This post is written by Kathy Greif, a mother runner from Tampa who is COO at The Dali Museum and who turns 50 today (!). Last week, Kathy ended a 3.5-year-long run streak. 

On the eve of retiring my run streak, after 1,300 days of running at least one mile per day, I am in a state of reflection. Tomorrow will feel strange: I’ll be more out of sorts than, say, forgetting to put on earrings, but hopefully less sorrowful than learning Phoebe Waller-Bridge won’t write another season of “Fleabag.” This is my decision after all.

My decision to start this streak was not born with as much confidence. I’m a middle-of-the-pack runner; I have done ‘only’ half-marathons; I picked up running in my 30s. Meanwhile, I share my life with an ultra-runner. Our running circle is filled with people who run faster, run longer, run more races, have been running for longer—in every sense, more than me. For nearly a decade, I was feeling less-than. 

Celebrating two years of streaking

No one ever intentionally made me feel this way. In most cases, I have found runners to be incredibly inclusive. Yet in countless situations over the years, I found myself feeling defensive as conversation resulted in my responses of, “nope, never run a marathon,” followed by, “nope, never wanted to,” or “yes, I only run about 15 miles a week,” or “ouch, your ‘easy’ pace is faster than my 5K PR pace.” Cumulatively, it made me feel like I wasn’t a real runner.

When I heard about streaking, I was elated! It would absolutely be a challenge for me—at the time, I ran three or four days a week—yet achievable. A badge I could wear, a running accomplishment I could rather uniquely own.  

It started out bumpy. I intended to start on New Year’s Day 2021. Just a few days prior, I got COVID—the early kind, the kind that made me wonder if I’ll survive. My resting heart rate, which averages in the low 60s, was barely hitting the 40s. I couldn’t breathe. My head felt like it would explode. 

A week and two negative tests later, I still had the motivation and kicked things off. I didn’t actually fully recover from COVID for a couple months, but I was able to get two feet off the ground for a mile, then more. The first 30 days of running every day felt like the longest month in the history of time. When I hit that 30-day mark, I finished my run on the top of the stairs of the Tampa Convention Center and applauded myself as if I had just climbed Mount Everest. And the support from friends and runners was beyond my imagination. People actually told me I was inspiring! Me, an inspiring runner? 

Running here, there, and everywhere, like Grand Isle, MI

My runner’s high was palpable. Then I started noticing a common thread. People would introduce me with, “she runs every day,” followed by the inevitable question, “…for how long now?” Ugh, I was back to having to quantify my running! In running circles, that same introduction was often accompanied by a but—starting with “nope, haven’t run a marathon,” or “yep, I only run 20 to 25 miles a week,” then that but-validation, “but, at least you run every day.”

It’s true. I ran every day for 1,300 days. I ran just before midnight once when a flight was delayed and I got home just in time to hit the treadmill. I ran just after midnight on the day of a colonoscopy so that I wouldn’t have to run later that day post-op. I ran during my second bout of COVID when my symptoms were ‘just’ a fever and nausea. I ran in an airport in my street clothes and shoes when another flight was delayed. I ran as little as one mile many times, and as much as 13 quite a few. I ran with friends a little; I ran alone, a lot. I ran in many different states and countries. I ran the same loop around my neighborhood, a lot.

Over time, my deep love for, and connection to, running started to wear out. What should have been something I was doing for me, became something I was hanging on to only to prove myself to others. I knew it was time to let go.

Along the way, I learned that most people could care less what you do or don’t do, how fast or slow you are, how many races you do or don’t do. Everyone’s just trying to find something that makes them happy.

Finding her happy on the trails

And I’m happy. I’m happy I started the streak. I’m happy to end it on my terms with pride in having tried something outside my comfort zone, in finding something to motivate me, in staying committed to it for so long, and for accepting that I am a runner—even though I’m not running tomorrow.