Road to runner’s high
Finding serenity at a new pace.
STORY BY ELLIE CARNEY
DESIGN BY HANA AKAKURA
PHOTO BY AMAN REDDY
On May 23, I ran a 10-mile race in Chicago — something that’s still hard for me to believe.
I used to think people who said they like running were all deluded. Who enjoys getting sweaty and feeling like their lungs are going to collapse? Now, I’ve come to enjoy it so much that I paid money to run with strangers along Lake Michigan at 7 a.m. on a Saturday.
Come with me on a long run, as I try to figure out how I got here in the first place.
Mile 1
The hardest part of a run is starting it. More specifically, the hardest part of a run is getting out of bed and out the door.
Mile 1
I can’t remember exactly when I started running, but I can remember why. I was a teenage girl immersed in the world of K-pop idols, “ant waists” and sweet potato diets. I was running towards a finish line that was perpetually out of reach: chasing the feeling of becoming someone I was not.
Mile 3
No matter how much training I’ve had, the first few miles always have me asking myself if this is my first time. The only thing carrying you through has to be trust — trust that you’re stronger than this, and trust that it will get better.
Mile 4
In my junior year of high school, I was voted captain of the varsity soccer team for the upcoming season. The summer before, I would work out endlessly to make sure I was in shape. Running became clinical — something done on the sweltering turf of my local high school, a list of mile times tracked on my Notes app.
Mile 5
The midpoint of a run canabe frustrating. I’m miles away from my apartment and still haven’t hit the point where I can turn back yet. Running as a hobby is exciting initially, but after too many early mornings and too little progress, you want to quit.
Mile 6
I kept running in college, usually at 7 a.m. to avoid the droves of students going to class. I’d see Evanston residents walking their dogs, smiling or nodding as I passed. I’d see yard signs celebrating fifth-grade graduations, a woman in a sunhat mulching her well-curated garden.
Mile 7
This is the part of the run that I enjoy the most. Soreness and tired lungs have faded away into the rhythm of nonstop moving. I glance at my watch and see the mileage climb up and up.
Mile 8
I signed up for a 5K during my junior fall. The race was around Wrigley Field, and I have a photo of myself grinning on the jumbotron as we ran around the warning track.
Mile 9
What sticks with me at the end of a run is how private it is. No one other than my two Strava followers (my dad and my sister) will know how far I’ve gone. And even then, no one other than yourself will know how hard it was to do this, how impressive it was that you kept going.
Mile 10
Running is now a form of meditation. When I’m miles away from my apartment, there’s nothing I can do about my midterms, grocery list or internship applications. There is literally nothing to do except keep going. And that’s exactly what I plan to do — at least until my next race.