I’ve had a realization lately. Not anything so profound as to shatter the Earth. But it has been a course correction to some of the beliefs and thought-patterns driving me: to run or not to run.

Where It Started: The Dreaded “Mile”

I’d always believed I was physically incapable of running. Therefore, it was pointless and looked like misery. I can trace this belief back to middle school gym classes (in the late 90s) where we ran the mile in exhaustive ellipses around the track without stopping. We were graded on speed, not effort. Which means I “earned” a failing grade for it. To this day, it makes no sense.

There are several common sense reasons why this equally baffles and angers me over twenty years later. First of all, making a kid run The Mile with no instructions on how to pace herself, to wear proper shoes, to breathe a certain way, etc did not come into it at all. Nor did we have any sort of preparation in classes prior to this that I can remember. It was simply a matter of “Okay, class, we’re going to run the mile today, and if you’re fast (naturally or otherwise) you’ll get an A. If you’re slower than mud, you’ll fail… and you’re probably out of shape.”

Admittedly, only the first part was true, but the rest was intuitive. It was a judgment. When you’re a preteen, already angsty and Hulk-ing into some other creature, you don’t take these things lightly. Everything is personal.

Second of all, who thought that would motivate an average kid with no aspirations for the track team? Honestly, I’d love to know what the gym teachers were thinking… or if they were thinking at all. Because if it is truly “physical education,” it would make sense if we knew why we were doing it, what happens to your body when you run, why it’s (theoretically) good for you. All I remember is “do it for the grade because I said so.” Because failing P.E.? Embarrassing.

Lastly, in much the same way making a group of teenagers read Moby-Dick or Great Expectations might actually make them hate classic literature, running the mile made me loathe the idea of running with a passion. I got sweaty. I instantly got a bad stitch in my side. My legs hurt. My lungs hurt. I wanted to die. It might have even been right after lunch. Running was yet another thing that winnowed the gifted from the ungifted, and I didn’t need my deficiencies emphasized any more than that. It was unfair, unnecessary, and why on earth would anyone willingly do that to themselves?

I’ve long identified with Ann Perkins in a scene of Parks and Recreation where Ann explains to Chris Traeger that they failed as a couple because he turned her into a female version of himself: health-obsessed, a consumer of numerous vitamins and cleansing rituals, an avid runner, among other things. She says, “I know it keeps you healthy, but God at what cost!”

Granted, the quote is actually about “jogging,” but given the way Chris exercises–constantly and obsessively–it was probably not “jogging” at all, but a slightly less intense version of his routine. Jogging consists of a shorter stride and bouncy steps. Running involves a long stride and speed. Chris, in a constant pursuit of peak physical health, does not do things without overkill. It is supposed to be a cartoony quirk of this character, but in reality, it’s amazing that the physical toll wasn’t greater. Fans of Parks and Recreation may recall that the mere diagnosis of tendonitis was enough to throw Chris into a existential spiral.

I digress. Chris Traeger is a cartoon. A crazy dude trying to “literally” trying to outrun death. His lifestyle is not sustainable. And when he brags that his body is like a micro chip with 2.8% body fat? Not remotely possible.

Field Testing That Belief

After 23 or so years from that fateful gym class, I could no longer honestly declare “I can’t” without testing that belief. Life is science after all; we are constantly testing our theories about ourselves and the world. The “I can’t run” belief was well overdue for field testing.

My preferred form of exercise is walking. For the last three years, the distance between work and home was exactly one mile. Three days a week, I attended a yoga class over lunch and walked on my breaks. When the pandemic hit in March 2020, I was walking home for lunch five days a week for a baseline of 4 miles per days.

In May 2021, work moved locations, and is now 0.6 miles from home. The commute is half of what it was. This means I’m not so tired by the end of the day, because, duh, my built-in exercise routine has been reduced. I needed a way to make up for it without doing anything expensive or drastic.

So I started running. Yes, me. Well into my thirties, visions of Chris Traeger haunting me with his overly positive grin. Low and behold, I didn’t die.

I built up my stamina slowly, learned to pace myself. I learned to pay attention to how my feet are making contact with the ground, as I have a tendency to run on the balls of my feet. Finding a rhythm was easier than I thought it would be.

I don’t want to run a marathon or a 5K. I had no desire to compete against anyone but myself and the middle school belief. It required little more than a change of shoes and a running app. So I started, and I was pleasantly surprised. I could do it. All those years of 4 mile walks had prepared me for it.

The Limits of… Arbitrary Limits

So the results of this experiment: I can, in fact, run. The previous assertion is no longer valid. Although I still pity that grumpy 13 year old.

In August I pulled a Chris Traeger and overdid it. I was blindly obeying the app (instead of my instincts) and was attempting to run for 30 minutes without a rest. My calves ached for a month. But I’m back at it, running for a few minutes, then walking, and alternating thus, and not nearly for as long. As long as I’m moving for thirty minutes, kicking up endorphins and building endurance, I’m happy.

I have learned that setting limits based on small or unproven things doesn’t help me in the slightest. For example: is butternut squash really disgusting or is it just something one of my parents always said? Low and behold, after simply making it for myself, butternut squash soup is one of my favorite personal discoveries. Whether one likes or is repulsed by butternut squash, of course, comes down to taste, but I had to decide and evaluate for myself.

I have applied this mindset to writing a synopsis for my novel, planning a bridal shower in a pandemic, flying to England when I was an anxious college student, searching for and finding my own apartment, separating and repotting several tangled up aloe vera plants, fostering a kitten, and buying my first car. I have not found success in everything I tried, but I have a baseline from which to start.

I’ve learned that the big Impossible Thing, whatever it is, is usually pretty small and mundane when you get to the other side of it. And it isn’t even one thing, it’s a series of many small victories and milestones. It is validation that, no, I am not lazy. And I don’t have to run marathons everyday. It doesn’t have to be my whole life, but it can be part of it. There’s where I find success.

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