The New Normal
Last Sunday I ran ten miles. Ten. Miles.
To some of my friends ten miles is like a walk to the mailbox. To others it might as well be an ultramarathon. To me it’s incredible.
When I started training for a half marathon eight weeks ago my long run was five miles. Frankly, I was terrified. My friend offered to do my first long run with me, bless her heart, as long as–in her words–it was under fifteen miles. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or vomit. The thought of five was scary enough. Anything approaching double digits seemed impossible.
Now, I run five miles in the middle of the week. And it’s almost like a walk to the mailbox.
This Sunday I get to run ten miles. Again. Ten. Miles.
I’m sure I can beat last Sunday’s time because I plan to eat better this Saturday than I did last. My mother always told me that Cheetos are not a dinner food. I’m not sure she actually qualified it with “dinner,” come to think of it. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s right. Cheetos don’t seem to sustain endurance or supply energy, even if they do stain your fingers a fine shade of day-glow orange that might actually help make runners more visible to cars. Nevertheless, Cheetos won’t be on my menu this weekend.
One of the beautiful things about running: I’m my own biggest competitor. I just want to do better than I did the week before so that what’s normal is always new.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 11 so far )Oh, to Run and Change the World
What would you say to someone who told you that running could change the world? Would you think they were odd, crazy, dreaming? Not my world, you might think. Not the real world, where businesses and people work hard to make a living, get ahead. Running, you might say, is a hobby for most, a pastime, an amateur sport. It might be fun, might get or keep you healthy, but surely it couldn’t change the world.
I had the privilege this week of attending the 10th annual Girls on the Run International Summit, a conference, for lack of a better word, though it was like no conference I’ve attended. It may have had all the trappings of your average conference—speakers, general and breakout sessions, meals and parties—but this conference was distinctly different. What made it so was not the agenda, it’s the organization—the men and women who are Girls on the Run.
Every organization composes a Vision, a Mission, a set of Core Values it displays for all its stakeholders to see. Most include words like customer-oriented, integrity, honesty, excellence.
What about words like positivity, gratitude, empowerment, responsibility. Empathy, joy, love. And more telling than words, what about actions? Could a business be built on a foundation that includes empathy, joy, and love?
When Girls on the Run started, it was led by one woman who brought together one team of thirteen young girls to instill in them confidence, joy, self-respect, to show them their own strength and where it could lead them. Sixteen years later, Girls on the Run is led by 55,000+ women and men across the nation in 208 councils, revealing to tens of thousands of girls their full potential.
Girls in the program learn to be authentic, strong, honest. To respect themselves and others, to make healthy life choices, to be empathetic. These girls will grow up to be leaders in business, education, government. They are learning to lead with love.
The tool that does this? Running.
Sound corny? Far from it. It’s quite real, and part of a movement to bring empathy, responsibility to bear on our actions, in business, education, government.
Who said that running couldn’t change the world? It already has.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )Half Way to Austin
I’m over the hump. This is week 7 of the 12 week training plan I’m following to get to the Austin Half Marathon on February 17.
Training for a half marathon was not one of my 2012 goals. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve completed 9 half marathons, but an injury in 2010 sidelined me, and until this past summer I hadn’t run farther than 6 miles. And I’d only done that once.
In September, I realized it was time. What was the deciding factor? There were a few. Competing in a 5-miler next to a friend reminded me of the fun, social side of running. Winter was approaching. I’m convinced that I have bear blood in me. Once the thermometer dips below, say, 40, all I want to do is curl up in a ball under a pile of blankets with a bag of Julio’s and a plate of cookies. Now that’s hibernation. And the holidays make it worse. Maybe I’m part slug, part bear. I didn’t want a repeat of last year’s near-comatose holiday season.
But the overwhelming reason was simple. I was tired of being afraid. Of injury. Of failing. Of facing the possibility that I could no longer run distance. I finally realized that if I didn’t try, I had already failed, and I would never run farther than 6 miles, period.
And here I am, ending week 7. It hasn’t been easy to stick to the plan. I was on vacation week 2, ending the Girls on the Run season week 3. It was Christmas week 5 and New Year’s week 6. I’m on my way to a conference during week 8. There’s always something. But such is life. There always will be.
Knowing I would miss training days here and there each week, I did, however, commit to not missing particular runs: intermediate and long runs, and speed work. It’s paying off. Here are some highlights of my training so far:
- I ran 7 miles.
