FROM FLOOR TO 5K

THIS IS FOR MY FELLOW COUCH POTATOES

I have a love-hate relationship with running. What’s not to love about selecting your it-girl running fit, carefully curating the perfect upbeat Spotify playlist and hitting the running path feeling full of energy? Well, the second I start experiencing side cramps and what I can only assume is a life-ending heart arrhythmia, I remember what’s not to love. 

It’s a complicated relationship. It’s not that I haven’t tried to get on the running kick before—every summer before school started, I would swear that it was the summer I was going to become a runner. But my inconsistency and daily lack of motivation left me nestled on the couch—disappointed in myself and delusional enough to believe that eating ice cream and binging Hulu would somehow make me better tomorrow. Some people hit the ground running. I hit the ground and just stayed there a while. During my senior year of high school, many of my friends ran cross country and track and I couldn’t help but admire them. I longed to be more than a StairMaster girlie—I wanted to run and love doing it. So, going into my freshman year of college this fall, I stopped saying I was going to run, and I started doing it. Less than a month into school, I can proudly say that I have ran my first 5K race. But trust me— race day was a far cry from where I began: breathless, confused, and already regretting everything.

From the start, I knew that if I was going to make genuine progress in my running journey, I needed accountability. It’s so easy to say, “I don’t feel like running today,” and skip a day, which turns into a week, then an entire summer. Giving up on running wasn’t on my fall college bingo card, so I wasn’t going to let myself quit. One of my high school friends, Simeon, who had been on the cross-country team our senior year, also attends UW–Madison, and luckily, he agreed to run with me twice a week once the school year started. Excited to leap improving both my health and happiness, I spent the weeks leading up to the semester scouring the internet for running shoe recommendations and tips from experts on how beginners can grow into consistent, successful runners. Eventually, I felt ready—nervous about the possibility of letting myself down but determined to push past the doubt and turn over a new, healthier leaf.

And just like that, school had started, and our weekly runs began. We had started by trying out the UW–Madison track club, but my endurance wasn’t at their level yet, and I struggled to find a pace I could maintain. For the first three-quarters of a mile, I held it together—until people started passing me and the embarrassment of dragging my friends down hit hard. I managed just under two miles on that track run in Madison, and it already left me feeling defeated. Working out at the gym had been routine for me, but I hadn’t realized how drastically different building a runner’s endurance would be. That one slow day didn’t stop me though, I showed up outside Simeon’s dorm a few days later, my ASICS laced up and my hair in a high pony. Despite my desperation for the suffering to end and the walking break to begin, he checked in with me frequently during the run and kept encouraging me to push through to the finish of our mile goal. We consistently ran two to three miles twice a week for our “long-distance run,” and I ran solo once a week to work on speed—usually in the form of sprints or an attempt at a mile PR. After the first two weeks, little improvements started to show through, and I realized that, despite all the sweat and complaints, I was becoming a better runner—bit by bit—and happier in the process.

By the start of week three, my endurance had improved dramatically—even if my pace was still underwhelming. But, surprisingly, it was my confidence that had skyrocketed. I hadn’t quit, made excuses or skipped a run because I “didn’t have time”—I made time. Running became a priority because it felt empowering. It pushed me to show up for myself and chase real progress. Around this time, I stumbled across an ad for the Henry Vilas Zoo’s “Run Wild 2025” 5K and immediately knew it was my next goal. Training continued with the race just a week and a half away —until I got the devastating news that Simeon wouldn’t be able to run with me due to a shin injury. Honestly, worry crept in. I had no idea how I’d push through the hard moments without someone there to keep me going. But I shook off the fear, focused on the opportunity ahead and decided I was ready to show up and absolutely dominate.

September 28^th: Marissa’s first 5K! On that brisk Sunday morning, I biked to the Henry Vilas Zoo with butterflies in my stomach and a mashup of ABBA songs playing in my head as pre-race motivation. The zoo was already buzzing with runners and walkers as I pedaled into the entrance. The energy was contagious—like the anticipatory thrill of riding a rollercoaster you’ve been eyeing all day at Six Flags. After I completely butchered my runner’s bib trying to pin it to my sports bra with the only two safety pins I was given, I walked—cool and collected—to the starting line and watched the 10K runners take off. Simeon had come to cheer me on and as I warmed up, he gave me last-minute tips on how to pace myself and what to expect from the course. After what felt like an eternity, the 5K runners were called to the start. Noise-canceling headphones on? Check. Musically exquisite Spotify playlist? Check. Hair, bib, laces—all triple-checked as the 15-second countdown began. “3, 2, 1…” The airhorn blared, and we were off. I remember so clearly the sun beams on my face, “Uptown Funk” putting power in my every step and the grin I couldn’t wipe off. The adrenaline was electric—I’d never felt anything like it. The entire first mile blurred by in a mix of excitement and a competitive drive to push faster than I had in training. The only moment that snapped me out of my rush was the sudden dread of spotting a giant hill within the first half-mile. My training had been mostly flat—Lake Mendota paths and the Beltline near Lake Monona had barely any elevation—so seeing that hill felt personal. Unfortunately, my hopes for a mostly flat course were shattered. The rest of the route threw in a series of steep inclines that turned my runner’s high into a mental monologue laced with curse words. By mile two, I was struggling. But with Simeon and the volunteers cheering me on, I clung to the mindset that it was just one more mile. I’d already done two—how bad could one more lousy mile be?

