Running Reflections (…and Ramblings….)

By Stacy Campbell, Grantham, NH

Entering a new race age division as I hit the big 5-0 this August, and having plenty of solo running time since my teen kids all leave me in the dust on the trails these days, I’ve been reflecting a lot on the impact of running on my life over the past 50 years. Maybe some of you have deep roots in running? Maybe some of you are over the age of 50? Maybe some of you are still in your speed or distance running heyday? And maybe some of you are just starting out on this thing called trail shoes, shin splints, Garmin watches, and Strava (which I still have yet to figure out). Wherever you currently stand in the world of the UVRC, I hope you feel like me, lucky to be here and excitedly looking forward to your next workout, race, or icepack.

Safe to say my love of running started as a youngster way back in the 1900’s, around the age of 2 or 3. It was my favorite mode of transportation, I loved to run. Up the stairs, down the stairs, to the kitchen, down the hall. I got places fast when I ran, and I always had places to go. As I got older, running became a way to settle childhood disputes with my next door neighbor/best friend, Amy. Knowing she’d never beat me, I would strategically challenge her to a “race around the house” to settle any arguments we were having or to decide who was “the first winner” if it looked like I might lose a board game we were playing. By age 10 I was building confidence with my rad running skills, leaving all the boys in the dust (well, minus Mike Staffiere, my “super fast” elementary school running idol) during field day, earning ribbon after ribbon and feeling pretty good about myself. With the arrival of high school, I naturally joined the cross country and track teams, and running again helped bridge the awkward teenage gap between friends and, gasp, boyfriends. Being a sprinter, I naturally asked the guy I thought was cute on the team to “hold my blocks” for my indoor 300yd school record breaking race and a high school romance subsequently blossomed. In college, running morphed into a means for clearing my head, taking a break from the books, and keeping the “freshman 15” off. I embraced the world of “distance” running, which at that time meant absolutely nothing more than a 5K. Who would ever be crazy enough to actually want to run a marathon?! 

I didn’t really start dabbling into longer distances until I finished college, then grad school, and that old high school romance fizzled out. I needed a new hobby. Working in Boston at the time, my after-work runs around the Charles River slowly became longer and longer in mileage. Running gave me time to wrap my head around new beginnings but kept me, quite literally, moving forward. It also gave me an out, an excuse if I needed one, “Aw, sorry, can’t make that, I have a long run to do.” Anyone else here a proud old Somerville Road Runner? Khoury’s Thursday night runs?!?

A friend and colleague at the hospital talked me into my first marathon, New York City. It was 2003. I think I wrote “6 hours” as my expected finish time, I had no idea. I trained, finished well under my “expected” time, and thought, “Dang, if I gave this a little more calculated effort, I could probably qualify for Boston.” Marathon #2 was Chicago 2004 (fun fact, registration fee back then was $45). I had made myself a goal. And that fall I qualified for what would be my first of 3 “Bostons” while also getting to travel to new areas of the country to explore! Meanwhile, attempting to make strides forward in the relationship department, running became a screening tool for prospective partners. Friends playing matchmaker would first offer up someone’s running resume before I would agree to a meet up. My husband and I met on the Charles River for a 7 mile run for our first “date.” I was intrigued by his training for something called Reach the Beach. We worked out and thankfully he has supported my love of the sport, stinky running singlets, race registration fees, and excessive running shoe purchases ever since.

Running through most of my first pregnancy made me feel like I was strong like Wonder Woman! Well, until it didn’t once I got too big and awkward to run without a pronounced waddle. Our son was born on Mother’s day, 2010. New mom, new stressors, new schedules, I was desperate for some me-time. A friend and I decided to partner up and relay the Mt. Desert Island Marathon that fall, a marathon I had run and PR’d at in 2008. No strollers, no kid drama, just me and the road. Running became my respite for anywhere from a measly 10 minutes to a blessed 2 hours (!!) of near silence multiple days throughout the week. After my twin daughters arrived in July 2012, running again felt like a reasonable and wholesome outlet to quietly distance myself from the mom world, even just for a little bit, for self preservation.

