I had never considered myself a runner. I always thought of the activity as mind-numbingly dull and attainable only for the athletically gifted. My father was the only person I knew who ran and enjoyed it. Running was his secondary religion for over 30 years. After he returned from the office I’d watch him leave the house for his daily jaunt around the neighborhood in a white Hanes t-shirt, black shorts, hole-ridden white socks and graying sneakers. He wasn’t the most fashionable runner, but he had to be the most committed.

 

Although I admired his dedication to running, I never thought of it as a hobby I would take up for myself. At the same time, my father and I didn’t have a lot in common, so this was one of the very few ways I could steal some time with him, and when I managed to speak between my labored breathing, we shared a few words as we raced past pink sunsets and determined power-walkers.

 

So after I moved to a new city and found myself with no friends and a demanding job as a researcher for a newspaper, I thought back to my father. In the spring I joined a 5k training group that ran along a river three times a week. Throwing myself into the running culture and its followers, I poured myself into bright spandex, treated myself to $100 sneakers with metallic trim, studied Runner’s World magazine and attached a meter to my iPod so I could track my progress online.

 

I soon forgot my desire to meet new people. While the other members in my group chatted and admired the scenery, I pounded the gravel silently, thinking back to the office and my work. While running eased some of the tension in my shoulders and back, there was no escape from what seemed like a marathon of to-dos in my cubicle.

 

Then one day my bosses sat me down and let me go.

 

I spent weekend in bed, downing two bottles of cheap wine and cuddling with my cat. Eventually I checked my e-mail, read my coach’s weekly newsletter and realized I had missed a workout. I remember laughing at myself – what’s a run when I had just lost my job?

 

At that point the only running I did was chasing my cat, who was now diving behind the couch and out of my reach. It only took one glance in the mirror to explain his unusual behavior: I hadn’t showered since I’d been laid off. My hair and skin were slick with oil, my shirt was caked with snot and my breath could subdue an elephant. My apartment wasn’t much better, a tissue paper trail around the bed, toppling dishes in the sink, laundry strewn across the floor and garbage seeping out the can. Turning back to a whining cat, I knew I had to straighten everything – but even the idea of stepping into the shower seemed daunting.

 

And besides, my running group was supposed to meet in thirty minutes.

 

I threw on my running clothes, tucked my hair into a hat, laced up my sneakers and dashed to meet my group at the local running store. Upon my arrival, one of the runners asked why I missed our Saturday workout.

 

“Lost my job last Friday,” I admitted. It was the first time I’d said it to someone’s face.

 

She sighed and smiled. “That’s the way things are right now.”

 

During the evening’s run, I realized she was right. Considering the economy and the unemployment rate, I could be out of a job for as long as six months – perhaps even longer. Applying to every ad on Craigslist would not guarantee a job. While it was important to keep looking for work, I had set aside a few hours for something recreational – something within my control.

 

 

 

I decided that my spare time would be spent running. Exercise would make me eat better and spend time outdoors. It would keep me disciplined. And since my former colleagues were the only friends I had in town, this group was the only way I could interact with someone besides my cat.

 

The entire group became my coach during the next few weeks. Every time I felt depressed and wanted to skip a run, I remembered our commitment to one another. I rehashed my interviews and they voiced encouragement. Most of all, we leaned on one another. We ran longer. We met our weekly goals. Amongst them I felt hard, impenetrable.

 

Our time spent on the trail also gave me a chance to think about what I wanted. Every week I was bettering myself as a runner, and I knew that if I applied the same energy and focus to my career I could succeed at anything. During one particularly hot run, I finally accepted what I’d felt for the past year: my previous job had made me depressed and jaded, and my lack of energy had been reflected in my work for several months. While I had enjoyed the responsibilities and my colleagues, the overtime had taken its toll on my health and social life. I had felt little joy in the past year.

 

Perhaps, as my father said, this loss was really a pit stop, a detour that would lead me to a role I would love.

 

On race day I donned a hot pink running skirt and met my friends at the starting line. The crowd was abuzz with energy with some participants looking as though they were ready to break into a sprint and others appearing ill, wondering aloud if they could manage half the trek.

 

All I felt was a hunger to finish and finish strong. Running was how I dealt with the hurt and humiliation of losing my job, a position that had been such a large part of my identity. A loss I couldn’t bring up with my family, because I feared seeing their disappointment or with my friends, because I was the only one in the circle who was out of work. Racing past the course’s tree-lined streets, at this moment I felt accepted. It didn’t matter if I had a job or not – I was finally a runner, and most importantly I was a runner who loved to run.

 

 

 

 

I placed within the top ten of my age group. My race took twenty-nine minutes, four seconds and a heave of hyperventilation across the finish line. I would have completed the distance sooner had I not been distracted by ‘Girls on the Run’, a nonprofit group that trained girls for their first 5k. I watched these beaming youngsters, all of various paces, and I was overcome by a desire to help them. That night I shot an e-mail to the group’s top executive and offered my services, and I currently volunteer as an editor for their newsletters.

 

Later that summer my running partners began training for a 10k. I left town and moved in with my parents. However, I kept up with our schedule. The weather was too thick and hot, so I hopped on my father’s treadmill, the overhead fan whirling and Rachael Ray on the television. I thought back to my trail along the river, my partners, the girls, my father, my mother photographing me at the finish line with her cell phone. Most of all I saw the pride on her face – the pride she felt for her unemployed runner of a daughter.

 

I’d discovered all the support in the world, and I knew I would be okay.

 

A month after I’d moved in with my parents I moved out. Today I started a job for a communications software company. Once again I have found myself in a new town, with little more than a cat and a pair of reflective sneakers.

 

About the Author: Sesa Pabalan has moved to Oakland, California with her equally fast-paced cat Milo Garret and found a new running route along Lake Meritt. Her new goal is to run a half-marathon. You can ask questions by contacting Sesa directly at smpabalan@gmail.com.