Why running by myself is the best thing that's ever happened to me

I used to hate running alone. I hated being alone with my thoughts and somehow, they always managed to defeat me. I could never find the perfect song, and I was too stubborn to make a playlist, so I'd spend most of the run skipping through sad love songs or mellow Lana Del Rey. My comfort zone was somewhere in the middle of our pack that ran in rows of twos. I felt safe running with my team. I felt happy telling funny stories and asking each other how our days were. I think I talked faster than I ran, but I was too busy bonding with my running friends to even think about actually running. But when all of that came to an end, it was time for me to adapt. I fell in love with running alone, and it's the healthiest thing I've ever done for my body and for my mind.

"I don't know how you are so motivated", people would always say to me when I told them that I've been training for half marathons alone, every day. To be quite honest, I didn't know how either. I made it through my first solo summer training --through the heat, the tempos, the vacations, and the long runs. I figured it couldn't get harder than that. In fact, it only got easier.

My training revolved solely around me. I got to set the pace. I got to choose the workout. I got to choose the time to run. I got to decide when I would take my days off. I liked being in control --and not because I could do whatever I want. I liked being in control because no one knew my body, my mind, and my limits better than I did. I didn't get do whatever I wanted to do. I did whatever I could do --and no matter what that was, it was enough. If something hurt me, I didn't feel obligated to push through it and lie to my coach and my team saying I'm fine. I took the rest I needed. If it was one of those days where my legs just couldn't move, I didn't feel bad about cutting my run short. I knew what I could handle and I was honest with myself. I got to choose my pace for my tempos and speed workouts --I didn't have to follow any splits or try to stay with anyone else. I knew my limits and I pushed them. I didn't have someone else telling me what I could and couldn't do because I just knew it for myself. I didn't have to "try to get through the run" and stay at whatever pace was being set. If I felt good, I ran fast. If I needed some time to get back into it, I ran a little easier. My best runs have been by myself. It was no longer a mental game of trying to keep up. It was just a run.

When I'm running alone, I'm in touch with my thoughts and my feelings. I'm able to talk myself through my problems and through stressful situations. I used to let my worries run me down. Now, I run down my worries. I feel more relaxed and in control of many different aspects of my life. Running became my own sort of therapy. And that's something I never really experienced while running with other people. I would try to make conversations throughout my runs with others in order to make the time go by faster. The only logical way to do that by yourself --without sounding schizophrenic --was by making conversations with myself through my thoughts. I talked my way through everything: due dates, projects, papers, boys, friendships, etc. It somehow felt better after. My runner's high when running alone was so much more powerful than when I was running with others.

I am no longer a byproduct of a generic training plan that is tailored to work for the average runner. Because I wasn't the average runner --I was me. I could only do what I could, and that's all I did. I developed a healthy body-mind relationship in order to realize what was best for myself. I listened to my body. And I was in touch with my mind. I pushed my own limits instead of trying to keep up with someone else's or inhibit someone from pushing mine. Everything I was as a runner was because of my own doing. And that felt good.

It's easy to focus on the negatives when it comes to training alone. I mean, that's what I always did. "This song sucks", "I hate the sound of my own breath", "What's the point anymore?". It was so easy to put the blame on something external because that was my motivation to run --reasons that were not for me, but for a greater whole. That's why it's so different now. There's no one holding a gun to my head forcing me to run --and there never was. I was always running for the wrong reasons. That's what makes it different now, and even better. I'm doing it because I want to. My runs and my times are a product of my own doing. The streets are empty and everyone is asleep, but the world is mine.

I no longer felt competitive with other people. I used to memorize my opponents' PRs and stalk their milesplit accounts. Now, my races are filled with thousands of people of all ages. I don't know their mile time or best 5k. I don't know how many miles a week they run or what their pre-meet meal was. In fact, I don't even pay attention to them. I just run. I don't worry about passing people or getting passed. Because it doesn't matter to me. All I want to do is stick to consistently training and be better than the runner I was yesterday.

Sometimes I do get lonely after running months and months by myself. I love running with my high school teammates and catching up with them on long runs. I love forcing my roommate to run with me and seeing her reaction when I tell her how far we ran. But it's different now because I'm in a healthier state of mind. I got rid of the competitiveness and pushing myself beyond limits in order to prove something to someone. There was nothing to prove anymore because I have already proved to myself that I am strong, healthy, and capable of anything.

I fell in love with cool, autumn runs. The ones when you're wearing a t-shirt and shorts, listening to The Weeknd, and zigzagging around campus. I fell in love with running the same course over and over again. I fell in love with my 160m indoor track --where I'd run around in circles for 6 miles just watching people play pick-up underneath me. What might seem boring and repetitive to one person felt consistent and instinctual to me. I didn't have to think about a pace. I didn't have to think about whether I should turn right or left. I didn't have to worry about when to cross the street. I was able to run with my thoughts without thinking about running. And then I just ran.

- @mariomelizzy  ( mar labar )