That one last “lousy” mile was one of the most painful experiences I’d had in a long time. My calves were on fire, and I seriously wanted to have a personal conversation with whoever designed the course, because that final hill was straight-up diabolical. Trekking up at my slowest jog, the hill felt like an optical illusion—like one of those movie scenes where the hallway keeps stretching no matter how far the character runs. My quads ached, my lungs were on fire and I was trying to suck oxygen out of what felt like the thinnest air on Earth. I wanted to quit. But I didn’t. I made it up that hill, with only a quarter mile to go. I was over the moon—I hadn’t let my mind convince me to stop when things got hard. With whatever energy I had left, I pushed through the final tenth of a mile, sprinting as fast as my body would let me. Step, step… and boom. I finished the race. A wave of pure satisfaction and joy washed over me. I did it. I completed my first 5K—alone, without anyone by my side telling me to keep going. I showed up, I followed through and I finished strong. I didn’t just cross a finish line—I became a runner.

I can truly say that finishing that 5K is one of my proudest moments in my almost-nineteen years of life. Sure, seasoned runners might roll their eyes at a “measly” 3.1 miles—but for me, it wasn’t about the distance, it was about the transformation that happened along the way. I went from someone who could barely finish a glass of water to someone who planned her daily hydration like it was an Olympic event. I showed up every Monday, Wednesday and Friday—no excuses—and for once, I didn’t stop when it got hard. But the best part wasn’t just the physical progress. Running gave me a reason to pause my go-go-go mindset, let go of my daily stresses and actually enjoy the serene moments outdoors. And once I got past those thirty brutal seconds of post-run recovery, the runner’s high made me feel like I could crush a marathon if given the chance (I couldn’t—but my delusions dream big). Somewhere along the miles, I became a happier person—more optimistic, lighthearted and self-assured. Running forced me to take care of myself in ways I never had before and that’s what made crossing that finish line so powerful.

Now, I’m obviously no pro—I still trip over sidewalk cracks and immediately blame the sidewalk, and I get irrationally mad when bikers pass me (despite my clear disadvantage). But I do feel like I’ve learned enough to offer some advice to fellow beginners who want running to feel a tad less miserable. So, without further ado, here’s my brief, no-gatekeeping list of tips and tricks that made running less of a fight for my life.

1) Choose your playlist carefully.

More props to you if you run without music or podcasts, but I’d rather not soundtrack my run with my own labored breathing, thanks. Choose a playlist or podcast that is motivational to you, and stick with it. There is nothing worse than having to fumble with your phone during a run to try and skip songs or jump to another playlist.

2) Invest in quality running shoes.

It can be tempting to grab the cheapest tennis shoes on the clearance rack, but when it comes to running, support is everything. You don’t need the newest, flashiest model, but prioritize quality over looks or price. Personally, I’d recommend brands like ASICS or Brooks. And here’s the key: try them on before you buy. Online shopping is convenient, sure, but nothing beats stepping into a store, testing out different models and finding the shoe that fits the shape and needs of your feet. Trust me—your knees and arches will thank you.

3) When it gets hard, distract yourself.

This is a big one. When the going gets tough, quitting always feels way easier than pushing through. You need a way to distract yourself from the screaming desire to stop. For me, that’s American Sign Language fingerspelling. If there’s signage around me, I’ll finger-spell the words three times, or I’ll scan my surroundings and mentally recap whatever ASL vocabulary I know. It sounds silly, but it keeps my brain busy—and before I know it, I’ve made it through another half of a mile. Everyone has their own trick to survive a run; find what works for you!

4) Find an accountability partner 

Finding someone to run with can take your running game to the next level. Whether you’re the one pushing your partner or they’re pushing you, it creates a shared sense of purpose—and a little healthy competition—while keeping you motivated when you’d otherwise be solo. Plus, it makes you more consistent. Feeling too lazy to run? Someone is counting on you to show up. You don’t have to run together every time, but set aside at least one weekly session to hold each other accountable. Take it from me, having a running buddy turns those “ugh, I don’t want to” days into “okay, let’s do this” days.

My journey to a 5K isn’t groundbreaking, but it was a process that required dedication and consistent effort. Whether you’re a novice runner like me or a seasoned pro gearing up for your next race, take a second to reflect on how far you’ve come. Any bit of progress is progress—and you should feel proud of it. If you’ve been making excuses for why you won’t run this fall, I highly encourage you to reconsider. Running has truly changed my life for the better, and I’m confident it could change yours, too.

I used to think cross-country runners were a little crazy—running in hot temps on courses designed to be torturous? No, thank you. But when I lined up at that finish line, surrounded by fellow racers humming with energy and enthusiasm, I finally understood their devotion. The anticipation is electrifying, and I’ll admit, a tiny competitive edge in me made it even more thrilling. And the second that airhorn sounds, the crowd, the nerves, the training—all of it comes rushing at you—and for the next few miles, the world fades and all that matters is forward.

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