Can I Outrun My Student Loan Debt? A Personal History of Running, Part Two

I stretched my summer post-graduation into a revel that lasted through the better part of fall. During my senior year I was working 30-plus hours a week at my internship with a full-time course load, leadership positions in the student media and active sorority membership. I was stressed, and online shopping and drinking were my primary coping mechanisms.

But then I graduated. I woke up the first Monday after graduation and the husband-then-known-as-fiancé was already getting ready to go teach.

“Guess what I have to do today?” I asked him.

“Uhm, go to work?”

“Yes!” I was fully manic. “Go to work! That’s all I have to do today!” This intense gratitude for capitalism would be relatively short-lived, but freedom from classes and extracurriculars had me ready to kiss Adam Smith’s ass.

I had two partners in crime that summer. (They will not be named but will 1000% know who they are.) Some kinda summer magic melded the separate, fledgling friendships the three of us had with each other into full-on squad status. We probably went out together once a week. On top of that, I was filling my schedule with as many “dinner and drinks” dates with other friends as I could. And my Millennial job had an onsite keg that coworkers and I would drink from until after dark on those nice summer nights.

I wasn’t Mötley Crüe or anything, but I was still drinking more nights than not. There were many times I had to get a ride or Lyft home—not a problem. There were also a few outings that ended with me passed out on a friend’s couch—not ideal. There were even a couple instances I threw up in places I would have preferred not to—not a good look.

There is a particular type of shame and anxiety that comes with throwing up in public and waking up in last night’s clothes on a not-your-couch the next morning. It’s not a unique experience, and it’s definitely not the worst thing a person can do, but after two instances of this happening to me in as many months, it was time to pump the brakes. Plus, my student loan grace period was ending, so I had a pressing need to replace my “dinner and drinks” hobby with something more affordable (and less likely to make me gain weight).

I didn’t know what else to do, so I ran. Slowly, not far, with a lot of walking in mixed in.

I signed up for a “4ish”-mile race in November with my two aforementioned pals. (It’s called the Beer & Bagel run, so it was pretty on-brand for us.) One of the two was a fairly consistent runner who’d completed a couple half marathons, and the other would run her first half a week before the race. I was desperate to not be dead weight in the group, so I started taking my running much more seriously.

The familiar, pre-race anxiety made me fear impairing my performance by drinking, so I stayed in the Saturday night before the run. But my friends are normal people who don’t actually care about being in peak physical condition for a fun run at a golf course none of us were coming close to winning anyway, so their night out stretched into the early hours of the morning. When we met to head to the run, one was horribly hungover and one was still a little drunk.

Given that, it’s in no way impressive that I was the one setting the (still incredibly slow) pace. But what was surprising to me was that I could actually run the entire 4ish miles. I had no memory of ever going that far without stopping to walk.

That race changed everything for me. Those four measly miles unlocked a world of unexplored possibilities. If I could run four miles without stopping, could I run five? Six? Could I run a half marathon? (Later: Could I run a full marathon?) Soon enough, I was finding out—and the answer was yes.

As I trained, I watched my average pace drop from a 12-minute mile to an 8:30-minute mile. What once seemed like impossibly long distances became my average, weekday run.

Change causes change. I cut back on drinking because running hungover is for only the truest masochists. I started structuring my meals around foods that won’t give me the runs during long runs. (No reflection on running is complete without a poop joke!) I initially used music to help me zone out, but after three years of consistent running, I started going without more often than not. These days I usually just plod along to nothing but the sound of my breath and footfalls.

I haven’t always been a runner, but maybe I was fated to be one. A set of existing conditions and a 23-years-long series of events (see: determinism) all brought me to this unexpected identity. Seriously, for 7th grade Hannah, this whole marathon development is a total plot twist.

I told you it was a long-ass, boring story.