What I've learned running through a pandemic

From early morning wake-up calls to moments of gratitude, my relationship with running has changed dramatically.

Do you remember back in the early days of COVID lockdowns when everyone hated runners? It was late March or early April as I recall, although that whole period is really just a blur. My memory says that it only lasted a week or so, but for a while things were tense. 

Every time I went out for a run, I felt eyes on me that had never been there before. Where before people either ignored or tolerated my running, now they viewed me as a harbinger of death and disease. Just thinking about it feels like visiting an alternative dimension. 

I blame the Medium man; that computer-generated simulation spewing toxic droplets all over everything. It was used to illustrate a study that turned out to be an unpublished paper lacking peer review. (I’m not linking to it. You can find it if you want.)  

The study’s findings were not as dramatic as they first seemed. The takeaway was basically don’t run in groups and maintain distance, both of which seem rather obvious. 

At the time it was published, however, that illustration was so vivid and had such a viral impact -- pardon the double meaning -- it seemed running would soon join the growing list of banned activities. I began mentally preparing to run endless 30-foot laps in my backyard. That was the backup plan. 

Another thing that happened around that time was cities and towns began closing playgrounds and other shared spaces. That forced everyone into the same slivers of open territory. One of the places people went were the trails. My trails. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I believe trail running saved my life. Those trails had provided a safe haven long before the pandemic hit and were like a second home to me. When they were overrun with people who didn’t know -- and didn’t care to know -- basic trail etiquette, it felt like they were attacking my own habitat. 

I tried being magnanimous about the whole thing. I can’t be an advocate for getting people out in nature and then be pissed off because they all show up at once. Still, given the impact of so many people gathering in one place, I figured it was only a matter of time before trails closed. Again, the backyard beckoned. 

None of that actually happened. The trails in Massachusetts remained open. I’m grateful for that and believe it was the right decision. Tensions toward runners eased a little, the public’s attention soon shifted, and runners went back to being anonymous weirdos. I’m grateful for that too. 

In a sense, very little has changed about my running during COVID. I still get out there 4-5 times a week and average between 35-50 miles depending on what I’m doing with my training.  

On the other hand, everything is completely different. From the time I leave the house to the places I go and the way I approach training, my relationship with running has grown and evolved during the pandemic. Where running used to help me feel better about myself, now I believe it helped get me through the stress and strain of life with COVID more than any other factor. I’ve run more miles, climbed higher, and spent more time outdoors than any year previously. 

Beyond that, the pandemic has crystalized the role running plays in my life. Outside of family, running has become my top priority. While I’ve gone to great lengths to protect and nurture my ability to continue doing it safely, it’s also become the focus of my work. Running gives me focus and direction. That was always kind of true in theory, but now that I’ve put it into practice, I feel like I’ve found my purpose as a writer.  

It sounds counterintuitive, but I’ve also learned not to take myself so seriously when I have a bad day, or an injury, or when training hits a lull. After glimpsing a world without running, I’m no longer afraid of what I would do if it was taken away. Instead, I try to take a moment before each run to express gratitude for my health and the opportunity to be out there all alone. 

This is the new normal, and there’s a lot to take with me from it into the future. Here are a few of my biggest takeaways.  

5:30 a.m. 

I’m so used to getting up early that I habitually roll over around 5:27 a.m. to turn off the alarm so I won’t wake up my wife even when it’s not set. On the rare occasions when I do sleep to the buzzer, she curses me out and then tells me to have a good run, thus encapsulating the role running plays in our relationship. 

By the time I’ve stumbled downstairs to eat breakfast, had a chance to digest, and gotten out of the house, I’m usually able to hit the trail a little before daylight. I get up that early to avoid people, but I’ve come to love running in the pre-dawn light. Those moments of silent darkness in the morning while I get ready have also become a cherished bit of quiet time. 

Even though I’ve always been a morning run person, getting out that early required a  major life adjustment. At first, I would find myself completely exhausted by the end of the week. After a while, I was able to move my bedtime up to accommodate the early wakeup calls. Now, I can barely make it past 10 p.m. before falling asleep. That’s OK. I don’t think I’m missing much. 

