Amy Lu's View

(The text of the story I shared at our most recent church storytelling evening–via Zoom. The theme was “Becoming.” This even has some bonus material I didn’t have time to include).

The spectators lining the race route on that beautiful spring morning enthusiastically cheered as my friend Stephanie and I ran past. 

When Stephanie proposed we run the 2K Get in Gear race, I was dubious. Sure, I had been “jogging” a bit on and off for a few years, but actually running a race seemed like a big next step. 

Chad assured me that 2 kilometers–only 1.24 miles–was really not that far to run. I could do it. So I stifled my doubts and we registered. 

And here I was, running my very first official race as the onlookers clapped and whoo-hooed. Cries of “Great job!” “Way to go!” and “You got this!” filled the air.

Okay, the spectators were really there to cheer on their children, but they were also very supportive and encouraging to all the runners in the race–even to me and Stephanie. They didn’t judge us (at least not openly) for being the only adults in the race not running with their offspring. 

Yes, for my very first official race, we had accidentally signed up for a 2K Fun Run intended for children and families. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have realized we were running a race for kids if Stephanie hadn’t noticed and pointed it out. I can be rather oblivious, especially when I’m running, and I was definitely focused on myself and my nervousness about being able to run 2 whole kilometers.

As we crossed the finish line, Stephanie and I rather sheepishly accepted our medals. I was a little embarrassed, but also still happy. Since I didn’t even know if I could finish a 2K I took satisfaction in my accomplishment. 

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• 

Of all the identities I currently claim, none surprises me more than “runner.” How in the world did I, the adamantly anti-exercise child and young person, become a runner who has finished three marathons, at least seven half marathons, and several more 10 mile and 10K races?

It wasn’t just that I was lazy about being physically active–sure, there was some of that, and I definitely didn’t like to sweat or breathe hard. But mostly I was deeply unsure about moving in and using my body. I always remember feeling uncoordinated, self-conscious, and even afraid with and about movement. I never learned to ride a bike or swim, and I never climbed a tree. 

Okay, maybe that’s not entirely accurate–as a young child, around 6 or 7, I did like to run– according to my brother at least. I don’t  really remember this, or at least I can’t be certain what are my actual memories and what are my taking his stories and making them my memories. But he likes to tell the story of how I did run and he would make sound effects from the “Bionic Woman” tv show to accompany me because, just like the bionic woman, I was running so fast it just looked slow.

But if true, that sporty interest somehow evaporated, and for most of my youth I definitely identified myself primarily with my mind–my body was mainly just a vehicle to get me from couch to refrigerator or to grab my next book. 

I don’t think that first 2K race seventeen-ish years ago marked my transition from non-runner to runner. It’s a nice marker to point to, and hopefully a somewhat amusing story to share, but becoming a runner, like I think becoming most things is, has been an ongoing process. I do know I started running around 1999 when we moved to the Twin Cities and have kept at it in some way, shape or form. And somewhere along the way, I stopped protesting that I wasn’t a runner and qualifying what I did as “just jogging.” I embraced that I was a runner–not a professional athlete or anything, but I moved my body faster than walking on a somewhat regular basis, and was therefore a runner.  

While I don’t exactly know when or how I became a runner, I have some clear ideas about what being a runner means for me. It means trusting in a process to accomplish goals, and tackling things in phases rather than trying to do it all at once. It’s trying to do my best given my current circumstances, and not having to always compare myself to others or even myself to feel successful. It’s being obsessed with my heart rate and protein and carbohydrate consumption. It’s having gross toenails. It’s decorating my arms with temporary tattoos of inspirational quotes. It’s noticing the same garbage adoring my running route. It’s being inspired by the cheers of strangers at a race and moved beyond words by friends who come out to watch me run a marathon. It’s feeling embraced by the running community and belonging to a runners’ Facebook group and feeling totally at home when I shop at our local running store. It’s having dresser drawers overflowing with race shirts and decorating our Christmas tree with race medals. It’s posting unflattering selfies where I look all sweaty and red-faced. It’s being filled with gratitude that I am able to run and realizing my privilege compared to those who can’t run safely because of race, health, or economic circumstances. It’s listening to hours and hours of podcasts and audiobooks. It’s having the confidence that I can do things that I never thought possible.

Being a runner doesn’t mean I always make healthy choices, and in fact, some of my running behaviors aren’t necessarily all that great for my body or mind. Sometimes I run when I should let my body rest, or run just to burn off empty calories. I don’t always, or even mostly, run to do something good for my body but to try and wrangle it under control. But even when I’m not running for great reasons, I think I still appreciate my body more than if I wasn’t running. 

Maybe I most felt like a runner last year when I wasn’t running because of an injury. Even though I wasn’t able to run, I had hope and faith–at least most days–that if I was patient and just kept moving, kept walking and riding the stationery bike, that I would eventually be able to run again. And I did. Slowly, at first, and for only short distances, but I was running, and was able to do it for longer times at faster paces. More importantly, even when I wasn’t running, I didn’t lose my runner’s mindset or heart.

Sometimes people ask me if I’m going to keep running, even if I’m not in-training for a race. The answer is unequivocally “Yes.” Or maybe, it’s more accurate to say I’m going to keep on being a runner. Aging and other circumstances beyond my control may limit how much, and how fast, I can run, and a day will probably come when I can’t run at all. But I have every intention to keep on running as long as I can, and to keep being a runner even when I can’t actually run. 

If nothing else, I think I’ve already accumulated a lifetime of t-shirts and medals to play with.