When I say that I have never been a runner, I am not being modest. I am not exaggerating my lifelong inability to move at a quick pace. I am a smell the roses kind of gal… or whatever gal I have to say that I am so long as I don’t have to break a sweat. Growing up, my motto in life as it related to physical activity was that I was not built for speed. Despite being enrolled in all types of sports growing up, that sort of physical exertion was never a priority for me. One of my mother’s favorite stories to tell about my childhood involves going to my soccer games and watching me be completely uninterested and shamelessly uninvolved in the action of the game. To this day, my mom still howls with laughter when telling me how all the kids would run on the field in the direction that the ball was moving and then there I would be, trailing behind, looking completely miserable. The ball would then change sides and everyone would run passed me in the opposite direction and I’d turn around completely exasperated, throwing my head back as if to say “Why!?” and then begrudgingly start my walk towards the other end of the field. It just wasn’t for me.
I remember using every excuse in the book to get out of running laps in high school when at tennis and cheerleading practice. I even went as far as to fake an injury on multiple occasions. I couldn’t believe that all these other kids were just running laps like it was no big deal and there I was, thinking it was the single most anatomically impossible task in the world. It’s not that I didn’t wish I could run, I wanted so badly to be like everyone else. I would have dreams that I was running around the high school track, weightless, and free from the burning sensation in my chest or the weight of my clumsy footsteps I inherited from my dad. I was a runner! I WAS BUILT FOR SPEED! Inevitably, I’d wake up and no forces of magic had taken root within me. Even when at the most physically fit of my adolescence, running was just not a part of my daily workouts. I sculpted and whittled down my body through the cardio achieved by weight lifting.
It wasn’t until being diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis a couple of years ago and confronting my tremendous fear of one day being immobilized, that this urge to want to run before it was too late took place in me again. Unfortunately, I was having an attack (some call it a relapse) and I was having trouble with my legs. Walking was harder for me than ever. My legs felt uneasy, my depth perception was off and it would cause me to misstep and fall. I truly felt (however melodramatic it might seem) that my legs would never be strong again and I was devastated. I told myself that if I ever had the chance to run again, I would never take it for granted.
Almost a year had passed, my legs were feeling better and my numbness was no longer constant. It seemed to have settled on visiting me every so often, like a nosey neighbor dropping by unannounced. It was the beginning of March 2020, the coronavirus pandemic was on the rise and I had just cancelled my gym membership ahead of the highly anticipated shutdowns because I knew that on my treatment, I was immunocompromised and wouldn’t be returning to a gym any time soon. So, I posted on Instagram asking if anyone knew where I could rent a treadmill or possibly purchase a used one. Within hours, a good friend of mine said she knew of someone trying to get rid of an old treadmill that they weren’t even sure was in working condition. I contacted the family getting rid of it, set a pickup for first thing that Saturday morning and that was it! Fate- or the closest thing to it. I strongly felt I was meant to have that machine.
The treadmill was old and in a million pieces. The couple explained to us that it came with their house, they’d never used it before and finally took it apart to make way for their baby’s nursery. The wife was so worried that it wouldn’t work, she gave me a Starbucks gift card because she felt guilty for giving me what could possibly be the heaviest, bulkiest pile of trash they’d ever gotten rid of. I didn’t see it that way at all. Here was this family, gifting me so much possibility and asking for nothing in return. I loved that the treadmill had a story and like me, she (yes, I am well known for giving pronouns to my inanimate objects) was imperfect and a little rough around the edges. I thought that if she was willing to work for me, I would work for her too and give her a second life.
My husband Jack and I spent 8 hours figuring out, with no directions, how to piece together a 12-year-old treadmill. The fact that our marriage survived us not even knowing if we had all of the parts let alone how to build a machine of that magnitude was (don’t hate me) SO ROMANTIC to us. We kept laughing at our failures, trying and trying again. It was comical how long it took us to figure out how to build this thing, but when she was done we felt incredible! We crossed our fingers, plugged her in and she worked! I made Jack test her out first, thinking that he was the most likely to recover from an injury if she decided to buck him off, but all was okay. I hopped on, picked up a light jogging pace and felt that the board under the running strip was slightly loose and bouncy. I don’t think that it was supposed to feel like that, but I felt like it gave me an extra pep in my step. Careful not to try and push her too far after having been out of commission for years (something the treadmill and I had in common), I set the speed to 4.5mph and continued to jog barefoot.
