My Running Journey
By: Bodie Callaghan
It was dark out, but the stadium lights from the baseball field were bright. It was my first Race, and I was out of breath. My body ached from exhaustion.
“I need to lie down,” I panted. The sound of cheers echoed in the background as people crossed the finish line. The feeling of pins and needles was covering my face.
My mom responded, “No, don’t lie down, that's how you cramp.” And so I stood there, just catching my breath until the adrenaline had enough time to kick back in. I drank some water, stood up, and then I realized what was going on inside my muscles. I felt it, the good-bad feeling of being physically depleted. I had completed a 5k race, my first “real” run at that. It was the annual Palo Alto Moonlight Run, something I would return to year after year.
I woke up tired the next day. My legs were completely sore, something I rarely felt. They stayed that way for a week, and at first I didn’t like it. My only sport at the time was diving, so I wasn’t used to feeling tired in that way. As the soreness went away, I felt like I almost missed it. I wanted to feel sore again; I wanted to keep running.
“Oh, by the way, Pacers is starting next week. Would you want to do it this year?” my mom asked. Pacers was a running group I wanted to run with. It was coached by my mom’s friend Kathryn and a few other coaches who I didn’t know at the time.
I responded, “I think so, but what about diving? I thought it happened at the same time?”
“It does, but I figured it would be fine to skip one weekly practice to run. You would still be able to dive, just two times a week instead of three,” she added. I agreed.
I was feeling mixed about joining the running team. I was going to be with people who had been running for the past couple years, and I felt a bit of imposter syndrome being new to the sport. At the same time, I was ready to try something new, and I had a friend on the team so I didn’t feel entirely alone.
When the first practice started, I was nervous. I scouted the parking lot where we would meet to see if I could find Kathryn, the coach I knew, but I failed in doing so. Instead I saw a different coach in a Pacers shirt.
“Hi, I am Casper. I am going to be coaching Pacers today,” he announced.
“Is Kathryn coaching as well?” I asked.
“Yes, I think she will be here shortly. Could I get your name?”
“Bodie,” I said. He was tall and had a distinct Dutch accent.
We waited for the rest of the group to arrive, and then we took off. I remember feeling good about myself going out in the morning to run. The feeling of the fall wind on my face was pristine. As I ran, I talked with my friend Giulio, and it already felt normal.
I remember feeling the same way I do today at the end of each practice: tired. My muscles were tight, lungs out of breath, and forehead sweating, I would climb into the car and make my way home. Each practice became less and less memorable, until I started hitting milestones. I was progressing more and more in speed, running form, and endurance. It felt good, and I was really getting to know my coaches, specifically Casper. Things were starting to shape up, I even signed up for my school's track and field team. I was finally ready to take running into competing, But then before I knew it, there was a global pandemic, and I found myself sitting inside with nowhere to run.
At first, the lockdown was considered to be a few weeks long, and everything would go back to normal before the end of the month. Two weeks into the pandemic, it became clear that that was not the case. As if that was bad enough, I was sick with a 102 degree fever. My running coaches reached out to the team and announced that we wouldn’t be meeting for a while, and as a challenge told us to run a mile every day.
I waited patiently for three weeks until I rid myself of whatever I had caught, and then began to run. I could feel the impact of not running for nearly a month, but as the days went on, the time it took me to run a mile went down, and I felt like I was maintaining decent running composure. Somewhere along the line, my brother Finn introduced the family to a video he found, about a running challenge where you run 1 mile every hour, for 12 hours. We decided to try it, and most of my family participated, along with some friends. It reminded me of what it was like to run in a group, something I didn’t realize I was missing.
