Exercise is creative expression & other things I've learned from running

Most creating hinges on trusting your instincts, and to trust your gut you first must learn to listen to it.

Hi! This is about my experience with running and more broadly about how exercise is connected to our creativity. If you’re not in a place to read about exercise, skip this one. You can read this recent essay or this one instead.

Against all odds, I’m a runner now. I casually scroll through Runner’s World, use phrases like “Zone 2,” track my runs on an app, and attend a local run club. This is a huge twist for me — somebody who has always struggled to run — and while I’m surprised by this change, the rewards are so immediate and clear, I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner.

Running has built my confidence and self-respect. Challenging myself physically makes me feel more capable of handling things mentally. I feel less afraid of aging because I’m seeing my body’s potential and strength in new ways. While I’ve felt many of these benefits from Yoga, there’s something about breaking a sweat and feeling like I’m about to die (but not) that’s really doing it for me in a way other exercise hasn’t.

This is a surprising change for me because every time I used to try to run outside, my knee would hurt, I’d get shin splints, my throat would get uncomfortably dry, I’d get cramps in my ribs, and I’d have to stop to walk after a mile, or less. I felt like I wasn’t made to be a runner and could never become one.

But it turns out those were all symptoms of something else: I couldn’t run because I didn’t know how to go slowly.

When I tried to run, I’d stay around a 10-minute mile, which felt like a not-embarrassing pace. I ran in treadmill HIIT classes at places like Barry’s Bootcamp where I could sprint briefly, and then walk. I knew I was strong and could go fast, so I pushed myself to a pace I felt I should be able to sustain. Anything slower made me feel like I sucked at running, so why try? Then, of course, everything would hurt and I’d have to stop, at which point I’d decide that distance running just wasn’t for me, and I wouldn’t attempt an outdoor run for another year, or 5.

If only I was willing to slow down, literally, my world would’ve opened up. My experience with running has been a lesson in patience and a very clear metaphor for how we hold ourselves back. (Okay, perhaps this is about how I, specifically, hold myself back but stick with me and I bet you’ll relate to something, too.)