- I ran 8 miles.
- I came in 2nd in my division in last week’s 10K.
- I’ve cut one minute off my mile.
Tomorrow I get to run 9 miles. I am both nervous and excited as I see the distance grow each weekend. But I am no longer afraid. Instead, I celebrate every moment.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 4 so far )The Busk, or why I run before dawn
There are a dozen reasons to run before dawn. There’s no traffic. Car exhaust and other pollution haven’t elevated to choking level. Running sets your metabolism, you get the day’s run out of the way, it’s mental preparation for the day. These reasons all ring true for me, but there’s something more. With each sunrise I am reminded that every day is a busk.
In spring when the corn began to ripen, some American Indian tribes held a busk, a cleansing ceremony whose purpose was, in large part, renewal. Tribe members cleaned out their homes and threw all broken or unwanted items into a communal heap, which they burned. A new fire was kindled, and from it all the fires in town were kindled. During the ceremony, all offenses except murder were forgiven, and a new year began.
The Unity Church practices a ritual with a similar purpose: The Burning Bowl. In this New Year’s ceremony, individuals make two lists, one of the things they need to get rid of, and the other of their intentions for the year. The first list is burned; the second sealed, to be read later.
Both rituals serve the same purpose as New Year’s resolutions do for many of us. A new year promises a clean slate, the potential to do things right, set new goals. It’s a chance to start life anew. The opportunity to remake ourselves into something better, stronger. (Faster.)
Some seem to think that if they don’t set New Year’s resolutions, they’ve missed their chance for change. But we don’t have to wait for New Year’s Eve for that clean slate. We get a new beginning every day.
Each day that I get to run before dawn, I am reminded of this. A sunrise is like an opening hand, pink fingers flaming across the sky, releasing a new day. The most brilliant dawns remind me of a fire eating through the detritus of the previous day, cleansing it of the good and bad, clearing the way for new growth.
One reason running fills me with gratitude–I get to witness this. A new beginning, every day. Another chance to live right, do right. Another day I am blessed with.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )On the Cusp of the No Plan Plan
At this time last year, I had a plan. Not just any old plan, but a Master Plan. I wrote out my vision of where I wanted to be in a year and then laid out corresponding goals, each month for a quarter, then six months, a year. I posted both documents, Visions and Goals, on my bathroom mirror so I would be reminded daily of what I needed to do, where to go.
By April I found that I had met maybe 1/3 of my goals. My Master Plan wasn’t so masterful after all, it seemed. The documents came off the mirror as I thought of Woody Allen’s line, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” Nevertheless, my visions and goals were embedded in my brain.
Now, at the end of the year, I find that I have met many of these goals, even if I didn’t meet them in (my) time. The goals I missed have more to do with focus than desire. A fortune fished out of a cookie sometime this year waves from my fridge to remind me: The most powerful element in the world is a focused mind.
But it’s almost December 31 again and I have no Master Plan, no vision, no list of goals to post on my bathroom mirror.
This realization set in yesterday when for the first time in a month I stood completely alone in my house, in silence. Last December I had the luxury of time for reflection and planning. This December, by contrast, has been a whirlwind of incidents and events, from beach time and the joy of season’s end to family illness, unexpected home repairs, the stress of season’s end, and the preparation required to begin a new season.
Oh yeah, and then there was Christmas.
For some reason, I’m not so worried about not having a plan. December 31 isn’t the official Master Plan Deadline and, as far as I know, I won’t melt if midnight strikes and I’m on the No Plan Plan. There will be enough time.
Among the many lessons I learned this year, two apparently contradictory principles stand out:
- I seem to be happiest when I forget about myself.
- We receive in life what we think we deserve.
I’m not exactly sure how my Master Plan will take shape, but I know I need to begin here.
Fortunately, as I begin to think about 2013’s visions and goals, I am not completely planless. My training plan is still tacked up on my fridge, guiding me toward that half marathon in February.
At least there is this: I plan to run.
Have a blessed New Year.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )The Best Effort
Last Saturday, Girls on the Run of Bexar County held our end-of-the-season 5K. 104 girls, their running buddies, and friends and families showed up to complete this event, the goal the girls had been working toward for 10 weeks.
