Running For Obsessive Girlies
By Erin Deborah Waks
I have a love-hate relationship with running.
In the past, I treated it as a simple mathematical equation: X miles run at Y speed, equals Z calories burned. Equals how much I could eat.
I thought this formula was a recipe for success, for thinness, for a perfectly calculated method of torture to mould my body into a size, shape and weight that would finally bring me peace, happiness, and a sense of contentment within myself.
Funny that.
Instead, all it brought me was years of starving myself, hating the way I looked and a noise in my head that was almost impossible to silence.
A year ago, I thought I’d give up running for good. I couldn’t seem to approach it in a healthy way: I’d always stay glued to my distance monitor on my phone and follow a strictly regimented training plan as though it were a military schedule. I’d never skip a planned run - even if that meant waking up at 6am on a Saturday, avoiding evening plans with friends or running on an injured knee.
Three months ago, a strange sensation took over. I felt like going for a run. And, despite having been a dedicated runner in the past, I’d never really experienced an actual desire to run. So I pulled on my trainers, grabbed my headphones and keys and sprinted out the door. I felt so inexplicably free.
And so, alas, despite my fears, despite my previously toxic relationship with running, a newfound love was established. Somehow, amidst all the chaos of my life, I found a new hobby - and this time it was just that.
As a self-professed obsessive girly, I have, naturally, put rules in place to, well, avoid such a rigid, rule-focused approach to the sport (yes, I see the irony). But these ‘rules’ have helped me to actually enjoy my running - and not just the satisfaction of knowing how many calories I’d burned doing so.
A long run must be followed by a sweet treat and an overpriced latte. I don’t make the rules, Buns At Home and Saint Espresso in Baker Street do.
Cute matching workout kit must be worn.
Run must be cancelled if something better comes up. Like dinner with a friend. Or a Hallmark Christmas movie on Netflix beckons.
Running must be stopped if your body says so.
Calorie counter and distance monitor are not to be consulted. Ballpark figured of distance are good enough - I’m not training to be Mo Farah.
Running route must be pretty, ideally involving grassy spaces, a beautiful park and some form of water (for zen effects).
Don’t pay or sign up to a half marathon or marathon until you think you actually want to do one. It shouldn’t be a terrifying threat looming on the horizon.
An original cinnamon bun from Buns At Home
A cappuccino from Saint Espresso, some of the best coffee in the city
Whatever your ‘rules’ may be, mine are designed to protect my mental headspace. Because now I’m trying to run for the endorphins, the runner’s high, the mental clarity, the freedom, instead of to ‘earn’ my normal, standard meals. It’s meant to be a treat for my body, not a punishment.
So I’ll keep running, while it still serves me. It’s not an easy road, but it’s one I’m enjoying jogging (very slowly, dressed in matching lululemon and listening to SZA on full blast) down.
