From Manhattan Sprints to a Human Pace: Redefining My Default

Why I’m Retiring the ‘Run Like Hell’ Mantra This Year

Photo by Samantha Sophia on Unsplash

Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable. —Mary Oliver

You never know. . .

When I was in my late twenties I moved from the amiable, measured suburbs of St. Louis into the thrilling, metallic pulse of Manhattan.

Through a boyfriend (later, my husband) I joined a running club: The Washington Square Runners. Up until that point, I’d always been a jogger.

Never remotely considered road racing.

The group was an eclectic mix of ages and gender and running ability—a lawyer, an accountant, a Wall Street exec, small-business owner, an artist, a NYU professor—I saw that our common fanatic love for running had a terrific equalizer effect.

All were welcome.

And soon enough, welcome turned into habit. This shared obsession turned into a clockwork ritual. At 7:00am every Saturday and Sunday we’d meet up at Washington Square Park, exchange a few hello’s, then divide up into 2s and 3s by pace. Peeling off one by one our clusters would start up Fifth Avenue on a 2.5-mile run to Central Park. After another brief touch base, we’d take off around the Park since the 6-mile perimeter loop was closed to cars on weekends. Once the leaders saw stragglers coming around to the 59th Street entrance, we’d all cascade down Fifth again toward our starting point.

Weekend after weekend. In spattering rain, against a biting 15-degree wind chill, and before summer heat baked the pavement.

Supplemented by daily weeknight runs too, with each weekend repetition my strides strengthened and lengthened from the conditioning. My body’s running mechanics became efficient, smooth; a steady default speed I didn’t have to think about. So comfortable, my running sister Elise* and I got to where we’d chat the entire 11-mile run.

But comfort eventually breeds a desire for a benchmark. The “we” of the Washington Square Runners gave way to the “I” of a solo competitor. So when the NYC’s annual 5-mile Bagel Race was announced, I was ready for a higher level of competition.

A test.

That cold morning I joined hundreds of other women on Central Park’s perimeter road. The normally spacious roadway was now jammed with lean bodies wearing pinned singlets.

Just behind the starting line, along the sides of the street, carefully spaced signs indicated where to line up based on pace/minute. Looking up amidst the jostling, I realized I’d been shoved forward to the 6-minute marker—and I was a 7-minute miler! Yikes!

Quickly, I turned to back up, but there was nowhere to go. I was locked in. No time to adjust!

This was way faster than I’d prepared for.

“Runners take your mark!”

Sharp intake of breath. Hundreds of shirts rustled as we simultaneously leaned forward.

A starter gun cracked the air.

Like a sudden stampede, the group lunged forward and I was off! In a full-stride heart-in-my-throat, hair-on-fire sprint because legions of thundering athletic shoes pounded at my heels. Legs spinning, arms wheeling. Go, go, go!

Gradually I settled into a steadier but still wickedly faster pace than I’d done before. Elbows and ponytails and breathing-breathing-breathing swung alongside me. I edged past some women, others hammered by me.

And at the end of five miles, I’d run a Personal Best.

No bagel ever tasted so good. But as it turned out it wasn't just the finish line I was chasing. Looking back, it was a marker moment.

For that morning, I learned not just that I was stronger than I realized, but also the lesson that if you find yourself in a pack moving faster than you intended—well, girlfriend—pick up the pace.

It became a mantra that turned into a default speed. Strive like hell and success follows. For decades, I have applied that lesson to nearly everything—career, family, life itself. And last year the hectic pace I kept up in 2025 to launch my book in April was all about intensity. By many measures the year went very well. That junkie default had worked again.

The thing is... as this new year begins—it’s funny—the default appears to be cracking.

Look at my 2026 author business plan. Strangely I’ve had to create iteration after iteration, and it’s still not quite jelled. I’ve written up marketing strategies jillions of times, but in this period I’ve noticed instead of feeling energized, excited, the goals and tactics feel tiresome—LOL!—and I love marketing!

Such a departure for me!

What’s going on? Maybe 'run like hell' is falling off because the default doesn’t serve me any more. There are murmurings of a new approach stirring. I suspect the stillness I’ve been practicing is finally talking back. This realization relates, I think, to the three new habits I’ve been experimenting with (shared in my last newsletter).

In brief: less iPhone, more time in nature, take a pause on new work. Unwittingly, in the past month, those practices created a smidge more space. I’m noticing new things. A birdsong. iPhone fatigue. To question whether the temptation to add a new thing to my list is a good idea or simply FOMO?

For in this newfound space are questions: Am I willing to let go of something that’s holding me back? Am I afraid of the unknown? Afraid to let go of tight control?

Perhaps I am pivoting back to a version of that 'measured' pace I left behind in the suburbs—not as a retreat, but as a conscious choice forward by trading the frenetic pace for a more trusting one. And in so doing, holding room open for the “unimaginable” Mary Oliver suggests.

Eager to see what the new year holds for me—and you. See you in two weeks!

Warmly,

P.S. I’ve been experimenting with less screen time and more nature to find this new rhythm. Do you have any ‘space-making’ habits you could lean into this year to reclaim your own pace?