Coming Out of The Closet

Well, it’s happened. I had a love affair with running since age 14. And I’m ready to come out of the closet - I don’t enjoy running anymore, at least not the way that I used to.

All this was stirred up last weekend. I was supposed to be running my first post-baby half marathon this morning. Where am I? On the couch writing while my 13 month old daughter naps.

I realize this “I do not enjoy running anymore” may change once I stop breast-feeding, once my hormones return to homeostasis, once my toddler gets a little bit older and the sleep cycles become longer. Nonetheless it’s been a daunting reality for me to accept about myself. I was always “the runner”. And my ego loved that I was always the runner. I envisioned myself running with a stroller, my tot happily swinging her feet before me. Now I am satisfied with a leisurely saunter.

My love affair started in the sixth grade as a budding lacrosse player. That stretched into high school, college and blossomed into adulthood. Tie the sneakers, hit the road and run until I couldn’t anymore, then turn around and come home. An ex-boyfriend nicknamed me Forest Gump because he said I kept running, and running and running.

Gumpin Gwen

Running was my escape. It was the way I cleared my mind from all the chatter. It was my yoga, my mode of returning to my breath. It was how I got myself sober. I loved to sweat, to feel my breath pulsing, to feel my lungs activated, to feel my muscles stretching and ecstatically sore a few hours later. Those were the highs that I used to get when I ran.

Hydrating or hungover? 

Athletically, I’d always completed what I said I would do, no matter what – a marathon with a few months of training, another marathon morbidly hung over (pre sober), a triathlon with only a month of training and completed it in a personal best time.  But it’s happened, twice now, where I didn’t follow through on an athletic goal because of being a mother.

The first, after six months of training for a Half Ironman, and only three weeks away from the race I discovered I was pregnant and decided not to participate. The morning sickness lasted 24 hours a day and I was so exhausted I had to take a nap in my car on the side of the road. Little did I know my maternal instincts had already kicked in and kicked my ass, so I gave myself the “I-am-scared-shitless”, “how-am-I-going-to-do-this-on-my-own-as-a-single-mom”, “I-don’t-want-to-fall-off-my-bike-and-lose-this-miracle-baby” and I-feel-like-I-am-going-to-vomit-24 hours-a-day” pregnancy card. 

Service with a smile

The second race that I missed because of being a mother occurred after my daughter was born and I chose not to run because I’d been up all night, for three nights in a row, with a 103-degree roasting and vomiting baby, doing lots of laundry and serving up homemade chicken soup. 

I’ve signed up for three races in the year that my daughter was born and I completed one of them, an easy 5K that I completed in my personal best time. But in all honesty, I could easily point the finger and blame the baby, but it’s not because of a sick baby, or even because I am a single working mama, even though my ego would like to use those reasons as an excuse. It’s because I don’t need to prove to myself anymore how great I am through running. Why, I asked myself? Because the memory of laboring a baby every 3-6 minutes for 25 hours and pushing her out of my body in my home, without drugs, without a husband, is still very fresh in my noggin. Here's the proof. 

Listen closely for the silent prayer... GOD, PLEASE help me!

That is the greatest and most noteworthy physical feat that I have ever put my body through. I don’t know if any race completion could compare to the unbridled, wearied and divine discomfort of watching my own hands throttle through the finish line and pulling my own baby from my body, watching her face and eyes open for the first time into mine through a crystal clear veil of water. Becoming a mother has given me the gift of knowing I am great - just because I am.

Interestingly enough, no matter how proud I am of my daughter (and my) grand opening, my ego still had to swallow its pride and accept that it didn’t need that jolt and stroking of being labeled as a runner. How could I truly accept something that was so hard to swallow? Maybe I still wanted to run? Did I really want to run?

What I thought I would look like as a mom

What I actually look like as a mom

Master coach Steve Chandler always says its not the “how to” but the “want to”, when it comes to achieving our goals. Rate your “want to” do something. If it’s an 8, 9 or 10, on a scale of 1 to 10, then it means I really want it. So I tested out his theory.  

Do I want to be a great mom to my daughter? 10.

Do I want to provide for my daughter? 10.

Do I want to continue living spiritually and connected with God? 10.

Do I want to continue to learn and be a great coach to my clients? – 10.

Do I want to be in partnership as much as I wanted to become a mother? – 10.

Do I want to spend as much time with my family and friends, enjoying life? – 10.

Do I want to remain sober, healthy, conscious and in love with my life? – 10.

Do I want to spend my time running? – 3.

Content and sweaty after an easy 3 miler

And there it is. It was that simple. The want to wasn’t there so the how to would be a futile effort and waste of time. Running wasn’t one of my priorities, at least not right now in my life, even though I feel like it should be or I want it to be. The reality is, its not. Maybe that love affair will return some day. But for now, being honest with myself that it isn’t one of my priorities is freeing.