For most of my life, I have been the odd one out in any given situation. I grew up the only girl with three brothers. I went to college and was one of the few Jews, midwesterners (the Californians loved to make fun of how I said ‘pop,’ which sounded to them like paap and should have been called soda anyway), middle-class (as opposed to upper), and liberals. I lived in Mexico for 18 years, where I was often the only American wherever I was, whatever I was doing. I moved back to Chicago and didn’t quite fit in here, either. In grad school, I was about 20 years older than most of my classmates and obviously the only one with kids. At my current job, I am also 15 - 20 years older than most of my coworkers. Since I am so used to being an outsider, I feel comfortable there. It would be fair to say I probably even seek to put myself in positions where I am “different” than the rest. Or, at least, I have learned to live with it and not care too much about what others will think of me. I have learned to adapt and relate to people of all ages, genders, religions, socio-economic levels, cultures, and nationalities. The one place I felt like I was not an outsider, despite being the only American, was in my running teams.
I began running while living in Guadalajara, Mexico. I had two young children and a strained marriage, and was thousands of miles away from home. My therapist suggested I do something to reduce stress. Physical activity, she suggested, would help me feel like I could handle life’s difficulties better. At first, I ran on my own, eventually building up to half marathon distance. I ran my first half in February 2014 and my second one month later. After dropping nine minutes on my time and feeling so much stronger, I decided it was time to run a marathon. So I registered for Chicago 2014 and found myself a coach. What I didn’t realize as I walked up to the running group hanging out in the park, was that these people and the others I would meet through running would save my life as much as the actual running would.
During the six years I ran in Guadalajara, my running friends became my family. I spent hours upon hours with them. They saw me break down and build myself back up. No, actually, we all broke down together, and together, we built ourselves back up. We ran in the forest, on the track, on the highway, in the park. We ran in the heat, in the rain, and even in hail. It didn’t matter where any of us came from or what we did for a living. There were doctors, lawyers, electricians, architects, teachers, and department store clerks. Some people ran sub 3-hour marathons, and others ran over 5 hours. But it didn’t matter. We all showed up every day for each other and for ourselves. And that made us a community. I had a sense of belonging with my running community that I have rarely felt in my life.
I have been thinking a lot about community recently. Community is a group of people that look out for each other. It gives you a sense of security, knowing that if you ever need anything, you have your community to support you. Community is a feeling that you belong. When I meet another runner, even if for the first time, I know we have a shared bond. We recognize a certain level of tenacity, grit, pride, and dedication in the other. We can always find common ground, even if there are only 26.2 miles of it. I miss my running community from Guadalajara. They got me through some tough times. And I am thankful for you, whoever you are, that is reading this. Because if you’ve gotten this far, you are part of my community.