Running and Remembering (Again)

The hardest thing about running? Remembering why I do it.

I wrote about this in my previous post, but it is still really hard to accept that maybe – quite possibly – my runs aren’t and will never be about performance or accomplishment. That’s a bitter pill for a woman who cares (perhaps a little too much) about both. Not every activity is a competitive sport – even a competitive sport.

Of course, the dirty little secret every runner has is that she’s constantly comparing herself to others,  herself to her past, herself to her hope.

I ran this morning because it was on the schedule. I ran this morning because I have a race in 6 weeks and I’m starting to feel the pressure.

But the real reason I ran this morning – the really, really real reason I ran instead of rolling over in bed or letting the clock run out on my small window of opportunity while I puttered was that it was warm. I wanted to be outside and feel the warm air on my bare arms, to hear the chorus of birds, see the sunrise, and fill my nose with the sweet spicy fragrance of lilacs and daffodils and wisteria. Losing weight, following the plan, hitting a target just aren’t as compelling as the full sensory experience of me moving through this world awake and alive and present.

Running, Romance, and Reminders

Have you ever woken up next to your spouse and wondered to yourself: Who is this person? What on earth am I doing here? I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.

Hopefully, you have enough faith and commitment to realize this moment for what it most surely is: temporary. So you keep waking up next to that same person day after day, and eventually you remember why you stay, why you fell in love and, and all is right with the world again. This is my relationship with running.

I have really been struggling with running. I’ve put on some weight because I haven’t been running as much, and now it’s harder to run because I’ve put on some weight. But I’ve renewed my vows with my running shoes, and I have faith it will get better.

It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get in a long run. I’m usually jamming in 2-4 miles anywhere I have a hole in the schedule, which is to say, not very much. But it’s spring break. My husband is driving the kids to the grandparents for the week, and I have a rare, blissful stretch of Sunday afternoon hours to do whatever I want –and it’s a gorgeous spring afternoon, sunny, cool and breezy. Perfect run weather. So I head out to spend as much time as I want on the road.

It still takes a mile or two to shake out the cobwebs and let my mind run free, but then it comes back to me. I remember why I run. I run to shake loose my anxiety and worry. As I run, I leave a trail of my stress on the road as it runs off my head and falls to the ground in big salty drops. I run to fill my lungs with air, to pump up my chest that has become deflated from a week of sitting at a desk, in front of a computer doing battle in the world. I run to feel my heart pound and be reassured that to feel what my heart feels won’t kill me.

I can’t run to compete or compare, to prove something or to measure my worth. When the one that should love and care for you becomes punishing and accusing, we call that abuse. We can’t tolerate it – even from ourselves. Perhaps especially from ourselves.

This weekend I attended a conference, and they ran a video piece that showed a woman running. She had words stacked up around her; sitting on her shoulders were all her cares and concerns. As she ran,  the words began to break apart and the letters hit the ground like shards of glass littering the path behind her. It was a reminder to me of the romance I once had with running.

You know how sometimes you keep hearing the same word, or an idea keeps coming back to you through the perspective of different people, articles you read, movies you watch? I’ve had a few words that keep popping up everywhere I go these days, and what I realized as I ran this afternoon was that I wasn’t just leaving a trail of my mental garbage behind me as I ran. God was rearranging the discarded letters to bring me a new message – like a divine Scrabble game: Relax. Surrender. Forgiven. Forgive.