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I was never what you would call an athlete. In school, team sports weren’t much fun, because most teams didn’t want me. Instead, I enjoyed doing recreational activities alone or with a few friends, things like walking, hiking, and bicycling.
Running and I have had an on-again/off-again relationship for most of my life—mostly off-again. My first attempt at running for exercise was in junior high. Bundled up against the bitter Midwestern winter cold, my dad and I ran in the morning dark to get our exercise before work and school. We didn’t even make it until the weather warmed up that spring. I ran occasionally in high school and college, completing my first 10K race back when such events were called community fun runs. Twenty years passed before my next race; I stuck with running that time for less than two years.
I have always believed in the benefits of physical activity, but could never stay motivated to keep exercising. A full-length profile photo of myself shook me out of my sluggishness. While not particularly overweight, I was definitely unhappy with what I saw. I started walking for exercise. Episodes of “The Biggest Loser” inspired me to keep moving. I worked out to exercise videos. I progressed to running.
Goal setting improves my motivation. My goals were to run a 5K race and to pass a physical training test. After less than six months of training, I self-administered the Army Physical Fitness Test, comfortably passing the requirements for my age. I ran three 5K races in four months, getting faster each time. A hike in the mountains no longer left me feeling winded. I was in the last year of my forties and probably in the best shape of my life.
My boss was a runner, and she encouraged me to set new goals. But I didn’t; I lost my motivation and quit running and working out. Less than a year had passed since I started exercising.
My inability to consistently exercise felt like failure. Divorce added to my feelings of defeat. While unsuccessful in making necessary changes to save the marriage, I still wanted to be a better man.
Being better included exercising. The local running store offered a couch-to-5K training program. Putting money on the table motivates me, so I signed up for ten weeks of group classes. After a five-year break, I was running again.
Changed outcomes require changed methods. Not wanting to fail again, I needed to figure out how to stay motivated to exercise. A fellow class member suggested running a race a month. The running store offered another class for an upcoming race. I signed up for it, as well as for races in the intervening months. I kept running.
Three years later, I am still running. This is the longest length of time in my life that I have stuck with an exercise program. Since that first running class, I have run at least one race every month except for one. I’ve mentored running classes. I am accountable to and supported by a group of running friends. I’m currently training for a second half-marathon. I am a runner.
However, I don’t love running. I am not one of those runners who look forward to lacing up their shoes and hitting the road. Running doesn’t clear my mind or give me a sense of freedom; I don’t experience the runner’s high. It takes up time that I could be doing other things. I don’t hate it, but running doesn’t give me joy.
So why do I run? To improve my health. To socialize and be part of a community (running is my team sport). To better myself. To increase my potential. Running gives me a sense of accomplishment. It allows me to indulge my need for pizza, cookies, and ice cream. It’s good for me. I may not love running, but I like it.
Yet there is something more. Maybe the biggest reason I run is that it changes how I see myself. Running gives me tangible evidence that I am not a failure. Every time I run, I’m succeeding.
Running challenges me to set goals and push myself to meet them. It is proof that I can remain motivated to achieve those goals, in spite of aching muscles, summer humidity, and winter cold. Running holds me accountable to my goals, to myself, and to my running partners. It clearly demonstrates that I can accomplish what I attempt, that I can achieve the desired results. Even when I miss a goal—for instance, the number of planned hill repeats or my target race pace—I’m succeeding. I’m off the couch, finishing training runs, and running races. Running has taken me to a new place in my life; it has changed me.
Three years ago, I thought I was training for a race; in reality, I was changing my relationship with failure. While I still deal with self-doubt, I need look no farther than my running shoes by the back door or my display of race medals to know what I am capable of. Running affirms that I am up to the challenge, I am not a failure, I am successful.
I ran more than a dozen races before I thought of myself as a runner. After three years, not only am I a runner, I am a successful athlete.
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