Run like a… Father? Jessie and her dad going for a neighborhood run

After working for another mother runner for almost a year, I still hadn’t gotten on the running train. Working for a running blog and being a total workout-a-phobe was a constant source of irony in my life. While I knew a lot about running, countless creative ways to find time and motivation to work out, and all of its benefits—both mind and body–I still never kept up a regular routine. My sparse workouts were punctuated by discouraging soreness and the embarrassment of how weak my body was. Truth is, I’ve just never been much of an athlete. Though I played water polo and swam in high school, I’ve got a bad knee, sports-induced asthma, and serious coordination issues working against me.
This summer, I took on three jobs and one class. Working in a cubicle, then sitting in a classroom, then manning a desk at my college campus started to take its toll quickly. At the end of the day, I was mentally drained yet still restless; I realized something needed to change.
I needed to move.
So one day, for what seemed like the millionth time of deciding “Now, I am going to run and this time

Letting the Oregonian complexion show, wearing sunscreen for a trail run in San Jose, CA

I’ll keep with it,” I pulled out my ill-fitting Nike shocks that were gathering dust in the back corner of my closet and, with a heavy sigh and my iPod, left the house to release some tension. The outing wasn’t pretty, and it definitely wasn’t successful—but I came home feeling an endorphin rush and a strong conviction that I needed to keep with it this time.
I started out running in my neighborhood, where I knew that there was only a small chance someone would see my huffing, slowing down, or taking walk breaks. I made two rules for myself: go every other day and go a little further each time. Whether it was a block, or two, or five more, I made sure I was increasing my distance gradually each time—even if that meant I had to walk a little bit on days I wasn’t feeling too well. Within a week I could feel the difference in my legs, my energy levels, and my attitude.
About a month or so into my running routine, there was a moment where I really felt like a runner, and even more, like I actually experienced what the AMR tribe describes all the time: It became a release, not a chore.
I had a friend staying in my room while I was on a family vacation in July. The vacation, as they often do, turned out to be anything but emotionally or physically restful. I returned home and found my friend had his belongings splayed across my room. It was the last straw in a long series of disappointments, and I was furious. I knew it was unreasonable for me to be upset like I was—it was nothing out of the ordinary for a college kid, but I couldn’t shake off my emotional rage.

In my favorite running digs: the Lucy Propel Running Skirt

Eyes widened, eyebrows raised, deep breath in. I was exhausted, upset, and I needed to be alone. But the house was full of roommates and friends, there were dirty dishes in the sink, and I’m pretty sure my friend had just clipped his toenails on my bed.

So I plunked down my suitcase at the doorframe, and simply said, “I need to go for a run.” And then I just went. Before running, my options in this sort of situation were to bottle it up or let it all out; I had no way to release negative emotions in a productive way. But on the run, I blasted my Lady GaGa and sorted through what I was feeling. That run cleared my mind like never before. I got home, stretched on the porch, and walked in the house feeling like a badass mother runner, and I couldn’t have been more proud. I felt—and feel—so good, and I have Sarah, Dimity, and you all to thank for that.

So I’m pretty sure I can call myself a runner now, and I’m ready to take on more miles. Stay tuned.