the ups and downs of running - literally

I started running again. This might sound like no big deal to many of you, “Oh, running, great!” but it’s actually super exciting. I tore my meniscus a few years ago then re-tore it and had a surgery and “did” some rehab and gave up my running “career” in high school pretty much all for this bum knee of mine. I hated my knee for taking me out of running, but as I’ve started running again — allowing me lots of reflection and time with myself — I’ve began to realize that my relationship with running, runs (no pun intended) deeper than I originally thought.

I started running from a young age, well, heck I’ve been running for just about forever. My dad is a cross country coach. I was born mid-track season and cross country season started a few months after that. I sported my cross country bucket hats to every meet and cheered along my dad and his runners. Our family’s Thanksgiving tradition involved trips up to Fresno for the cross country state meet and I thought that Mt. Sac was where every family took their vacations. Needless to say, I couldn’t wait to run. Running was this deep connection to my dad — the man I looked up to (and still do!) I ran my first “race” when I was 10. It was the kids fun run at the Rose Bowl and I took training very seriously. My dad and I trained with my friend Emma for that race for a few weeks and I was so excited to finally be running! with a bib and EVERYTHING! It was the greatest experience for my 10 year old self — I took off (my dad said too quickly, something I never learned!) and ran that whole 1K with a massive smile on my face

(proof —>) I won the kid’s race, got featured in the newspaper, and figured I was set up for a lifetime of successful running.

Then one day my idiot-self jumped off a wall and shattered parts of my patella and tore a whole load of things. Getting back into running after my knee injury was a pain, to say the least. I was out of shape, out of practice, and caught in the middle of puberty which left my lopsided, lumpy body confused about why I was willingly shaking it to and fro down a dirt road. I neglected to fully rehab my knee (aka set myself up for failure) and left each practice or attempt of running with more pain than before. I ended up giving up, as many do. Things got hard, and the new type of hard that manifested wasn’t one I was ready to confront. I’d run here and there, and sharp shooting pains in my knees, chest, and stomach reminded me why I hadn’t hit the pavement any sooner. I still went to cross country meets, my voice hoarse from cheering on classmates and friends. I road home in the van packed with smelly bodies and a sea of orange — I wanted to be in those uniforms. I wanted to run, but at the same time, feared ever having to move my body faster than a leisurely stroll ever again.

Fast forward a few years though, and I only pulled a quick stint in anything running related. My knee gave out (again), my shins hurt, my boobs were too big, and I began to hate my dad (sorry, dad). Running and everything that encompassed it represented pain and anger and frustration. The pain was no longer the redemptive pain post practice with the rapid heart beat and massive stomach ache and aching limbs — the pain that showed you the fruits of your labor. It wasn’t even the mental pain that manifests in every hill workout or at a meet and you know you’re about to get your ass whooped, but hey, that’s what you trained for. No, this pain was a new type of pain. A physical and mental pain that stabbed deep beneath the body and mind.

When I went abroad my junior year of high school to France and realized how much I loved and missed my dad, I found myself craving that connection with him (since he was no longer physically there). The deepest connection always manifested in running, so, I began running again. Everyday. I started off with a mile or two, but once my eating disorder realized how phenomenal of a calorie-burner this was, my days were filled with running. Six mile runs to wake up. Five mile runs during our two hour lunch break - AH! The Europeans! Four mile warm ups for my three mile night runs with a two mile cool down. One lap around the entire city when I wanted actual mileage. My knee never hurt… kinda. It never hurt while running, but the black and blue swelling I treated each night told me otherwise. But, everyday I excitedly FaceTimed my dad to talk about running. I was finally going to be on the team! I got back in the groove! The more I ran, the faster I got. The more I ran, the skinnier I became, so the faster I got. My sub 5:50 mile times were impressive on paper and over FaceTime calls which didn’t reveal the body that was carrying me through the hours of feet pounding ground. My times became another number displaying worth. Weight. Mileage. Mile time. Calorie count. Pills taken. My identity was broken down into a string of numbers in which I could find value and worth. High grades, low weight. High mileage, low calories. Fast time, slow eating. I couldn’t keep track of it all, so I kept running to try and forget.

