Parenting Insights
Updated: Dec. 18, 2023
Originally Published: June 6, 2023
On October 13, 2002, I stood at the starting line of my very first marathon. Under normal circumstances, the absence of my monthly cycle might have raised alarms. However, I felt a sense of relief knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with it while covering 26.2 miles through Chicago. Besides, I wasn’t even technically late.
Yet, deep down, I sensed something was amiss. A week later, confirmation came in the form of a pregnancy test: I had completed my first marathon while pregnant. I crossed that finish line with my son.
Given the connection between my initial marathon and my first pregnancy, many people asked if I intended to get a jogging stroller once the baby arrived. I did, and I quickly became one of those mothers. When my second son arrived two years later, I upgraded to a double jogging stroller.
The primary purpose of the jogging stroller was to maintain my sanity. The long days spent at home with babies and toddlers could feel endless. My eldest son stopped napping at the age of 2, so venturing out for a mid-afternoon run—often followed by a visit to the park—helped break up our day and allowed me to continue my marathon training. I also hoped to instill in my sons the joy and importance of being active and appreciating nature. I wanted them to see that their mother was strong, that women could be powerful, fast, and determined. Perhaps they would even become runners themselves; I could only hope.
Preparing for a run was often a task in itself. Sometimes, it took longer to get everyone ready than to actually complete a four or five-mile run, particularly during the winter and spring when I had to bundle them up in coats, hats, and mittens. I filled water bottles, packed snacks, grabbed stuffed animals, and stashed board books in the stroller’s bin. Yet, it was also a precious time. We chatted about the animals we encountered, discussed everything from delivery trucks to their favorite TV characters, and sometimes, I simply listened to their chatter. Other times, I struggled to hold back my frustration as they argued, or retraced my steps to retrieve a water bottle they had tossed out for the third time. Nevertheless, these little annoyances paled in comparison to the frustration of not being able to run, and I took pride in being recognized around the neighborhood as “That Lady With the Jogging Stroller.”
On weekends, when my partner was home, I enjoyed running solo. I found an online community of fellow runners navigating the challenges of raising young children, whether working or stay-at-home moms, all striving to carve out time for their runs. Many of us pushed strollers, often joking that running alone was a form of escape from our family responsibilities. Although I could never truly escape, especially when one of my children depended on me for nourishment, those hours felt liberating. Without the stroller’s weight and the demands of a chaotic home, I felt as if I were soaring through my neighborhood.
I retired the jogging stroller when my eldest son turned 6 and the younger was nearly 4. We had relocated to a new state and lived near the top of a steep hill. I valiantly pushed the stroller down daily to pick up my older son from kindergarten, but hauling 70 pounds of children back up the hill became too strenuous.
Saying goodbye to that stroller was bittersweet. It marked the end of a unique chapter in my running and parenting journey, one that only fellow mothers who have pushed strollers during their runs might fully understand. While there was freedom in relinquishing the stroller, I also mourned the loss of those days when my boys were small enough to sit side by side for miles.
What followed were more years of running alone. I fit in my runs while my children were at school or during summer breaks when I could occupy them with television in one room while I hopped on the treadmill, tuning out their occasional squabbles with music.
Now, my sons are 9 and 11. A few years ago, they began joining my partner and me for our favorite 10K race, the Wharf to Wharf, which stretches from Santa Cruz to Capitola, California. We focused on having fun as a family rather than on competition.
My older son discovered a talent for running and joined his school’s cross-country and track teams after we moved. Last year, we participated in a local Mother’s Day run, where we won the mother-son title in the two-mile race. My younger son, who had never shown much interest in running, surprisingly joined the cross-country team this year and advanced to the city championships.
This year, my older son and I decided to compete again in the Mother’s Day run to defend our title. Although my younger son had opted out of the Turkey Trot, he expressed his desire to join us for the Mother’s Day race. We negotiated who would be on my team since mothers could only enter with one child. Ultimately, I chose to team up with my older son, but I promised my younger son that if we won the team trophy and his time surpassed that of his brother, he could keep the trophy in his room.
On race day, we arrived at the park as a family. Embracing the tradition to “paint the park pink” for Mother’s Day, my boys paired their baggy shorts and athletic shirts with bright pink tube socks. They seemed ready, though my youngest anxiously asked what would happen if we got separated. We reassured him to “follow the leaders” and stay on the trail, emphasizing that the race was about personal achievement rather than winning.
As the starting gun fired, something unexpected occurred: my boys took off ahead of me and kept going. Thanks to seasonal allergies, my lungs felt heavy, so I made the decision to let them run ahead. I accepted that we might not win the mother-son competition; that was fine, as my children still had the chance for age group awards. My focus shifted to simply finishing the race—two miles was manageable.
Ahead, I watched my sons run confidently, my younger son trailing just behind his brother. In their steady strides, I no longer saw the unsteady toddlers they once were but rather young men on the cusp of their futures. Even when they turned a corner and disappeared from sight, I caught glimpses of their pink socks darting down the path. I turned my gaze to the sky, the trees, and the music in my earbuds, as concentrating on those four pink legs—though not as close as when they sat side by side in the jogging stroller—made me feel emotional.
Years ago, when I learned I was having a second son, I cried—not from disappointment, but because I realized he would likely be my last child and I would never experience raising a daughter. In that moment, as I wiped my tears discreetly, I remembered the opening credits of a show about two brothers, Jack & Bobby, enjoying their lives together. I understood that this would be my reality, and it would be a fulfilling one.
This Mother’s Day weekend marked the first time my sons outran me. For the first occasion, I found myself trying to catch up, not running alongside them or away from them. I struggled to finish just behind them. We did win the mother-son team trophy, and all of us earned age group awards, but the true victory belonged to my children since they bested their mom.
As my boys approach their teenage years, their fastest running days lie ahead. Thanks to excellent coaching, a supportive running community, and the same determination I had when pushing that jogging stroller, I still hold my own. However, if I do improve, it won’t be by much. My times have already slowed since my high school days. Soon, they will finish longer races minutes ahead of me, and while a part of me might feel a bruised ego over not keeping pace, I genuinely feel joy. This is the way it should be. In racing and in life, they are forging ahead, and I trust that I’ve equipped them with the skills to run forward with confidence and strength.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Linda Johnson shares her journey of parenting intertwined with her passion for running. From navigating motherhood with a jogging stroller to witnessing her sons grow into confident young athletes, she captures the bittersweet transition of letting go as they forge their own paths. She emphasizes the joy of seeing her children excel while recognizing her own journey as a dedicated mother and runner.
Keyphrase: parenting through running
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