by Gregory Soutiea
To define something means to state the exact meaning of a word. What defines us as runners is inherently personal and individual, and furthermore, it will change for all of us. It may change from one week to the next, or after many years of running. What defines me as a "runner" today should not have any bearing on what defines you as a runner today or tomorrow.
Merriam-Webster defines a runner as "a person who runs." There it is, black and white, as simple as that.
If you run, that is to say, if you lace up a pair of sneakers and go out the door YOU ARE A RUNNER. 1 mile or 100 miles, it doesn't matter. Once a week, once a month, or every day for the past 10 years; if you run, you are a runner. Say it with me: "if you run, you are a runner."
For me personally, this is something that has been on my mind a lot over the past year and a half... let's rewind. For anyone who knows me or has read my posts before, you'll know that for the past several years, I considered myself a competitive ultra-runner. I won races in several states and placed in several others. I consistently run 100+ mile weeks while working a full-time professional job in Boston for 10 years.
Over the last couple of years of our careers, my wife and I discussed our professional lives and what we get out of them. After much thought and research, we decided to put in an offer (which was subsequently accepted) on a beautiful Maine Bed and Breakfast on the coast, the Craignair Inn. We quit our jobs in Boston in December of 2018 and moved to Maine. Looking back, I was naive to think I could continue to train and run at a competitive level while owning and operating our own small business. When we moved, I was registered for the 2019 Boston Marathon and decided to also register for the Riverlands 100 mile race here in Maine to stay motivated.
In January of 2019, I went from averaging (all of 2018) about 42 hours of training per month down sharply to 4 hours or a whopping 23 miles. February, I got up to 126 miles (still a fraction of my former weekly mileage). March rolled around, and I got into a little bit of a structure and managed 263 miles. In April, I managed 205 miles, though 1/4 of them were during my 3rd running of the Boston Double Marathon, and another 1/4 of them were setting the FKT on the Hills to Sea trail here in Maine.
Greg's 2019 Training Year in Review
After that, I didn't manage to run much, if any. May dropped back to about 20 total miles, and I withdrew from the Riverlands 100 mile race with way too much work to be done at the B&B. For the majority of 2019 nothing much changed, I would run a few times a month when time allowed or stress got too high. I signed up for the Millinocket Marathon in December of 2019 to again try to motivate myself. It helped in the short-term, but 8 weeks of mediocre training is hardly a good way to run a fast and efficient marathon. Oh well, at least it was a fun day.
All of this to say that over the last year+ I've doubted myself as a "runner." I've doubted why I run, and I've doubted if I should even go run. Why bother getting up early and running if I don't have a race scheduled? Why schedule a race if I know I won't be able to give the training 100% and be competitive? Nowadays, opening the Strava app fills me with anxiety and thoughts of sadness instead of the motivation it once did. My endurance is gone, and my speed (what little I had) hasn't been seen in ages. Often when I think about running or going for a run, I get depressed at the thoughts of the "runner" I once was. I don't know if I'll ever be that person again, but deep down, I think that is okay.
“our sexiest and most public traits don't define us”
Now, I identify as more of a small business owner/Innkeeper that occasionally runs. I've found the good trails and had a few good adventures since moving to Maine, but nothing like I used to do while living in Boston. I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss being that-crazy-runner-I-know guy. I miss it a lot. Though, as a friend recently told me, "our sexiest and most public traits don't define us" and DAMN if he didn't hit the nail on the head. Yes, it's easy to say that the 30 or 40-mile training runs in the middle of the Boston winters, the running across the Grand Canyon and back, the qualifying for the U.S. National 24 Hour Team, and the 100+ mile training weeks with crazy ambitions were my sexiest and most public traits. These are the things that people knew me for. This is what they knew most about me. Does that mean these things defined me? I used to think they did.
Craignair Inn & Restaurant - Spruce Head, Maine
We are never only one thing. We are many things. I am a partner to my amazing wife in a small business many people dream about getting into, in a spot that is daily one of the most beautiful I've ever seen. I am a running coach, a humanist, an environmentalist, an animal lover, and a vegan. Some days I'm a painter, a housekeeper, or a chef. We all wear many hats in life, most of which are not sexy or public, but that doesn't mean they're not a part of who we are as human beings.
A long time ago, I read somewhere that we should start answering the question "what do you do" (a very American question) in networking situations or when meeting new people differently. I've tried over the years, but never really had the courage to deviate from the traditional norms. When confronted with the dreaded "what do you do," we traditionally answer this in the same context as to how we identify ourselves. I'm in property management, I'm a nurse, I'm a lawyer, a plumber, etc. What if, instead, we answered the question with what it is that we really do. What do I do? I spend time with my family, I listen to podcasts to broaden my knowledge base, I run to push myself to my physical limits, I enjoy working on projects, I volunteer to help my community. This is what I do. This is who I am.
This dream of owning my own business has taken priority over running. It's taken priority over visiting friends and family or going out for beers to watch the game. Just as my free time once was all consumed with miles on miles, it is now consumed with owning and maintaining a business. These are now my public and sexy traits. These are the things I signed up for, and most days I'm pretty happy about the trade.
Operating a successful 22 room bed and breakfast (and restaurant) is a lot like preparing for a big race. Most of the things that our customers see when they arrive didn't just happen that day. The hard work, the preparation, happens in the early mornings and the late nights of the months leading up to race day. Getting in a long Wednesday morning 18 miler before an 8 AM meeting for me has now turned into preparing the dining room and breakfast service for 50 guests before anyone wakes. Now my daily grind of miles refers to regular upgrades and improvements of our property. I'm spending days power-washing decks, repainting guest rooms, fixing water damage, learning how to do basic plumbing, testing and maintaining the building well water, and answering guest phone calls and emails. 90% of what our guests see when they come through the door is what happens before they arrive, just like 90% of a successful goal race is what you do in the months leading up to that race.
For me, it won't be the long training runs, the track workouts, the race finish lines, the race-related travel, or the medals and belt-buckles that I'll miss the most. It will be the little moments that running brings into my life, the ones you don't hear about in Ultrarunning Magazine or on podcasts with your favorite runner. I'll miss the mid-race camaraderie with a runner you've never met before as you struggle through wee hours of the night together to keep moving. I'll miss seeing the morning sun peek through the night sky on my pre-dawn runs. Crewing for a friend racing to complete a personal best race or the fleeting moments with my own crew during a race. The selflessness of runners raising money for charity or the inspiration I get from seeing runners push themselves for something other than themselves. I'll miss running into friends at races all over the country and the start line hugs that always seem to find their way into any pre-race morning. I'll miss runners the most.
Greg with crew, Desert Solstice Invitational 24 hour Track Meet
Running is a personal thing. Writing about this is personal. How we run. Why we run. What we feel on the trails or the road is personal to each one of us, and although we can all relate to those feelings, it is impossible for anyone to understand how personal the sport is to us as individuals. Take a minute to think about how you identify as a "runner" today? Has that changed recently?
For now, I've lost this former identity as a "runner" and I am working to re-establish what running means to me. In the meantime, I've gained a new identity, probably more than one. That simply means that now when I do get to get out for a few miles with my wife, our dogs, a friend in town, or 36 miles inside on a 100' loop around our restaurant for my 36th birthday (because who hasn't always wanted to run an ultra-marathon inside their own home?) that these moments, these miles, are to be even more cherished.
Greg’s thirty-six-mile 36th Birthday Run, Craignair Inn
About the Author
Greg Soutiea is a Midwest kid turned New England lover, as well as a small business owner/adventurer currently residing in Spruce Head, ME with his partner Lauren and their two Vizsla’s Gretel and Gertie.