I continued to run on my own or with a few of my friends, until we got the email that Pacers was starting back up again. As soon as the group was back, it felt like we picked up where we had left off. We bonded during our runs more, because it was a way of mentally breaking away from the online world of Zoom. We were able to talk about how much running meant to us in the tough times of the pandemic, and when we were running, nothing else going on in the world was relevant. Once again, I found time moving fast as I progressed at running. I had faster times, and was able to run for longer distances. These practices continued in sessions throughout the new school year, and even into the next for about a year. These practices made me feel fast; they made me feel like I was finally a part of this sport. I was finally feeling eager to race, and the racing season was approaching.
Before I knew it, it was time for the Moonlight Run again. Due to Covid, last year’s was canceled, leaving me excited to beat my record and revisit the scene that brought me into running. This was a chance for me to see and feel my progress. I was excited, and when the day came, I knew I was ready.
I got home from school and met up with some of my friends, one of which was also participating in the Moonlight Run. My afternoon was pretty typical; we played some basketball and hung out as a group, all the usual stuff, until it was 7:00. I went home, got ready for the race, ate a bar, and hopped in the car. The drive there was energizing. Me and my mom listened to music as we got “hyped” for the run. When we got to the course, we checked in and got situated. Once again I found myself stretching and preparing for the race. However, this time, I knew what to expect and had years of knowledge and training on my back.
“Alright everybody. We are lining up for the 5k run. If you are participating in this event, please make your way to the start line. The event will begin in 5 minutes,” someone announced through the speakers.
The voice echoed on the field. I could feel the music vibrating through my chest, as I walked towards the start line. Now all I could do was wait for the horn to sound. This part made me anxious because there was no countdown, Just a, “Runners take your mark,” and then a beep. I had prepared myself as best I could. I hadn’t eaten much, I chugged water an hour before, and I was ready. I felt it in my legs.
“Beeeeep!” The horn sounded, and we were off. Because the course doesn’t change, I remembered every last piece of it, and how it looked the time I ran it 2 years ago. It felt as if I was in the exact same place I was before, running in the dark with the city all lit up. It felt surreal, just as it did before: the cold wind blowing across my face, the sound of footsteps on the gravely dirt path beneath my shoes. It was familiar, and it felt good to be back.
“Good pace, keep it here,” I kept thinking to myself. I wanted to make sure I would leave all my energy on the course, but I didn’t want to do so too early or I wouldn’t be able to finish. Last time, my goal was to finish without stopping. This time, it was to get a sub-seven-minute-mile pace the whole way through. I didn’t have any way of knowing what exact pace I was holding, but I could feel it. It was one of those things in running that came with time.
I made a left turn onto the path with a “3rd mile” sign. I was running back towards the start, along the same path I ran out on. At this point I was out of breath, and my muscles were starting to get tired, but I still had a decent amount of distance left. It was also the finishing mile, so despite my discomfort, I told myself to push the pace. The race had been going by so quickly, so I wasn’t expecting the last mile to feel like an hour. As I looked ahead at the road, it kept on getting longer. I was expecting to turn, only to find that each time I passed a street, it was the wrong one. I was too tired to continue moving forward at this pace, but mentally I couldn’t let myself to slow down. I had to keep running. I had to get to the finish line as fast as I could.
When I finally saw the right turn ahead, I bolted.
“Empty the tank,” I kept repeating to myself. “Empty the tank no matter how tired you are.” At this point I was fully sprinting, launching myself closer and closer to the finish with every step I took. I left my anaerobic state far behind as the lights grew brighter, and the sound louder. I saw the digital clock ticking, but I wasn’t looking at the time.
When I crossed the finish, all the exhaustion hit me. I felt the sweat dripping down my face, and I felt complete.
I later received my time, which was 21:24. Although I hadn’t gotten a sub-seven-minute-mile 5k, I was still pretty close. I really didn’t care much about the time though, because it was the experience that I was able to retain. Looking back three years ago, I would’ve never guessed I would end up becoming a runner. If I hadn’t done the moonlight run that one time, those past two years would’ve been completely different. Going down this path was a risk I was willing to take, and it took me to something I never knew I would love.
