Why I Hate Running (2012)

 Crescent Trail  MD

I hate running. I hate starting, I do everything I can to postpone it, make excuses not to run, it is too cold, it is too hot, it is too late, I am too hungry, I am too tired, I don’t feel like it, it is winter, it is summer, I am already at my goal weight. It is a negotiation every time. All this for something I might do a couple of times a week. It turns into an “I should” instead of an “I want to” and I let myself win the argument against it time and time again, especially in the deep midwinter.

But I love running. I love it right around the time I have gotten past the first mile, I adore it when I am finished. There is no other form of exercise that comes close to making me feel so good.

I am a late-blooming runner. I started in my 40s after my husband and I made an abrupt decision not to move across the country from Washington to San Francisco. At the time we had two young children and I had psyched myself up to go -- pack up, relocate, find a job, find a house, start a new life. And then we decided we liked our life here too much. When we made this screeching U-turn, I was left with the energy and momentum of a serial killer on a spree. Instead of murdering someone, I decided to channel that energy into something productive, so I joined a Sergeant’s Program that met at 6 a.m. on weekdays. We did lots of hateful traditional exercises, sit-ups and crunches and pull-ups, but two days a week we ran. We just ran. The Sarge, who ran like a gazelle, gave no explanations on how to run or how far or what technique to use; we were just required to follow him and run around in pre-dawn Bethesda. And to my astonishment, I liked it. A lot. I quit boot camp after two weeks but I kept running.

Central Park, NY

My first stop was shoe shopping, usually my idea of fun, but this time it was not Nordstrom, it was City Sports. I proudly announced that I needed some running shoes.  The salesman first had to determine if I were prone to pronation and take a look at my arches before he could recommend a shoe. They don’t do that when they are fitting you for a pair of Jimmy Choo’s.  I decided to go with a moderately priced New Balance and have since switched to a fairly basic pair of Asics.

And now I have run 5K’s, 8K’s and even a Thanksgiving 10K. Best of all, I have incorporated running into my life. For the past 12 years I have run at least twice a week, more when I am on vacation. And I have run all over the country. One of the best parts of a trip is asking the hotel concierge for a jogging map and then just heading out. In Chicago I ran along the shores of Lake Michigan:  in Denver, I ran on the paved Cherry Creek path. I have run in San Francisco from Union Square to the Embarcadero and in Los Angeles through tunnels filled with the homeless and past barred-up barrios. The Los Angeles hotel jogging map contained a disclaimer saying that “some of our guests have enjoyed this route.” A friend pointed out that it doesn’t say what happened to the other guests. I have run up and down steep hills in Rio Rico, Arizona, and I have run along the ocean shores in La Jolla and Oahu, and on the coast of Maine.

Oak Bluffs, MA

They say that running is a good time to sort out your thoughts. Preferring never to be left alone with my thoughts, I always run listening to music, everything from Louis Armstrong to Crosby Stills and Nash to John Mayer.  I followed music’s technological evolution over the past dozen years, from schlepping a portable CD player with 12 songs to using a tiny iPod filled with 1,200 songs like Freebird by Lynard Skynard, perfect when you need a good 9.01 minutes of hammering; to Three by Five by John Mayer, which builds in a way that makes it the perfect song for the finish line; and then I might cool down with Izzy Kamakawiwo’ole’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow or anything by the mellow Mr. Michael Franks. Running has pushed me back into the arms of my relationship with music, allowing me to listen to lyrics and melodies in a way I would never experience on the car radio or the home stereo. Running has allowed me to reengage with music I haven’t heard in 30 years. When is the last time you listened, really listened to Can’t Find My Way Home by Blind Faith or You Really Got Me Now by the Kinks?

But music can’t completely block out thoughts. And here is what I think, my view, if you will, on running and life. When you are looking down all you see is ground, pavement, street, dirt, rocks, leaves; the scenery is always pretty much the same (except for the day I found a $50 bill). Looking down makes you down, and keeps you down. Then there is looking ahead, keeping your eyes on the horizon. You see where you are going, what is coming up, a new house, a fancy car, a beautiful tree or your finish line.  But looking up feels upbeat, optimistic. You see the big picture, and this takes effort some days. But if you look up, you see the sky and it is always changing, and the trees might be swaying in the wind, or the clouds might be shifting, or a flock of birds might be flying or a plane might be landing or the moon might be setting. An observer could watch me run and know how I feel that day based on the tilt of my neck and head. Better than a mood ring.

Ojai, CA

(The running-as-life view applies only to the standard neighborhood run. If I am running in Sedona and don’t look up to see the Red Rocks, or along the C & O Canal and don’t glance over at the glistening Potomac River, the observer would be best advised to provide me with a mood elevator rather than a mood ring.)

Running makes your legs perfect and running lets you eat as much as you want. When you have finished a run, you feel as if you have accomplished something, because you have. You can say “I ran three miles today, pass the tacos.” Or you can say “I ran four miles today, I think I will wear a short skirt and tights.” Running lowers your stress levels, puts you in a temporary protective bubble that buffers you from tension. You feel spent, as if your blood is moving and your heart might be the better for it and your pulse rate and blood pressure might be lower.

When I am in my car and I see people running, I have a touch of envy, a feeling of “I wish I were out there, I wish I were that person, I want to try that route.”

Running is very portable. There are no excuses about not having the right outfit or the gym being closed or too far away. Running eschews glamour. I often run in clothes I would not normally wear. During a run, I don’t care quite as much about how I look. I always wear lipstick but I am learning not to wear foundation, and if the sunglasses are dark enough, minimal eye makeup. Running makes me feel proud of myself. Running sets me apart from non-runners. Running bonds me to other runners.

Running is pretty terrific. It’s too bad I hate it.