One Step at a Time

It’s around mile two that I begin to regret my self-improvement plan. My legs burn from exertion. Every step aggravates the twinge in my right ankle. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I have no extra energy to swipe at it. My heart gallops in my chest as I take gasping breaths, desperately trying to gulp in enough air to meet my body’s demand for oxygen. No matter how many times I try to repeat my mantra, Relax into your pace, my body refuses to obey. I’m sure anyone who sees me running right now can tell I’m in great physical discomfort.

Why did I think I could train for a marathon?

I haven’t really run at all since high school. And even in high school, I was a sprinter, considering any distance longer than 400 meters to be cruel and unusual punishment. The first few weeks of training, I had to learn a different stride, focusing on striking the ground with my mid-foot and rolling heel-to-toe instead of running high on my toes. Every run has been pure torture. I keep waiting for this to feel easier and to find the ever-elusive “runner’s high” that I’ve heard so much about, but the more I run, the more I’m convinced it must be a myth.

Why am I putting myself through this?

Six weeks ago, I found my world completely turned upside down. Luke and I had been together since freshman year of college. I easily fell for his seductive brown eyes and charming smile. He was a standout collegiate athlete, as well as incredibly intelligent, excelling in his dual majors of business and engineering. I became completely wrapped up in him, and over the years, my identity became deeply embedded and tangled in his.

After graduating college, I followed him all over the country as he conquered the world, climbing the corporate ladder and eventually breaking off to develop his own wildly successful company. My hopes and dreams had been put on hold for so long that I didn’t even remember what they were in the first place.

However, I was always sure that we were in it together. That we both wanted to eventually get married and start a family. I never doubted his loyalty to me. Looking back, I’m embarrassed by how naive I had been.

When I walked into our apartment that fateful Friday, arriving home a day early from a work trip, everything that I thought I knew evaporated. I expected Luke to be at work like he always was at this time of the day, so I was surprised to hear music blaring from our bedroom.

“Luke?” I called out as I pulled my luggage toward the bedroom. But the only sound that answered was the thumping bass of the music.

As I wrapped my hand around the door knob, I experienced a slight moment of trepidation, but quickly shook it off. Turning the knob and walking through the door, I drew up short. The man I loved, whom I assumed would be my husband and the father of my children, was balls-deep in another woman.

At first, I just stared. The entire scene in front of me felt completely surreal. This must be a nightmare. I’m going to wake up any minute. But it didn’t stop. Eventually, the red-haired woman noticed me and gave a little cry of surprise as she pushed against Luke’s chest, attempting to pull the sheet up. Luke turned his head and sprang out of bed at the sight of me, cursing as he grappled with a pillow to cover himself. All words deserted me, and I just continued to stare, dumbfounded, my mouth gaping open like an imbecile.

Luke quickly turned off the music, and the sudden silence weighed heavily in the air, teeming with electric energy, like how the atmosphere feels right before a thunderstorm.

“Natalie! What are you doing home so early?” he rushed to say, breathing heavily. “I didn’t think you were flying home until tomorrow.”

Still unable to form a sentence, reeling from his words and what I just witnessed, I turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Minutes later, the redhead, fully dressed, slipped out of the apartment as Luke cautiously approached the kitchen table where I sat, still clutching the handle to my roll-away suitcase.

“Natalie, I never wanted you to find out this way. But we obviously need to talk.”

My throat constricted as tears pricked the back of my eyes, my anger simmering just below the surface as I met his gaze.

He ran a hand through his brown hair, already mussed from his escapade earlier, as he blew out a long sigh. “Look, Vanessa and I met through work. She’s a client I’ve worked with for about nine months. We worked really closely in Houston back in November. One night at the hotel, one thing led to another, and - it just happened. We didn’t plan it. But once it happened, we didn’t really want to stop it either. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. But it probably is time we discussed this. Natalie, I’m not in love with you anymore. I think you should move out.”

I catch him fucking another woman, and he asks me to move out? The actual gall of this man.

Again, wordlessly, I stood up and walked out of the apartment, my only possessions being whatever I had packed in my suitcase. I couldn’t stand to hear him speak one more second, and after I slammed the door behind me, I intended to never see him again.

***

Now, as my watch signals that I’ve completed three miles, I slow to a walk, limping along on my way back to my car from the trail. The air wheezes past my throat as I struggle to steady my breathing.

