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15 min read

'But I'm a runner! How do I strength-train?'

Answering the eternal runner question of "What am I supposed to do?" which is inevitably followed by "Okay, but what if I don't want to do that?"
'But I'm a runner! How do I strength-train?'
Just one question for running magazines: Why do you hate runners? What even is this? (It appears to be a floor-press-cum-glute-bridge, two things that are wholly unnecessary to combine, unless you think the point of strength training is to learn to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time.) (It isn't.)

ASK A SWOLE WOMAN

This is the paid Sunday Ask A Swole Woman edition of She’s a Beast, a newsletter about being strong mentally/emotionally/physically.

The Question

Hi Casey! I came across your program, and I was very excited by the idea of a strength training program for someone who’s never done strength training before (extremely me). But here’s the problem: I’m a runner, I’ve been a runner for a long time, and I don’t want to give up running to become a full gym bro meathead. I love running! Please, how can I keep running but also get stronger? Am I allowed to do both? Can I do LIFTOFF only two days a week? Please help!

—Jen

The Answer

Since the time I developed a reputation for studying the iron arts, I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had variations on the following conversation:

“Casey, it’s so super freakin’ cool that you lift weights. I wish I could do that; you might even say it’s a dream of mine. [Wistful sigh accompanied by gaze out the nearest window]”

“Interesting! Do you work out another way?”

“Yeah [hangs head, kicks dirt with the toe of their shoe]. I run. I run one hundred miles every day. And I know I should be doing some strength training. I know it! Don’t arrest me, haha!”

“I wasn’t—”

“But I just have to run, you know? It’s like if I don’t run—what am I doing? If I don’t run—who am I? If I run less than a hundred miles, but I know I can run a hundred miles—why do that to myself?”

“What if—”

“I want to lift weights. I really want to. I wish I knew what to do.”

“Well—”

But it’s like I’m doomed, you know? Cursed by my own cycle! But I love it! I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it, right?”

“I—”

“Right??? Ahh, hell—[ambles toward the nearest windowsill and leans against it, so a sun and/or moonbeam catches their upturned face]—Fate—She’s a cruel mistress! If only it were possible to course-correct my own destiny of running, running forever, running eternally and without end. I am a wretched Prometheus, who discovered the fire of running, but now has his liver eaten every day, by the accursed eagle of also running! If only there were another way…”

[I slowly back out of the room]


There is often a lot going on with runners. And I speak from experience, as a former runner with whom there was a lot going on. If I may paint with a broad brush, they often seem to be to be caught up in this torrid one-way relationship with a sport, nursing an obsession with how much it has come to rule their life, for better and worse. (And I say “runners,” but it seems to happen often with cardio writ large; I absolve no one, categorically! Whenever I say “runner” in here, consider it interchangeable with a similarly obsessive cyclist, swimmer, sculler, mountaineer, ninepin bowler, etc.)

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