Yesterday, it was a absolutely perfect late-spring-early-summer hybrid day, and so when Mr. Every-Body-Run asked what I wanted to do after work, I said go for a family run -- our regular pastime of taking a 5K on one of our favorite local trails or parks, stroller for Tiny Overlord. We opted for a route where the midpoint is a gorgeous community rose garden and a playground for Tiny Overlod -- and the decision did not disappoint, as it was in full bloom.
Tonight, Mr. EBR asked what I wanted to do for Mother's Day tomorrow. It was a rainy bit of a mess today, so I was feeling super-cooped up. I again suggested a family run -- maybe venture across the bridge into D.C. proper or take the river route.
Why, when I get the chance, I usually pick family run time has a lot of reasons: as a working mom, stroller running is pretty much my only chance for consistent exercise; I love being outside and showing Tiny Overlord the joys of outside; I am privileged beyond privileged to live in an part of our city with such great public green space (which is too often restricted by income); it's great to have a partner in pushing what is more than 70 pounds of stroller + toddler now; when Tiny Overlord is in a particularly tantrum-y rut (like the last week, my lord, the number of times mama and baby were both in tears) the smooth motion of the wheels and changing scenery usually gets her back in a calm state pretty quick; and, finally, I love a route that ends in a good coffee and pastry, of which there is no shortage.
But what has lately got me really loving the family run is watching Tiny Overlord's joy when it's her turn to run. A few weeks ago, we participated in a great little charity 5K in our neighborhood. While we regularly run this distance as a family, it was Tiny Overlord's first official race. When we took her out to let her run the final 1/2 K, you have never seen anyone so happy.
She ran with pure joy. She did circles in the middle of the road. She waved to everyone. She took a quick detour to pet a "bow wow".
She smiled such a pure light up the party way, that its brilliance could cure just about any disease.
She jumped and hopped happily over the timing mat at the finish line ... and then told EVERYONE for the whole week "I cross the finish line!"
Since then, she always asks to "cross the finish line" when we family run -- and she races ahead with more of those boundless smiles. At the great little soccer class we take through our county parks & rec, she giggles her little bottom off with happiness every time the very energetic coach asks them to run. (side note: I once told a friend I wanted to know what the coach was on to have SO. DANG. MUCH. energy with 15 2-year olds. "He's on he's 23, Robyn. Being 23," she reminded. True dat!)
Sometimes, when she feels particularly happy running, she touches her toes or claps her hands or even pulls up her shirt and pats her tummy with joy.
For her, running is just about feeling the joy of moving your body. Not how it looks. Not how "good" it is or is not.
And family run thus becomes my favorite thing, as much for me as for her: for me, because I want to bask in that pure happiness, and for her, because I never want her to lose that joy of exercise that the diet culture permeating our culture often crushes out.
I wrote in my first post about how, for me, running used to be torture because of bad experiences growing up overweight: being laughed at by classmates (who probably just were parroting anti-fat biases they learned from parents) for a slow mile and feeling like my body was wrong. Like many Type-A kids with this experience, this turned into disordered eating by my teens -- there, any running I did was, in my mind, punishment for "bad" calories or a "bad" extra pound.
By my 20s, I was in a better place, but even as I found a more balanced view, I still struggled to call myself a runner because of my own skewed ideals of bodies. It was not helped by the way most running writing I was reading still focused so much on runners who looked a certain way, or offhand comments I would get about people's expectations of what "fit" looked like. Two separate times, in my misadventures in dating, I had dudes who professed themselves to be liberal and open-minded say something along the lines of "but you don't look like a marathoner" when I mentioned running as a passion. (I mean, that's what you lead with when you're trying to impress someone?!?! dating is terrible).
And I need to recognize another privilege here -- trying not to be another person trying to co-opt rhetoric of groups who face barriers I don't; I'm someone who would classify as "normal" weight by the very, very flawed BMI, which means I don't face the myriad of biases larger bodied people do when purusing exercise and or seeking healthcare that keeps me on my feet.
But, if I'm swimming in all this mental weirdness around exercise and body, with all that privilege, well ... that just goes to show how far this whole idea of what bodies are good for what movements can entrench itself. My little sister -- who is a lot wiser than I -- reminded me when I showed her this blog that my Tiny Overlord is watching whatever I do.
And she is right. So, I want to family run because I want her to never lose that joy of running just for running. I want to talk about running and running goals without talking about the size of my thighs or when they rub together or comparing my body to what I think a runner's should look like.
Even when the "cross the finish line" is just a few blocks or has to slow to a walk, I want to do it with a megawatt smile. For her. For me.
Happy Mother's Day. Run into it with joy.