Fast forward again, when I found out I was going to treatment for my eating disorder, the first thought that popped into my head was, “I’m going to have to stop running. Please, don’t make me stop running” Because, yes, running was for weight loss; I readily admitted that. But running was so much more than that. Take away the eating disorder and running was such a deep part of me — connections with my father, mental toughness, physical strength, pure joy in adventure to new places, a fuel for spontaneity, a sport that literally makes no sense but is so phenomenally whacked out… running was so much more than a pair of shoes and a trail to conquer. Yes, I got “good" through an eating disorder (which are sadly incredibly common amongst runners), but I also found good in all that it gave me… sans anorexia.

I stopped running (not by choice) in residential treatment. I began eating fueling my body and that fuel gave my body the strength it so needed… in other words, I weight restored. The first time I ran after treatment I started sobbing. I was obviously out of shape, but all the parts of running that brought me so much pain (and remember, not the good kind) overtook my entire self. My knee hurt — anorexia had been the “mental toughness” (note the false-ness of it through my use of “”) needed to shut out any pain receptors that my knee might ignite. My chest hurt, partially from the crying, but partially from the weight restoration largely manifesting itself in my boobs. My clothes felt wrong, and my lumpy body once again asked why I even put on my shoes for a run. So I stopped for a bit, until the end of my senior year of high school when my track star best friend Jessica Lopez encouraged me to go out for track, for fun though! My sister, a freshmen at the time, was (is) 400x the athlete that I am, and she definitely outran/beat me in everything. But I wanted to wear that uniform. I wanted to run again. Well, friends, it was so embarrassing. I picked up this thing where I ran with my tongue sticking out of my mouth and I lost every single race and I cried looking at the photos of me in my singlet because my body wasn’t at all how a “runner’s should look” (whatever that means). But I was running and the pain in it was the good pain.

i'm sorry, huh?

just... i just can't believe these exist

I sadly re-tore my meniscus one week after track season ended while line dancing on our senior trip — pathetic? YES! Fun experience (besides the meniscus tear)? 100%. The orthopedic surgeon said I could rehab it but wouldn’t need surgery. That translated in my mind to, “Don’t run too much and just keep an eye on it. You’re good!” Well, by second semester freshmen year I was getting surgery on my meniscus. I was crushed. My up and down relationship with running felt like it had hit a rock-bottom. I semi-fully accepted that I would never run again… and yes, I know that “semi-fully” does not make any sense.

Then, a few weeks ago I was looking through old photos and I found some of my dad at cross country meets. I took a trip down memory lane and found every photo from every cross country meet I went to (which is a lot) and then watched old CIF races (I know, weird) and next thing I know, my running shoes were on, and my new favorite running jam, Beacon by Matt Duncan was floating through my headphones. It was a horrible run. No really, I was exhausted before the song was over and I think I only cleared a solid 2 laps. But it was SO MUCH FUN! That "good pain” was back in my body and my knee didn’t hurt at all. I’ve been running ever since then. The other day, I actually ran 5 miles—which was partially due to the fact that I was pissed off, but also dang, Shae! Woo!

So why am I writing about running? Well, it’s something I’m doing pretty often so it’s floating around in my mind up there. I’ve also had a lot of conversations about running recently. Running is super interesting. In theory, it’s this really easy and accessible thing. You pick your legs up a little faster than you do while walking, and you can really do it anywhere. But then, you’re actually running and want to die. You willingly induce all the symptoms of a panic attack like shortness of breath, foggy brain, and body aches. It’s this thing you want to do, but simultaneously, the last thing on earth you’d ever want to do. Running is one of those analogies that people use for toughness or perseverance or hard work. I think Westmont’s own track/cross-country coach, Russell Smelley, summed it up best in his recent chapel talk saying, “If anyone in this audience wants to accomplish something worthwhile, we will have to suffer the work necessary to make that goal… here is my challenge for each of you today to get your focus on choosing how to suffer fruitfully” Suffering fruitfully requires perseverance and character. Running, for many, is a chosen form of fruitful suffering (key word: fruitful). That is a more eloquent way of my saying “ya know, the good pain”

I have suffered in running, I have suffered because of running, and now I semi-bear the fruits of running despite the physical and mental toughness it requires on my body and mind. Running has caused me to grow. It’s changed me and transformed me. It’s brought me people and forged relationships, and in some ways, has taken me away from people (through the eating disorder’s manipulation of it) Running requires a deeply personal relationship with you and your body/mind; it requires a deeply personal commitment to your body/mind as well. To sum it all up — running sucks, but I love it. It’s carried me and completely wrecked me, but in it all, that whacked out, up and down relationship holds sustenance, joy, and so many memories.