The Best Thing I've Done Since Becoming a Mom That Has Nothing To Do With Being a Mom

Erin Zammett Ruddy and her husband Nick. Erin Zammett Ruddy

I am not a runner. I hate running. It hurts. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. Why would I run?! This was my mantra whenever the subject of running came up. Despite having been an athlete my whole life, I never ran. It just wasn’t my thing. I even remember occasionally faking an injury to get out of running before soccer practice in high school. (Not proud of that.)

Don’t get me wrong, I worked out. I’d hop on the rickety old treadmill in my basement and walk on an incline while watching The Good Wife or Veep. Or, I’d throw a kid in the stroller and walk around the neighborhood every day. I was also at a healthy weight and I did the occasional sit-up so I never felt like challenging myself beyond that. Maybe having three young kids was challenging enough. Or surviving cancer was—I was diagnosed with a chronic form of leukemia in 2001 when I was 23 and still take a pill daily to keep the cancer in remission. Or, maybe I just didn’t think I had it in me anymore.

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Then, about nine months ago, when my third kid was four-months-old, I signed up to do a 10K. And by “do” I mean walk. It was with a group called Moms In Training (MIT), part of the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS)’s Team In Training (TNT) program. My sister, Melissa, who happens to be a lymphoma survivor, was spearheading efforts to launch a MIT group on Long Island, where we both live. The idea was to get new moms together who want to get back in shape (or stay that way) and raise money for LLS while being coached to run a local 5 or 10K race.

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I’ve always been a big supporter of LLS — the organization helped fund the drug that keeps me alive and it offers amazing resources for patients and their families—and I figured it would help me shed the baby weight. Plus, I was really good at walking!

The first few Saturdays, I stuck with the walking group. I had plenty of reasons to not run: I have a herniated disc in my back. I have cancer. I have three kids. I don’t have time to train properly. I have deadlines. The baby doesn’t sleep great. My knee. But as the weeks went by, I started to hear taunting in my brain: C’mon, Erin, you were a Division 1 college athlete, you birthed two of your three children without drugs, you’ve been kicking cancer’s ass for over a decade, you’re only 36, you’re healthy and fit. Also, a friend of mine who was a new mom was trotting along with her newborn in a jogging stroller. Eventually, I ran of out of excuses and started running. A few minutes at first, then a little more. I still remember the first time I jogged three miles straight and it was such an achievement.

As race day drew near, it became evident that I was going to try to run the whole 6.2 miles. And I did, with two mom teammates by my side. We pulled each other through the rough spots and finished in just over an hour. Completing that race remains one of the biggest accomplishments of my life. A few weeks later, two friends and I ran the Central Park Women’s 10K with the NYC chapter of MIT and after the race, I thought, Damn, Central Part is way hillier than I thought and I am hooked.

Erin and friends. Photo by Erin Zammett Ruddy 

Last May my husband and I were at dinner with those same friends and their husbands—both runners—and, after a few drinks, we hatched a plan to run the Key West half-marathon in honor of my reaching 13 years post diagnosis—13.1 miles for 13 years of survivorship—and we would raise money for the LLS. I was excited but mostly terrified. Why Key West? We knew if we were going to do this, we’d need a big carrot at the end of the race. And by carrot, I mean margaritas. Packaging the run with a mini-vacation sans kids was the perfect motivation.

We did most of our long runs together on Saturday mornings at a local park. We’d talk and laugh to get through each mile. It was girls’ night out except we were burning calories instead of consuming them. The schedule wasn’t easy. We hired babysitters or called in favors with our parents. My husband and I often had to tag-team run, sneaking it in before soccer games or after pre-K drop offs.

But here’s the amazing thing about running: The more you do it, the easier it becomes. Simply showing up and putting one foot in front of the other is all you need to do. When I finished that first 10K, I was sore for days. But soon, six miles was easy. And on the rough days—like when we ran 11 miles in 20-degrees with the wind whipping at our frozen faces—we thought about the cancer patients who would benefit from the money we raised. The people who would kill to get out of bed and run if they only could.

Before Christmas, I volunteered at my son’s elementary school and watched him pick up a water bottle that read “World’s Best Mom” and whisper to another volunteer, “I want to get this for my mom….because she’s a runner.” I was embarrassingly proud. I had just started to see myself that way too.

I get why running is the perfect workout for moms. You don’t need a lot of time, a gym membership, or fancy equipment. You can do it solo, or with friends or a kid. And you know when you’re in the shower and your brain starts having full thoughts, thoughts that are impossible to complete when you’re being interrupted by dirty diapers and tricky math equations? It’s the same when you’re running. Your mind gets very clear and you find yourself again. And suddenly, you have more energy, more clarity, more patience. What mother couldn’t use all that?

On January 18th, all six of us crossed the finish line in Key West. 13.1 miles for 13 years of life after cancer. It was a humid morning and we sweat more than we ever had in our lives. It made us so deeply proud to be out there, to be together, to be doing this for such a worthy cause. Before the race, my friend wrote SURVIVOR on the back of my shirt. While I mostly focused on putting one foot in front of the other, every once in a while another runner would yell, “Congrats!” or “Way to go!” and it reminded me how lucky I was to be alive. And how grateful I am to have found this new passion. As I looked out at the sun rising over the Atlantic, my feet pounding the pavement, a new mantra emerged: I am a mother-of-three, I am a cancer survivor and I am a runner. I love running. It feels good. Why do I run? Because I can.

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