You have to push past your perceived limits, push past that point you thought was as far as you can go.
~Drew Brees
“I’m not a runner, and I never will be.” I spoke those words — bragged them, really — at any mention of this torturous exercise. My single attempt at running a decade earlier had ended with me doubled over and panting at barely a quarter-mile in. I didn’t discriminate against running, though. I hated all exercise and physical activity.
I was blessed with a high metabolism — no exercise required — until I hit my twenties, had a baby, and never lost the weight. For 10 years, I carried a few extra pounds. They bugged me, but 20 pounds weren’t enough to motivate me to give up my convenient life.
Then my entire world shifted. I finished graduate school, left an unhealthy marriage, and found myself with new freedom — the perfect recipe to stir up change. I learned about nutrition and discovered an intense, CrossFit-style gym. I became obsessed with exercising. Stress and anger were my motivators, and I sweated them out as peace took their place. I slept better, focused better, and all around felt better. I became the fittest, healthiest, happiest version of myself I’d ever been.
Two months into my newfound love for exercise, a group of coworkers invited me to join them in a 5K run. I laughed and said, “I’m not a runner.” But when I discovered the event was The Color Run, I reconsidered. Once, after seeing a poster of a happy runner doused in colored powder, I’d commented, “If I ever did a run — which I wouldn’t — it would be a Color Run.”
When I didn’t die by the end of my trial jog, I signed up for the race and trained for eight weeks. I felt intimidated by my five co-workers, who were experienced runners, sure that my form looked weird and that I ran too slowly. I worried I would embarrass myself in front of them and my daughter and mother, who’d come to cheer me on.
However, the day of the race, I not only kept up but I led the pack. All those box jumps and squats I’d repeated until my legs became jelly had strengthened my quads and calves and built endurance.
I had become a runner, despite believing I never would.
Not two months after my initial 5K, a friend invited me to run a half marathon. Whoa. This wasn’t a little three-mile race we were talking about. Could I really run for more than 13 miles? Run for more than two hours? It seemed daunting, but I recalled something that had happened a while back.
For two days in early May, Pittsburgh shuts down so thousands of runners can pound the pavement in a variety of events from a toddler trot to a full marathon. I happened to be staying in a hotel near the starting line and found the breakfast room packed with runners. Off-handedly, I said to my daughter, “I’m going to run a marathon someday.” I was still anti-running then, but the desire must’ve lain dormant in my bones.
Here was my chance. It might not be a full marathon, but I could run half of one, something I hadn’t thought possible for me just one year earlier. I signed up and started training in March when the weather warmed up. Then I learned that running six or seven miles was no joke, and I was out of practice.
The May event date loomed, and I panicked. Thoughts plagued me. I can’t do it. I’m not trained. I can’t run more than seven miles, and that’s only halfway. I’ll let my friend down. I’ll mess up her race. Two days before the race, I came very close to bowing out. But I’d paid no small fee for this race and figured that if I had to walk I would. I would just tell my friend to go on without me.
The night before the race, I only slept four hours. In the morning, I downed an energy shot — probably a bad idea, but I needed to wake up. I ate my favorite protein bar, but had no concept of running fuel. My friend handed me an energy gel — my first ever — and we were off.
The beginning few miles — usually the hardest for me — passed easily as I took in the sights, read the signs of the spectators cheering us on, and enjoyed the event atmosphere. At mile 5, my friend needed to walk a little. I walked with her but didn’t need to. At mile 8, my shins started to hurt, so I popped ibuprofen and kept going. She needed to walk again. I didn’t. At mile 11, I was astonished. Full of energy, feeling great, I looked over to my friend and said, “Do you just want to run the whole marathon?” I was joking, of course, and the comment earned me many glares from those around us, but it proved something to me. I’d achieved much more than I thought possible.
Now having been a runner for more than three years, with several 5Ks and four half marathons under my feet, I have more events planned for this year and the goal of a full marathon in the near future.
I’ve run through cities, parks, and beaches, early in the morning, late at night, and during the most beautiful sunrise of my life. I’ve run in rain and snow, in far too much heat, and in sickness and in health. I’ve run my soles smooth and my laces frayed. I’ve run through shin pain, knee pain, quad pain, calf pain, foot pain, muscle cramps, side stitches, and debilitating despair. I’ve run with the odds against me. I’ve run through quitting and restarting, and through all-consuming hopelessness. I’ve run with too much energy and not nearly enough.
I’ve run through the stress of a divorce, through anxiety and rage, and then through finding love and watching my boyfriend become a runner as he became my fiancé and now my husband and favorite running partner. We’ve run three half marathons together so far. And we keep each other going.
I’ve wanted to give up a hundred times. I’ve believed I could never come close but pushed through. I kept going. I achieved more than I ever imagined.
And now I know: I can do things that seem impossible. I can always keep moving forward — no matter what’s going on around me or within me, no matter who is or isn’t at my side. I can run through anything.
— Denise Murphy Drespling —