The Running Mom: It’s Really All About the Journey

For years I religiously kept a running journal, obsessively entering my mileage, time, and route whenever I headed out for a run. I included special explanations on days when my times were extra slow (very humid … still had migraine … upset stomach) or on those occasions when I achieved a personal record time on one of my standard West Hartford neighborhood routes.

I’ve been running and racing for several decades and even though I have (almost) always liked running, the motivation was more about training for the next race and getting faster rather than about savoring the experience of just running.

It’s hard for my Type-A self to admit this, but now that I am in my early 50s (that’s also hard for me to admit or even believe) my PR days are likely behind me. My fastest 5K (24:01 – could never quite break that 24-minute mark) was achieved about seven years ago. I ran a sub-4-hour marathon back in 2001, and a few half marathons right around 1:51 (could never break 1:50) within the past decade, but this year I was happy to squeak in at just under two hours in the Hartford Half. I used to run more 10Ks than 5Ks when I lived in the DC area (I think it was more of a common distance back then, when there weren’t as many casual racers) and logged my fastest time of just over 49 minutes nearly 20 years ago in the 1993 Jingle Bell run when a male co-worker challenged me by saying he couldn’t be “beaten by a girl.”

And even though I still time myself (no more  journals though), I finally realize that whether I am alone with my iPod or chatting with a running partner, the positive experience has become much more about appreciating the day, the interesting people and places I see along the way, and the fact that even if I have slowed down I am still running strong after all these years.

My knee was bothering me a bit on Monday morning, but that didn’t stop me from lacing up my Mizunos and heading out on one of my standard routes.

I saw “golf bag man” – and thought once again that I would love to interview him one day and find out why he walks around this part of town carrying his golf bag, in all kinds of weather including when Rockledge Golf Club is most definitely closed for the season. I did not see “neon gloves” or the friendly older man who always alternates walking with jogging across intersections.

No wild animal sightings either, and no sign of the twin red-tailed hawks who dive-bombed in front of me last week.

I noticed which households had been hard at work raking and bagging leaves over the weekend, greeted the crossing guard near Sedgwick Middle School with a smile and a wave, and enjoyed the music that my lime green iPod nano (that has not been updated in several years and is always kept on shuffle) chose for me this morning. In case you are wondering, I do own an iPhone that has up-to-date music on it, but I like the nano better for running. Today’s mix included a bit of Bruce Springsteen, U2, Nickelback, and something from a Broadway show.

Despite a rather mellow start (James Taylor) and the tricky knee, I was home exactly 40 minutes later (well really 40:00.07) which is a bit faster than the “new usual,” but slower than the 38 to 39 minutes it used to take to run that same route.

But during those 40 minutes I also had the time to write this in my head, and to think about how fast everything else in life seems to be passing by.

When my kids were little I would often find myself eagerly anticipating getting through a certain stage, thinking things would be easier once they started walking, or talking, or dressing themselves, or riding a bike, or going places without a parent.

My daughter, now a college freshman, has been driving for more than two years now and I will admit that the logistics became easier once she got her license, but that independence brought a whole new set of worries.

Before I left on my Monday morning run, my 15-year-old high school sophomore son (he will be 16 in less than six months, and I do not have happy thoughts about him driving any time soon) got a ride to Conard High School with a senior, a girl he has known for his entire life. It just seemed so weird.

We moved from the DC area to our current home in West Hartford the weekend that my daughter turned 3 and just a few weeks before my son was born. Nearly every family on the street had kids, and the “big” kids were mostly in upper elementary school. One of those kids is now a teacher and coach, one is an orthodontist, one is in medical school, one is in law school, one is an investment banker, several are married. The “little” kids from those days are now in college or close to it, and the next crop is right on their heels.

It seems we’ve traveled this journey so quickly. Most of the same families still live here, and while the parents don’t seem much older their children have completely transformed.

I’ve had a lot more time to think over the past few months as I consider the next direction my career will take. But I am happy to have had the chance to slow down a little bit, happy that I could spend some quality time with my daughter before she left for college, happy that I didn’t miss a single one of my son’s Conard soccer games this fall.

I’ve had more time to run and have learned to appreciate it more, even if I have had to admit that I am slower.

I don’t think I will ever stop being a Type-A person, but that won’t prevent me from enjoying the journey.