That was Me. This is Me.

I used to be a runner.

You don't know how strange it is for me to write that sentence.

The only high school sport I was any good at was track. When I quickly put on my "Freshman 15" (and then some) in college, I ran to lose the weight. I experienced the same weight gain when I moved to Des Moines and rented my first apartment. I didn't know how to use the kitchen, and microwave meals are chock-full of calories. A summer of running trimmed me back down.

It's been 23 years since I've lived in that first apartment, and my typical afterschool routine was to run five miles before going home. It's not impressive. Running just gave me time to sweat and think. I ran with my friend Dawn for several years, and it became a time to sweat, think, and talk.

I eventually stepped up my game and signed up for some organized races. I ran the Dam to Dam 20K nine years in a row. Sometimes my Dam to Dam training extended into the fall so I could run the Des Moines marathon. I've run that race four times.

I wasn't the only runner in our family. Daphne has run the Dam to Dam five times, and she has also run the Des Moines Marathon. We were both members of the Capital Striders running club. We traveled all over central Iowa to run races together. In fact, in most of the pictures of us as a couple, we are wearing bib numbers and finisher medals.

I tried the Chicago marathon in 2007. I was told that if you write your name on your shirt, then the people of Chicago will shout encouragement while you run. That was true. Two or three times per mile I could hear someone yell, "Good job, Brent!" That was very cool.

The rest of the experience wasn't so cool. The '07 Chicago Marathon was a mess.


I was at mile 23 when an ambulance's speaker announced that race was over. I didn't quit, though. I had gone too far for that.

It was so hot and miserable; I was all but walking by the 25th mile. I stumbled past a trio of spectators: two girls and a boy sitting on the concrete curb. The boy looked to be about twelve, but he made eye contact with me and spoke with a voice that was surprisingly mature, "You can do it, Brent. You are going finish." I nodded in appreciation and thought that might have been the most encouraging statement that I had ever heard.

When I crossed the finish line, I announcer yelled at the crowd of runners behind me, "Slow down everybody! This is no longer a marathon. It is now a fun run!" I thought that might be the dumbest statement that I had ever heard.

I ran the Dam to Dam in 2010. Daphne was seven, eight and nine months pregnant during that summer, so she wasn't running. I wanted to be home in case there was an emergency, so I stopped training, too.

Charlotte was born on August 18 (she and Daphne share the same birthday). Two months later, I was sitting in church on the morning of the marathon. Actually, I was stewing in the pew while Charlotte slept in the baby carrier between us. I kept checking my watch and mentally calculating where I'd be on the course if I had been running that day. It almost hurt to miss that race.

I started running again a few months later. I ran the Dam to Dam and the Des Moines Half Marathon in 2011. We all ran Dam to Dam races the next year. Charlotte was old enough to run with the one-year-olds, and Daphne ran the 5K.



Charlotte and I also ran at the Dam to Dam in 2013.

Daphne brought Charlotte downtown on race day so Char could run her race and they could cheer me on, but I knew Daphne would rather have been home with her mother. Deb had been recently diagnosed with cancer, and we didn't know how much time she had left (sadly, it was less than two months.) For the first time, crossing the finish line was an empty achievement for me. Running had become a selfish priority.

I realized that every time I left the house to go for a run, I was leaving Daphne alone to take care of our daughter. Parenting a little one is hard work, and I was literally running away from that responsibility under the guise of keeping myself healthy. I could be gone anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours. And it wasn't like I scooped up Charlotte off the floor the moment that I walked into the house, either. I had to cool down, change clothes, maybe take a shower... None of that was fair to Daphne.

Yes, I was a runner long before I met my wife, and I was still a runner when our daughter was born. But when the world around you changes, you have to change with it.

I walked away from running.

I briefly considered early morning runs, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. It is hard enough for me to get up at 5:45. I can't imagine taking a 4:00 alarm seriously. I know my limitations.

I haven't run in three years. My weight fluctuates, but it's not too bad. My knees feel better than they used to, but when I chase Charlotte up the stairs I can feel it in my legs. They're not as strong as they once were.

Do I miss running? Not really. I miss stopping. I miss that sense of accomplishment when a run is over. The thing is, I could start running again. Daphne usually picks up Charlotte after school. They don't get home until 4:30 or 5. There's plenty of time for me to go for a quick run. I just don't do it. Honestly, that doesn't even occur to me. I'm not a runner anymore.

I plan to buy a tag-along bike for Charlotte this spring, and then the three of us can exercise together on our bikes. Maybe in a few months, I can write a post about being a biker.

Until then, I'll be the guy taking a quick nap on the couch until my girls get home.

I'm cool with that.