Today...today was horrifyingly hot. I knew it was going to be, which is why I went through the pre-run sink bath routine: wet my hair, wet the bandanna, roll it up, tie it around my neck. The first block or so wasn't so bad, but that just gave me a false sense of security. I was trying to use runkeeper to do speed intervals, but the gps was way off. At the end of the first speed interval, I stopped to gag and choke and not quite throw up on the sidewalk, sure that someone in the nearby trailer park would think I was dying. Or an idiot. Or both.
During the second speed interval I was grasping at anything in front of me to sort of metaphysically pull me along ("Please, please giant red sign, help me get past you!"). I stopped at the old rec center for a drink and a water fountain bath, not quite oblivious to the small children whispering about the crazy running lady (I didn't hear them say this, but I'm sure they were thinking it) and thought I was all better after that. But I wasn't really.
But in the final moment, much like Gregory House always figures out the case based on some minor detail that has him briefly staring pensively into his own personal dimension, I did get something out of this. No one is making me do this--except me--and that's what makes it so awesome. I can say I have to--I have to run 3 miles today or 5 miles tomorrow--but I don't. It's not the outcome or the reward or the results that make it worth it (unless we're counting the cold gatorade or beer waiting in the fridge at home, in which case I may need to reevaluate), it's loving the work. Loving the run, and always realizing that it was worth it.
Saturday's 9 mile run was tame by comparison, with countless cool morning breezes in my face and five white-tailed bunny sightings. I could have done without that snake glaring at me over his shoulder as he did his evil dance in the water, but it was the kind of run that made me feel mellow and sentimental and thankful, and always loving the run.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
About pain--
I'm not sure of the number of times that running has brought tears to my eyes, but they've never been tears of pain. The first time was maybe a third of the way through couch to 5k. I don't remember the date or what week of the program I was on. What I do remember is where I was standing when I was overcome with that feeling --the one where everything is perfect? The song in that week's podcast had a happy little bump and skip and it was misting outside, almost raining. I came to the end of a running interval, started walking, and just...felt thankful and exhilarated. To be out there, to be doing that, to be able. That was the first time, but there have been many since.
Running has taught me to be thankful, always, that I am able to do what I do. It has also taught me about pain. Not injury pain (knock on wood and stuff), but the pain of growth--both in running and in life. Pushing myself to keep running when I was first starting was hard. I would tell myself in my head, "This is just how it is right now, this is how you are existing at this second, this is what you're doing." And I would keep going. I started to realize that pain is the only currency that we have to pay the universe for our growth. The important thing is to be able to realize which pain is helping us grow and which pain is keeping us back. I have to listen to my body and not get injured. The same goes for pain in everyday life. My job will probably never be easy and relationships will always hit bumps, but that pain is usually worth it. Sometimes pain should be embraced, plunged into, sifted, loved. Sometimes not.
When I was training for my first half-marathon, there were a few moments--when it was getting difficult--when I would ask myself, "Do you want this? You want this! Do it!" And I always came back to the other things in my life that I wanted, too. Like to pass comps and get my MA. I think it was running, partly, that got me to do that studying and pass. Because if I can push myself to run, can't I push myself to do other things, even if they kind of hurt at the time?
This afternoon I didn't really feel like running. Graduation is tomorrow and I'm stressed with the planning, and every glass I own was on the counter because of the ants who were trying to own my cabinets. I went anyway and got to experience the perfection of a cloudy day in May with a light breeze and a temperature in the 60's. I got out there, I felt strong, and I gave a little nod to a pine tree on my walk home.
Running has taught me to be thankful, always, that I am able to do what I do. It has also taught me about pain. Not injury pain (knock on wood and stuff), but the pain of growth--both in running and in life. Pushing myself to keep running when I was first starting was hard. I would tell myself in my head, "This is just how it is right now, this is how you are existing at this second, this is what you're doing." And I would keep going. I started to realize that pain is the only currency that we have to pay the universe for our growth. The important thing is to be able to realize which pain is helping us grow and which pain is keeping us back. I have to listen to my body and not get injured. The same goes for pain in everyday life. My job will probably never be easy and relationships will always hit bumps, but that pain is usually worth it. Sometimes pain should be embraced, plunged into, sifted, loved. Sometimes not.
When I was training for my first half-marathon, there were a few moments--when it was getting difficult--when I would ask myself, "Do you want this? You want this! Do it!" And I always came back to the other things in my life that I wanted, too. Like to pass comps and get my MA. I think it was running, partly, that got me to do that studying and pass. Because if I can push myself to run, can't I push myself to do other things, even if they kind of hurt at the time?