I felt entranced feeling more and more empowered as minutes flew by. I jogged 5 miles that day cold turkey with a HUGE grin on my face the entire time. I imagined myself back in high school, running on that track. I felt unstoppable, glancing over at Jack on the rowing machine beside me and calling out each mile as it passed. We were both stunned. I was, after all this time, a runner. Who fricken knew?!
I woke up the next day with soreness in places I didn’t even know it was possible to be sore. Oops, so much for not overdoing it. I didn’t care. I loved the soreness. It was my physical evidence that I hadn’t dreamt up those 5 miles from the day before. I earned that soreness. I told myself I wasn’t ever going to take my physical ability for granted again and so from that day forward for almost 3 months straight, I ran a minimum of 3 miles a day. I wish I could say that I worked my way up through steady commitment and that running hadn’t always been something that I was naturally capable of, but I truly began to understand that my mind was probably the only thing that held me back for all of those years. Better late to that realization than never, I thought. Part of me wished that it hadn’t taken an incurable illness to push me to this epiphany, but I can honestly say that being on the other side of that wall feels so good that I refuse to criticize myself for what got me there.
After becoming comfortable with running every day, I gradually increased my distance but soon realized that between 4 to 5 miles the treadmill would burn out. I was reaching the point where I felt that investing in a new treadmill would be worth it, and so with a heavy heart, I knew it was time to move on. I posted the treadmill online for $200 because momma didn’t raise no fool. Jack and I put sweat equity into that treadmill and I was keen on putting any money made from it into our down payment for our brand new Nordic Track that was on the way.
A day later, three young men arrived in their truck to pick her up. They were completely respectful and as sweet as could be. They told me how blessed they felt to find a treadmill and how they wanted to get back into shape during this time stuck at home. They were furloughed from their factory jobs and said they needed a way to pass the time. My heart melted into a puddle. “This treadmill has saved me in so many ways... I just want her to go to a good home and for someone else to benefit from her the way that I have. Please- keep your money.” All three of them began to say simultaneously that they were happy to pay what we’d agreed on, but I insisted. “We are in the middle of a pandemic. I can’t take your money. Just pay it forward whenever you’re able to.”
I truly feel that everyone left that brief encounter so much richer. I was filled to the brim with good spirit and the joy of seeing three young men investing in themselves the way that I had shortly before, and they drove off with a treadmill that I like to imagine has brought them as much joy as it did me. I watched as they drove away up the street, my treadmill folded up on their truck bed, eyes fogging with emotion as I said goodbye to a machine that I will forever feel grateful to.
I share this story because it is the honest to god truth. It isn’t packaged perfectly or a step by step guide to becoming a skilled runner. This is just how it happened for me. I can hear my close friends making fun of me already, laughing as they do so often about my emotional attachment to things. I am just an emotional person and I actually love that about myself. I think that my love for that treadmill is what made me feel accountable to it and in result, to myself. The love I felt for a machine that I so strongly connected to was my way of loving myself in a way that didn’t feel so foreign to me. Some might call it silly, or completely romanticized, but I sit here thinking about the multiple 5K’s and 10K’s I have run since and I can feel nothing but proud of myself. However it happened, I became the runner I always hoped to be and doing so might end up adding years to my life and mobility. While I can’t promise that everyone’s experience will be as cut and dry as mine was, I do hope that if there is anyone out there who can relate to feeling held back from doing something that they’ve always wanted to, that they use my little story as the catalyst for committing to doing it rather than waiting like I did, just to find out that all I had to do was click my heels together three times and poof. Running has become a part of my daily routine and I am thankful that it is something I am still able to do when I am struggling with the cognitive issues that have come with my MS. It has become an integral part of my treatment plan and a way that I can keep some sanity while being confined to my home this year. I am so thankful every single day, stepping on to my new treadmill and saying a little mantra to myself reminding me what a privilege it is to be able to run and keeping my promise to never ever let another day go by where I take my ability to do so for granted. May I continue to be so fortunate for many years to come.
The new girl has some big shoes to fill.
Lots of love,
Suni
コメント