AAs a teenager, I was the girl who said, “Don’t make me do cardio.” At school I would have volunteered to be a goalkeeper because it required minimal movement. When it came to sports day, if I couldn't call in sick, I would have reluctantly signed up for the long jump as the long jump pit was hidden behind a bike shed and didn't draw a crowd. The idea of running on a treadmill in front of the entire school seemed like a nightmare come true.
Unlike many of my male friends who played football or rugby for fun, I only saw exercise as a punishment. Diet culture in the 1990s dictated that thinness—and subsequent “goodness”—was a simple matter of calories in and calories out. Exercise was a grueling way to stay thin and nothing more. I knew nothing about the positive effects of exercise because I had only ever experienced the feeling of being about to pass out.
As an adult, my attitude began to change. I tried running and found that I didn't hate it, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was bad at it. I often felt like I was back in school, finishing last in a relay race and embarrassing everyone, especially myself.
That was until, at 38, I agreed to go for a run with my five-year-old daughter. My husband has been a runner for several years and I have been trying to get good at it. As a result, we talked about running a lot at home and my daughter started to show interest. She said running sounded like fun, and it reminded me that that's what it's all about: it was supposed to be an enjoyable hobby that would make you feel better, not worse. Her attitude made me realize that running was now something I chose to do rather than something I was forced into.
My daughter enjoyed running races with her brother, but she wanted to try going further. Friends with children suggested trying junior parkrun – a 2 km race for children from 4 to 14 years old, the goal of which is to get children active and make running accessible. Adults can run along with their children, and the activities are aimed at having fun rather than aiming for a personal best.
It was a bright, early frosty Sunday morning when we headed to a children's run at a local running track. My daughter was one of the youngest runners there, and while running next to her, I was amazed by her attitude and abilities. She didn't complain. She didn't try to go to bed early. She seemed to genuinely enjoy what was happening.
Afterwards, we headed to the cafe near the running track for a snack, where my daughter told me she enjoyed the running – and, to my surprise, I did too. We weren't there to compete with anyone or worry about our finishing time – we were there simply to enjoy the experience of running together. I wasn't tracking the run on my regular running app and wasn't noticing our pace.
Later I went out for a run alone. When I started to get tired, my usual internal monologue began: Why don’t you stop? You're terrible at this! Then I remembered how I was talking to my daughter just a few hours ago, encouraging her and praising her abilities. “You’re doing great,” I told myself. Just keep running.
To my surprise, it worked. Instead of beating myself up, I tried to talk to myself as if I were a child whom I adore. My daughter looks a lot like me when I was five, so it was easy to imagine me talking to a younger version of myself. I knew I never wanted her to feel like running was a punishment; I wanted her to experience the runner's high and feel the good endorphins rather than think of exercise as something to be endured.
Since then, junior parkruns have become commonplace. I stopped focusing on how “good” or “bad” my runs were and fought the urge to compare myself to others. Instead, I follow my daughter's lead and enjoy the moment, grateful that my body can take me down the track with her. I don't think about calories burned or miles traveled or worry about how bad I might look; instead I focus on how good I feel.
Today, cardio is no longer the enemy. I often go on longer runs alone and am training for my first marathon – but a Sunday morning 2K run with my favorite running buddy remains an absolute joy for me.