This afternoon I didn't really feel like running. Graduation is tomorrow and I'm stressed with the planning, and every glass I own was on the counter because of the ants who were trying to own my cabinets. I went anyway and got to experience the perfection of a cloudy day in May with a light breeze and a temperature in the 60's. I got out there, I felt strong, and I gave a little nod to a pine tree on my walk home.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A run should not mean...
I was going for a post a week, a step back from the runs before sort of digesting them into a summary of sorts. I think maybe because I didn't want to seem too eager, or I didn't want to jump into a writing momentum I couldn't maintain. But here I am, still dripping wet from a 90 degree run in Arkansas humidity.
I started out trying to focus on not thinking about what I should be thinking about--not trying to decide what I should be noticing or feeling. I did better this time. Now and then I would notice myself writing a line in my head...that's not unusual for me because I write my life in my head (why am I not a rich, famous novelist by now? Or a well-known writer, having contorted my life into a witty memoir? It's not too late...) and when I did, I would try to push myself back, closer to the mind and body experience of the run. I finally realized in the last half mile or so that the truth is that I don't want words between me and the run. They set me away from the experience, make what I'm doing seem a little less genuine.
That realization led me to the poem I was reading with my students today. (Okay, forcefeeding to them, which, given that this is May 23, is to be expected.) In Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica," he says, "A poem should be wordless/ As the flight of birds" and later, "A poem should not mean/ But be." A run should be wordless, my flight through whatever and wherever the experience takes me as I push farther and harder. A run should not mean, but be.
I started out trying to focus on not thinking about what I should be thinking about--not trying to decide what I should be noticing or feeling. I did better this time. Now and then I would notice myself writing a line in my head...that's not unusual for me because I write my life in my head (why am I not a rich, famous novelist by now? Or a well-known writer, having contorted my life into a witty memoir? It's not too late...) and when I did, I would try to push myself back, closer to the mind and body experience of the run. I finally realized in the last half mile or so that the truth is that I don't want words between me and the run. They set me away from the experience, make what I'm doing seem a little less genuine.
That realization led me to the poem I was reading with my students today. (Okay, forcefeeding to them, which, given that this is May 23, is to be expected.) In Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica," he says, "A poem should be wordless/ As the flight of birds" and later, "A poem should not mean/ But be." A run should be wordless, my flight through whatever and wherever the experience takes me as I push farther and harder. A run should not mean, but be.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Patience is not one of my virtues--
I still feel a bit like I'm loitering at the starting line--I'm ready to get into the miles and start testing myself. I'm ready to get into a bit of uncharted territory, move beyond the distances I've run before. I'm neither patient nor trusting by nature, which means I'm impatient to get deep into the miles of marathon training and skeptical somewhere in my mind of my ability to succeed.
Tuesday I made myself do speed work for the first time in, well, too long. I started out feeling pretty strong but I didn't back off of my pace enough between intervals and wound up with cramps. Wednesday's four mile run felt strong, but Thursday's three miles were rough again. I look forward to more runs in the cool morning instead of the hot afternoon.
Today's "long run" wasn't really long--it was five miles, because every third week steps back to get ready for a distance increase the following week. I was frustrated with myself because I spent too much of my run wondering what I should be thinking about rather than really thinking about much of anything. I didn't really get into the right frame of mind until "Rolling in the Deep" popped up on the playlist. I tried to dig into something deeper than where I'd been. There were a few good moments--ducking under a curtain of spring maple leaves heavy with last night's rain, and as always, the shock of honeysuckle scent that hits me a couple of blocks from home. Stopping is always a good moment, too--not because I'm glad it's over, but because I'm always glad I did it.
Tuesday I made myself do speed work for the first time in, well, too long. I started out feeling pretty strong but I didn't back off of my pace enough between intervals and wound up with cramps. Wednesday's four mile run felt strong, but Thursday's three miles were rough again. I look forward to more runs in the cool morning instead of the hot afternoon.
Today's "long run" wasn't really long--it was five miles, because every third week steps back to get ready for a distance increase the following week. I was frustrated with myself because I spent too much of my run wondering what I should be thinking about rather than really thinking about much of anything. I didn't really get into the right frame of mind until "Rolling in the Deep" popped up on the playlist. I tried to dig into something deeper than where I'd been. There were a few good moments--ducking under a curtain of spring maple leaves heavy with last night's rain, and as always, the shock of honeysuckle scent that hits me a couple of blocks from home. Stopping is always a good moment, too--not because I'm glad it's over, but because I'm always glad I did it.
Friday, May 13, 2011
On crepe myrtles, magnolias, and why running matters...
