It’s no surprise that I subscribe to a few running and biking magazines. Slap someone in some type of spandex or performance gear on the cover, and I’m sold.
One of my favorite sections of my favorite running magazine is a little back-page segment called “I Am a Runner.” This page usually features someone well known in entertainment, sports or politics and asks them a bunch of slightly ridiculous questions that I simply eat up. Who knew that Ducky, I mean Jon Cryer, entered his first triathlon simply to beat David Duchovny’s tri time, or that Apolo Ohno’s nickname was “Chunky” back in the day. I’ve run past him a few times at the Olympic Oval track. I can happily say that nickname is a thing of the past.
Many of us identify ourselves by the activities we embrace, whether it’s our jobs or our hobbies. For the longest time I would introduce myself saying, “Hi, I’m Kim. I’m an English teacher.” Then I replaced “teacher” with “fitness instructor.” Lately I identify myself as “Kim, the runner.”
There’s nothing terribly wrong with that. We all do it to ourselves and each other. At the gym I work at there are multiple women named Jen. To keep them straight, my friends and I came up with identifiers. There was “Purple Pants Jen” who always wore, you guessed it, purple pants. Then there was “Arizona Jen” from Arizona. Then there was “Back Row Jen.” Yeah, we‘re a real creative bunch. Of course, all of my cats were named Fluffy, so what would you expect?
The danger with identifying ourselves with what we do, though, is what happens when we no longer engage in that activity?
Within the social circles I orbit, I’m often known as the marathoner. I’ll admit, this makes me more than a little proud. I mean, think of all the adjectives that apply: healthy, strong, fit, disciplined, happy. Who wouldn’t want to be identified like that?
But what if I just stopped?
I think that thud you heard was the sound of my husband passing out from shock.
This isn’t something I like to think about much, but it’s a possibility. Even if I literally die running, I’m sure there will come a time when I no longer run marathon distances. Kudos to Ed Whitlock for running a 3:25:33 marathon at the ripe young age of 80, but I really don’t see that being me, nor do I think I want to.
There have been two occasions in my short running life where running has taken a back seat, or disappeared from my life more like it.
The first running hiatus started Dec. 25, 2008. Yeah, I remember the date, and not just because it was a holiday. You tend to remember pivotal moments in life, and this was one of them. I know, of all the tragedies one can face in this life, sustaining an injury is extremely low on the list, but when it takes away one of your greatest joys and coping mechanisms, well, it was big in my world.
I was not a runner for almost six months while I battled IT band syndrome. During that time I did physical therapy, gave up teaching indoor cycling and dropped out of my first Boston Marathon. I would never say I was depressed. That would belittle the experience of those who truly do suffer depression, but I was low. In the late evening hours, there was a small bit of wailing and gnashing of teeth. Every time I would see a runner on the road I would fantasize either jumping out of the moving car and joining in, or, worse, throwing rocks at those who had the nerve to flaunt their injury-free knees in my face. Come on! Couldn’t they tell I was sidelined? The nerve!
I felt like a fraud driving a car with a 26.2 sticker in the back window. I mean, I hadn’t run a step in months. How could I lead the public on? Surely they could tell by looking at me that I hadn’t run in months.
Eventually, though, I did run again, albeit very nervously. Every twinge, real or imagined, would send waves of panic through my core. I was hypersensitive, hyper vigilant and hyper annoying.
I would love to tell you that I learned my lesson and no longer identified myself with my physical prowess, but that’s a lie, and, as my daughter says, nobody wants a nose longer than their arm.
After coming back from that injury, something happened and my running times improved. Whenever anyone asks me how to run faster, I tell them to get injured, don’t run for six months, and miracles happen. Honestly, I’m not sure what did it, but I shaved two minutes off my mile pace. Please don’t throw your shoes at me when you see me at the next race. I honestly have no explanation, but I was thrilled with the improvement.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just a runner, I was an age-grouper! I reveled in that for a while when fate stepped in to teach me another lesson last summer. Yes, injury gave me a good, swift kick in the pants. Literally. I injured my glutes and hamstrings and had to sit out the month of July. To add insult to injury, July is the one month out of the year that I can run outside whenever I want without worrying about baby sitters and family schedules. But not that July.
So, instead of running in the glorious summer sunshine, I rode my bike on my indoor training while watching the Tour de France. And, you know what? I kind of liked it! I almost, dare I say it, enjoyed the break from running. Of course, as soon as I got the thumbs up, I was out on the road, but I no longer feared injury as I once did. Sure, I still stretch, ice, massage and do all I can to make sure my legs can work with me, but I know there are other activities out there.
I am slowly starting to realize that there is more to me than my mile splits and race medals. I mean, I had 32 years of life before I took up running, and I was a very happy, well-rounded person.
If I stop running tomorrow, my kids will still call me Mom and quickly sneak in a hug before I drop them off for school. My friends will still laugh at my jokes even if our next trip to New York doesn’t involve expos and recovery days. My husband’s not going to leave me because I hang up my Brooks Trance 9’s. My parents won’t disown me because they no longer have an excuse to travel to Boston.
No, I am more than my finish times. I am a wife. I am a daughter. I am a mom. I am a friend. And today, thankfully, I happen to run.
Kim Cowart is a wife and a mom who also teaches Group X classes at 24-Hour Fitness and runs marathons. She is happy that the labels that identified her in junior high school no longer apply.