I was the proudest running and track mom the first year my kids participated in our town’s annual Chief Wills Day kid’s fun run and placed 1st, 2nd, and 3rd in their respective divisions (ages 4-5 and ages 6-7). So proud. They got trophies. They got that feeling of WOW! And they quickly caught the running bug. I bought them “real” running shoes. Nike running shorts with the built in underwear. They loved it all. There was a time when I distinctly remember telling my kids at organized races, “You’ll be fine, just run your own race and watch the course markers,” feeling confident they could surely navigate well marked 5K’s on their own as kindergarteners and not slow me down. Nowadays, they remind me, “Mom, run your own race,” which basically means, “We’ll see you at the finish line…and don’t take too long.”

In the late summer/early fall of 2024, nearly half a century worth of impact from running, hiking, and skiing finally caught up with me. I found myself debilitated in an MRI machine and subsequently scheduling spine surgery that October. Successfully “recovered,” my orthopedic surgeon reluctantly “ok’d” me for the Sunapee Turkey Trot that November… “You understand it’s a Turkey TROT…You do plan to TROT it, right?”… I did. I needed the mental reassurance that I was truly and physically “ok” again, and I wasn’t going to lose my running lifeline. It’s a-whole-nother view from the back of the pack. Post surgery I met extremely resilient people as I continued to recover and increase my mileage. Feeling a little self conscious and a bit of an outspoken need to justify my own new slower walk-jog pace to others, I met a man 1 mile in at BarnArts that spring who reassured me, “You look good! I’m 65 and trying to get in shape, lose some weight, and not die out here!”  Later, same race, I chatted it up with a woman wearing hiking boots up the steep hill on the 5K course who told me, “I’m in the middle of breast cancer treatment and I just want to feel a little more like me on the good days, I wear the boots so I’m not tempted to push it and actually run.” If you’ve never run a race closer to the back, it’s a humbling experience.

With my average pace times now pushing 9+ minutes/mile, I no longer care about my time. Well, I kind of do, but I don’t. I’m just happy to be out there. I reluctantly got a new Garmin at the encouragement of my kids when my OG dinosaur Forerunner 10 could no longer hold enough battery power to last through an entire Covered Bridges Half.  I don’t always remember to “save” my runs, so my running data is off, which absolutely gives my girls a visceral reaction. But I know I ran, I’m good with that. I have nothing to prove. I also still love to hold my arms up high as I cross finish lines (WELL after all the winners) and collect phat race shirts and medals… is ‘phat’ even a popular word anymore? As far as I’m concerned, you do you when it comes to your running goals.

I now have an overwhelming feeling of pride for my kids as they navigate their own running logs, races, and dreams. Jogging behind them on the sidelines and watching them confidently compete gives me deep satisfaction as if I’ve somehow successfully passed the torch on to the next generation. Although they would say, “Mom, it’s not that deep.” Right now to them, I’m just their slow mom who likes to wear porta-potty Chicknlegs and sign them up for races to keep us busy. I’ll let them tease me about my pace as long as they promise to keep running races with me. 

In conclusion, I’m sure many of you could easily pull together a colorful running timeline as well, some of ours longer than others simply by the years we have invested in the sport. Running has propelled me through amazing days and times of my life, but also helped me to endure challenging ones and fill voids. Highs, lows, and buffalos. I have met some of the most incredible and inspiring people I know through running connections. Every April I give a Facebook shout out to the Boston Marathoners and this year I took my girls (now accomplished runners themselves at the ripe old age of 14) to spectate on Heartbreak Hill. It’s always an invigorating, emotional, and inspiring event, especially when you see your own friends run past. The strength, determination, discipline, and perseverance I gained from my own running over the years has certainly helped me power through many of life’s finish lines, not just the asphalt ones. 

Cheers to all the roads to 50 and beyond!