How to Run Badly

This one goes out to the New Years Resolution girlies.

‘Tis the season of New Year’s Resolutions, and I know for a fact that there’s at least a few of you out there scrolling on your phone and shopping for a pair of $200 running shoes. As you wear the same Christmas pajamas that you’ve been rotting in for the last 24 hours, you might look up a local 5k in your area. While you bite the head off an innocent gingerbread man, you may be thinking, “who knows, maybe I’ll run a marathon, how hard can it be?”

In my only other post about running, I talk about the danger of living with a man who runs marathons and getting into the “how hard can it be?” mindset. I now own a pair of HOKAs and frequently heavy mouth breathe on the treadmill at the gym.

If you feel called out, just know that the person that I described above is also me. We are in this together, you and I. The only thing that I didn’t mention is that that person was me last year, and the year before that, and the year before that.

In many ways, running is like having a toxic ex that I just can’t stay away from, even though it hurts my feelings almost every time. When I picture myself running, I imagine it like a training movie montage. In it, I’m running across somewhere dramatic, like a trail or that meadow from Twilight. I am sweating (hotly) and my face is not at all tomato red. I am in workout clothes that never get sweat stained. I win first place in a marathon! I am amazing.

This delusional thinking is absolutely the reason why I never ran consistently. Running is embarrassing. At my core, I am the middle school kid in the back of the class walking while everyone else runs the mile. It’s me and the girl in the Cookie Monster Pajamas, but she’s in the back of the line because she doesn’t care about gym class, and I’m in the back of the line because I feel like if anyone sees me try, only to fail, then I will fall down and die on the spot.

I didn’t realize the extent of the trauma that the mile inflicted on me until my very sweet Golden Retriever then-boyfriend-now-husband asked me to go on a run with him. He was a cross-country athlete who had run half marathons at the time. I had convinced myself that I could keep up with him (right from the start, dumb). We got to the start of the trail and I froze. He was ready to run, but the voice of self doubt whispered into my ear; “you are about to look so stupid”. I instantly built a mental wall and refused to run. When he tried to gently figure out why I changed my mind, I ignored him until I exploded and shouted “this is NOT something WE do”.

Reader, I was such an asshole for saying that. He was trying to experience something he genuinely loved with me, and my deeply rooted insecurities made me lash out against him. That was 8 or 9 years ago, and I regret it to this day.

It’s important to this post for me to mention my asshole move because I don’t think that I’m the only person in this world who has running-related-embarassment-trauma. I know some of you bitches also walked the mile because you thought someone seeing you sweat would be the worst thing to ever happen to you. Don’t lie to me.

I am not good at running from the standpoint of people who actually care about what their mile time is. I float around a 14-15 minute mile. The farthest I have ever run was a 10k, and I have no interest in pursuing the life of a half-marathoner or a marathoner because I like the idea of my poop staying in my colon.

As I have embarked on this running journey I have had several realizations that may seem obvious to you, but they have kept me running the most consistently that I ever have in my entire life, which is 7-ish months. I have completed a 10k and a 5k, and already have 4 races scheduled for 2025 (a 5k, an 8k, and two 10k’s). So, let me introduce you to the idea of running badly, in case it also helps you just continue to do the awful thing that makes you wanna puke (aka running).

You don’t have to run the whole time.

This summer, I frequently would go on a run and cry while I was running because I am, unfortunately and annoyingly, a perfectionist. Each run was consistent: I would run for exactly .2 miles before gasping for breath and slowing down to a walk. Immediately, hot tears would sting my eyes while shame sloshed around in my chest. After one particularly rough run in the middle of training for a 10k, I broke down in a sweaty, gross heap on the floor in front of my husband and cried, “I can’t even run one mile, how am I supposed to run six?”

It turns out the answer is really easy, just don’t! Believe it or not, Strava will not give you side-eye if you log a “run” and you walk for 70% of it. When you go to a race, no one yells “boo” if you turn your run into a little stroll. The realization that it was okay to walk is probably the most important realization that I’ve had during my running journey. I still can’t run a mile consistently, who the fuck cares?

Comfort is Key

Before I ran my 10k, I considered buying a water bladder. If you don’t know what a water bladder is, it’s a sack of water that fits in its own special backpack. The bladder is connected to a long tube that allows you to drink water, hamster style, during a run. My husband explained that water bladders were typically used by people who ran marathons, not 10ks, and there may not be other people wearing water bladders at the race -- in essence, it was a little bit overkill.

But there were only two water stations on the race map, two. Two tiny, insignificant paper thimbles of water for a whole six miles. It felt like cruel and unusual punishment. What do you mean I spent over $100 on this stupid race to only be gifted two single drop of water? I usually drain my Stanley during a run at the gym and that thing is a fucking Big Gulp.

I bought the water bladder, and it saved my life. There were even a few other people with them too. When I go to the gym, I bring a towel for the sweat even though I’m only running 3 miles max. I have my Big Gulp Stanley and my AirPods and my fun little workout outfits that make me feel confident.

If you’re going to commit to doing something that is going to make your entire body hurt, then you should make yourself as comfortable as possible. I don’t understand people who think that suffering is a rite of passage for working out, especially running.

Low Expectations

Sorry to break it to you. If you don’t run, and you are starting to run, it’s absolutely going to suck. You will feel like you made a horrible mistake. It will feel like your body is rejecting being alive. There is no hot Twilight meadow running fantasy here on planet Earth, only butt sweat and feeling like your heart is going to be vomited out your mouth.

But, now I’m going to tell you the thing every single runner says: it’s also amazing. You might not notice until after the first few runs, but trust me, eventually that post-run feeling will have you feeling incredible and crawling back for more. After a run, my brain feels clear and I have a renewed sense of appreciation for what my body can do. If you decide run a race, that amazing feeling doubles.

I did not have an amazing time whatsoever for my 10k, but I teared up crossing the finish line. I thought about the girl who had a breakdown over not running a mile, how she thought that she could never finish this race. I also thought about the middle school version of me walking in the back of the pack during gym class. She wasn’t ready for the world to see her run badly then, but she grew into me, and now I don’t care if someone sees me finish last. The whole point is running anyway. So, I hope that you buy the $200 running shoes, or that you put on a pair of old sneakers and run around the block. Then I hope you do it again. Hopefully, I’ll be running too.