Crossing the Line
Life After Running
am a runner – but one day I didn’t run. The next day I didn’t run either. And not the day after that. The days turned into weeks and truth be told, I was enjoying the freedom of not running. However, I did think it a paradox – me, the dedicated runner, enjoying not running. After all, I had been a runner for decades. My den was littered with medals and memorabilia. The bookshelf was lined with inspiring titles like: Born to Run, Finding Ultra and Eat Run. My corkboard was proudly pinned with old bibs and ribbons. I identified as a runner. Yet here I was, not running – and not even feeling guilty.
My disenchantment with running began when I started training for another 50k race. I was following a program, just as I had done before, but something felt different. As the first few weeks rolled by, I started to drag. I knew if I felt this way at the beginning of training, I was going to be in trouble. I desperately tried to run through the funk, but struggled. My motivation tanked. Maybe it was a lack of energy, maybe I had previously over-trained, or maybe I was just getting old; it didn’t much matter – I was done. I apologized to my training partners and hung up my hydration pack.
The benefits were immediate, both emotionally and physically: a sense of relief, vanishing aches and pains and an increase in free time – an absolute abundance of free time. The question was, “What to do with it?”
I pondered my options. I could pen a best-selling self-help book, aptly titled Life After Running. Or I could devote countless hours to binge watching all those Netf lix shows everyone talks about. Or
Imaybe I could dust off those old Spanish language cassettes. Of course, there were constructive get-stuff-done-around-the-house projects, but that didn’t sound like much fun. I opted instead, to revisit my pre-running passion – photography.
I surmised that my vintage Instamatic wasn’t going to cut it and I soon purchased the latest digital device. I decided to walk where I used to run – to stop and photograph the very scenery that had previously been given only a cursory glance through sweat-stung eyes. I immersed myself in all things photography, spamming social media with my f laneurist findings. Though I assumed I would eventually return to running, for the moment it had been replaced by photography. In fact, running had been all but forgotten.
On day 65 of not running, I was hurrying to a viewpoint to capture a sunset before the light faded. Suddenly, I found myself running – albeit, unintentionally. I knew the trail well; nimbly placing my feet, picking my lines and f lowing down a section of single track – like a runner. It was just so natural. A seed had been planted.
The following Sunday I got up, laced up and headed out. The run was hard; I went farther than I should have after a two-month layoff, but eight glorious kilometres later, I felt great – alive and revitalized. The next morning, however, I paid for it. I could barely walk. And as I hobbled around, I realized that I loved the pain – a classic it-hurts-sogood sensation. I knew the sore muscles represented a turning point – that my running self was back.
For now, my long runs are registered in single digits, and that’s OK; I’m enjoying the gradual return. Looking back, my 65-day hiatus cost me in terms of fitness, rising numbers on the scale and a lot of money spent on camera gear, but that was countered with a re-energizing and well-needed rest. I realize now that it’s OK to take a break. I had caught up on a few tasks I’d been putting off, rediscovered my love of photography and, most importantly, I renewed my relationship with my old friend running. I guess Life After Running will just have to wait. Steve Crabb is a photographer, writer and runner living in Nanaimo, B.C.
“I pondered my options. I could pen a bestselling self-help book, aptly titled Life After Running. Or I could devote countless hours to binge watching all those Netflix shows everyone talks about.”