Even though we’re called Girls on the Run, we’re not exactly a running program. That is, our goal is not to teach girls how to run, although that certainly is part of what we do. Rather, our goal is to teach girls how to make healthy life choices, to set and reach goals, to respect themselves and others, to be confident. Running is the tool we use to do this, an incredible tool that yields incredible results.
For this race, rather than handing out 72 or so medals to the top three places, male and female, all age groups, we decided to give out only 6: Top 3 male and top 3 female. We weren’t concerned about how the girls placed. We’ve impressed upon them throughout the season that the point of the 5K was finishing, not winning. The fact that they showed up to the 5K meant that for 10 weeks they’d been giving it their all and were already winners. All that was left for them to do on race day was to cross the finish line. Time didn’t matter. Their best effort did.
The crowd gathered at the finish line to cheer the girls on as they approached, faces glistening, smiles wide. The first several finshers were men, the overall winner a retired colonel and cancer survivor. The next two were first-time 5K runners who looked just as overjoyed as the girls did when they crossed the line.
After a few minutes, we saw the first group of girls coming up over the final hill.
What we saw from our vantage point was this. Four girls ran hard, while their running buddies hung back, encouraging them to run. The four girls sprinted through the line, first and second place nose to nose, third and fourth a few steps behind, also nose to nose. First and second place were winded and flushed and smiling hard. Later, they beamed when I placed the medals around their necks.
What I discovered later, from a different vantage point, was this. The first two girls were in the program, completing the fall season. The third was an alumnus, who’d been in the program twice and was running with a friend. They all ran hard throughout the race, giving it their best, but as they neared the end, the alumnus and her friend found themselves gaining on the top two runners.
They could have passed them. Part of them really wanted to. But as they came up that final hill, they realized how important it might be to the two girls in front of them to cross the line first. They looked at each other, nodded, and slowed down their pace, just a hair.
They crossed third and fourth, winded and flushed and smiling hard. Time didn’t matter. Their best effort did. We couldn’t be more proud.
Or so we thought, until we saw the face of the 104th girl, who danced across the finish line, smiling all the way.
Confidence. Joy. The most beautiful medals to own. 104 of them last week. How can you beat that?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 1 so far )Confessions of a Lone Runner
I have always said that I prefer to run alone, before dawn. Running alone gives me clarity, helps me focus on my life, my day, whatever issue ails me. It opens my eyes to all I am grateful for, including the stars and sunrise and empty streets.
But I’m sure I run alone out of habit more than preference. I have always been a loner. We are creatures of habit, after all, and a loner gets used to being alone.
Strange, then, that I would end up here, director of an organization that empowers girls through running, that seeks to show girls through experience that they are the arbiters of their own lives and can do anything. Yet they need not do it alone. They are, rather, an essential part of a team—an entire community—and without their contribution the world is much less.
Girls on the Run, this fantastic organization I am blessed to be a part of, has the power to transform lives, not only girls’ lives, but the lives of the remarkable (mostly) women who support it. The organization cannot exist without the network of coaches and other volunteers who weave it together into a strong, beautiful, and resilient web that refuses to let girls fall.
Strange, then, that my task—the loner—at this moment in life is to connect the lives of these women and girls, to support them in their effort to build relationships and teams, to strengthen character, to grow.
Tomorrow is our season’s-end 5K. Over 100 girls will run this race with running buddies at their sides, families and friends cheering them on. When they cross the finish line, they will have gained the knowledge that they can do what they put their minds to. They will establish confidence through accomplishment. It is our hope that this confidence carries over into other areas of their lives and teaches them what it feels like to finish what they started—and that they are not alone in doing so.
This morning I ran alone, before dawn, anticipating tomorrow’s event, mentally juggling all the balls still in the air that won’t land until the race is over and the grounds cleaned up. I often think on these runs that we are placed in life not only where we can do the most good for others, but where others can do the most good for us too. A loner gets used to being alone and strives for independence, not asking for help. Never expecting it. Not understanding that interdependence is a much worthier goal.
Strange that on this morning’s run I didn’t feel alone.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Standing in the Hall
When I was a kid, my room was my sanctuary. No boys allowed. I drew pictures, posted signs, and did what I could to make that abundantly clear. My brothers, occasional literalists, came close to observing the letter of the law, but never the spirit.
They stood just outside the door’s threshold and dipped their toe into my room.
I’m in. I’m out.
I’m in, I’m in, I’m in. I’m out.
When they got brave, they jumped in, whole bodies piercing the forbidden zone. And then quickly out. And in again. And out.
