During this week of July 4th, we thought we’d take a little time to reflect on runs that are distinctly American: running in suburbia, in your childhood hometown, in unknown cities, among others. Up first: suburbia, a place with which many of us #motherrunners are intimately familiar.
One thing I swore I would never, ever do is move to the suburbs.
Nosiree. Not me. No way. No how. I was not a suburban girl. I was cool. Keewwlll.
Well, you know where this is going. (All my stories have such obvious endings!)
I got up this morning, walked outside, and ran a 5-mile loop around the neighborhood where my daughter and I live … in the suburbs!
I grew up in Atlanta, in artsy-fartsy Ansley Park in the 1960s and 70s. (Today, the only artsy fart who could afford to live in what is now called “Midtown” is the one whose work sells for $1 million. Hence, no artists.)
My Atlanta home, 1970s. The Ansley Park association told us to mow our lawn. You see my hippie brother’s response. (And our dog Alfie!)
Gut-renovated by new owners in 1996, now worth $1.5 million according to Zillow. Wow.
My first run was around Winn Park—all the way around the park! After I took a nap on the couch, I drove the family VW convertible bug around to measure the distance. Nine-tenths of a mile!
I trained for the famous Peachtree Road Race 10K, held on the Fourth of July. Back then, you only got the race T-shirt after you crossed the finish line, and they gave it only to folks who broke 55 minutes. It took me 10 years from that first run around the park to actually make it to the starting line of the Peachtree Road Race.
(Wednesday’s Peachtree Road Race is the largest race in the country. With more than 50,000 competitors, the wave start means the winners have gone home before the last wave has even begun the race. Everyone gets a T-shirt.)
I went to college in New York City, got a job, and lived there for about a decade, circling Central Park, doing intervals on a track on the Lower East Side, running across the Brooklyn Bridge. No suburbs!
After the L’eggs Mini Marathon 10K in Central Park, NYC, 1986-ish. Not pictured: Porn shops and drug addicts.
Which all sounds very romantic, except New York City in the 1980s was not the cleaned-up theme park that it is today. Times Square was lined with porn shops. Drug addicts passed out on stoops. The Harlem Hills in Central Park were nervous-making: You always kept your eye out for other runners—safety in numbers.
On a magazine-editor salary, I could afford a tiny box in the sketchiest of neighborhoods. That’s when my boyfriend and I discovered—like so many young people before and after us—that if we combined what we paid in rent, we could afford a two-bedroom apartment with a balcony! In New Jersey. New Jersey!
Oh no!
Northern New Jersey is essentially a road map of endless, interconnected suburbs built around train lines and highways between roughly 1910 and 1950.
In Hoboken, we had a beautiful two-bedroom apartment with a balcony in a renovated slide-rule factory. We were still cool! (If marginally.)
We ran with other 20- and 30-somethings in the Hoboken Harriers at night after work and went out afterward for beers and pizza. Which seems like so many lifetimes ago.
When our apartment building went co-op, we discovered that the money we’d have to pay to buy it would get us a house 15 miles further west … in South Orange.
But it was urban suburban! I swear!
My then-husband, who grew up surrounded by 11 acres and a private pool, wanted a bigger YARD, so we moved further west to Chatham, and joined a new running club, Amazing Feet.
And as IVF failed to take, we collected first one, then two, then three GREAT DANES. So you know what we needed, right?
MORE YARD. Westward ho!
That was 2003: Buy a king-size bed for your house on 3 acres and the Great Danes STILL take over!
Today, I live with my daughter, Nina, who’ll be 14 in August, in Bernardsville, the suburb where her dad and I landed 15 years ago—55 miles from New York City, near the end of the train line.
After her dad and I got divorced, she and I moved from the big fancy house with three acres up on the mountain into a tiny house in the center of town. The idea was to keep her in the same school system to minimize disruption; he moved even farther west. The Italian craftsmen who did the woodwork in the mountain mansions lived in our ‘hood in the 1930s; today many of my neighbors hail from Paraguay.
This is now: In our tiny house, Nina and I have two tiny(ish) dogs, Xena the Devil (blond) and Aiko the Angel (black boy).
When Nina starts 9th grade in September, she will walk to the high school, less than a mile away. Hallelujah!
And me? I have a handful of runner friends who live nearby. I know which streets are well-lit for the dark winter mornings. I know the hill that’s particularly beautiful when the moon is bright. I know to avoid the Swamp Loop in July because of dive-bombing deer flies. I can cobble together a route for pretty much any distance between 3 and 23 miles. I bet you can too.
And then there’s the #foundchange, the convenience stores that are so dang…convenient (especially when you need a bathroom STAT or a handful of ice to stuff in your sports bra), the paved paths, the (mostly) lit streets, traffic that feels a bit more orderly than urban venues, the fact that Strava or Google Maps pretty much always knows where you are—and can take you home when you’ve become lost in your thoughts. Or truly lost.
As a #motherrunner, you make your peace with wherever you live. You find your people, you find your routes, you make it work. And you remember to be grateful for the privilege of running freely, safely right outside your door. Even if you’re trying really hard to pretend like you’re still cool after all these years … in suburbia!
Nina at local Fourth of July parade, 2009. Ain’t life grand?
About 3 years ago, we moved from one state to another – still in the suburbs, but we wanted to settle in a town with a “town feeling.” It’s done wonders for my running! I can choose different routes based on whether I want to run by regular houses or the fancy ones, if I am willing to tolerate gravel in my shoes for the slightly better-on-my-knees trail, or if I need to stay on well-cleared and well-lit sidewalks in icky winter weather. The best part, though, is running by places that play a big part in our lives: my son’s school, our friends’ houses, and our favorite restaurants. It makes me feel more connected to our community.
All Peachtree Road Race *FINISHERS* currently get the shirt. Your time doesn’t matter, but you do have to complete the race. Funny enough, you can purchase a medal online regardless of whether you even race; it’s the finisher’s shirt that has the cachet!
Yes suburbia! I grew up surrounded by Iowa cornfields so I am grateful for my paved bike paths near my house. I have a great mix of house lined streets and paved paths surrounded by trees. And I still see plenty of deer in the early morning. Only wish I could do more trail running not on paved roads. That takes driving. But I agree with previous person. I like running in my own community and seeing familiar sites.
What would it take for you to return to South Orange and run with our Will Run for Coffee group? We’re big fans!
I always appreciate my suburban conveniences when I spend a weekend in a busy city. Dodging cars, people, scooters and spending so much energy figuring out where I’m going, and how i avoid getting lost. Running a race in a city is the best – traffic patrol, marked lanes safe passage. give me my neighborhood any day!