I remember back in early 2018, when I was first getting into running as a hobby and not just an obligation, I was out with friends and mentioned to one of them—an actual fit, fast person—that I was considering signing up for a 5K.

“I’m thinking about running a half-marathon this year!” someone else chimed in.

“Oh God I could never do that,” I responded. And at the time, having only just hit the 3-mile mark on my long runs, I believed it.

Growing up, I was a slow kid, and I **hated** being slow. Every mile in gym class was torture. Red-faced and panting as I slogged across the finish line, virtually all of my friends and peers were already relaxing post-run. The real nadir was freshman year of high school, when a bad case of shin splints caused me to walk a good chunk of the mile and finish with one of my worst-ever times.

Soon after that I finished my school’s physical education requirement and quit running altogether. Better to never have to run at all than to run slow, I figured. All throughout high school and college I was a couch potato, a lazy person. I even took a strange, sarcastic pride in it, milking my own sloth-like ways for easy laughs among friends.

But I was moving slowly in other ways, too. I had a vague idea of what I wanted in life — namely, a “Cool Job in an Exciting City with Cool Friends” — but it all seemed painfully, tragically far away from my little North Carolina college town. I felt like I had stumbled at the starting line while everyone around me had already disappeared into a cloud of dust.

I became depressed. If you’re not familiar with that particular sensation, imagine a black hole in the middle of your chest that sucks in every happy thought or ounce of willpower you may have.

After several false starts and down years that I won’t go into because this is supposed to be a short essay and most of you are still strangers, I finally started dragging myself into a gym and onto a treadmill on a regular basis. I was desperate for any extra jolt of endorphins I could get.

This time, I had to start slow. I still had those traumatic memories of getting winded less than halfway through the mile when I was younger. I liked the treadmill at the time because it was easy to keep at a slow, manageable pace.

I wasn’t a runner of course, oh god no. Runners were people who finished marathons and had “goals” and “personal bests.” I was a guy who just hoped that Seinfeld reruns would be on when I got to Planet Fitness.

Still, slowly but surely, running became a habit, and then I switched to running outside. Finally, I signed up for that first fateful 5K, in Prospect Park. It went ok—a bit slower than I would have liked, to be honest.

But I kept it up. I still wouldn’t have really called myself a runner, but just about every weekend I headed out to Prospect Park for a run. And just about every weekend I would increase my distance.

It was slow at first, increasing my distance by as little as a tenth of a mile at a time. One week was 5.5 miles. The next, 5.6. 5.7 miles the week after that, and so on. One afternoon I made sure to run an extra block past my apartment before circling back to log the extra tenth or so of a mile that would mark my first ever 10k. Slowly but steadily, I built up my distance.

And in the fall of 2018 I finished my first half-marathon, and even managed to beat my goal time. Slowly but steadily, I had accomplished something that I wouldn’t have thought possible a year prior.

These days, “slow and steady” is something of a running mantra, but it’s also something I wish I could have gone back and told that depressed, confused 19-year-old. Progress happens slowly, sometimes as little as a tenth of a mile at a time, but it really does happen.

I’m still not where I want to be, not as a runner or in life. I’ve never run a marathon, for instance, and in this hyper-careerist, achievement-oriented American culture, it’s hard for anyone not to be hard on themselves. But I try to keep reminding myself: “Slow and steady.”

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PPTC is a diverse and supportive team. We want to celebrate the diversity of our club and membership, and encourage everyone to share your stories with us.

Text & Photos: Brandon Wiggins
Edited by: Rachael DePalma
Produced by: Alison Kotch

Slow and Steady