The Enlightening Summer of the Asthmatic Human Bulldog
How I learned WHO I AM by running 6km a day and breaking a pinkie
Some years ago, I took a life-changing decision: since I hated running, I would go for a 6 km run whenever I was having a bad day. Logical, right?
It is 2016. I live in Amsterdam, unemployed, unknowingly hunting for a design job using the wrong portfolio, in the midst of an identity crisis. In a word, I am desperate-ish.
Luckily, it is summer and the Dutch weather is giving us a lovely break from wind, cold and sprinkles.
The apartment I’m staying in — the 14th in 6 years — is overlooking a beautiful lake in the West of the city. Its 6-km shore and the surrounding park become my daily spiritual refuge, for walks and chats with Giorgio, my partner.
One thing you have to know is that Giorgio is a runner. Whenever he is traveling, his running shoes go with him and the first thing he does is discovering the place by jogging — morning, afternoon, evening, only the night and stray dogs can (almost) stop him.
That summer, he convinces me to go running with him. Have I already mentioned how deeply I hate that activity?
The first time we try, I have to stop 723-meters in and lay down on the muddy side of the path. I do not know what is stronger, the urge to pass out or to puke.
Giorgio kindly sits me up on a bench, makes sure I am alright, gives me a pity kiss on the side of the head, finishes the lap and carries me home, like a sack of potatoes.
The second time is not much better. By the 5th time, I start to get my mind and body around the strange activity that is running.
Some Fun Facts I learn:
- Running is NOT an apnea sport — and that Fainting Red does not go well with my complexion;
- Running and caponata do not work well together 🤮 ;
- Running on empty does not work either 😵 ;
- You are allowed to take breaks while running!!! ( I know, right? NOBODY tells you that!)
With these precautions in place, I make myself a promise — pinky-swear!
This summer, I'll go running every day when I'm having a bad day and by the end of the season, I’ll be able to run like Giorgio.
I can totally imagine you, Reader, raising your skeptic’s eyebrows and be like:
<<Well, Gaia, that’s a bit too much, don’t you think? Asthmatic bulldog my ass, this is going to be one of those frilly-milly articles where the girl ends up telling how amazing the experience was and how everybody should go running because “It’s just great! You can do it too!” while I feel guilty sitting on my couch eating potato chips>>
Sorry to disappoint you, this is not your typical Epic Win runner story.
The summer of the Asthmatic Human Bulldog.
One month and 1/2 in, I am still huffing and puffing like an asthmatic bulldog among a bunch of very well trained people*.
*Everybody is “very well trained” in your imagination — even the old man with the oxygen tank.
Everybody within 200 meters moves away from the running path because they hear me coming. Everybody is staring, I can feel those pitiful disgusted glances cutting through the sweat armor I am holding on to exceedingly tight, adding some kind of a protective layer. It is extremely embarrassing and degrading.
It would be so much simpler quitting and dying right there, like an oversized drooling bulldog amongst grinning lions.
Why the F*** am I doing this?!
Pardon my French, this is what I am thinking. I am not chained to anybody, I could simply stop and walk away. No harm done, no harm taken.
Suddenly, I push for a couple of steps more.
One more step for me, for being out there in the first place.
The second more step is for the Ideal me, the one that has already won marathons, climbed the Everest, skipped to the top of the Kilimanjaro and made the grinning lions bite the dust.
The Ideal Me that one day maybe will exist in real life but at the moment it is only in my imagination and it is the one deeply ashamed of me.
Because I am not “where” I am supposed to be. Because I am not the person I wished I would be by this time now, physically, professionally, emotionally.
When this hits me, first I start crying, my contacts get tangled between tears and sweat, my breathing gets possibly even worse from sobbing.
Then, I start not to give a shit anymore.
About the people around me and the ones in my head.
About the “Hey Girl” shirtless guys that distract me and that are distracted by me for all the wrong reasons.
About the annoying salty stream going down from the forehead into my eyes. About the “perspiration” that makes my blow-dried hair frizzy in an instant.
About the bad mood.
About the perfect job, I cannot find.
About my flabby butt.
About the saliva, I am not able to spit and is now all over my pants and shirt.
About the jeans that got tighter because I started doing sports again #irony
About the burning calves and the squealing lungs.
About the old man that already overpassed me twice, smiling and waving.
I take those 2 more steps, and 2 more, and 2 more again, until the 6 km are behind me and I am heading for a second lap.
Giorgio stops me at the drinking fountain: <<Don’t you wanna go rest?>>.
I shake my head and continue on the running path. He shouts: <<I’ll see you at home!>> but I’m already too far ahead to hear him.
That day, I completed my first 12 km since 7 years.
So Long, and Thank You for the Fish!
That summer I did not learn how to run like Giorgio. Few days after those 12-km run, he accidentally broke my pinkie toe while playing soccer and I had to stay at rest for 6 weeks until it healed. Legends say he was getting afraid of the competition, but who knows!
But I did learn something way more important.
Up to that point, I spent so much time on cultivating activities that defined my persona so that when people asked, I had my answer ready depending on the occasion: “I am a designer! I am an art director! I am a volunteer at a soup kitchen! I am a baker! I am a runner! I am this or that or that again!”.
It is so easy to define yourself by what you do, it becomes the natural way to go in a society that needs a business card to remember your name and to put you in a well-defined category.
By the time I hit 28 years old, I had been so many things I turned into a shape-shifter, but when everything was taken away (no job, no running, no baking for the office…), the question remained: Who am I?
That summer, I learned that my identity is not based on what I do.
I am not a designer. I am not a baker. I am not a good person.
- I help Social Enterprises design more impactful services through sustainable design & business mentorship.
- I enjoy cooking and baking way too much!
- I make choices that are hopefully in the direction of mine and others’ higher good.
Transferring the "activity" from what defines your identity to simply an action you are partaking opens up a whole new world of possibilities and expansion for the Person you are.
It also consequently means that it is okay to change, with time, and day after day. That you are not stuck in one single definition of You.
I know the word "fluid" became an overused trend lately, but that is exactly the right word in this context.
You are fluid, you change by the day. One day you might be running 723 meters huffing and puffing; another day, 12 km and have no fears; the day you cannot run anymore, nothing is taken away from your individuality.
You are still You. No Impostor there, no fake persona; there is only You and everything else you create that day.
So, what do you want to create today?
If you found this article useful, please share it with fellow Soul Searchers who can benefit from it! :)
You are You.
Everything else, you create.
