From Self-Pity to Stride: Why I Run

The feeling of self-pity can be suffocating, swallowing you whole before you even realize it. I was 19 years old when Armando laced up his running shoes and headed out the door. I hated that he liked to run. I hated that he had something that kept him healthy, something that gave him purpose. More than that, I couldn’t understand what he saw in me—why he was attracted to me. I felt stuck. I had no hobbies, no motivation, and I resented that he did. As he left our apartment, I sank into the couch and started to bawl. It was pathetic, and I knew it.

When he died, we weren’t married anymore, but he was still my family. His daughter, who was staying with him, had gone out for a run, so I was there, keeping him company until she returned. He had reached a point where he couldn’t be alone. In a week, he would be gone. His voice had faded to a whisper, his words growing softer each day. He touched my hand to get my attention and asked, “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

I smiled. Anyone who has lost a loved one knows—there is always more. But I said no. In the weeks leading up to this moment, we had talked through everything—unspoken words, lingering guilt, unfinished thoughts.

“What about you?” I asked.

In the quietest whisper, he told me he was afraid that I would stop writing when he died.

I laughed at him. Of all the things to worry about in his final days—leaving behind two beautiful daughters, the life he was saying goodbye to—he was concerned about whether I would keep writing. It felt absurd at the time.

But here we are, 16 months later, and I haven’t truly sat down to write. I’ve tried keeping a journal, but it’s not the same. A year after he passed, I wrote Armando a letter about Nora. That was the closest I had come.

Lately, though, something has shifted. The urge to write has been creeping back in. And today, I want to answer the question: Why do you run? Maybe running was a gift he gave me.

As I said, I wasn’t a runner. I was an overweight teenager who became an overweight twenty-year-old, well on my way to diabetes with the amount of Dr. Pepper I was drinking. But my frustration with Armando being a runner lit a fire in me. I didn’t want to be someone who pitied themselves without ever trying. I had seen my dad struggle with depression and self-loathing after his divorce, stuck in the same place years later. I refused to let that be my story.

So that day in my apartment, I got up. I decided I needed to find a kind of fitness I enjoyed—it didn’t have to be running.

It started with Zumba and other group fitness classes. It started with people and community. Looking back, it’s funny, because now I love the solitude of running. But in the beginning, I needed that connection.

After I had my daughter, running just made sense. It fit into my schedule, and thanks to the foundation I’d built with Zumba, it felt easier than I expected.

Armando and I ran our first marathon in 2013—the Eugene Marathon—to celebrate our second wedding anniversary. We were both undertrained, which meant we both struggled. By the end, I swore I never wanted to run again. And for nearly five years, I didn’t. We also learned an important lesson that day: we didn’t actually like running together. Or maybe that was just me, reguardless we moved to a place of cheering eachother on but, separatly.

During my time away from running, I explored other athletic pursuits. I competed in bodybuilding competitions, took on long-distance cycling, and eventually found my way to triathlon. And it was triathlon that brought running back into my life.

So why do I like to run? Naturally, I took the sport to new levels—ultrarunning. I'm a week out from my next race: 62 miles, passing by 12 waterfalls and climbing 11,000 feet. It’s not just “running”—it’s an adventure.

I love to run because every time I step outside, I get to escape from the parts of the world that don’t make sense. A week ago, we were on vacation, and I ran every day. It wasn’t in the mountains like I would have preferred, but it was the next best thing—running through cities and streets I had never seen before. Running in new places lets me notice the ordinary details I’d never catch from a car.

Now, I’m married to someone I enjoy sharing miles with. We are compatable runners and we enjoy adventuring on foot side-by-side. I have a dog who loves to run by my side (or front, or back)! Running is my solitude, but just like group fitness, it’s also community. I’ve both laughed and cried on the run. When I run with friends, I’ve had deeper conversations than in almost any other setting.

But the most important thing running gives me is a clear mind and perspective. It teaches me to appreciate the outdoors. It keeps me healthy. And at its core, it’s so simple—just put one foot in front of the other. Over time, go further and further.

I’m not here to say that everyone should be a runner—because I don’t believe that. But I do believe everyone should find something that gets them outside, something that helps them disconnect from the chaos and reconnect with nature.

Something that clears the mind, resets the soul, and leaves you feeling just a little more like yourself.

For me, that’s running.