Membership

This is an essay I wrote this past April.  I never did anything with it and although life is a little different now, I figured I'd share.

My membership card had been revoked. Every month when my Runners World arrived it was painstakingly clear I was no longer part of the club….of runners.

I used to run, in high school and then I started again a few years ago.  Although I loved owning the cutest running clothes and knowing who was favored to win the next marathon, I was never very good at running. 

I would read about short runs, long distance runs and speed work and wonder how I could manage all this, when I was focused on making it through the first mile. 

Just as I was making progress (or so I felt), I got mono.  And as the doctor said “its just not so easy at your age”.  For the first time in my life I was be faced with the realization that I was no longer “just out of college” and I could “push through it”. 

We all know how the story goes, weeks became months and months became two years.  Every month my magazine would arrive and bring with it a reminder of the potential I was not reaching.  It would also taunt me a little, showing me a glimpse into a club of which I was no longer apart, runners.  People who went out and punished themselves day after day in the pursuit of happiness and being a better runner. 

Sure I still worked out.  I hiked and used the ellipse and spin bike I have in my living room, but it was never the same. 

So one day, when the snow was still on the ground here in New England, my shoes started calling me.  I’m not sure what made me think of running, or more importantly, what possessed me to strap on my shoes, some thermal pants and leave my heated car seats for the trail.  Once I started running the story was typical.  I panted, stopped running and almost cried.  But at the same time I woke up something inside of myself.

I felt that although I wasn’t a runner in anyone else’s eyes, I’d become on again in my own.  When my next magazine arrived, it wasn’t scolding or a painful reminder; it was a welcome back hug.

As time had gone on, I’ve improved.  I’m not running a marathon or breaking speed records.  I’m a busy, small business owner who desperately tries to carve out thirty minutes to head into the woods to run.  This makes me a runner.  We all use a lot of subjective adjectives to describe ourselves, runner is one of mine.

I don’t have abs or buns of steel and I’m not training for a race.  Everyday and every run is a batter of woman versus herself.  My mind still races when I put on my shoes and gear up my iPod. 

The moral of this story isn’t mine alone.  The moral of this story is that we are all runners.  No matter how fast are or how far we can go.  We face our own challenges each and every time we head out for a run.  Whether it’s a marathon or a mile, we all have the same spirit, determination and possibly, craziness that gives us all membership to the same club.