Lots of things are crazy in my life right now. As I was running yesterday, I remembered another time when things were all upside down. While out on a run, I began to look at what kind of people the trees reminded me off. The crepe myrtles are my favorites. As I ran past them (people in my neighborhood really seem to favor them) I started to see something else: young girls with unruly curls, their green skirts held up as they waded through the grass on long, delicate tanned legs. Near a long straight stretch, two huge old trees rise up alone, hunch-backed hulking giants--friendly ones--gatekeepers to...where? Some place in the past, maybe.
Running gave me those images, comforting ones as I tried to make sense where none was. There is none now, but I still have crepe myrtles. And people to love, and running.
On Friday a week ago I ran my first 5k in a while. It was an evening race, a hot one, but I decided to do it and to bring along a friend, Savanna, and my son. Before the race we played with little helicopter toys on the lawn at MacArthur Park, smelled magnolias, and listened to a little music. I loved being out like that in a place we wouldn't have otherwise come to, being a part of something. I didn't have a fantastic race, but I did have an amazing time. That's another reason running matters--it takes me to places I never would have otherwise been, both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for it.
Running gave me those images, comforting ones as I tried to make sense where none was. There is none now, but I still have crepe myrtles. And people to love, and running.
On Friday a week ago I ran my first 5k in a while. It was an evening race, a hot one, but I decided to do it and to bring along a friend, Savanna, and my son. Before the race we played with little helicopter toys on the lawn at MacArthur Park, smelled magnolias, and listened to a little music. I loved being out like that in a place we wouldn't have otherwise come to, being a part of something. I didn't have a fantastic race, but I did have an amazing time. That's another reason running matters--it takes me to places I never would have otherwise been, both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for it.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
I can! Or I'm crazy...
I started running a little over two years ago by doing couch to 5k. I had heard a few things about the program and wanted something to help keep myself in shape, so I downloaded the free podcasts and started it. The program was a great fit for me from the start and I loved running. I did my first 5k in July of 2009 and was so hooked. When I was signing up I had so much anxiety--would everyone else be so much faster that I would be left behind? Would I look like a dumb amateur?? I didn't need to worry. The race was the Firecracker 5k in Little Rock and it was the first time of many that I would be in awe of the diversity at road races. Looking around is so inspiring--so many different kinds of people getting out and participating in community events and keeping fit.
I was pretty content for the next year. I ran several races during the summer of 2009, finishing up the season with the Great Gobbler 5k in Maumelle, where I broke 30 minutes for the first time. Hating the cold, I didn't run much that first winter, but I jumped back in fast as soon as it warmed up in 2010. My first 5k in the spring of 2010 was a PR, as were most of them that summer.
But. I wanted to keep getting faster! I asked some online friends what I should do to get faster, and I got two answers: add speedwork and add distance. I did both, and as I started adding distance, I started to get more hooked. My first 6 mile run is one I'll never forget--it was on country and small town roads in Indiana and when I finished I felt so badass. Eventually I began training for the Soaring Wings Half-Marathon in October of 2010, which I finished in 2:10:28, and pushed myself to train for the Little Rock Half-Marathon in March of 2011, which I finished in 2:02:34.
There are more little stories of my running past--how my sister and dad and I ran several races together, how I ran a few races with my son--and maybe I'll fit them in soon. This week is the first week of marathon training. I want it all to stand out, want to be able to go back and look at the steps of this journey. Because running is about so much more than being in shape. It's about believing that I can. It's a way of thinking and being that has changed the way I look at myself, the way I look at my future. It has changed the way I pray. So--the journey began a long time ago, but here it starts again.
I was pretty content for the next year. I ran several races during the summer of 2009, finishing up the season with the Great Gobbler 5k in Maumelle, where I broke 30 minutes for the first time. Hating the cold, I didn't run much that first winter, but I jumped back in fast as soon as it warmed up in 2010. My first 5k in the spring of 2010 was a PR, as were most of them that summer.
But. I wanted to keep getting faster! I asked some online friends what I should do to get faster, and I got two answers: add speedwork and add distance. I did both, and as I started adding distance, I started to get more hooked. My first 6 mile run is one I'll never forget--it was on country and small town roads in Indiana and when I finished I felt so badass. Eventually I began training for the Soaring Wings Half-Marathon in October of 2010, which I finished in 2:10:28, and pushed myself to train for the Little Rock Half-Marathon in March of 2011, which I finished in 2:02:34.
There are more little stories of my running past--how my sister and dad and I ran several races together, how I ran a few races with my son--and maybe I'll fit them in soon. This week is the first week of marathon training. I want it all to stand out, want to be able to go back and look at the steps of this journey. Because running is about so much more than being in shape. It's about believing that I can. It's a way of thinking and being that has changed the way I look at myself, the way I look at my future. It has changed the way I pray. So--the journey began a long time ago, but here it starts again.
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