A National Running Day Love Letter

Dear Running,

I used to hate your guts. My heart used to drop at the very mention of your name. The very thought of you made me shudder and want to hide in the depths of my closet. You were forced upon me from an early age and you set expectations that I just couldn’t meet. I did so well in school and was used to earning good grades, even in classes I hated, but you were always a mandatory (and quite dreaded) part of gym class. The daily warmup “jogs” around the basketball courts were bad enough, but the timed mile that was always recorded on my gym report cards were downright humiliating. I hate feeling like a failure, and with you, I could just never measure up.

Every time I tried to get close to you, you hurt me. You shattered my pride. You made my feet hurt, my side cramp, and my lungs burn. There was just nothing to like about you.

Even after I graduated, I tried to avoid you whenever possible, but you just wouldn’t leave me alone. My best friend loved you and always invited me to join in her “fun.” My small group leader loved you. I remember her talking about running while she was pregnant and I thought she was plum crazy. I just didn’t get it. I related so well to all of the cutesy little phrases going around.

And then one day, I was determined to give you one last chance. I’m a pretty easygoing person, but you were sure hard to get along with. Every one of my attempts was a struggle – on the treadmill, outside in the blistering Tucson heat, through mud pits in Albuquerque, up Colorado hills, and always leaving me breathless and exhausted.

You and I started to get a little bit closer, and I liked you just a little bit more everyday. I could stand to be around you for longer periods of time. I bought new shoes, I signed up for a 5k, I (grudgingly) woke up at 5am – all for you.

Slowly, but surely, you won me over. You are the reason I was able to lose so much weight. You gave me focus, direction, and goals. You taught me that I could do hard things. You showed me that I was capable of far more than I ever imagined. You taught me that practice doesn’t necessarily make perfect, but that consistency yields results. You gave me the best way to bond with my border collie. You boosted my confidence and changed my outlook on both food and exercise. You have introduced me to new friends, new places, new clothes (that happen to be my favorite!), and so many new experiences. You have taken me to parks, mountains, deserts, beaches, pecan groves, and vineyards. I have seen countless sunrises and sunsets with you. You were able to get me to put down my phone and appreciate the world around me.

You are so good for me – physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. You were there to help me cope with broken relationships and major life changes. We have laughed together, cried together, prayed together, and you let me release my anger and stress with you, one pounded step on the pavement at a time.

You are the reason I can eat a donut (or a Nutty Bar or cupcake) guilt-free, for which I am eternally grateful. And you were able to do what nobody else has been able to thus far (ask my sister, whom I used to bite when she tried to wake me up) – get me out of bed at 5am. I might even say that you are slowly turning me into a morning person, a feat I thought to be impossible. But when the world is quiet and it’s just you and me (and Boots, obviously) in the cool of daybreak, there is so much peace, simplicity, and beauty there. And your magical endorphins make my mornings so much happier and more manageable. You bring out the best in me.

Running, on the surface, you are not the most pleasant, but there is so much depth to you that many people never uncover. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for motivating me to be more active, to live in the moment, conquer seemingly impossible obstacles, and seize the day. It took me awhile to come around, but I appreciate you so much. I’m glad you are a part of my life and I’m hoping this is still just the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Love,

Becky