When I walked out of Luke and I’s apartment six weeks ago, I needed a fresh start. I allowed myself a week to wallow in self-pity, binging on cartons of ice cream, finishing a box (or two) of wine, and crashing on a friend’s couch. But after that week, I told myself I was done mourning that relationship. After what he put me through, he was really not worth any more of my energy. It was finally time to put myself first.

I found a small one-bedroom apartment that I could afford and moved in, bringing with me a pitifully small amount of possessions. I bought some plants at the local market so that I could have fresh herbs in my kitchen windowsill, and promised myself that I was going to finally start cooking all of those meals I saved from my Cooking Light magazines over the years. Luke was very regimented in what he would eat. I wanted to explore different cuisines and cooking techniques, something I never felt like I could do when we were together. I couldn’t wait to flex my culinary muscles again.

Part of my self-improvement plan was getting back to the joy of preparing healthy food. The other part was finding a goal to work towards. I needed to do something just for me, something that was hard and would take great discipline, so that I could prove to myself that I can do anything I put my mind to. That I’m not a doormat. That I have the strength to not only get through this break-up, but to flourish. I completely lost who I was over the decade I spent with Luke. And I want to rediscover who that woman is now.

I’m not entirely sure how the idea of running a marathon came about. I think it was likely related to late-night mindless scrolling on social media. One article about a woman who lost 60 pounds after one year of consistent running led into ten more articles about running, and the next thing I knew I was looking up races and training plans.

And now that I’ve started, there’s no way in hell I’m quitting. Cursing myself for being so idealistic, I search for my key fob in the pocket of my running tights. There’s a group of people (I’m assuming other runners given their attire) gathering in the parking lot. A tall brunette calls out to the group and starts leading them in stretches.

“Are you here for the running group?” a friendly voice asks behind me.

I turn around to see a pretty blonde approaching me with blue eyes and a bright smile that is warm and welcoming.

“Actually, I just finished a run and am getting ready to leave. If I can ever find my keys,” I add, as I continue to fumble around for my key fob. I know I put it in the side pocket of my running tights. It doesn’t have a zipper, but I figured the key fob would be fine there. The longer I spend searching for it, though, I’m starting to panic. Did it fall out along the trail?

She must sense my distress. “Oh no! Do you think you lost them while you were out running?”

“I must have. I can’t find them in my pocket, and I know I put them there before I started.”

I look helplessly toward the trailhead, dreading having to go back out and search the three mile loop I just survived.

“Let me help you find them. Why don’t you show me where you ran, and we can walk the trail together. It’s probably safer for us to stick together than to split up anyway.”

“Thanks,” I respond.

“I’m Blaire, by the way,” she tells me as we head toward the trail.

“Natalie. This is really nice of you to help me.” Remembering she had asked me about the running group, I quickly add, “If you were going to join the others for a run, you really don’t have to do this.”

She waves me off. “Oh, it’s no big deal. I can catch up to them later.”

We carefully step over tree roots that jut up from the dirt path. “How often does the group meet?” I ask.

She brightens as she turns to me. “We have organized runs twice a week. All skill levels are welcome. It’s a fun group of people. Typically, we go out to one of the local breweries after evening runs or get coffee and brunch after Saturday morning runs.”

“That sounds like fun,” I answer, smiling. It might be a nice way to meet some more people. I feel like my friend group dwindled the longer I was with Luke. I never prioritized meeting new people or cultivating old friendships. It’s appalling to me how much I changed for him and how much energy I put into our relationship at the complete expense of nurturing other areas of my life. Never again, I promise myself.

“You should join us next time!” Blaire says.

“You know what. I think I will.” Walking a few steps more, I spot my key fob on the side of the trail. I’ll take that as a good sign!

***

I arrive at the state park bright and early the following Saturday morning. It’s supposed to be a warm day, but the spring morning is still pretty brisk, so I’m dressed in black running tights and a long sleeve teal pullover. As I’m getting out of the car, my initial excitement about being a part of a group is starting to give way to anxiety.

How far are we even running this morning? Will I be able to keep up?

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I start walking toward the group of people congregating by the trailhead. Spotting Blaire, I head toward her and wave.

“Hey, Natalie! I’m so glad you decided to join us this morning!” she smiles, yelling across the parking lot, causing several heads to turn my way.