It makes me laugh now, but it made me furious then. When my brothers entered the room, it was only for a brief moment, yet it was enough to set me off. Still, it’s not like they were all in.
For the past few months, I’ve been dipping my toe into my life’s rooms. There are lots of exciting, promising, and fun spaces I have the opportunity to enter; and there are an equal number of spaces that pose some daunting challenges, some rearranging of furniture and even some disposal of junk.
Rather than walking through the door and owning the room, I’ve been jumping in and out. I haven’t been all in.
I’m not sure what this means to my family, friends, colleagues. If anything. I don’t know how I show up in the world, through their eyes. But I do know that living tentatively feels like standing in the hall.
I made the decision to pick a room and move in. Including owning my training. A couple of weeks ago, I said I made the decision to run the Austin half in February, but that I probably wouldn’t register for the race for another month or more. That’s not really playing all in. This week, training started. And I registered. I’m in.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 1 so far )Giving Thanks
“Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet.”
― Thich Nhat Hanh
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Getting Squirrelly
My dogs made a new friend this fall. A squirrel decided to vacation in the oak tree in my back yard. The tree’s branches stretch in a long line between my roof and the greenbelt behind my house, and the squirrel runs laps through my backyard on nice days.
It was the squirrel that befriended my dogs. Befriend, terrorize, whatever you want to call it, the outcome is the same. He sits in the branches and chatters loudly, calling my dogs out to play. Then he plops himself down on the roof overlooking my deck, back legs splayed out like a butterfly and front legs daintily crossed, and stares calmly down at my dogs as they bark wildly. They can do this for hours.
I’ve watched the squirrel get fatter, lazing about on the roof, as the weeks have progressed. It’s been a great year for acorns, and there’s loads of squirrel food on the ground. (I sometimes I have to remind my dogs that they’re not squirrels and shouldn’t eat acorns. You know how it is. Friends mimic friends. They see the squirrel root around in the yard and want to root around too.)
But I haven’t seen the squirrel around much since the time change. My dogs keep vigil on the deck, searching the branches and roof for signs of him, but he hasn’t called. My guess is he’s holed up with his acorns, getting ready to hibernate.
I know how he feels. Once the time change hits, I want to do the same thing.
Seems like every year between Daylight Savings Time and Groundhog Day, my motivation to get out of bed early and work out dries up like the leaves. I find myself sleeping in and foraging the pantry for all kinds of food I know I shouldn’t eat. For me, that’s a bad combination: zero exercise + loads of goodies = blah. I end up feeling terrible by Christmas.
This year, I made a conscious decision to not be like our new friend the squirrel. Instead, I decided to be proactive. The only way I can get motivated during the coldest, darkest days of the year is to make a plan:
- Make a date. I selected a race and a date: Austin Half Marathon, February 17. It was an easy race to pick—14 weeks out from the day of decision, and my friend is running it. As I recently discovered, running a race is so much more fun with a friend by your side.
- Pen it in. There are many great training plans to choose from. I follow Hal Higdon’s 12-week training plan. Seeing my entire plan laid out on paper with my times penciled in as the weeks progress really motivates me, so I keep a paper copy of my training rather than an electronic one.
- Post it up. I tack my training calendar on the fridge 2 weeks before my official training start date. I need time to see it, absorb it. Reassure myself that I can do this. I’ve done it before.
- Blab. The best way I know of to commit to a race is to tell everyone I know that I’m going to run it. To say it makes it so.
- Get moving. Although I’ve been “pretraining” for a long time, “real” training begins once I mark my times in pencil on my calendar on Day 1. This time around, I think the first week will be the hardest, partly because Week 1 begins the Monday after Thanksgiving and partly because the mornings are getting colder. On the bright side, maybe my start date will prompt me to not eat enough to feed a family of 4 on Thanksgiving.
- Register. I usually register for a race after I start training. This time, I will likely wait until I’m about half way through training. This race is a big one for me. I haven’t run a half marathon in over two years and, to be honest, I’m a bit afraid. I haven’t run more than 6 miles since I injured my hip two years ago.
Isn’t that the way? Fear is the biggest deterrent I know: Fear of injury, discomfort, cold. Failure. But not this time.
As much as I may be afraid that I can’t run a half marathon, my bigger fear is that I will become like the squirrel and find my way out of a hole sometime toward the end of winter, wondering where all my time—and training—went.
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