Where Do We Find Courage?
“I really like to run,” the woman at my elbow was saying. I was only half listening. The 3rd Annual Girls on the Run Cupcake 5K Fun Run, our annual fundraiser sponsored by Kate’s Frosting, was about to begin and we were gathered at the start line.
Was everyone here? Did they know where the start line began? Was the water stop ready? Was it 8:00 yet? My attention was divided between too many things to listen adequately.
“I really want her to like running,” the woman nodded toward her 10-ish daughter who was pacing the curb, drawing a line on the pavement with her toe, “as much as I do.”
“Yes,” I murmured, still distracted. Kate was setting up the tower of cupcakes at the finish line.
“You know I’ve run 14 marathons,” she said nonchalantly, as if she declared she’d eaten 14 cupcakes instead.
For perhaps the first time during our conversation, I looked straight at her. She was shorter than me, the top of her head reaching maybe my chin. Not muscular or runner thin. Plump, to be precise.
I closed my gaping mouth before a fly landed in it, acutely aware and somewhat ashamed that—blink—just like that I had made a judgment about this woman and her ability or propensity to run. Unconsciously, I had observed and assessed her. She didn’t look like a runner—whatever that means—to me.
Two seconds, Malcolm Gladwell contends, is all it takes for us to decide. In the blink of an eye we make up our minds about what something—or someone—is or is not.
Fourteen marathons. Four. Teen. Never in a million years would I have guessed. I must have looked as surprised as I felt because she smiled wryly and nodded. “I’ve done a half Ironman too.”
“No way!” I blurted, no longer able to contain what by now had become excitement.
When I closed my gaping mouth I fortunately opened my mind. Standing here in front of me was true inspiration. If she could do these things, then why couldn’t I?
It’s been in the back of my mind for years that maybe one day I could do a half Ironman. Maybe start with an Olympic distance tri. I’ve still never run a marathon. Trained for 2, but stopped by injury. What was I waiting for to try again?
Inspiration. Courage.
I have had neither, and didn’t even realize it until I met the marathon woman. I haven’t lived up to the message that’s been posted on my refrigerator since January 15, 2009, the date on the tattered calendar square that states:
“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”
– Anaïs Nin
This square of paper has stared me in the face for four years in two different homes. The message travels with me, so that I don’t forget it. Some days I stop as I’m rummaging through the fridge and read it. Other days I don’t see it at all, hanging amid the Mickey Mouse and bluebonnet magnets.
For the past 3+ weeks, however, I have seen it. Read it anew. Each time, I think of this woman and her fourteen marathons, her half Ironman, and I see my own possibilities expand.
I am excited to try something new. And when I think about this woman, I remember her daughter tight-rope-walking the curb and think what a lucky girl, to have a mom who can show her so many things.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Reason #15
My friend Stephanie loves to run. A poster listing 22 reasons why–hers specifically–has hung on a wall for a few years, no matter where her office has been.
Reason #15: There’s no better way to explore a city or enjoy the spring flowers or fall leaves.
If I had my own poster, this would be on it. I’ve been in State College, PA, visiting family. Not only is State College, home of Penn State, a cool town all around, but the area it’s nestled in is incredible. It’s been 13 years since I’ve experienced a spring in this part of the country, and although I thought I remembered how beautiful it is, apparently I’d forgotten.
Morning runs here have been spectacular. Maybe a little dangerous, but spectacular nonetheless. Trees grow much taller in Pennsylvania than in Texas. During most of my first morning’s run my eyes were up, gazing at the towering trees rather than ahead watching for traffic, curbs, and road signs.
So what if I ran a couple miles farther than I planned. (Have they considered placing road signs in the trees for out-of-towners?) And, thankfully, cars are apparently used to pedestrians cluelessly crossing the road when the big red hand is flashing.
I haven’t seen or smelled peonies, lily-of-the-valley, dogwood, or sumac in what seems like forever. Nor have I seen an overabundance of cottontail rabbits congregating in yards and on roadsides. And, of course, there are chipmunks too.
If I hadn’t run through the streets of State College I would have missed all these things. The sights. The smells. The way the breeze feels against your cheek, on the nape of the neck. I wouldn’t have seen the high school cross country team practicing, wouldn’t have noticed the architecture of the church set back from the road. Wouldn’t have seen west campus and the row of old buildings turned into warehouses.
Nor would I have had the same conversations with my brother, who accompanied me a couple of mornings. We ran the same path, past the warehouses, cottontails, and sumac, yet I can’t say that I saw them. Our relationship was exposed in a different way, made possible, I believe, by the vulnerability running requires.
Maybe it’s time to write my own running love list. I would start with Reason #1: There’s no better way to experience lilac in spring and the company of a friend.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )(Just Like) Starting Over
I’ve never been crazy about John Lennon’s music outside of the Beatles. One song in particular (not coincidentally, the title of this post) drives me batty. This is the song that wormed its way from out of nowhere and into my brain on Monday morning.
After 3 weeks of inactivity, I’ve been eager to jump back into my training schedule. I have a sprint tri coming up in a few weeks, and I’m a bit anxious that I’ve had so much down time. I figured I’d ease back into training this week by starting small.
Monday: Run 2.5 miles
I didn’t expect it to feel like a stroll through the garden, but I also didn’t expect to have to consciously remind myself how to run. I had to coach myself through the first mile.
