On October 13, 2002, I stood on the brink of my first marathon. Under normal circumstances, the absence of my menstrual cycle would have raised flags, but I felt a sense of relief knowing I wouldn’t have to manage it while covering 26.2 miles through Chicago. Besides, I wasn’t technically late yet.
However, deep down, I understood the reality. A week later, a pregnancy test confirmed my suspicions: I had completed my first marathon while pregnant, crossing the finish line with my son.
Given the connection between my inaugural marathon and my first pregnancy, friends often asked if I would invest in a jogging stroller after my baby arrived. I did, embracing my role as one of those moms. When my second son was born two years later, I upgraded to a double jogging stroller.
The jogging stroller became my lifeline. Days spent at home with babies and toddlers felt endless, especially when my eldest stopped napping at age two. Afternoon runs, often followed by park visits, broke the monotony and allowed me to keep training for marathons. More importantly, I hoped to instill in my sons an appreciation for nature and an active lifestyle. I wanted them to understand their mother’s strength—that women can be fast, determined, and unafraid to get dirty. Perhaps they would even become runners themselves; only time would tell.
Preparing for a run was no small feat. Sometimes it took longer to outfit everyone than to actually run four or five miles, especially during winter and spring, when bundling them in jackets, blankets, hats, and mittens became a chore. I had water bottles and snacks to organize, stuffed animals to gather, and board books to stow in the stroller. Yet, those moments were filled with sweetness. We chatted about the cats and dogs we spotted, discussed everything from delivery trucks to their favorite TV characters. Occasionally, I listened as the boys engaged in their own conversations, and at times I suppressed my frustration during their squabbles or when I had to backtrack to retrieve a water cup tossed from the stroller for the umpteenth time. Still, these minor annoyances paled in comparison to the frustration of not being able to run, and I took pride in being recognized throughout the neighborhood as “That Lady with the Jogging Stroller.”
On weekends, when my husband was available, I relished the opportunity to run solo. I had discovered an online community of fellow runners juggling the demands of raising young children, working moms and stay-at-home moms alike, all striving to carve out time for their runs. Many of us navigated our runs with strollers. We joked that running alone was our brief escape from family responsibilities. While I could never truly “run away,” given that one of my children depended on me for nourishment, those one or two hours alone felt liberating. Without the stroller and the added weight of my kids, I felt like I was flying through my neighborhood. I returned home refreshed, more at ease after those rare moments of solitude.
I eventually retired the jogging stroller when my older son turned six, and my younger son was nearly four. By that point, we had relocated to a new state and a home perched atop a hill. I would bravely run down the hill daily, pushing my younger son in the stroller to pick up my older son from kindergarten, but hauling 70 pounds of children plus the stroller back up the steep incline proved too much.
Bidding farewell to the jogging stroller was bittersweet. It signified the close of a unique chapter in my journey as both a runner and a parent—one that only other mothers who have pushed their children in strollers can truly understand. While there was a sense of freedom in letting it go, I also felt a sense of loss knowing we would never again share those moments together, with my boys nestled side by side for miles.
As time went on, I embraced running solo more often. I squeezed in runs while my children were at school or during summer breaks when I could drown out their occasional bickering with music or a movie on the iPad. I would run late in the evenings after my husband returned from work or on weekend nights before dinner.
Now, my sons are 9 and 11. A few years ago, they began joining my husband and me in our favorite 10k, the Wharf to Wharf race from Santa Cruz to Capitola, California. We didn’t focus on time or pressure the kids to compete; the goal was simply to enjoy our time together as a family.
My older son discovered a talent for running and joined the cross-country and track teams at his new school. Last year, at age 10, he raced with me in a local Mother’s Day run, where we clinched the mother-son title in the two-mile race. Surprisingly, my younger son, who never seemed as enthusiastic about running, also joined cross-country and track in third grade and made it to the city championships.
This year, my older son and I decided to defend our title in the Mother’s Day two-miler. Although he had skipped the Turkey Trot a few months earlier, my younger son expressed interest in participating, leading to negotiations over who would race on my team. Since mothers could only enter with one child, I ultimately chose to team up with my older son again. I promised my younger son that if we won the team trophy and his time surpassed his brother’s, he could keep the trophy in his room. It was the fairest solution I could offer.
On race day, we arrived at the park as a family, excited to “paint the park pink” for Mother’s Day. My boys accessorized their baggy Adidas shorts and Under Armour shirts with neon pink tube socks, insisting they were ready, even as my 9-year-old nervously asked what would happen if we got separated. We reassured him, reminding him to “follow the leaders” and “stay on the trail,” emphasizing that the race was about giving their best, not just winning.
As we lined up near the front, the starting gun fired, and to my surprise, my boys shot ahead of me, not looking back. Allergies were getting the best of me, and I felt off my game. I decided to let them run ahead, accepting that winning the mother-son competition might not happen this year, but it was fine; they still had a chance for individual awards. I shifted my focus to simply finishing the race. After all, two miles is nothing.
I caught glimpses of my sons running confidently ahead, my younger son just slightly behind his brother. In their steady strides, I no longer saw them as the unsteady toddlers they once were; I saw them blossoming into young men. Even when they turned a corner and I lost sight of them, their pink socks were a flash of color racing down the trail. I focused on the beauty around me—the sky, trees, and music blaring in my earbuds—because concentrating on those four pink legs ahead of me stirred up too many emotions.
Years ago, upon learning I was having a second son, tears had come—not from disappointment but from the realization that I was likely closing the chapter on having a daughter. That door was shutting for good. In that vulnerable moment, a memory flashed through my mind: the opening credits of Jack & Bobby, a show about two brothers. The younger brother trailed behind the older one, engaged in a healthy sibling rivalry, supporting each other through life’s challenges. This was the life I was destined for, and it would be a rewarding one.
This Mother’s Day weekend, my sons outran me for the first time. For the first time (in a race, at least), I found myself chasing after them. I struggled to finish just behind them. My older son and I did manage to win the mother-son team trophy, and we all earned age group awards, but the real victory belonged to my kids because they had outpaced their mom.
As they approach their teenage years, their best running days lie ahead of them. With good coaching and a supportive running community, I still hold my own, but I’ve accepted that my pace won’t drastically improve. While I may not match their speed, I am genuinely thrilled. This is how it should be; in racing and in life, they are forging ahead. I hope I have equipped them with the skills to do so with strength and confidence.
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Summary
In this heartfelt piece, Emily Harper reflects on her journey of balancing motherhood and running, from her first marathon while pregnant to witnessing her sons grow into young athletes. As she navigates the challenges of parenting and finds joy in running, she embraces the bittersweet moments of watching her children surpass her in speed and strength. Ultimately, she takes pride in having set a strong example for them, encouraging their pursuit of an active lifestyle.