I’ve never considered myself a runner. Sure, I run – but I don’t have the runner’s mindset. I don’t run races, I don’t train, I don’t even track my runs. I made a conscious decision not to have it be about the numbers. I don’t want to think about miles and minutes and whether or not my pace is good. I don’t want running to turn into something I feel like I *have* to do, because the second that happens, I’m no longer having fun with it. I run for fun and fitness, nothing more.

This past winter was one of the coldest I can remember, which made running a bit of a challenge. But on nights where it wasn’t so unbearable, I would venture out fully dressed for the weather:

(Forgive the quality, they were taken with the Macbook Photobooth. And while you’re at it, forgive the cluttered apartment behind me too! But don’t forgive Kitty, who was strategically placed :P)

On the left, I’m wearing an outfit appropriate for crisp fall weather, when a t-shirt’s not gonna cut it and gloves start becoming mandatory. On the right, I’m dressed for sub-40 weather, wearing 2 pairs of gloves, a layering jacket, and ear warmers that aren’t even meant for running. (Hey, ya gotta do what ya gotta do!)

 
I always run the same route, which is a total of 5 miles from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back. I know exactly how long the route is and about how long it will take me to complete. I even stop for a few minutes at the same spot on the bridge in the middle of my run to stretch my legs every time. I’m pretty sure my running routine sounds like a complete snoozefest right about now, but I love it so much that I’ve never felt a need to change it up. I mean gosh, look at the Williamsburg Bridge. Look at the view! How could you ever get sick of it?! I still can’t get enough after 3+ years of living in NYC.

So on a recent Sunday afternoon, I set off on my usual run. I ran across the bridge, but then instead of turning around at the end of it, I kept on running down the ramp and into Manhattan. I’ve secretly been harboring a dream of running in *the city*, so I was all ‘Holy crap, I’m running in Manhattan!’. I didn’t have a plan, but my legs seemed to carry me back towards the water to East River Park, where I ran along the boardwalk gawking at the fantastic skyline views. I stopped every 30 seconds or so to snap some photos with my iPhone and briefly contemplate my next move.

Soon I realized that I’d gone so far that it no longer made sense to turn around. I was feeling so good, and the weather was just perfect for running (60ish, mostly cloudy) that I WANTED to keep running. Aside from one trip & fall incident (I mean, if you’re gonna nearly face-plant, it might as well be right outside Bellevue Hospital, right?) and my other (previously injured) knee acting up halfway through, I honestly felt fine the entire time. Before I knew it, I was crossing the Queensboro Bridge into Queens and then back into Brooklyn for the home stretch. I arrived home after about 2.5 hours and of course the first thing I did was map out my route to check out the mileage. The verdict? 13.1 miles.

13.1 miles, almost exactly. My immediate reaction: WHAT. JUST. HAPPENED.

I was completely flabbergasted, not just that I had run that insane distance, but that I’d had no concept of mileage when I was out there and it just *happened* to be the exact same as a half-marathon. How on earth did that happen?

To be honest, running an unofficial and accidental half-marathon was very anticlimactic in the end. I’d always imagined feeling exhausted yet exhilarated when I finished, and that it would have to be something to work up to and feel so satisfied in accomplishing. 5 miles was as far as I ever cared to run, so I assumed the jump from 5 to 13.1 would require some work. True, my time could definitely stand to improve, but the fact that I ran a half-marathon unintentionally and without proper preparation is indisputably nuts. (To be fair, though, my body is like a machine and I’m suuuuuper active in my life and do all sorts of physical activity, so I probably unknowingly prepared myself for this. Oops?)

 
So where am I going with this oh-so-inspiring (albeit ridiculous) anecdote? Well, it made me realize that I’m capable of doing things that I had no idea I could do. We all are. But we get comfortable with the familiar and the routine and often don’t step out of that comfort zone to try new things and push ourselves more. Imagine what we could all accomplish if we just pushed a little harder and committed ourselves to being ballsy, taking risks, and being open to new and unfamiliar experiences.

This is how I want to live my life. This is how I want Lindsay Taryn Photography to grow.

With that said, I’m taking a risk here and from now on will be trying to write more personal blog posts. I’m an extremely candid person and love to write, so this should be quite fun for me :) But most of all, I want people who stumble across this space of mine on the web to not only fall in love with my work, but also get a good sense of who is behind it. I want you to love the photos AND the photographer. I want us to have a blast when we work together and create amazing images that you’ll cherish forever.

If that sounds good to you, then hop on board and enjoy the ride!