- I live in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and work in Manhattan's Financial District, and run the approximately 3.5-mile (5.6-kilometer) stretch to get to my office almost every day.
- I carry clothes, makeup, and my wallet in my backpack that's designed for female athletes. In colder months, my jacket goes around my waist.
- Here's exactly how I make the journey work, and how, no matter where you live, you can make active commuting work for you.
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I've been run-commuting since beginning this job about nine months ago.
When I started run-commuting, I was training for a half-Ironman triathlon, which most training plans recommend include about 35 miles (56.3 kilometers) of running during peak training weeks.
Not that I actually followed said plans, but I did figure, on an ideal week, I could knock out half of those miles simply by running the 3.5 miles to work.
Even when my race was over, I decided to keep running to work because it saved time and, mostly, subway hassle.
My run takes me between 30 and 35 minutes. The subway should take me about 30 minutes door to door, but is much less reliable and way more stress-inducing than breaking a sweat.
The few times I've resorted to the subway have resulted in me cursing it, arriving late to work, and promising myself — save injury, heavy rain, or snow — I will always, always choose my feet.
My run takes me over the Williamsburg bridge, through Chinatown, under the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges, through City Hall Park, and into the financial district.
Technically, I don't run to work, I run to a gym a few blocks from my work, where I can shower and get ready for the day.
I know I'm lucky to live in a city and to have a level of fitness where run-commuting is not just feasible, but actually the optimal way of getting around. But active commuting isn't just for city dwellers and serious athletes.
You can try walking or running part of the way to the office or drugstore or coffee date — perhaps parking a car in a lot a few miles away or getting off the subway a stop early.
Keep in mind you also don't have to do it every day — even once a week can benefit your body, mind, wallet, and the environment. According to the website The Run Commuter, the biggest barrier to getting started is mindset.
Here's exactly how it works for me.
First, a successful run commute requires the appropriate gear.
I used to use a random backpack I got for free at some event, but it chafed my hips and collarbone and I even developed scabs. (It still felt preferable to the subway!)
Plus, it started to smell like sweat.
The final straw was when it actually broke mid-way through my run, though admittedly I had tried to run with a laptop.
Instead, I got this backpack, the "Icon" backpack from Sweaty Betty, for my birthday, and it's been a game-changer.
The bag is soft against the bag and shoulders, and the shoulder and hip straps are designed for a woman's shape.
I've never experienced the least bit of chafing with this backpack, even when I wear it against bare shoulders. It also has lots of helpful compartments to help keep things organized.
Plus, it's cute enough to take from work to after-work drinks.
My work clothes, shoes, and underwear all go into the backpack.
I put my clothes in a thin cloth bag before putting them in the backpack to protect them from potential makeup spills and shoe grime.
I also avoid packing, and thus wearing, clothes that easily wrinkle. However, in a pinch, I have taken a wrinkled outfit into my gym's steam room to smooth it out, and then into the sauna to dry it.
Someone else at the gym told me: "Everyone does it."
My makeup bag, brush, and hair straightener go into the backpack, too.
My makeup bag also includes my deodorant and a sample-sized perfume.
Fortunately, I don't need to bring a towel, lotion, or shampoo and conditioner since my gym supplies it all.
My "wallet" is a koozie that fits perfectly into a side pocket that's magnetized at the top.
When I push the "wallet" down, it's completely covered and sealed by the magnets so I don't worry about losing anything.
There's an identical pocket on the other side, where I usually put my phone.
My jewelry then goes into a tiny zipped pocket I didn't even realize existed until a few months after I started using the backpack.
If I'm bringing a razor along, it goes in a pocket in the main section to avoid slicing myself when reaching for a brush or pair of underwear.
Once everything is in the bag, it can weigh anywhere from six to 15 pounds, depending on the clothes and shoes I'm packing, and whether I'm lugging my laptop, a book, or both.
I've learned it's important to zip the bag all the way to one side. If the zippers meet at the top, the bag can unzip itself while being jostled on the run.
Yes, this has happened to me. But thanks to a couple of runners who chased me down, I was able to re-zip the bag before it opened entirely, collect my deodorant a few yards back, and continue on my way.
That type of congeniality is also rare on the subway.
In colder months, I tie my jacket around my waist before heading out the door.
Once, on a 40-something-degree January day, I forgot this crucial step.
Fortunately, the few-block walk between the gym and office was bearable, though my short-sleeved dress likely confused bundled-up passers-by.
During the day, going jacketless was no problem — I rarely leave the office anyway.
Once I wrapped up work, I changed back into my running clothes and ran home.
Problem solved, and no subway or coat-purchasing required.
I leave my apartment between 6 a.m. and 8 a.m. — often passing our neighborhood golden doodle, Jean-Claude.
I'll leave earlier if I'm planning to catch a class like cycling or Bodypump (a weight-training program) at the gym before showering and heading into work.
As I run across the bridge, the J train — the subway line I take in the event of injury, snow, or rain — chugs alongside.
I find the more I run, the more I view navigating the city in Strava segments (an activity tracking app) rather than subway lines.
On weekends, I also run across this bridge to get to brunch, a farmers market, or, most recently, a wedding dress shopping appointment in Manhattan. (These days, I literally run errands.)
In those cases, too, I stop in my closest gym when I get to the other side.
One of the challenges of run-commuting is that the most efficient route isn't always the most runner-friendly.
In Chinatown, I often dodge shop owners hauling raw meat from the sidewalk into their stores.
Still, it's a lot more mentally-stimulating than running on a treadmill or staring at the subway floor.
Plus, it saves me more than $40 a month in pay-as-you-go subway rides.
Once through Chinatown, I run under the Brooklyn Bridge, which signals my home stretch.
Once I get to the gym, I either take a class or head straight for the shower.
Belonging to a network of gyms (in my case, the New York Sports Club) with dozens of locations throughout the city means, outside of my commute, I almost always have a place to change, refresh my hair and makeup, or use the bathroom when I'm far from home.
This has come in handy between work and networking events, and after running races in other neighborhoods.
Once I clean up, I'm ready for the workday.
My backpack, at this point, becomes the repository for my sweaty clothes. Fortunately, the gym provides plastic baggies so I can avoid stinking up the backpack.
If I've timed it right, I can get to work right about 9 a.m.
After work, my backpack becomes my purse, and my "wallet" fulfills its intended purpose: keeping beer cold while I ride the ferry home.
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