I was born with a fire in my legs. When I was young, I used to run until I tired myself out, chasing soccer balls and clouds like dreams in my backyard. By the time I entered high school, I entertained the idea of pursuing the sport of running fast. I joined the track team and I ran fast — or as fast as my legs would allow. During this time, I learned to treat my relationships like the races I ran. The faster I ran, the quicker it would be over and the less pain I would have to endure at the end. Crossing the finish line, there would be a winner and a loser, and I was determined to always be the victor. I told myself that I couldn’t afford to lose — emotionally or physically.
With every relationship I started, with every person I was involved with, I wanted it to end as quickly as possible, as if to reduce the damage at its termination. Anything that would have lasted longer than a week seemed like it was too much of a commitment. I loved the only way I knew how — quickly, brashly and unapologetically. I ran the same way, pushing as hard as I could to finish the race quicker, to reach the finish line and be the victor. I learned quickly that this was not the way to live, and as much noncommittal and breezy short-term relationships proved to be, I was cheating myself out of real experiences and emotions. Because of the fear that resided within me, I was always running away from something instead of toward something.
I am still learning how to run. I have verbally agreed to run the Boston Half Marathon with my dad, and in the next few weeks I’m already going to start training. My fear of long distances and lack of a quality running playlist aside, I am determined to run for as long as I can, and run toward something. Ignoring the list of physical ailments and nuances, which include two bad ankles and one surgery-recovering knee, every day proves to be a challenge to me.
Can I run longer? Do I have the endurance? How can I make something last? Am I willing to get hurt to become stronger? I can’t say I know the answer to any of these questions, but I am willing to learn. I am learning to pace myself, to think about the long term. I am learning to listen to myself. The fire still remains in my legs, sometimes jilting my progress or making me trip over my feet, but I try not to falter. All of the things I learn how to do in my training, I am learning to apply to my life.
I have to stop running away from things and resolve to start running toward things: a future, longer relationships and the hurt that comes with them when they fail. I no longer resolve to be the victor when these relationships end. Just like losing a race, there is much to be learned from the ending of a relationship. I have to start running for the long term.
I have to learn how to run again. I have to learn how to love. Sometimes that just means pacing myself, opening up and releasing every feeling inside. Other times it’s an uphill climb filled with breaking down to build myself back up, pushing myself beyond my limits and tripping on my own two feet. I am still determined though. Each falter and fault makes me stronger — more willing to pace myself, more willing to build myself back up again.
The truth is, running is hard. It challenges you to push yourself past your limits and it can tire you to your core. But it can also be rewarding, and it forces you to focus on your pace, your rhythm and your endurance instead of the finish line. Relationships can be the same way — they can tire you out but keep you going at the same time. Like almost everything else in life, it’s a give or take. Like everything else in life, it’s a learning experience. Learning to love is like learning to run — all you can do is take it one step at a time.
Meredith loves telling stories and pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus the man and comfy NYC apartment. She, however, eats enough brunch to cover all six seasons. When she's not drowning in 16th-century literature, she can be found lamenting over the bad grammar and bad boys in her middle school diary.
Find her on twitter @merewilsh or email her mwilsher@bu.edu with all your love musings or questions.
