How I Became a Runner… Sort of
Running past the 12-mile marker, I knew what was coming next. I had already climbed Harlem Hill twice that morning without much trouble. At mile 1, I had been fresh and full of energy. At mile 7, I was in the zone. But that all seemed so far away now...
I was in the final stretch of the Fred Lebow Half Marathon two weeks ago. Up until that point, I felt great. All the winter runs in 20-degree weather had paid off. I was well ahead of my goal pace and pushing through the usual late-race fatigue. I was even enjoying the toasty 30-degree that morning.
And then I had to climb this goddamn hill again.
Never in my wildest imagination would I have expected to become a “runner”. I remember walking the 1-mile loop during middle school gym class, only to “run” the last stretch to make it seem like I was trying the entire time (I don’t think I fooled anyone). Even after starting to work out, running was always at the bottom of my preferred exercises.
Someone recently asked me how I “fell in love with running”. The very first response that came to my mind was “I don’t love running. It don’t even like it very much”. Here is a non-exhaustive list of everything I dislike about running: running in the cold, running in the heat, early morning runs, late night runs, long runs, interval runs, tempo runs, treadmill runs, hill runs, trail runs, track runs, constant nagging injuries, laundry... so much laundry, etc.
You get the idea. It all kind of sucks. The act of running can basically be boiled down to “move your body fast enough until it’s painful then stay in that pain forever (or until the workout is over)”. My favorite part of every run by far is when it’s over and you get to relax on the couch again.
Even now I still resist the label of “runner”. It just doesn’t seem fit someone that had completely avoided the activity for the first 30 years of his life. But after two years of consistently running 3-4x / week, completing 4 half-marathons, and 1 full marathon, I think that qualifies me as a “runner”. Sort of. I'm just a runner that hates running.
So why do I do it?
I guess I’m a bit of a masochist. I believe that intentionally putting yourself through challenging situations pays dividends long-term. It makes you stronger, more resilient, and adaptable. The Buddhists believe that life is suffering. You might as well get ready for it by going through it.
Through that suffering you learn about life. You learn about yourself. Running has taught me discipline. It’s taught me [ironically] how to slow down to speed up. It's taught me that I can handle much more than I ever imagined possible. I don’t necessarily love running but I love that it makes me a better me.
Back to mile 13.
My pace had crashed as I made this final ascent. My legs were heavy and my lungs were screaming. Every step was pain. At a mere 85-feet, Harlem Hill isn’t anything to write home about but at that point, it might as well have been Everest.
And then one of my shoelaces loosened up. Not completely undone, but enough where I would have retied it at any earlier part of the race. But I wasn’t at the earlier part of the race. I was nearing the finish line and at the point of max pain. The heavens had blessed me with the perfect excuse to take a breather and part of me really wanted to take it.
Taking that break probably would’ve resulted in less than a 1-minute difference in my final time. Who cares? I would still have beaten my goal time. I would still have gotten the same congratulations from my family and friends. Nobody would know that I gave in for the tiny moment... Nobody but me. At the end of the day, that’s the one opinion matters the most. Hitting that easy button would have gnawed at me, knowing that I folded at the very end. No. Fuck that. I powered through.
Reaching the top of the hill, I was rewarded with a steep downhill for the final 200 meters which I took full advantage of by running through the finish line with a final time of 1:42:27. Well ahead of my original goal time of 1:45 and setting a new PR by over 6 minutes.
Here's a picture of me crossing the finish line. This was the first race where I didn’t immediately fall over my knees in pain after crossing. Bonus points for my hair looking A+ considering I had just run 13 miles. And for those wondering... I did not pee myself... (the moisture is from leftover gels in my pocket).