I have demoted myself to nearly a 13 minute miler. I am not happy about this. At one point I was closing in on a solid 11 minute mile, but a winter of inconsistent training and weight gain has taken its toll. To quote my friend Jen, now when I haul ass, it takes two trips.

But I got back out on the road this week with my group, and even though it was humbling, I know it’s the only way back. I think I can get back up to speed by the end of the summer.

When I’m on the road, it’s clear what I need to do. Just lace up my shoes, step out the door, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. This simple sequence is easy to lose sight of when I’m not on the road, but rather swimming in the deep end of my daily routine and commitments.

Inside I need only concentrate on eating good, real, whole food – not too much. Less wine, more water. Less packaged, processed convenience foods, more fruits and veggies and lean protein. I know all this. I need to eat for fuel and pleasure, but not for comfort. Comfort I need to find somewhere else.

I can’t say I find comfort on the road. Running is stress busting and anxiety taming, but comfort? – not so much.

So where do I go for it? Where do you go for it?

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.

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.

Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK.

I didn’t learn this lesson this year, but I continue to be reminded of it on occassion.

I really learned this lesson almost ten years ago. Shortly after September 11th, when the world seemed to have been knocked off its axis, my father became suddenly, inexplicably, critically ill. A simple cold became pneumonia that landed him in the ICU of Georgetown University hospital for over two weeks.

I had two young children and a job that required my presence daily and for long hours. My father was over 2 hours away fighting for his life.

He had never really been sick before, so this was new territiory. I had to work, but found myself dropping everything to drive into the nation’s capitol as military helicopters patrolled over every bridge into the city and stories of anthrax unfolded on the nightly news.

It was surreal. The national and global crisis was merely an enlargement of my own personal family cirisis. How could my tower of strength and stability be so suddenly brought low?

On September 11th, I was working at a childcare center. I took a call from an unidentified parent that morning who asked if we would be closing early. I did’t know what he was talking about. He said, “A plane has flown into the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and we are under attack.” I called the police to report a crank call. An officer came in person shortly thereafter to inform us that this call was no hoax.

Waves of incomprehension, fear, disbelief. Everything I thought was important, everyting I thought was absolutely necessary, every ball I thought was my sole responsibility to keep in the air – I walked away from it. The river kept rushing by, and I just stepped out of it, virtually unnoticed.

It was then I realized, “Everything is going to be OK. I don’t have to hold the world up.”

So even now, as I get caught up in waves of anxiety about my obligations, committments, and expectations, I am reminded: everything is going to be OK. When I am completely and utterly stripped down to nothing, I know nothing can separate me from the love of God (or my husband, children, parents, siblings). For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[k] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God. [Romans 8:38,39]

Yeah, I have love, so everything is going to be OK.

Thanks to Francesca from Charlottesville Running Company and Donnie from Ragged Mountain Running Shop, we got some great tips last Saturday on proper running form.

Good form is important because:

·         It improves performance

·         It reduces the chance of injury

·         And it makes you look good. J

Even though my body clock prompts me to consciousness by 4:45am every morning, that still doesn’t make it easy to actually get myself upright. If I had my way, I’d lay in and savor the indulgence of pillows and blankets and the cat sleeping at my feet. The hum of the house just before dawn is the sound of sanctuary. Once I’m up – all bets are off. 

So I roll out of bed and dress while the coffee brews. I don’t think too much; I just press on to arrive at the appointed time and place I am expected by my running group. I often think I will get there early to get a little extra in before my “trainees” arrive, but I don’t. The truth is if it weren’t for them, I might talk myself out of tunning altogether. 

It is hard to both train myself and others who are all along the run/walk continuum, but I can’t excuse myself. I can’t even think the very slowest walker who only wants to cover a mile is going to hold me back because I know deep down, I wouldn’t be here but for her. So I am grateful for every brave and determined soul who shows up for a training session. 

I had time to get in a little extra mileage after our session this morning, and I still almost talked myself out of it. I need to get home. I need to get to work. I need to get on with my day. No, I needed to honor my intention to get stronger, faster, leaner. An extra 30 minutes was not going to derail my day, so I ran some more. 

The morning was fine and fair, and yet I haggled with myself over just how much more I would do the entire way. Instead of the well planned route I always take, I just ran. I ventured down unfamiliar streets, cris-crossed the golf course, took note of houses, flora and fauna I’d never noticed before. 

