By: Sarah Thompson
The year was 1988 when I first experienced discomfort while running. After navigating puberty, my eighth-grade gym class became a dreaded obligation. The agile body I once had, capable of sprinting effortlessly around the playground, had vanished. With every lap around the track, I became acutely aware of my changing physique, and it was then that I resolved I would never intentionally pursue running.
During high school, I steered clear of sports (thanks to running), but occasionally, my friends and I would don our trendy Spandex and jog through downtown. Our high ponytails bobbing in sync, we would push ourselves until we hit a figurative wall—usually after about a mile. In reality, these outings happened maybe three times over six years, and our main objective was to reward ourselves with a hot fudge sundae at the local Dairy Bar. I still held the belief that running was not for me, but the prospect of ice cream and camaraderie kept me participating.
In college, while I walked extensively and taught step aerobics, running never made the cut. I subscribed to the false notion that you were either born to run or not; I certainly fell into the latter category. This belief lingered until I was 35, when I witnessed a graceful woman jogging down the street as I wrestled my kindergartner and his demanding siblings into the car after school. She wore sleek black running tights, gliding effortlessly up a steep incline with a radiant smile that spoke of her love for the activity. As I passed her in the warmth of my SUV, I glanced at the thermometer that read 2 degrees outside. She seemed so liberated and a bit eccentric; I longed to share that sense of freedom. I promised myself that one day, I would become a runner.
That day came a month after my 39th birthday. With my children growing more independent and in school full-time, I finally decided to take the plunge. I didn’t just want to run; I felt an imperative need. I was painfully slow, akin to a sloth, but that didn’t deter me. I was determined to challenge my own limitations and prove myself wrong.
After my first run, I felt both exhausted and invigorated. While you might roll your eyes at this sentiment, it marked the beginning of a significant transformation in my life and mindset. I had long needed this change, but I wasn’t ready until I finally embraced it. The pivotal moment came when I chose to run for myself, appreciating my body rather than critiquing it.
Since that first day, I have not looked back. Now that my children are older, I often rise early, slip into my running gear, and stand on the porch to watch the sunrise while my family still sleeps. I take in the morning, but only for a brief moment before I embark on my run. This routine gives me a sense of calm amidst the daily chaos, as I know I have carved out time for myself to be free—lost in my thoughts without anxiety or distractions.
If you find yourself overwhelmed with the demands of parenting and life, yearning for an activity that makes you feel alive, give yourself the grace to discover your passion. Trust that you will find your “thing” that you can’t live without. And don’t dismiss the idea with thoughts of being unable or that it’s too challenging; you’ve already demonstrated your strength by raising children.
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Summary
This narrative reflects on the transformative power of running, highlighting a journey that began later in life. It emphasizes the importance of finding personal passions and encourages others to pursue activities that promote freedom and well-being, especially amidst the challenges of parenting.
Keyphrase: Running transformation at 39
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