A Human, Who Likes to Run
I have been training for the Philadelphia Marathon since September, making it an integral part of my semester “abroad” in New York City. And what an experience it has been. Running has allowed me to see so many special places in the Big Apple, from Prospect Park in Brooklyn to the Hudson River Greenway in Manhattan. I have run in the heat and run in the cold, weaved through mothers pushing their children in strollers, and accidentally run to a farmers’ market. I have seen a Capoeira circle, nearly trampled countless pigeons, and enjoyed the autumn leaves as they showed off a glow up of their own.
“I am a human, who likes to run. I don’t do it every day, or even every month. It is not my identity, and I am not obliged to it for self-worth. I am a human, who likes to run.”
But now I can’t run.
I mean, I can, but I can’t run nearly as much because my race is this weekend and I’m supposed to be resting. So I can only run, like, three miles instead of eighteen.
I don’t say this to brag or to make you rethink how many miles you clock on your runs, if you run at all. I say this because even though I am itching to run right now, there have been many phases of my life where I have not run for months and the thought of pulling on my tennis shoes has made me shudder. I started from scratch in September, and I have been amazed and thankful for my body with each milestone I reach, starting with six miles and going all the way up to eighteen and a half.
It is also reassuring to know that my body can be healthy whether I am training for a marathon or practicing yoga several days a week, and that I don’t have to squeeze in both every day. Right now, my hamstrings are so tight that I can hardly sink halfway into a split, and my quads are so tense that mermaid pose is a dream – but two summers ago, these shapes were far more accessible. I can’t have everything all at once, and I am okay with that.
Next week, after my race, I am going to rest. I’m sure that my aching muscles won’t give me much of a choice, but running will pretty much be out of the question as I opt for restorative yoga instead. Maybe I’ll go for a swim. Or maybe I’ll just lie in bed and watch The Only Murders in the Building.
Would you still call me a runner when I am in the midst of one of my frequent three or four (or six) month breaks from the sport? Maybe it’s better to discard this identifying term all together. I am a human, who likes to run. I don’t do it every day, or even every month. It is not my identity, and I am not obliged to it for self-worth. I am a human, who likes to run.