CH.08: Running & Reading
To more of both in the new year.
I am here to recommend running in the new year—mostly to myself and mostly as a practice in humility. This past year has not been a glorious one for my trajectory; I’m slower than ever. I ran my fourth half marathon in October and finished in the longest time I have yet. My hip started to ache around mile seven which meant I had almost seven more to endure. And yet, it was beautiful—four laps around Prospect Park with the leaves falling and my partner jogging at my side. We talked for most of them and I slipped headphones into my ears for the last mile, which felt like a victory lap, cruising past the finish line alongside fellow racers.
My hip likely hurt because this year I’ve been more still than any I can remember. In between work and classes, I’ve logged long hours at my desk, rewriting sentences and paragraphs until I’m so sick of them I can’t decide if they’re any better than the originals. It wasn’t until this fall that I remembered how important movement is in shaking thoughts into words. I am seeking a better balance between moving and thinking in the new year and for that I’m grateful to live about a mile and a half from the park; for its hills and ponds and squirrels. I once lived in Greenpoint for a stint and all I can say for running there is this little poem, tucked into my notes app the summer of 2017:
Six a.m. running; Hot, With yesterday's trash
When I am out on a run, there is nowhere to go with my thoughts except inside them: I open them up, unwrap each one. Some don’t deserve much attention. Others spark and surface like shocks. The ones which surprise me most are the ones I fear forgetting. I’ll urgently type notes into my phone of the revelations I’ve made mid-stride:
turtles / snails: homes on their backs!!
some spaces are not envelopes, they are cages
tree bark like zebra stripes like hides in tribeca // tell natalie
In hindsight, these notes read more like endorphin-addled riddles than glimmers of genius. When my spaciest thoughts aren’t enough entertainment on long runs, I sometimes listen to entire albums from their start. I repeat Now I Can Die and White Flag and others I know entirely by heart; my favorite choices are the ones I sung from the backseat of my mother’s Subaru in the early aughts.
But for even longer distances, I prefer listening to books. It’s become an art, choosing which ones to tune into. Some books are too expansive to hold in my mind alongside the echo of my own two feet against pavement. It has nothing to do with the quality of the book, just that I find it hard to build a world when I’m taking in the one around me. (Read: trying not to trip over a certain section of roots at the northeast corner of Fort Greene park). First person narration is best, a tight third will suffice. Sometimes I listen to podcasts and interviews instead, those work well too. I learned that Jhumpha Lahiri writes prose in her head as she swims laps and sometimes I find lines will come to me while running, especially uphill.
If nothing else is coming and the hill is too steep, I’ve taken to repeating an embarrassing mantra to myself: I am an athlete. It makes me laugh as I’m shuffling along to think of the word “athlete” and any sort of claim I have to it. But that age old trick of picking obstacles about twenty feet ahead as goal posts rather than focusing on the distant peak will only get me so far. Sometimes desperate measures must be taken to keep myself from stopping. If I have to talk to myself in my head, so be it.
Even more embarrassing than the mantra—I often find myself on the verge of tears on a long run. Around eight miles or so into it and something about the persistence and endorphins and the sheer chance of my person being conscious for all of it makes my chest go tight and eyes blink salt. There is so much suffering in the world and so much beauty, too.
When I first started training more regularly, I assumed I’d get better at it. That the distance would get easier, that I’d get faster. I guess I’ve learned there is no “better.” There is lacing up the sneakers and there is choosing not to. For the new year, my running aims are simple: I’d like to log more regular miles than I did in 2025 and I’d like to listen while doing it. Outside my window, January is already mocking these aims. Winter running is its own sort of challenge; cheeks stinging from the cold and black ice secretly underfoot where I least expect it.
For winter gear, I have the same pair of Under Armour leggings I bought myself with tip-money in high school. And out of all my sweatshirts, I still like the blue and yellow one I swiped from my cousin best. Pulling these threadbare garments on today, I find the me who ran back then collapsing into the me who is still trying to. I like what I learn about her while I’m running.
WHAT I LISTENED TO WHILE RUNNING IN 2025:
01.The Anthropologists, Ayşegül Savaş
02.The Flamethrowers, Rachel Kushner
03.Time Sensitive podcast: Min Jin Lee on the healing power of Fiction
04.Time Sensitive: Jhumpa Lahiri on Translation as a path to Self-Discovery Slowdown
05.Motherhood: A Novel, Sheila Heti
Seeing this now. Loved it! Please write more, Madeleine.
I miss reading your sentances!