My Journey to Running
Like many women of a certain age, I spent the 1980s and 1990s in aerobics classes. If there was a room full of women grapevining across a gym floor to upbeat music or stepping up and down a box in legwarmers, chances were good I was in it. I walked, lifted weights, and tried just about every fitness trend that came along.
What I didn’t like was running.
But over the years, I made several attempts to “become a runner.” Why? Probably because it seemed like a good idea, plus I was married to a military man who ran every day. But each effort ended the same way. I’d do too much too soon, get discouraged, get injured, or let the busyness of life crowd it out because I never stayed with it long enough for it to feel easier. Running seemed to belong to other people—the naturally athletic ones, the people who enjoyed sweating, the folks who got up before dawn and called a ten-mile run “fun” (like my military guy).
Then came my forties.
Like many women, I discovered that what had worked for my body in my twenties and thirties wasn’t necessarily working anymore. Military spouse life didn’t help. Every PCS and deployment seemed to come with a side order of stress eating, disrupted routines, and a few extra pounds that refused to leave. About the same time, I injured my Achilles tendon while hiking.
For months, I wore a walking boot and focused on healing. During one appointment, I jokingly told my podiatrist, “Well, I guess this means running is out.”
To my surprise, he disagreed.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. There went my free pass to avoid running forever.
Instead, he explained that with the right stretches, strengthening exercises, and a little patience, there was no reason I couldn’t run. I’d simply need to take care of my Achilles and pay attention to what my body was telling me. I filed that information away and moved on.
Then one spring, after yet another move and another season of feeling a little unlike myself, I saw a photograph that stopped me in my tracks.
Have you ever looked at a picture of yourself and thought for a split second, “Who is that?”
It wasn’t vanity so much as recognition. I didn’t feel like me anymore. I didn’t have the energy I wanted. I didn’t feel strong. The habits that had worked for years weren’t moving the needle anymore.
Starting Running at 45
And so, at age 45, I decided to try running again. The first few weeks were humbling. Ok, let’s be honest, the first few months were humbling.
I was embarrassed to run in public, especially since we lived on a military base. Though the access to safe trails around the base was great, they were usually filled with fit people running miles upon miles, looking like it was as easy as walking. If I ran during the day and saw someone approaching, I’d slow to a walk and pretend I wasn’t struggling. I ran loops around my neighborhood in the dark so no one could see me and wondered how people managed to make running look so effortless. In contrast, I was the lady shuffling along in an oversized T-shirt and yoga pants, with a lobster red face.
My initial goals were very, very small. I couldn’t even run 1/4 mile without stopping for breath or to walk when I first began. So I made small goals: try to go a little further each time. Then, run a whole mile. Run a mile and a half, run two miles, and so on.
This process took months, and I gave myself permission to walk when I needed to or skip it if I didn’t feel like running. Then I surprised myself by running five miles one day. Five miles. It seemed unreal. So I signed up for my first organized 5k. Then a 10k. And before long, I found myself wondering what else I might be capable of.
Running was so empowering, not only physically, but by clearing goals I never dreamed I could accomplish. I consumed books and podcasts on running for tips and to stay motivated. Before long, I was running farther than I ever imagined possible. I decided to train for my first half marathon and actually completed it. For someone who once couldn’t run around the block without stopping, even finishing it felt like a miracle. Now don’t get me wrong. I was still slow. I wasn’t trying to win any medals (little did I know, everyone gets a medal if you complete the race!).
But if I’ve learned anything as a military spouse, it’s that hard times come and go and to embrace the suck. When I don’t fight against it, the time out running passes more quickly and sometimes I even forget I’m running for a mile or two!
Starting Over… Again
And then… another injury. A pretty bad one: a hip stress fracture that sidelined me for months. Years later, I’d learn it was related to a severe Vitamin D deficiency caused by undiagnosed Celiac Disease. And then my husband retired from the military and we moved across the country again. More changes. More stress.
What I expected to be a short break stretched into years. I’d run in spurts here and there, but not regularly anymore. I kept walking, hiking, and staying active, but running faded into the background. Every so often I’d think about starting again, but there was always a reason to put it off. I was busy. I was older. The hip still bothered me occasionally. Perhaps I’d already proven to myself what I needed to prove.
Why I Run Now
Then I entered my fifties. Full-blown menopause hit, along with a pandemic, adult children making their own sometimes painful choices, work deadlines, and all the responsibilities of being in the “sandwich generation” between aging parents and young adults and grandbabies. I lost my youngest brother to cancer. That’s a heartbreak I’ll never get over.
And now I find myself walking alongside my parents through some significant health challenges that often accompany aging. It’s a season that has made me think differently about time, health, and all the things we tend to take for granted when we’re younger. Healthy years are a gift, and none of us knows how many we’ll be given.
And somewhere in the middle of all that, I realized I missed running. The routine, the rhythm, the solitude. The feeling that for an hour, my only job was to put one foot in front of the other. The feeling of accomplishing tangible goals.
The funny thing was that while my body was older, I was mentally stronger than I’d been the first time around. I wasn’t worried about pace. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, because seriously, who cares? I was out there, and if anyone had time or inclination to judge me, they had a sad life indeed.
But I’ve now completed three more half-marathons and a host of shorter races. And got my youngest involved with me! Below are some recent half-marathon photos.
I simply wanted to move, to be healthy, to see what I could still do. Not everyone needs or wants to do organized races, but for me, it gives me a goal to reach for. A training plan is a good thing for me because it keeps me motivated and less likely to make excuses about getting out the door in the heat or the cold or when I’d rather be snuggled up under a cozy blanket watching the latest on Masterpiece Theater.
And somewhere during those long runs, running has also become part of processing life. I’ve cried during runs, prayed, worked through problems, disappointments, fears, and difficult decisions while logging miles on neighborhood streets and local trails. I’ve even written snippets of my latest books in my head while I zone out for a few miles. More than once, I’ve headed out the door carrying a burden and come home feeling a little bit lighter.
I’m still not a natural runner. I’m decidedly not fast. I don’t glide effortlessly down trails. I don’t finish races near the front of the pack. (However, one fun fact about being an older runner, what they lovingly refer to as a “masters runner,” is that the participants start to thin out in the older age groups, so I’ve actually been in the top three–and even won!–my old lady age group a few times.)
I’m still the woman who turns bright red after a run and checks the weather before heading out the door. The difference is that I no longer care what I look like while doing it. Yet here I am, in my fifties, contemplating a marathon. A marathon. And I’ve also heard some good things about ultras… snacks? Naps? Maybe that’s next, too.
If you’re considering starting running, no matter what age you are, let me assure you about a few things. You don’t have to “look like a runner” (whatever that means). You don’t have to sign up for races. You just have to start. Because six months from now, the time will have passed anyway. And you just might surprise yourself. Lord knows I sure did.