My intention was to do a little more than was comfortable, to do what would actually bring me closer to my goal instead of checking off an obligation. As always the ROI exceeded expectations. So why is it still so hard to get up?

I don’t know where you are in your life now, but maybe you are like me: married with kids, mid-life, slave to routine – mostly other people’s routines. There is a place you can go, a foreign and enchanted place outside of your regular orbit: the track at UVA. 

The Charlottesville Track Club Women’s Four Miler Training Program (W4MTP) is like summer camp for grown up girls. Here you will meet other women braving a new adventure. You will bond with other participants and your new fairy godmothers, the “Pink Ladies”. You will create memories that will last a lifetime. It may seem a bit frightening, but thrilling too. You will consider the possibilities of true love again. 

If you are wondering why you should participate in the W4MTP, I say do it for love. 

You may do it for the  love of someone who is fighting or has survived breast cancer or someone you have lost to breast cancer. You may do it for the love a friend who wants to try this thing and needs your help and support. You may do it for those that love you: your husband, children, friends and family who want to see you happy and healthy, energetic and proud. 

The W4MTP may not be exactly like kissing some bronze surfer boy under the boardwalk, but you will find love. You may actually fall in love with walking or running, but maybe – just maybe - you might fall in love with yourself again. You will do more than you thought you could do. Your body will change; your mind will change; your heart will change. 

Do it for love. It’s never too late for your next great summer romance.

Posted via email from W4MTP

Dear Running,

I know we’re coming up on our 2 year anniversary, but we need to talk. You know I love you, right? I trust you, and I’m committed to you.

You complete me.

But, um, here’s the thing…I’m feeling like maybe we need to take a little break. No, no, it’s not you; it’s me. You’re great. You don’t need to change for me.

No, I’m not interested in anyone else. Sure, the passion you stirred in my body may have led to some flirtations with yoga and kayaking and Zumba – but that’s all it was – innocent flirtations.

I just need some space to think. We fell in love so fast. I left friends and family and work to be with you, but now? Now, I think we need to cool it a bit. I’m not sure if we still want the same things.

Love,

Me

Posted via email from Bite Size

The 35^th running of the Charlottesville 10 Miler happened this past weekend, and most people know this race to be one of the best and one of the toughest courses around. I’ve dreamed of being able to complete the 10 miler for 10 years now – maybe longer – but it wasn’t until a year ago that this became a distinct possibility.

Every time you sign up for a race you have some goals in mind. One may be to shoot for a certain time or to get through the whole thing without walking, or maybe just finishing is the accomplishment. I had my goals. I had two time goals: one was my stretch goal and one was my maybe I can live with this goal. My third string goal was to finish. I didn’t really take this one too seriously.

The first half of the race I was on pace for my first goal, but something happened at mile 5. I hit a wall. I can’t explain why exactly, but I questioned how much more I could do and seriously considered quitting. I’ve rarely felt that way in training, much less in a race. This was supposed to be my sweet spot. I’m just getting warmed up at 3 miles – up to mile 8 or 9 is usually the best part of my run – but not on this day.

I rallied a bit and managed to keep myself in the game. I had to dig deep to remember that last ditch goal: to finish. I had to convince myself at various points along the way that even if I had to crawl in, I was going to finish what I started.

I made that goal, and I even made it to my I can maybe live with this goal. But I was really, really disappointed with the outcome. I was disappointed in my performance. I was disappointed that an event on which I had hung so many hopes and expectations, was a huge let-down. Mostly I was upset with myself that I had not prepared properly. I took some things for granted. I cut some corners, and I did not get away with it. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought I could get away with it.

Why not? I’ve been getting away with it. I’ve been passing myself off as a runner, while standing in the midst of them I feel like a fraud. The sting was really the feeling that I had been busted.

Of course that’s not truth. The truth may be that I was unprepared to give my best shot that day, but it is not true that I am a fake runner. I’ve worked really hard – too hard – to let these “lizard thoughts” (as my friend describes them) rob me of my faith in myself and the joy of my achievement. I think of these thoughts more like snakes that slither out of dark places. What reasonable person would look at one of these creatures and think I should grab that and hold on to it? No, most of us would grab a shovel and cut its head off.

I imagine these thoughts more like that arcade classic “whack-a-mole”. They keep popping up and I must diligently whack them down as soon as I detect one.

Posted via email from Bite Size