Running Again

Years and years and eons ago - in another lifetime - when I was 10, I accidentally discovered that I was fast. That if you lined up all the kids in my grade, and had us race around the track, I would arrive at the finish line first. I used to race my neighbor down our street, on his bike, and I would win. It kind of became the neighborhood boast - if any of us had friends over someone would say, "Hey, you should watch Jennifer race Joe on his bike." I loved to run. It was fun, and fast and free. Dad asked me one time what I loved about running and I remember telling him that I loved the feel of the wind in my hair on the back stretch.

For the next 10 years running track was a huge part of my life. From the 6th grade until my Junior year in college I was either competing or coaching. I ran in the "midget" category - forever fielding questions about how a midget could be so tall. I ran as a "junior," (middle school) qualifying to go to nationals in the 800, but backing out at the last minute because I was a kid and wanted to play for the rest of the summer. I ran as a freshman, taking the abuse of older teammates. I ran as a senior, finding a role as a team leader, encouraging younger teammates. I ran in dual meets, conference meets, district meets, state meets regional meets and invitational meets.

I made a lot of memories, had some success, and some losing too. I remember the meet in college at University of Washington. I ran against women so fast that I did two things I had never done before: I ran the 400 faster than I had ever run, and I came in dead last. I also had injuries. I beat my body and to some extent, it still bears the scars. My feet pounded the pavement for so many miles that for years I couldn't run without pain. My knees did so many rotations at such extension and speed, that if I get going at a pace above striding, I can feel the old ache in the same spot as 15 years ago.

And it's been 15 years since I ran regularly. See, by the end of my Junior year in college I was beat up and worn out. Running was no longer fun. The backstretch was all about pressing harder, running faster, strategy and pace - qualifying for the next big event. I wore my hair up in a pony and could no longer feel the wind. I spent 30 minutes with the trainer before practice, getting my legs heated with ultrasound, just so that I could go work out and come back to the trainer for another 30 minutes of ice bath and stretching after my workouts. My roommate was also an athlete and we used to walk home from practice together with our bags of ice and sit on our living room floor icing our injuries as we talked about the day.

Over the years I tried to run for enjoyment and exercise - but there was very little enjoyment. I couldn't stop the old tapes from playing in my head: "Run harder, go faster, push through the pain. . . " I couldn't be a casual jogger, I needed to sprint, to attack the hill, to go further when I wanted to quit. And so I would always stop running. I couldn't stop pushing myself on the road, and I wasn't enjoying it, so I hit this pattern of running for a couple weeks each year, and then quitting until the next year when I would try again and see if I could stick with it without over-doing it.

Then came the babies, all three of them, and the 40 extra pounds. Not 40lbs. overweight for a 6 foot tall 38 year old, but 40lbs. since my running days. And it's a lot harder to run with 40 extra pounds hanging on your bones!! I found that I truly couldn't run without pain. It wasn't just old injuries, it was age and stage and creaks and groans. I didn't have time, for one, I had to push a stroller, for two, and my body just wouldn't endure it. It was in this season that something in my heart shifted. After years of the pressure of running, I felt an old stirring, a desire to feel the wind in my hair. I breathed a prayer from the bottom of my heart. "God, I want to run."

To be continued. . .