What Gives Me Purpose In My Mid-30's (?)
An open love letter to running and runners 💌
“Is that a superhero muffin?” My bus partner leaned toward me with intrigue as I opened my Gladware container.
“It is! I love Shalane’s recipes,”
“I do too! But I have a trick.” She whispered like she was telling me a secret. “You know how they get kind of soggy when you reheat them?”
“Yeah, I microwaved this at the inn and it’s super crumbly.”
“Okay, well next time, add some dried fruit to it. It holds up much better.”
“Oh wow, thanks.” A literal pro trip.
My bus partner, Theresa, and I had met forty-five minutes prior when we both exited a little Napa Valley inn at the same time. I asked if she was walking to the race pick-up zone and if she wanted to walk together (where else would she be going before sunrise?). She was, and she did.
"I love half marathons,” she said. “Same, I’m excited!”
We were both also nervous.
I ran my first half marathon when I was thirty, just to see if I could do it. I had no goal but to make it across the finish line, and I only moderately believed it was possible.
I finished. I ran the whole thing, and I ran it faster than I expected or could have imagined. This was the first of many times that my body would surpass my mental limits in running. I experienced the race adrenaline people always talk about, and for the first time, I also experienced joy while running.
“How are you feeling for today?” Theresa asked me. “I feel pretty good, how about you?”
“I’m feeling strong,” she responded.
I told her that it was my first time setting a time goal for a race. “Do you know how those pace groups work?” I asked. “Yeah! They usually keep a steady pace throughout,” she looked over at me as we kept walking, “I paced a group for CIM last year.” “Nice, for what pace?” “For the Olympic Qualifying Trials,” she said matter-of-factly.
While her talent was obvious, I was more impressed by Theresa’s cool and humble self-assuredness. I rarely meet successful women who openly share their achievements and the hard work they put in to get there. I rarely hear women rightfully call themselves “strong.”
I already admired her.
On our bus ride from downtown to wine country, we talked about our lives, jobs, running, and fueling. We were bonded by the important role running plays in each of our lives, she, a professional runner, and me, an enthusiast. “I’m my best self when I’m able to run,” she said. YES. Same. Running makes me a better runner, and also a better friend, partner, employee, and human.
Theresa asked me about my time goal for the race. I hesitated to share it, not because I didn’t want to tell her, but because I feared saying it out loud and admitting it to myself. Despite all my training, I wasn’t sure I could hit it. “That’s great!” She responded when I told her, “I think you’re going to do it.” I was starting to realize that the matter-of-fact tone was characteristic to her. Hers was the voice I needed in my head, not my own.
Her goal? “To win it! I want to finish in 1:14.” I was dazzled by her confidence. “I’ve been specifically training for this, and I feel good. I know I can do it.” Before I could respond, she started to give me tips about the race course elevation.
Our bus arrived at the starting line, and we both got off and hugged like it was the end of summer camp. “Good luck!” “You’ve got this!”
We would run the same race course, and we would each run our own race, but we would also now root for each other. In less than an hour, we had gone from strangers to teammates.
This is the energy unique to running and races.
I’m almost thirty-five. My mental model for people my age—based on the examples I grew up with and those that surround me today—is that they are parents and/or are laser-focused on advancing their career. I am neither. The void of these particular characteristics, especially now, is forcing me to more deeply consider my own pillars of purpose—what makes me feel challenged, growth, and joy. (Even if I were a parent or boss ass bitch, I’d still need a sense of my individual purpose.)
I am a dog-mom; I’m good at my job; I write; I volunteer; but in trying to identify what qualifies as purposeful for me—the values and conditions that fuel me—I turned to running. What is it about running that makes me love it so much?
What is it about running that makes me love it so much?
It feels like play. Whether I’m doing an easy effort through the park or max effort on the track, running makes me feel like I’m eight again. I’m serving a tetherball on the playground at recess while our lunch lady calls, “Tie your shoes, young lady!” Running is my play now. I “get” to run, the same way I “got” to play once I’d finished my chores or homework. I don’t have to run, and I may not always be able to. As the wind rushes through my hair and sweat drips down my face, there is no right, no wrong. There are no pre-set rules.
I can track and celebrate objective progress. I thrive when I am working toward goals and have milestones to look forward to. But in other realms of my life, like work, for example, my goals are set by other people, they’re fuzzy, and whether or not I meet them is subjective. When running, I set my own goals for pace, distance, effort or breathing audibility. My goals are directly related to running and I am proud when I meet them. I can clearly see (or hear) if I’ve met my goal; I can track my progress. There’s always a finish line—and a new starting line—ahead.
It doesn’t matter if I fall short of my goals. I didn’t meet my goal for Napa. Still, I felt physically strong; I maintained mental calm; I ran it faster than any other half marathon. In running, there’s no repercussion to missing my goals—only the chance to try again next time. As a result, I set more ambitious goals and strive for distances and paces that are just slightly out of reach. It motivates me to keep trying to be better.
I’m continually surprised by what I’m capable of. Going into the Napa race, I didn’t think I would come anywhere close to my goal. But when I crossed the 1-mile mark, I realized that I’d kept perfect pace and that I was still only putting in an easy effort. I gradually increased my speed through the finish line. When I first saw my chip time, I refused to believe it. But numbers don’t lie. We are capable of so much more than our minds allow us to accept.
There is possibility in each new day. Even on the same course, and with the same mileage, no two runs are the same for me. When I’m tired or heavy, I take it easy. When I want to be cheeky, I increase my pace each mile. I never get down (or up) on myself for any one run. Because tomorrow is a new run, and a new opportunity to lace up and see what I can do.
I thought of Theresa throughout my race. This must be the hill she mentioned. It kept me going. I bet she’s almost done now. I hope she won it! Of course, she had long gone by the time I crossed the finish line. I went to brunch with my running friends, then returned to the inn to pack up my car and drive home. I was closing the trunk when I heard a squeal behind me.
“Oh my gosh!! I was just telling him about you!” It was Theresa and her husband. We hugged again. “Your energy was just what I needed this morning. How did it go?”
I reciprocated the squeal. “I didn’t hit my goal pace, but I’m still proud! I’ve been thinking of you! How did it go?”
“I got second! I was leading until the second half but then I got a stomach cramp and got passed and couldn’t make it up. But I’m still happy!”
The way we celebrated one another lifted me up. Running allows me to be part of something bigger than myself.
I’ve always had hobbies that bring me joy, but I’ve rarely tried to break them down into reusable component parts. I’m now building an ingredient list. I can see when these ingredients are missing from less fulfilling parts of my life, and find ways to sprinkle them in. They’ll also serve as a grocery list when I’m deciding on future endeavors.
Running sits on four pillars that are key to my sense of purpose—challenge, thrill, goals, and growth. It lets me feel at once carefree and grounded. And at this point in my life, it makes me feel like I’m on the right track.
