“It’s the time you spend on your rose that makes your rose so important.”
I first read those words as a teenager and its impact stayed with me. It’s simple, really. The more time and care you put towards something that may otherwise seem inconsequential, is what makes it exponentially more important to you, uniquely. Decades later, The Little Prince’s words have never felt more resonate and tangible.
My rose these days – my runs.
When I turned 44, I celebrated by running my first self-paced half marathon. For months leading up to the day I restarted my running routine. This time though, I never tracked my progress. I never knew my pace or exactly how many miles I was going. I wasn’t fueling properly nor had any strategy for incremental improvement. But I didn’t care. It wasn’t about that for me. It was very simple. My routes were rudimentarily mapped so I had a general idea of distance; I based my pace off how many songs I went through from my playlist divided by the time I got home. There was no end goal other than to feel good and have time to think, process, and recenter from life. That, in and of itself, was a monumental shift in how I used to approach running.
To understand is to know that running until now had been a journey of losses. I never thought of myself as a real runner; I ran to workout. I ran to lose weight, to offset calories, to lose inches or to lose part of the day. My relationship with running was quite cruel. In my teens I ran to not feel ashamed of my body. In my twenties running was about self-control. In my thirties it was about shedding stress from a heavily layered career, and the real 50 pounds I gained four separate times, carrying each of my four beautiful boys. Each decade I cursed each step; counting down the minutes until I felt like I had a self-respecting workout. When I was finished, it felt satisfying. The effort was worth every damned step. The impact showed up in ways that made me feel good, so I kept on with the dysfunctional relationship.
I never thought of myself as a real runner; I ran to workout. I ran to lose weight, to offset calories, to lose inches or to lose part of the day. My relationship with running was quite cruel.
Now in my forties, with more confidence, time and personal grace, my relationship with running has evolved and blossomed into something healthier and more personal. My first self-paced half-marathon, through my neighborhood, husband-coach-pacer-water-and gel-carrier by my side, was a gift. It was a gift my younger selves needed, one in which I couldn’t fully appreciate until now. Recently I did have moments where I felt free and in perfect rhythm with my steps; but this experience showed me that I could have a healthier, more balanced, longer-term approach.
This mindset shift is what encouraged the leap towards registering for the Cleveland Half-Marathon. Now there was a specific goal. I already knew I could run 13.1 miles and do a decent job, but now I had to challenge myself to stare down the pace times, calorie losses and fuel gains alike, and not revert to that dysfunctional relationship that once was but reframe the information as a form of personal power.
It took time. Sixteen weeks, 6 days a week. There were planned warm-ups and cool downs, long runs and intervals, and distant-specific pace strategies. There were treadmill runs I could have done without; and while the weather was erratic, learning how to carry my layers back home was a win all itself. I ran back and forth past our river and canal, played chicken with geese and hopscotch with frogs. I watched turtles sunbathe and birds cuddle. I even became one with our sidewalks despite jealously from nippy dogs. I saw new beauty in our neighborhood and all the while, was encouraged by passersby with a brief nod and smile.
I ran back and forth past our river and canal, played chicken with geese and hopscotch with frogs. I watched turtles sunbathe and birds cuddle. I even became one with our sidewalks despite jealously from nippy dogs.
Over these last four months, I have felt incredible running highs and devastatingly epic lows; excruciating back pain and shin splints on the verge of catastrophe. Somewhere along the line I started to care about protein shakes, fueling gel and water supplements. I was even open to learning about zone workouts and VO2 max levels, despite not wanting to get too caught up in the details.
I lost toenails. Gross. And I started to empathize with actors on those pain medicine commercials. Who am I?!
I rotated through three pairs of running shoes and finally appreciated the nuances of each type. I wore a running watch. While I wasn’t ready to join the infamous Strava community and share my every move online, I was in tune with my stats and was secretly giddy about my personal records.
With just a few days until the big day, I still have some training to do, but it’s decreased substantially. It’s odd. My whole life I’ve always prepared more leading up to a big moment, not less. It’s a mind $!@#, frankly. Nevertheless, I am going to approach this with every bit of determination, grit, strength and power I can unleash. While the outcome is yet to be written, the course has been set.
And no matter how inconsequential a middle age, marketing agency micro-retiree, suburban wife and mom of four on course to run a half-marathon in Cleveland, Ohio may be in the broader landscape of our world affairs, it is, after all, the time you spend on your rose that makes yourrose so important.
The time you spend on your rose is what makes yourrose so important.