My Year in Running

2013 was the year I decided to start running more seriously after a decently long hiatus (something close to five years). Instead of running a few miles maybe once a week to make sure that I still remembered how to put one foot in front of the other (In case you are wondering, I never forgot how.) I just started...increasing my mileage, little by little, just as many running experts would advise you to do.

To be clear, by "increasing my mileage," I mean "running longer than one mile and doing it without stopping" because running one mile WITH stopping was basically my M.O. this time last year. Yes, ONE YEAR AGO, I could not run one mile without stopping and hating my life.


This might seem surprising to you considering how often I run now, but it's important for me to remember where I started and to remind myself to not regress in my efforts. I also don't want to come across as a snobby marathon runner who can't relate to a non-runner because I can relate and I want to humble myself before you.

If I am snobby, if it's for entirely different reasons anyway.

It all started with a number on a scale, as many of these kinds of stories do. That number was higher than I could ever remember and what's worse, I was letting that number define me. I'm all about loving your body and dressing the body you have now as opposed to the body you want later on, but this number (161) corresponded with a lot of other unpleasant, unhealthy aspects of my life to include elevated blood pressure and the biological guarantee of type-2 diabetes in my future.

So, as many other people are wont to do, I started avoiding the scale. When pants stopped fitting, I wore bigger ones. When exercising started getting harder, I stopped altogether. I was hyper-aware of my body, but I was also doing my best to shield myself from it...which is actually really easy to do because of this human ability called DENIAL.

For what was definitely the better, though it felt like the worst possible thing at the time, I had to step on a scale and weigh myself in front of other people. It was a gut-check. I was shocked. I thought the scale was broken! I was in a land far, far away from the comforts of my own home and family, and here I was, kind of...fat. Say whaaat?

After a few sleepless nights of self-loathing, I decided to do something about it all. I started this journey on December 29, 2012 on a rickety, dusty treadmill in a makeshift gym out in Afghanistan. I powered up this ancient piece of equipment and "ran" for approximately 14 minutes with frequent walk breaks. I did this nearly every day for six months - increasing my time by a minute or so every few days and walking less and less each time.

During this phase of the journey, I had no idea how quickly I ran/slash/walked because this treadmill was so worn out that the display was unreadable. I basically kept pressing the "UP" arrow until my speed was increased enough that I felt like I was dying. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that I was pushing a 13-minute mile at my slowest and brought myself up to a 9-minute mile average.

I also started doing other things in the gym besides, like, crunches. I started lifting weights. I tried rowing, biking, and elliptical-ing. I started reading articles about running. It was so strange. I was actually becoming fit and looking for new ways to work out. I was researching about exercise, I mean, c'mon, really? WHO WAS I?

What was really strange is that I stopped caring about my weight. The running and lifting and gym-ing wasn't about that number anymore. It started that way, yes,  but very soon, I didn't care anymore. I still don't care. It is so bizarre, but stepping on the scale is no longer a moment I brace myself for because I know that I am stronger, faster, and healthier than I have been in a very long time, and that number doesn't necessarily reflect those changes. To be sure, that number dropped by a solid 40 lbs, but even if it creeped back up, as long as I could still run, jump, and live like I can now, I don't know if I would mind.

When I came back to the States last May, I was excited for obvious reasons (e.g. family, friends, American living, modern plumbing) but I was also excited to put some pedal to the metal and hit the road on my feet. I had spent nearly six months running on a treadmill and my butt was as flat as a pancake. And while I will always have a weird soft spot for treadmills, there is something to be said about running out in the open air with a new day dawning before you:

It's hard.

Like, waaaaay harder than I anticipated, and the Old Me would have quit as soon as I hit the pavement. This New Lighter-But-Don't-Care Me was excited though! (Also, I had signed up for the Seattle Rock N Roll 1/2 Marathon on June 21st and the full Portland Marathon on October 6th, so I didn't want to waste my money by giving up on this whole running venture with $300+ on the line.)

I felt inspired, though, and I didn't quit. I didn't even want to quit. Running awakened this previously dormant piece of my psyche: curiosity. I am curious to know how far I can go and how fast I can make it and how hard I can push myself now. I am curious about what else my body is capable of: Can I bike just as hard? Will I be able to reach that summit? How about kayaking? What about that?

I will always consider myself a novice runner because it still feels new, refreshing, and sometimes even scary to me. (It's pretty scary waking up on the morning you're about to run 26.2 miles.) I am always on the lookout for helpful running gear and God knows I'm always trying to improve my form so that it's less like a dying badger and more like a human who is running. It is both a meditative process that clears my mind and a highly physical action that leaves me exhausted, breathless, and wanting more out of myself. I've signed up for races the weekend or even day prior because I thought, "Why not?" and that is something I would have never, ever done just 12 months ago.

Like any year, 2013 was full of ups and downs. My husband and I spent more time apart than ever before. Our dog chewed up an entire door frame. I ran out of paint when I was painting our 25-trillion-feet ceilings and I have yet to finish that project. The trivial list of First World problems goes on and on, but running has brought me so much clarity because now I can see beyond those peaks and valleys, and the horizon looks pretty nice.

While it hasn't been a full year yet, I wanted to list my running achievements for 2013 to stay motivated through 2014 and to maybe, possibly inspire you, any of you, to try something new and work at it, whether it's running or nail art or fostering baby squirrels.

• 4 x half marathons (Seattle Rock N Roll Half, Dash Point Trail Half, Joint-Base Lewis-McChord Half, Amica Seattle Half), PR: 1:36
• 1 x marathon (Portland, OR) PR: 4:25
• 3 x "fun runs" - 5K Color Run, 4-mile Turkey Trot, 12Ks of Christmas
• 2-mile personal best on an APFT: 13:34 (Whoa! Trust me, I surprised myself.)
• Logged 1,021 miles (450 of those on a treadmill!)

The year has been paved with a lot of calluses, bloody toenails, irritated tendons, and a few worn out pairs of shoes, but 2013 has been a very positive, Eat Pray Love kind of experience. If you're thinking about changing your life with fitness this coming year, I guess you should consult a physician first, but really, just prepare yourself that it will not be easy.

You have to want it every single damn day. You have to know that it's not about the destination. There are no "end results." There will be no definitive "after" picture. That's not what Your Year should be about because 365+ days (give or take a lifetime) is too short to care about how you look and how much you weigh and what size your pants are.

Now if you are sitting there thinking, "Well, running isn't for me!" then let me ask you, "Why not? How do you know?" I did not know that my post-high school self could run, and here I am running at every opportunity that my body will allow. Had I not tried it out that one day last December, I never would've known.