Running Time

Long run or the latest Almodovar - aka how a mom grapples with the choices of limited time and multiple identities.

As seen in the lobby of Alamo Drafthouse in Downtown Brooklyn.

On Oscar Sunday, three years ago, I nursed my just-born daughter while Beyonce, dressed in tennis ball-green, opened the ceremony with a dazzling performance of “Be Alive” from King Richard. After my husband placed our baby back in her bassinet, I tried to stay awake to watch the show. The Oscars had been a fixture on my calendar for over two decades – first as a film fan in South Africa, then as a journalist covering them in LA. But that night, I found myself too exhausted to keep my eyes open. I missed most of the ceremony, including the slap that was heard around the world.

In hindsight, it was a not-so-subtle indicator of how my sense of self and my relationship to time would change after having a baby. March would no longer be defined by the Oscars. It would be marked by my daughter’s birthday. I wasn’t sure I’d ever cover the event in person again, but let’s be honest, I was too busy Googling how to soothe a crying newborn to care.

Time is no longer something I have in abundance. It has become a vessel seemingly too small to hold all the various parts of my identity; something I have to ration out after work hours between the things I love: films, running, and the new role I am still figuring out as a mom.

Before motherhood and the pandemic significantly reshaped my life, I used to watch multiple films a week. Especially if I was at a film festival — friends there would joke about who could see the most films in one day. As an entertainment journalist, going to Sundance, Cannes and Toronto, and covering junkets and award ceremonies filled my days. Watching films was a big part of my job.

And I loved it! I still do; I love sitting in a darkened cinema being enveloped by a film. Its music, its people, its emotions. The best part is leaving with a feeling like something inside you has shifted because of what you’ve just seen, what you’ve just experienced.

Before motherhood, I also used to run multiple miles a week. Especially if I was training for a marathon. It wasn’t something I did for work, but running was more than a hobby; an essential tool for keeping my mental and physical health in check, and feeding the drive I had to achieve goals I used to think were impossible. When I was a freelancer, without a typical 9-5, my 5-9 daily miles would keep me rooted and stable, even when everything else felt up in the air.

Somewhere along the way, my two passions — running and film — began to complement each other. I’d run early in the morning along the Croisette on the Côte d'Azur or Toronto’s Harbourfront before a day of screenings, or hit the pavement after spending hours inside a cinema, letting my thoughts process what I’d just seen. My runs became a kind of reflection, a way to let my thoughts wander and work through the emotions films stirred up in me. It was a symbiotic relationship.

I even started blending the two — making running videos, where I’d talk about films while on the move. It was back before the age of ‘running influencers,’ when the idea of recording and running at the same time was met with confusion (I remember trying to explain to the salesperson at Best Buy that yes, I did want to run, talk, and record all at once). I made reviews of films I loved, from Celine Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire to Bradley Cooper’s directorial debut, A Star is Born, all while running through city streets. It was my way of combining my two worlds, and I felt like I was creating something truly unique.

Then came motherhood. Before, I was never really bothered much by the running time of a film. If it went for 1 hour and 36 minutes or 2 hours and 15 mins, I was in. But now, the running time of a film bumps up against the literal time I have to go running, forcing me to weigh them both: long run or the latest Almodovar? I finished the New York City Marathon in just about the same time as it took to watch The Brutalist. To me, both felt just as rewarding.

I’m no longer the person who watches everything, takes chances on films I know little about. I’m now more selective. With limited time, I need to know that a film will be worth my while. But even with that selectivity, there’s still the issue of time. I can’t help but feel like I’m constantly torn between two passions — neither of which I want to give up.

I’ve run 11 marathons, with at least one or two a year on the calendar. I had almost done all the so-called Big Six of the World Marathon Majors, with just Tokyo left to go (until they added Sydney to the mix!). But since the NYC Marathon, in November last year, I decided not to train for another marathon, at least for now. Not just because I want to spend more time with my family, but also because I want to have time to see films. I can’t do both to the extent I once did.

While I may not be watching films for work, I still need them. I need them to make sense of the world around me. I need them to nourish my weary heart. I need them to strengthen my resolve, and uplift my soul. I need them to fuel my creative practice of writing and of just being.

Even as our habits change, and our collective attention spans get shorter, nothing can replicate the feeling of being wholly swept up in a film for two hours or so. Empathy for each other is an ever-needed thing, and I believe it will never not be important for us to put ourselves in the shoes of others. Great filmmaking still does this. Whether it’s sharing the desire to be free and live in peace, as in No Other Land, or witnessing how A Real Pain lets us in on the ancestral trauma of second-generation Holocaust survivors while still reminding us no one pain is greater than another.

Or I’m Still Here, in which we learn about a woman who, while taking care of five children, relentlessly searched for answers about her husband’s disappearance in the military dictatorship of 1970s Brazil.

Running and films are a part of me that I don’t want to lose, but I’m still trying to figure out how to make room for them alongside my role as a mom, and how much I don’t want to miss any part of my daughter’s life. My husband supports me, often giving me the space to watch films on weekends while he looks after our daughter, or taking her out for errands so I can go for a run. Priorities, ambition, appreciation for the small moments, the need to be productive and be a present mother and partner, self-care — it all never seems to quite fit in.

One thing’s clear, I want to be able to pass on my love of films and of running to my daughter, for her to be as rewarded by them as I have been, and so I’ll keep trying to make it all work. And who knows, maybe I should start doing “Reviews on the Run” again. Only this time, perhaps I’ll call them, “Reviews from a Mom.” I’ll try keep the films I recommend to under two hours.