From reluctant alcoholic to 26 miles: How I became a runner

A little bit of love, a little bit of obsession, a lot of bliss

I started running two and a half years ago because I fell in love. Not with running; with a runner. And there was something so attractive yet mystical about the way he described long distance running – a mental journey and struggle, overcoming body with mind, going through the process, reaching that state of bliss where you could keep on going. For someone like me who wholeheartedly believes in the power of struggle, and liked putting herself through situations that tested and pushed me mentally, running sounded like something I would love.

Soon I was picturing myself running endlessly, overcoming barrier after barrier, breaking wall after wall, and reaching this state of bliss that eluded me in my spiritual journey.

Reality dawned when this person took me for my first run – his ideal date he said. Two kilometers and I was done. Dreams of endlessly running to achieve bliss instantly fled, and the entire concept seemed ridiculous. Why on earth would you subject yourself to such boredom of long distance running? And how could this misery lead to bliss? I hated it, and I continued hating it until after I ran my first half marathon. Then something changed – I still hated it, but started loving the hate. I started seeing glimpses of everything that had been described to me, I started feeling fragments of bliss.

Slowly, I developed my own style, my own running equilibrium – I had made this gift my own. This was a year and a half ago. There have been ups and downs since, times when I’ve stopped running, when I couldn't get myself out to run because I associated it with the relationship, and when the relationship ended, I thought I’d lost the runner in me.

Each time I forgot that I had made running my own; that my running was a result of me now, and not the result of an external factor.

And so, to embed that fact in me forever, a few months ago I signed up for my first marathon (which I will be running in January 2015). Running a marathon is really no biggie today. I meet marathoners everywhere I go. I’ve ended up being surrounded by ultra-marathoners and triathletes in the last few years, and 26 miles really just feels like the beginning to me. But it is also marks the beginning of my journey to make this journey completely my own. And it is special for me. It is the first step. Ever since I met my first ultra-marathoner, I’ve wanted to be one – I’m still fascinated by that concept of achieving bliss through physical endurance, and I’ve only barely begun to understand it.

This is my journey from 13 to 26 miles… and then beyond, Inshallah.

This is my journey of moving on; it is my journey of finding myself.

It was a gift that was given to me, and the biggest gift it has given me is the ability and strength to respect myself enough to walk away from things that no longer serve me, grow me, or make me happy. And I want to share it.

To be continued….