I smile shyly. “Thanks. I’m excited to be here! Just hope I can keep up. How far is the run today?”

“The planned run is six miles, but people go at their own pace and may opt for shorter or longer distances, depending on their training plans.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Ok, good. I can do this.

***

The heavenly, nutty aroma of fresh brewed coffee wafts toward me as our group settles at one of the tables in the local breakfast cafe. I ran four miles today, and it actually wasn’t as terrible as I feared. It was fun running with other people around, even though I didn’t have enough breath to join the conversation flowing around me. The trail was beautiful too, with fresh bright green growth starting to appear at the end of the tree branches as dappled light from the morning sun warmed my skin. I can honestly admit that I actually enjoyed myself this morning.

Blaire and two other girls from the running group, Callie and Mary, strike up a conversation with me, asking about where I’m from and what I do for work. We talk about our families and hobbies and the music we like. We chat about running and what races are coming up. I tell them that I’m a fairly novice runner, and my goal is to run a marathon someday. Excitedly, Blaire says we should all run a 5K together, and we start planning my first race.

I’ve missed this. This camaraderie with other women. The joy of being a part of something. This heady feeling of acceptance, of actually being seen and heard, instead of being ignored, knocked down, and having my spirit once again crushed. This moment, this small conversation, gives me hope that I can find myself again someday.

I smile and take a sip of my coffee. I’m going to be ok.

***

Blaire, Callie, Mary, and I become good friends. We are practically inseparable, meeting up for coffee, going for runs together, grabbing drinks after work. I’ve invited them over to try my newest culinary conquests. Mary has helped me start a small garden on my apartment balcony, growing lettuces and snap peas in pots.

It’s been so fun having girlfriends again.

I finally told them about Luke and how I’ve been trying to find myself again. And to be honest, I’m feeling more like myself than I have for a really long time. It’s freeing, not having to answer to someone else. Not feeling like I have to mold myself into the person someone else thinks I should be. I can just be me. It’s almost as if, after years of suffocation, I can finally take a deep breath.

The night before the big 5K race, I’m setting my clothes out for the next morning, along with my race bib and pins. I’m not as nervous as I thought I would be. I actually feel deep-seated contentment. No matter how the race ends up tomorrow, I am satisfied with what I accomplished. I did it. I put in the consistent time and effort to be able to stand at the starting line tomorrow. I feel strong and healthy, in both mind and spirit. I feel whole again.

***

My heart pounds in my chest as I round the corner. The finish line’s in sight. Instead of feeling tortured and fatigued, I feel energized. My legs feel strong, my breathing controlled, my body confident in its ability. I repeat my mantra in my head as I pick up my pace, Strong body, strong mind. The girls stand along the side of the road, holding up signs and cheering me on as I cross the finish line, hands held high above my head.

Tears flood my eyes. I did it! I decided to try something hard, something new, and I accomplished what I set out to do.

“Natalie!” I hear a deep voice call out.

My elation turns to dread. I turn and see Luke pushing through the crowd to get closer to me. I stand rooted to the ground, completely shocked to see him.

When he draws close to me, he says, “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, but you blocked my number. Your mom told me you had signed up for the 5K this morning. I can’t believe you’ve been running. I’m sorry to show up like this, but I just had to see you. God, you look amazing.”

I look back at him, surprised that I don’t feel much of anything at his words. Six weeks ago, I would’ve killed to have him come running back to me, telling me he had to see me. That he’d been so desperate to reach me that he called my mother. I stand taller, feeling confident in who I am and in the knowledge that I deserve better than what he can give me.

“Thanks. My friends are waiting for me, so I better get going.”

“Wait! Can we talk? I messed up hugely and don’t expect you to forgive me. But I’m willing to beg for a second chance. Please, Natalie. Please talk to me.”

“Luke. You did mess up. But at this point, I don’t hold any contempt for you. I’m actually really happy with my life now. We weren’t right for each other, and I finally can see that now. I wish you the best, but I need you to understand, there’s not going to be a second chance.”

He looks surprised, probably because I never spoke my mind as assertively as I am now. I give him a sympathetic smile, lay a reassuring hand on his upper arm before squeezing it and letting go. And then I turn away and walk towards my friends.

I rebuilt my life, one step at a time, and I know he will too. Maybe one day, I’ll meet someone new and live out my dream of having a family. But for right now, this is exactly where I need to be.