As a kid, I struggled with allergies and asthma, and so I usually stayed away from any kind of intense aerobic activity. Whenever P.E. class required us to run or swim, I would typically end up last, or close to it, and I carried the embarrasment and sense of limitation for a long time, even after my asthma went away. And there were a lot of embarrasing moments, like being unable to tag any of my friends for so long that eventually Jack or Frank would take pity and swap in, or failing every category of the presidential fitness test (except sit and reach LOL), or sitting on the sidelines watching church friends play basketball and football.
I wouldn't attempt to run again until late high school, where I decided to try the couch to 5k program, but only made it to about two miles or so before it fizzled out. I don't recall the specific reason, perhaps worsening weather, or loss of interest, or just laziness. Then again in freshman year of college, when I took Cornell's fitness and conditioning course, expanded my range to three or four miles, and started jogging to and from church regularly. But all of that, too, fell by the wayside as classes and other responsibilities (as well as the Ithacan winters and hilly terrain) sapped my motivation.
My latest foray into running started last summer, in the middle of quarantine. I hadn't left the house in months. I roped in Alan and we started jogging a few times a week, running first around our subdivisions and then the larger main roads. Unfortunately, we hadn't been running all that long before I returned to Cambridge, running alone once again, but we'd developed enough of a routine that it was easier to stick to it.
There probably a bunch of reasons why things have worked out this time (so far):
But also I think there was an important mental shift in learning (a) how to accept discomfort, and (b) that enduring some level of suffering is necessary for growth. Most of the time, the (strong) desire to give up and stop running isn't grounded in physical reality, like oxygen depletion or muscle injury. It's because my body isn't used to exertion and instinctively prefers to conserve energy and laze around. So now, when it cries out to stop or slow down, I ask myself if it's really necessary, or else--pardon my French--I tell it to shut the fuck up and keep going.
So yeah, I haven't been running for very long at all, but I think it's taught me a good deal. Sally recently shared this article, which is also pretty relevant. While the goal is to apply lessons learned from running to other areas of life, I think it is much harder to push ourselves mentally and spiritually, because it's so hard to gauge our limits. It's quite difficult for me to differentiate between a healthy challenge and harmful burnout, and so, unlike running, I don't know when it's safe to just ignore the discomfort and try harder. Equivalently, it's hard to accept failures because, who knows, maybe we just needed more willpower, and it was possible if only we pushed a little more.