I’m the kind of person who likes to be by himself. To put a finer point on it, I’m the type of person who doesn’t find it painful to be alone. 

– Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About when I Talk About Running

Most days, especially as fall rolls into winter, I get up before the sun. In the pre-dawn hours, I fumble around in the darkness of my quiet, slumbering apartment, attempting to make coffee and not wake up my partner. As this process gets underway, my dog follows me around dutifully, eyes shining like copper pennies, ears at full mast, ready to head out for another morning jaunt. His herding eye remains trained on its quarry as I put on my running shoes, and he readies himself for our adventure, stretching and strutting around on my creaky wood floors. 

These are the moments when I feel the most at peace. In a way, it’s like putting life in slow motion for just a bit. Those twenty or so minutes lengthen out through the slow deliberate motions that accompany a well-known routine, instilling a sense of control that reminds me that control in life is possible. When we step out into the low light of morning, small breaths of cloud appear in the cold air, and a different calmness settles over me. All that’s left to do is run. Something so simple, and yet challenging–and separate from law school–has proven essential to surviving the gauntlet of 1L.

Running has long been important to me, but maybe never more so than it has over the past several months. The rigorous and claustrophobic nature of 1L can overwhelm even the steadiest personalities. Getting tossed into a world inundated with social interactions among a set group of people, day after day, is a particularly vertiginous sensation. Navigating this new social world, and its peculiar and specific interpersonal dynamics, is disorienting at times. I love getting to know my classmates, hearing about their experiences, and seeing their incredible minds work through intractable legal queries. These experiences are often enlightening and enlivening in equal parts. However, it can be overwhelming, and at times feel inescapable, especially as the schoolwork and extracurriculars begin to pervade every part of life. The fact that the background scenery and other main players stay the same only adds to the oddly disorienting effect of the law school experience. 

At times, I just need an escape. For me, that involves a solitary pursuit that challenges me in an entirely different way than what we do in school day in and day out. Something where I can be free to let my mind wander to its strangest and most obscure depths, and pick out things that remind me of who I actually am. More than a law student, more than a 33-year-old man, more than a former podcaster, more than any other identifier, but a singular person who exists separate from the ways that others perceive me. Striding around the Charles River or the Emerald Necklace gives me that time alone, or at least alone with my truest companion, my dog. And in that time, I can escape the feeling of observation and constant comparison that colors so much of the law school experience. 

In law school, it can seem acutely difficult to reserve time for yourself. Everything about the experience, especially in 1L, seems designed to pull you in a different direction. And each direction, mind you, is presented as one with equal importance to the other. Read your casebooks, do your outlining, hit the networking events, sharpen up those resumes and cover letters, hey don’t forget about extracurriculars, and be sure to hit those office hours…Mix that with the near constant pressure of matching the efforts of your classmates in terms of library hours logged, cases briefed, events networked, etc. and the quicksand of law school time can pull you under. 

Taking some time away for an entirely selfish pursuit can seem–well–selfish. More than that, it can seem irresponsible. No one in law school wants that designation. Everyone wants to propagate the image of the idealized, hard working law student. Someone whose nose will never leave that old grindstone. After all, how does one expect to get to the top of the class, a spot on law review, a big law job, and all the other material successes we came here to get, if they lose focus for even a few hours? A guilt comes with that, guilt over taking time for yourself. A guilt though, that is surely misplaced. Freeing oneself from the binds of law school may seem antithetical to our lofty ambition, but, in fact, it’s just the opposite.

Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who went on to some decent success in her legal career, told The Atlantic in 2017 that she attributed much of her law school success to having a young daughter. “I went to class at 8:30 a.m., and I came home at 4:00 p.m., that was children’s hour,” Ginsburg said to the magazine. “It was a total break in my day, and children’s hour lasted until Jane went to sleep. Then I was happy to go back to the books, so I felt each part of my life made me rested from the other.” Separating from the inundation of information and analysis is clarifying. Even more importantly, what someone does to find that distance is entirely their prerogative. 

That sense of agency alone can serve as an antidote for the repressive nature of a law school schedule. Perhaps it’s spending time with your kids or partner (always good to do). Maybe it’s reading something that has nothing to do with the law (another favorite activity of mine). Or perhaps it’s going out to eat or cooking a new meal at home (extra benefit; food!). Perhaps it’s watching a movie or going to the opera (my mileage varies on the latter). In my case, most often it’s pounding five miles of pavement in a pair of old New Balances. Because of my personal values, that time provides me with valued space for solitude and reflection. It allows me to reset.

Sometimes, the 1L fishbowl feels inescapable. Or, more accurately, it feels like I shouldn’t want to escape it, even if I could. That somehow every force within me should be focused inside of these artificial walls of education and professional attainment. But the world, and our lives, are so much broader and more colorful than law school, or our law jobs. We can–and should–always seek more than the fulfillment of a big paycheck or a perfect grade.

Running provides me with that contextual balance. It clarifies that grades, class rank, job placements, and all the rest are only as important as I allow them to be. That is what I have control over, my own perspective, just like how I can control my pace, my breath, and my steps to make a run more enjoyable (or a lot less so), the decision lies with me. I can remove the lens of other people’s perceptions on my achievements and ask myself: how does this make me feel? Lose that, and you can lose yourself. Without that sense of self, nothing I achieve will fulfill me anyway. So every day, I’ll continue to get up before the birds start chirping, tie up my laces, and hit the road.

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Ian Hurley is a first-year student at BC Law. Contact him at hurleyia@bc.edu.