March found me, surprisingly, amongst the hills, trails, and lakes were I grew up in Massachusetts. Like many, my job had gone fully remote and, concerned for my recently-ill parents, we made our way north to shelter for what we thought would be a week or two.

As a teenager, I couldn't get out of my town fast enough. I went off to art school in the big city and never looked back, becoming a city runner for an entire decade. I still connected with nature through sailing and rock climbing excursions, but my day to day was lined with city blocks of families walking dogs and cyclists yelling at cars. A different sort of nature, which I loved just as much.

A couple of weeks turned into a couple of months, and we fell into a rhythm at my parents house. Every afternoon at lunch, I'd lace up my running shoes and my Dad would strap on his bike helmet, and off we'd go together. I found my new favorite places; a blooming tree, an abandoned bee hive, the lake near the middle school. Sometimes, the rest of my family joined us. Other times, it was just us. Trails winding around wetlands and rock quarries. Wherever we went, we went together. Large hawks replaced yelling cyclists, and I fell in love with a town I had left behind.

Home in nature and sweaty post-run with Dad

As the days went on, I found myself pushing harder and performing better. My Dad always cheered me on, asking my times at the end of our sessions and encouraging my progress from the bike. Our daily route became quicker and quicker, and I surprised myself at how much I improved and how much my body was willing to put up with again after all of my injuries.

When the time came to go back to the city, I was sad and worried. Yes, about the virus, but mostly of running. What had running become in the city? The park? I have lived in Brooklyn for 15 years, but two months away and I was suddenly unsure I knew how to be a New Yorker, let alone a city runner. Running and nature were more important to me now, and I didn't want to lose that.

I confessed my nerves to some running friends, and polled others about the best times to go to the park. Everyone was understanding of my weariness, but unwavering in their confidence. Yes, running was different now. The park was busy. Masks made it harder to breathe. But it was still possible, so they still did it. Altering times, routes, and distances to work with the ebb and flow of crowds.

Finding some city nature and running solo in Brooklyn

My first full loop of the park back in the city felt a bit like frogger. I dodged as many people as I could, pausing or walking to stay further away. I underestimated how hard it was to run in a mask, hitting my usual pace for the first half, only to feel like I was dying in the second. Certain I was going to pass out or vomit, I pulled off down a path and found myself, shockingly, totally alone. The trees canopied around me, not unlike the roads I had run the week prior in Massachusetts. I took a deep breath in and smelled the grass and the dirt caking on my shoes. It felt like I was home again. A different home, but a home just the same.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge my privilege for being able to work remote and visit my family during this time. I love you all and wish you nothing but safety and happiness in this uncertain age. Wishing you all lots of love and happy runs.

Running During Covid