When I was 17, I went through what I believed to be the worst heartbreak of my life. I couldn’t get off the couch, and had no motivation to do anything. My friends and family watched me suffer and told me I needed to set a goal for myself. This was particularly hard for me, though, since I had never really considered what I wanted to do—only what my ex-boyfriend wanted to do.
My family friend suggested that we train to run the half-marathon in Corning, NY that year, something that seemed wildly unrealistic since I hadn’t been able to keep food down in weeks. Somehow, he convinced me to say yes. Originally, I only agreed because I knew it would get my mind off my heartbreak, but running ended up being so much more than that for me.
Training was hard, I won’t lie. Running 10 miles in 70-degree weather is not for the weak, and I stand by that. I went from not running basically ever to training for a race that less than 2% of the population completes every year. Everyone told me I was crazy, even the people who suggested I create a goal to work towards. What no one understood, though, was that I was no longer running to get over my ex; I was running for myself.
I had finally found something I loved to do. The long runs I once began to dread became my motivation to get through the week. I began to crave runs and ran nearly every day of the summer before my senior year. Before I knew it, race day came, and I was running for no one except myself.
Completing the race was the best feeling: an emotion that was pretty much unbeatable. What made me proud of myself the most, though, wasn’t crossing the finish line; it was every step I took to get there. All the early morning runs, every moment I felt like giving up would be easier than pushing myself, and every time I chose to push myself anyway led up to this moment. It was so worth it.
Running didn’t just distract me from my heartbreak; it helped me move on from it. There’s something completely terrifying about being alone on a run and having to think through your emotions all by yourself. Over time, though, this became freeing. I wasn’t running away from my problems, but through them instead.
For the first time in a very long time, I felt strong. Not because everything in my life was perfect again, but because I proved to myself that I can do hard things. I could set a goal, commit to it, and work towards it, even when it felt impossible.
Running taught me motivation, discipline, and resilience. But, more importantly, it taught me independence. I stopped doing things for others and started doing things that made me happy. I went on to run another half-marathon, and plan to run my third this year.
Even now, I still find joy in running. Whenever life feels overwhelming, I choose to go for a run. Not because it magically fixes everything, but because it reminds me of who I am: the girl who didn’t give up, even when she really wanted to.
Running didn’t just help heal me; it saved me.
See you soon, Corning. I can’t wait.