The other reason I get up that early is to make it home in time for my wife to start her workday and our kid to start Zoom school. After working from home for more than a decade, having the two of them in the house all day, every day has been the most significant life adjustment by far. 

You know what selfish thing I miss the most about the before times? The hours of uninterrupted quiet after coming home from my runs. I try not to dwell too much on the future, but I sometimes catch myself thinking about a world where my wife is at work and my kid is at school. When that happens, I’m still going to get up before the sun rises and go to bed soon after it sets. I’m happier this way.  

The facemask as social construct 

I wear a Buff band around my neck when I run. When I see other people on the trail, I pull it over my face. My Buff has many uses, but I’ve never once considered it a surgical-grade facemask. Pulling a Buff over my face is a symbolic act, but I think it’s a valuable one. 

What the Buff says is that I’m taking the pandemic seriously, and I’d like you to do the same. If that means pulling up your facemask, or covering your mouth with your shirt, or just stepping off to the side so we can pass each other safely and comfortably, then the Buff has done its job. 

It doesn't always have that effect. Sometimes maskless people simply brush past me on narrow single track without a care in the world. During the summer, I got more than a few scoffs, although that behavior has changed dramatically the last few months. 

Most of the time, however, pulling a Buff over my face works as intended. It provides a moment of acknowledgment between myself and another human that we’re both in the same space. As a runner, it reminds me to slow down and give way to other trail users. Adding simple gestures -- a wave, a head nod, a cheery good morning -- offer an acknowledgment of our shared humanity. I’ll take all of that I can get right now. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’ll be incredibly stoked to leave the Buff band at home someday, especially in the summer when it’s hot and humid. 

But I’m going to try to remember to slow down and acknowledge others when I’m out on the trail instead of blazing past them like obstacles in my way. I’m going to remember those moments when two strangers acknowledge each other’s right to exist and act accordingly. 

The endless training cycle

I ran one race in 2020. It was a virtual 50K in April that I had been training for since the start of the year. It was on an unmarked course close to my house that I knew by heart. I ran it alone on a Wednesday to avoid weekend crowds. As it turned out, I ran it on the same day I was officially furloughed by Vox Media, which I think was fitting. 

Only a handful of people competed and I came in third. My first podium finish. 

Third place!

When that race was over I had to figure out what to do next. I knew I would continue running, but to quote the great Ricky Watters: “For who? For what?” 

I kept training because running was an oasis of normalcy in a completely abnormal world. My schedule provided stability and structure, not just for me, but for my whole family. It was a way to mark time beyond endless home days and a work-life balance that has become hopelessly fuzzy. 

Whereas before, running was something I did for myself, now it had to fit into the larger universe of homelife. There were a few sacrifices to make. In addition to waking up early, I moved some of my runs and took rest days when I was needed at home. My family’s tolerance of the role my running plays in their lives is not infinite, but it is vast. That’s something I appreciate more than ever.  

Training just to train has obvious drawbacks. Without races, I’ve had to create little milestones to provide motivation. I’ve added new loops and explored new trails. I went an entire four-week training cycle without taking any nutrition on long runs just to see if I could. I finally embraced speedwork and hills to keep things interesting. 

Most of the time, just getting out there is enough. Sometimes it’s not. When that happens, I try to remind myself that it’s alright and there are more important things in the world. 

Still, I miss racing because I miss competing. I miss trying to nail the taper and the feeling you get after giving everything you had. I miss recovering from a race and thinking about the next one. Perhaps that break in competition was healthy, though. 

My main goal coming into 2020 was to complete a 50-miler. I was in the process of convincing myself that I was capable of handling the distance when COVID hit. Now, I’m positive that I’m ready for the training, and the race will take care of itself. That’s a significant change, maybe the most important one. 

When this is over, I’m going to still get up early, and I’m going to try and appreciate each day as it comes. I’m going to remember to explore new routes and to forgive myself when I’m not feeling my best. Mostly, I’m going to remain grateful for my health and the opportunity to run. It’s such a precious gift. I’m not going to take it for granted. 

Now that I’ve opened this Pandora’s Box, how about you? How has your relationship with running changed during COVID?