Something Old, Something New
And something sweaty, too
In 2010, I started a blog called Dev On Running to document my running journey. It was never very popular or consistent. I never had remarkably fast race times to report. But I wrote about running and bits of life quite honestly, as I still tend to do, and maybe that’s what attracted a few people to follow along.
I believe most subscribers to this newsletter starting following along with my story more or less because of running—either by reading the blog, hearing me on The Ali On the Run Show, or finding me on Instagram. I have a whole network of virtual and real-life friends that has cheered me on for more than 15 years, all because of running.
I’ve been a runner in so many phases of my life: as a single girl in my early twenties; a married woman in my late twenties; a clueless first-time mother; a daughter grieving the gradual loss of my mother.
In some of my most challenging times, running has served as a parallel gauntlet.
Just had a baby, not sleeping, and going back to work at 12 weeks postpartum with a clogged milk duct? Let’s go for a run, too!
Survived a worldwide pandemic and my mother has an incurable neurodegenerative disease? Let’s train for an IRONMAN 70.3 and a marathon PR back to back!
Mom still slowly deteriorating four years after her diagnosis? Let’s run the New York City Marathon and raise money for the Alzheimer’s Association!
Tackling great physical challenges has always helped me survive the mental and emotional ones. Endurance translates across the board. And races always offered me something tangible that I failed to conjure time and again on my mother’s journey: a finish line.
Running a marathon is hard. You will suffer in 50 different ways, but then it’s done in a handful of hours.
I don’t particularly enjoy suffering, but the satisfaction of having endured? I’ll chase it over and over.
There was no satisfaction in having endured my mother’s illness and death. There was certainly no medal at the finish line. There were, however, plenty of very soft and delicious chocolate chip cookies baked by the memory care kitchen staff.
I ate one every few hours in the last couple days of my mother’s life, and as my stepdad and I followed the gurney carrying her shrouded body out of her room, I eyed the last two on a platter and said: “I’m taking these fucking cookies.”
I devoured them as I drove home while listening to a podcast episode dissecting every last detail of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce’s engagement. Small joys.
Running helps me process whatever’s going on in my life, and I’ve missed being able to rely on it since I ran the New York City Marathon in 2023. I flung myself across that finish line after having spent most of the training cycle surviving one run at a time, barely keeping runner’s knee and tendonitis at bay with physical therapy and KT tape. I was in a tough place mentally and emotionally, and my body was betraying me, too. When you feel broken, the last thing you want is to have proof.
I’ve spent the last few years trying to put myself back together (therapy) and make my body bulletproof (strength training). I’ve tried to get back into running a few times, but it’s scary to put all that hard work to the test. My home gym has become a very comfortable place where friendly Peloton instructors hold my hand through each workout. It never hurts me. The road feels ripe with that possibility.
But we do have to open ourselves up to hurt to experience the fullness of life.
In my safe gym cocoon, I miss sunrise miles. I miss running with my friends. I miss the community around training and racing. I miss the unmatchable feeling of finishing a run where I left it all out there: heart pumping, lungs nearly raw with the effort of processing oxygen, every muscle in my legs alive and primed to ache in the best way later.
I miss the way I used to challenge myself. I’d name a big, scary goal, then go after it and achieve it. Running has done more for my confidence, self-esteem, and mental strength than anything else.
I am a different person than I was two-and-a-half years ago, when I ran the New York City Marathon; nine months ago, when my mother died; six months ago, when my marriage ended.
I keep circling back to the Taylor Swift lyric, “I haven’t met the new me yet.” Suzanne Finnamore wrote in her book “My Disappearing Mother”:
“Patti Davis, who lost her father Ronald Reagan to Alzheimer’s, says that you won’t be the same person after losing someone this way. I can already see that she is right. But who am I now? Which I am I?”
And since I’m scrambling to make a career pivot, I have little clarity on just who I am. It’s a bit of an identity crisis.
But when I think of running—identifying a goal, training for it, crossing a finish line—I remember exactly who I am. All the character traits that have helped me run nine marathons are exactly the ones I want to carry forward into the new me.
Why am I waiting to meet her? I get to create her.
She’ll be a mix of new (battle-worn, sage, at peace) and old (optimistic, ambitious, adventurous), plus some future elements I don’t know about yet—perhaps ones I’m developing right now through trial and error and self-reflection.
She’ll open herself up to exciting possibilities while staying mindful of the lessons from past hurts.
And, if I have any say in it, she’ll be running.
I’ve registered for a 5K in June to compel me to actually put some miles into my legs. It’s the same trick I used in 2010 to start running to begin with. The old me had some pretty great ideas.
I have exactly one successful 2.3-mile run/walk under my belt so far, so I have almost no information about how this will go. If you’re reading this newsletter right when it hits your inbox, I’m currently on another run with my (very fast, multi-Boston-Marathoner) friend, Kerri.
I’ll be sharing most updates about this venture on Instagram rather than here, but if I’m able to run a triumphant or even vaguely satisfying 5K race, you better believe I’ll write a full recap.
Running is community. It’s the chance to reconnect with running friends and make new ones through my local run club, which hosts weekly track workouts and trail runs.
Running is discovery. It’s the opportunity to uncover a little more of my potential with every long run, every interval, even every stride.
Running is truth. It taxes my body, strips me down, and reveals what’s really going on. My heart rate on any given run tells the story of my emotional wellbeing as much as the physical.
Running is wringing every bit of joy and feeling out of life. A good meal is infinitely more satisfying after a long run. Drifting to sleep at night when I’m bone-tired after a tough training week is the sweetest peace. Every bit of nourishment and rest and self-care feels so well-earned and deserved.
Running is part of the old me, the new me, and I hope the forever me.
Running is just what I need right now.
Let’s go.
If you enjoy reading Rollercoaster Road, please help it grow by liking, sharing, or leaving a comment. Thanks for joining me on the ride.
Get it, girl! Can't wait to follow along.
Tie your shoes.