I love to run.
What’s your reaction to that statement?
I couldn’t count how many times someone has told me “I hate running,” or asked me “how can you possibly love to run?” People often run because they want to burn calories or because they want to stay fit, and while I definitely exercise because I want to be healthy, for me running means so much more.
When I lace up my shoes and hit the road, something happens to me. I feel lighter, fresher. I transform. I’m no longer stressed or anxious. The world melts away and my brain shuts off. I can’t quite explain it any other way; I’m addicted. But why is that?
I have been a runner since I was 5 years old. My Dad signed me up for this program called “Marathon Kids” when we lived in Austin, Texas. Through this program, kids of all ages ran 26 miles on their own and would shade in a pie or circle each time they completed a mile to keep a record. Then, at the end of the program, kids would complete the last 0.2 miles (because a marathon is 26.2 miles) on the University of Texas’ track with the current track and field athletes volunteering at the event (little did I know that one day I would get to be one of those athletes volunteering).
My Dad quickly realized how much I enjoyed it and how competitive I was. When I was 6, he signed me up for my first 5k and we ran the race together. That was when I learned something very valuable. If you place in your age group, you get a trophy. I. Love. Trophies.
From there, my Dad would take me to running stores that would hand out informational pamphlets of all the local 5k races. My Dad would help me find races that fit two qualifications: 1. They had awards for the winners and 2. I was in the older end of my age group which would give me an advantage for winning. Needless to say, I was a pretty competitive little kid and my Dad definitely encouraged this.
I remember a few things about running growing up. My Dad taught me how to strategically race. He taught me how to pace myself. He pointed out girls during my race so that I had a target to beat. He helped me learn how to control my breathing (in through your nose, out through your mouth). He taught me how to warm up and stretch. However, one of my favorite things that he taught me was how to snot-rocket (yes, that’s the name for when you blow your nose into the air and it’s very handy in the middle of a race).
One of my favorite things that my Dad would do after a race or practice was treat me to a Mexican pizza (or two) in which I would douse with an insane amount of hot sauce. I didn’t grow up eating fast food very often, so this was a really special reward for me. To this day, I still crave Mexican pizzas every time I pass a Taco Bell (it’s my kryptonite). Once I hit middle school, my new special treat that my Dad would give me after running was a Starbucks frappuccino (cue in my love for coffee). My Dad even learned how to make homemade frappuccinos, which I thought was the coolest thing ever.
The thing about kids, though, is that they learn so much through the examples that you set for them. When it comes to running, my Dad was the greatest example for me.
My Dad played baseball in college. However, after sustaining a serious career-ending injury, he began to take up running as a way to exercise. One thing you have to know about my Dad is that when he gets into something, he goes all in. So when he started running, he dove in deep.
I am not quite sure how many marathons and half marathons my Dad ran, but his training was even more impressive to me. Growing up as a kid, my Dad would wake up well before 5 on the weekends to get his long run in so that he could still make it to my siblings’ and my soccer and baseball games. He would hide his sports drinks the night before his long run in a bush or behind a fence so that he was adequately prepared and fueled. He would train on the treadmill (imagine running over 20 miles inside, on a treadmill) when the conditions were too bad outside. He never made excuses, he just ran and ran and ran. More importantly, he shared his passion of running with his family. My brother, sister, and I all ran cross country and track all four years in high school and now we are all coaches of the sport. I predict that if any of us have kids, they will probably become runners as well.
Now is the part where I want to highlight my Mom. My Mom used to run (we even ran a couple of races together), but through several injuries, she had to give it up. However, I want to express how selfless and dedicated my Mom is and how she played just as vital a role in running. I can’t think of one race or meet that any of my siblings or I had that she didn’t attend. I still remember when I qualified for regionals one year in high school, she drove 12 hours roundtrip to watch me run for just over 2 minutes. I would run the first event (4×800) and the last event (4×400) at almost every track meet and she would be there for all of it (even though the track meet lasted all stinkin’ day). My mom woke up in the wee hours of the morning to drive me to practice every day my sophomore year (back when I didn’t have a car and I couldn’t be bussed because I was attending a high school I wasn’t zoned for). My Mom always made me feel like I could achieve anything I wanted and encouraged me in any and every goal I had. When I think of the type of mother I want to be one day, she is my role model.
I literally can’t imagine what my life would be like without running. Isn’t that what an addict is? However, when I reflect on running and what it means to me, it’s so much more than an addiction. I think the reason why it’s so entrenched in my life is because I would consider myself a second generation runner. It’s encoded in my DNA. And I have my Dad to thank for that.
