 5k and two half marathons were the only races I officially ran before the full Marathon. I skipped over running an official 10k. Mainly because most races are listed as 5k, half-marathon and marathon. The full marathon I chose to run was in my hometown. As I looked over the course, I realized that it would take me through my old stomping grounds where I drank and blacked out on many occasions. I was scared and nervous to run those streets. How would I feel running through streets on a Sunday morning when the last time I was there I was too drunk to walk? Would I breakdown? Would I miss drinking? What was going to happen?
To make a long story short, nothing happened, at least not during the marathon. By the time I got to any place that I had previously drank I was too exhausted to notice or even care. I also didn't even recognize the area anymore. So much had physically changed that I couldn't even recognize the locations where I partied and drank. If it wasn't for the marathon flags telling me where to go, I probably would have gotten lost even though I had spent numerous evenings out in that part of town. I finished the marathon without any bad feelings about my drinking days.
It's been just under a year since my marathon and it’s still taking me time to enjoy running again. One thing that has helped get me back to the joy in running is my kids. Both of my young kids participated in track for the first-time last school year, and both really enjoyed it. A few weeks ago I asked them if they wanted to run a 5k with me. My daughter the oldest of the two has run a turkey trot as well as another 5k with me. But my son hadn't run longer than a mile. They both wanted to run the 5k this time, so I signed us all up.
Although it was difficult for us (did I mention I took a break after the marathon and was nowhere up to par with my previous running pace) we had a great time running the 5k. Running that race with both my kids and seeing their reactions after we completed it brought real joy to me. I could see how proud they were of themselves and how even though they struggled through they enjoyed it. So much so that my son asked if he and I could do a turkey trot this year. I felt the running bug biting me again.
As I started searching through upcoming races and I settled on a 10k mainly because I wanted to add it to my collection of finisher medals. I found one scheduled 2 weeks after the 5k we had just run and signed myself up. I didn't realize that this time when the course took me through a similar part of town that I used to drink at I wouldn't be so exhausted to overlook my old stomping grounds.
It was a beautiful morning when the 10k started. I was by myself since this was way to far for my kids to run. As I started running through the streets, I felt very good. I wasn't tired, in fact physically I felt amazing. However, these good feelings were all about to change. As the route turned onto a different road, I realized how many times I had been there years before drunk, stumbling around with people I thought were my friends but who truly didn't care about me at all. The longer I ran the more uneasy I felt. Memories of drunkenness flooded my mind. Shame, guilt, and pity for the young girl I used to be.
As I ran I tried not to think of the streets and neighborhood I was physically running through. I closed my eyes to shield the thoughts from entering my brain. I told myself that I'm different now, no longer a young woman without an understanding of the disease that caused her drunkenness. However as much as I willed myself not to feel sad and depressed about the 15 years I lost to drinking, the feelings only intensified.
As tears started to fill my eyes, I wasn't surprised. Some part of me knew this was coming. I've read enough memoirs, listened to enough podcasts and been to enough therapy sessions to understand that you can't forget or lock away thoughts and feelings indefinitely. Although I have worked the 12 steps of AA and taken a hard look in the mirror, I still sometimes get sucker punched by my past. This was one of those times.
The tears were light but still there when the next song on my running playlist shuffled through.
"I've paid my dues
Time after time
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes‒
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come through
And I need to go on and on, and on, and on
We are the champions, my friends
And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end
We are the champions
We are the champions
No time for losers"
'Cause we are the champions of the world'
As I listened to Freddie Mercury sing his heart out on Queen's song "We are the champions" it hit me. I survived, for the last 13 years I've survived the disease of Alcoholism. A cunning and persistent disease that takes up space in my mind all the while tempting me to forget it exists.
"And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end"
Yes, I've survived but I have not beaten Alcoholism. I know enough about my deadly disease to understand that I must keep on fighting until the end, until the last breath I take. Because if I don't then the disease will take hold and kill me.
As the song continued it was as if all the pain and shame was simply washed off me. I smiled as I ran, knowing that I was in fact someone who survived hard times, survived my own mistakes and delt with the consequences. But I didn't stop there. I kept moving in the right direction. Slowly at first, but steadily. Placing one foot in from of the other, in the right direction.
Look at me now running a 10k on a Saturday morning at 7 am. When many years ago I would have been too hungover to even wake up at 7 am on a Saturday, let alone go run 6.2 miles for the sheer joy of it. I've changed, the drunk girl who didn't understand her limitations and was too embarrassed to look at herself in the mirror had turned into a woman who looked in the mirror, saw who she was and said, "lace up your shoes, it's time to run".
I've heard "we are the champions" many times over the years and although it's catchy and motivating it was never one of my favorites until this day. For whatever reason on the day I ran my 1st "official"10k race as I felt grief and sadness wash over me this song came through my headphones right as I needed it. It showed me that not only have I survived but I have flourished. For that I'm truly grateful.
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