Long distance runner

What you standing there for?

What makes someone a runner? 

The question puzzled me for years. Sure, I ran a little for cardio and general fitness back in my 20s and 30s, but that didn’t make me a runner. Watching real runners blaze by, the effortless way they moved their bodies seemed so elusive. They looked so free and easy, unlike say, me, who grimaced and grunted through occasional four-mile efforts. I couldn’t help but wonder how they got to that place. 

Seven years ago, right after the Boston marathon bombing and just before the birth of my son, I made up my mind to become a runner. 

The people in my life should be forgiven for doubting this was more than a passing interest. I wasn’t in the best shape, which is to say I wasn’t in any kind of shape. I went to the gym a couple of times a week, but it had been years since I followed any kind of a workout plan. With my 40s beckoning, it was pretty much now or never. Honestly, if you knew me back then, you would have put money on never. 

There was something about running, however, that just felt right. My fitness may have been lacking and my form was a mess of coiled-up tension, but running brought out something inside me that I later came to recognize as resilience. I knew it was in there, somewhere. I just didn’t know how to tap into it, or how to make it work for me.  

To be sure, I did begin with a small base of knowledge. I had competed on cross country teams in middle school and high school, and continued to run sporadically in my 20s and 30s. I liked the feeling of going out for a run; coming home sweaty and renewed. In my mind I could still run a six-minute mile whenever I wanted, even though my body disagreed vehemently. 

During those years, I competed in a handful of road races -- shoutout to the Broad Street Run -- and enjoyed the experiences. After the events were over, however, running would inevitably drop lower on my list of priorities, ensuring there was no real progression or growth. 

So, vowing to become a runner as my 40s dawned was a declaration of sorts. It was a line drawn in the sands of time between youthful energy and sedentary middle age. But what was I declaring? Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I just wanted to feel like a runner, whatever that felt like, and I figured the rest would take care of itself.  

I did make one tangible goal: to qualify for the Boston Marathon. This seemed like something real runners ought to be able to do, and with so many people pledging to run Boston following the bombing, I wanted to do it in a way that honored the race. 

Determined to learn from previous false starts. I started small and built a base. I followed a training plan for the first time since high school, tracking my mileage in a spiral notebook. I learned about speedwork and hills while reading up on recovery, strength training, and nutrition. 

Beginning with 5Ks, I worked my way up to the half marathon and enjoyed enough success to think qualifying was within reach. It wasn’t. On my first attempt, I collapsed mentally in the final six miles and missed the 3:15 time I needed to qualify by eight minutes. On the second, I gave out physically after 17 evenly-paced 7-minute miles, finishing even further off the mark.  

When I finally did run Boston as a charity entrant, it was not the life-changing experience I was expecting. By the midway point in Wellesley I wanted to be anywhere but on the course. When I finally crossed the finish line on Boylston, I felt absolutely nothing. Not pain, not relief, and certainly not joy. Doubt began to creep into my mind. Maybe, I wasn’t really a runner, after all.

Brought on in part by my failure at Boston and in part by a whole host of other things, a serious bout of depression followed.

It was around this time that I discovered trail running and it was as if a whole new world revealed itself. The trails forced me to become a smarter runner, more disciplined and focused. Slower yes, but tougher and (here’s that word again) resilient. 

Almost a year to the day after running Boston in front of thousands of cheering people, I completed my first 50K on a cold, raw Sunday morning on an unmarked course with only my wife and child waiting for me at the finish line. In the woods, scrambling over roots and chunks of rock, I found a place where I truly felt like I belonged.

After dozens of races, thousands of miles, and way more gear than anyone should ever own, it finally occurred to me that I was a runner the moment I first stepped out the door with the intention of taking those initial steps. There was no great epiphany or revelatory moment. At some point, being a runner evolved from a way of staying fit into a way of being human. I began to think of myself as a runner, and I was. 

I’ve learned so much during these past seven years, most of it self-taught. Many of those lessons came the hard way -- you never really think about microspikes until you’re sliding on sheets of ice. Some of those lessons are so profound that you feel like you’ve known about them forever. (Turns out, positive self-talk is really important.)

Mostly, I know that I’ll never know everything. That’s what this project is all about. I’m in pursuit of knowledge earned with every step forward. Quite honestly, running is only a part of the equation. That’s why I decided to call it Running, Probably. 

The word probably is going to do some work. It encompasses everything from yoga and meditation to strength training, nutrition, recovery, and sleep. It will also include thoughts on parenting, aging, relationships, mental health, spirituality, and all the things that go into a life well lived. There may even be some basketball. 

All of those things play a part in my development as a runner and led me on a journey of self discovery. To this point it’s been a solo mission. I rarely run with other people and much prefer being out on my own, alone with my thoughts. I never get lonely or bored when I run alone, but I also can’t help thinking that I’ve taken that approach as far as it can go. 

The time is right to open up my world and connect with like-minded people, whether you’re training for a 100-miler or thinking about starting a couch-to-5K program. My goal with Running, Probably is not to serve as a coach, guru or instructor. I am none of those things. Instead, I want to create a place where runners can come together and learn from one another. 

It doesn't matter if you lace up your sneakers for a jog or to barrel down a mountain. Whether you get on the mat for practice or just remember to breathe is beside the point. If you desire to evolve, you are a runner, probably.

I hope you’ll join me.