This one's for the record books
Gearing up to run a different kind of race.
Standing with other spectators at the 2022 Chicago Marathon, I watched the leading pack of elite women surge past. Their motion seemed effortless, their bodies as graceful as gazelles. The ease with which they moved their bodies defied what my own felt at that moment.
The next day I completed a different kind of marathon. Weak from a c-section, I sat propped in a hospital bed with my newborn son nuzzled on my chest. It would take days to muster enough strength to walk the few steps to the bathroom. A year would pass before I could even think about running again.
I’ve been a long-distance runner for 24 years. After an uneventful high school cross country career, I ran my first Chicago Marathon at age 18.
To prepare, I followed a rigorous high-mileage training program designed for runners far more advanced than myself. I ran alone on a mostly deserted trail by my campus (um, dangerous?) drinking hardly any water and carrying no fuel. After one grueling 20-miler, I heaved my guts into the bushes in front of my dorm before stumbling to my room, where I collapsed on the floor and sipped Gatorade, too depleted to climb into bed.
I think my peers had other reasons to barf into bushes their freshmen year of college. Fortunately I did OK on race day.
I’ve since run several more marathons. These demanding 26.2-mile races were perfect for a chronic overachiever. I got satisfaction from setting an ambitious goal, then enduring months of training to attain it. I shaved 20 minutes off my first finishing time, then another 10 minutes more to run the elusive sub-4 hour marathon.
Looking back, I wish someone would have told me I didn’t have to grind myself that hard. Even if they had, I wouldn’t have listened.
One year, I ran two marathons within weeks of each other. I didn’t hit my goal time in the first one, so I ran another. I still didn’t hit it. My body was so tired, but I didn’t know how to listen. I kept thinking that if I pushed harder, trained more, and logged extra miles, then I’d get the results I wanted.
I’ve had good races, bad races, and very, very bad ones. My last in 2021 was a personal worst by two hours, leading to a wave of depression that consumed me for weeks after. I was so angry with myself. I could not accept that the weather conditions that day were awful, that my training hadn’t gone well, that I was in emotional tatters due to a family tragedy that had occurred just six weeks prior. Despite all of this, I could not celebrate that I had even attempted the race and ultimately finished it. I felt like a major failure.
If my finish times were only getting slower, what was the point of doing these stupid marathons at all? Running did not feel good, and I was slow as hell. I shoved my finishing medal into box in a closet, embarassed by what it represented. It was time to hang up my running shoes, probably for good.
Exactly one year later, I became a mother. The bleary-eyed whirlwind of that first year made me crave movement to feel like myself again. Pushing my son’s stroller on slow walks along the 606 Trail, the passing runners made me jealous. I wanted to be one of them. But I didn’t think I could.
Running felt out of reach. My postpartum body felt like someone else’s. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept a full night. None of my running clothes or sports bras fit. Yet, the biggest hurdle wasn’t physical. It was the fear of failing to meet my previous performance. I’d once run sub 9-minute miles with ease. No way could I do that now. Maybe I never would again.
As I tried to drown out the persistent voice pressuring me to snap back after pregnancy, I wondered: Did I truly crave reclaiming my performance-obsessed runner identity? The role model I envision for my son isn’t a mother consumed by self-criticism. To see him be that hard on himself would be heartbreaking. I want my son to pursue things for the pure joy of them, not to “crush goals.”
Could I be someone who didn’t live and die by her split times? Could I run for… like… pure enjoyment? I decided to try. After getting fitted for new shoes (turns out my feet grew!), I gradually built up my endurance to run one mile without stopping. Then I ran another, and another mile more. My steps felt slow and unfamiliar at first. Not only was I learning to run in a body that had undergone massive change, I was trying to change my mindset, too. I was trying to find new reasons.
I even joined a running group, which I’d always avoided. I had been a solitary runner and considered it a badge of honor that I could slog through so many miles on my own. First, the group was for accountability. But as friendships started developing, I looked forward to seeing my buddies at group runs. It became an unspoken way for me to ask for help, something I’m generally terrible at. Running with people meant they could help pull me through if I was struggling on a run, and that I could do the same for them.
I started to remember the others reasons why I like running. It gives me space to allow my mind to wander, no emails to reply to or laundry to fold. It makes me feel strong. My sleep is better, my energy is higher, and my anxiety is lower, which in turn makes me a better parent and partner. And during the glorious Chicago summers, I feel camaraderie with hundreds of other runners on the Lakefront Trail training for their own races.
My son is now an active toddler now who loves to run, jump, and dance. His pure kid energy is infectious. I hope he keeps this intrinsic love of movement forever. I hope I can follow suit.
In two days, he turns two. The Chicago Marathon is this weekend. This time, I won't be cheering for the elite women running from the sidelines. I'll be pounding the pavement alongside 50,000+ others, miles behind the pros, but miles ahead of where I was when I gave birth two years ago.
I’m not chasing a personal record. Simply crossing the finish line will be a victory. Heck, getting to the starting line feels like one. Just a year ago, I couldn’t even run a mile. Now I’m about to run my 10th marathon exactly 20 years after my first. In some ways it feels like the first time because I had to start from zero and approached this training cycle with a completely different mindset.
I’ve discovered new reasons to run this silly 26.2-mile race, and it has nothing to do with trying to beat a former version of myself. I’m prepared to run a smart, strategic race, but most importantly, I’m ready to have fun and celebrate what my body can do.
Wish me luck!
More from Betsy
And now, for an unexpected plot twist!
This morning, as I was biking to work, this idea just popped into my head and effectively said, “Hi there. I’m here. And now that I’m here, you will think of nothing else.”
✍️ Want to read more of my writing? Check out my piece in the Readers Write section of The Sun, my essay on Medium, or my op-ed in the Chicago Sun-Times.
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You are amazing!!
Good Luck, B! I had no idea younfaced these struggles. Motherhood is a natural path to learning not to be so hard on yourself. You're doing great!