Keep your chin up. Relax your shoulders. Use your arms to propel you. Lean from your ankles, not your waist. Point your right toe out more and take a longer step with your left. No, you’re not spontaneously combusting. Those are your lungs.
Here’s the good news. I only planned to run 2 miles, but at my intended stopping point I was at 2.37. The voice that pushes me just a little farther piped up: 2.37? Well that’s a crazy, uneven number. Go to 2.5.
So I did.
Tuesday: Run 3 miles
Since I felt good by the end of Monday’s run, I thought I’d go out for a 4 miler, my usual weekday run. I was surprised to find that the first half mile hurt even worse than the day before. By the end of mile 1, I knew it was not a 4-mile day. I was happy to get in 3.
Wednesday: Swim 30 minutes
Nearly a month since I’d been in a pool. I was nervous. I stalled for an extra half hour before I left my house. Made the bed. Fiddled with some papers, yesterday’s mail.
I decided to do a few warm-up laps with the kickboard. Remind myself what an arrow feels like; to kick from my hips, not my knees. I stretched out, face down, and pushed the kickboard out in front of me. Pain spiked my shoulder. My doctor gave me the go-ahead to swim and weight lift just the day before, so I ignored the pain, kept going.
I managed 20 laps—ecstatic at the end. Ice packs are my friend.
Thursday: Run 4 miles
Within just a few dozen yards, I was in my Running Head Zone (RHZ)—minus John Lennon. My body only intruded a couple of times—upon approaching mile 1.5 when I realized where I was and thought maybe I should turn around, make it a 3-miler. By the time I got there I forgot and kept going. But the last 1/3 mile was all body. Fortunately, my working parts are working, muscles and joints intact. My lungs protested.
Friday: Rest day
I have to admit, I’m struggling with this. Fridays are rest days; on weekends I push myself hard. But I feel like I haven’t done enough to warrant a rest.
Nevertheless, I’m sticking with it, especially after my doctor’s scolding on Thursday (When you feel pain, you have to stop! Oh.) and my still-throbbing shoulder.
My friend Stephanie, who happens to be a running coach, tells me that when people train year round, their bodies need a two week break at some point to rejuvenate. Two weeks seem like a long time to me. Three seem like eternity.
Fortunately, we have muscle memory and it doesn’t take long for our bodies to remember what they’re supposed to do. Even better, we have the RHZ, the space that obliterates pain and discomfort, allowing our bodies the liberty to move.
Tomorrow will undoubtedly be a better day. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to get in 6 before my lungs implode. And at least I’ve left John Lennon behind.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )A Breath of Inspiration
One important fact I confirmed this week: Breathing is essential to running. I’m not talking about breathing technique. I’m talking about the simple act of inhaling and exhaling a single breath of air.
Sometimes it’s not so simple.
The upper respiratory infection I’ve been fighting for over a week is almost gone, thank God. I think I might have been a pain about it. This is the first time in 7 years I’ve been sick, have had to take antibiotics, have closed up shop and hung out on the couch watching endless reruns of The Closer.
Finally, it has run its course.
Now that I feel like a lump of, well, something not so good, I need inspiration to hit the pavement again. Thought I’d share with you some of the quotes that remind me why I run.
It’s very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit. ― George Sheehan
No matter how slow I run, I’m still faster than my couch. ― Anonymous
Even though I can’t tell others whether they should chase their marathon dreams, I highly recommend they do something completely out of character, something they never in a million years thought they’d do, something they may fail miserably at. Because sometimes the places where you end up finding your true self are the places you never thought to look. That, and I don’t want to be the only one who sucks at something. ― Dawn Dais
The reason we race isn’t so much to beat each other,… but to be with each other. ― Christopher McDougall
The trouble with jogging is that by the time you realize you’re not in shape for it, it’s too far to walk back. ― Franklin P. Jones
People think I’m crazy to put myself through such torture, though I would argue otherwise. Somewhere along the line we seem to have confused comfort with happiness. Dostoyevsky had it right: ‘Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.’ Never are my senses more engaged than when the pain sets in. There is a magic in misery. Just ask any runner. ― Dean Karnazes
Jogging is very beneficial. It’s good for your legs and your feet. It’s also very good for the ground. It makes it feel needed. ― Charles Schultz
If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon. ― Kathrine Switzer
There is something magical about running; after a certain distance, it transcends the body. Then a bit further, it transcends the mind. A bit further yet, and what you have before you, laid bare, is the soul.” ― Kristin Armstrong
Have an awesome week. Breathe easy; run hard.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )(Temporarily) Unstoppable
“With an unmanned, half-mile-long freight train barreling toward a city, a veteran engineer and a young conductor race against the clock to prevent a catastrophe.”
When Unstoppable came out in 2010, I wondered how anyone could squeeze an hour and a half out of a story about a runaway train. I skipped the movie and promptly forgot it.
Until this week. It seems to be cable’s movie-of-the-week and I can’t get away from it. Believe me, I’ve tried. It finally caught up with me one brain-dead night, and I decided to give it a shot.
Half an hour was all I could stand. And that’s 30 minutes of my life I will never get back.
Still, this week seems to be a fitting time for Unstoppable. My training has derailed.
No swimming or weight training until further notice. Doctor’s orders. Which is fine, considering my shoulder doesn’t want to move too much anyway.
I didn’t bother to ask him about biking or running. I figured I’d do it anyway, so why ask?
The thing is, I just don’t feel like doing it.
Between healing and then coming down with some kind of virus, it’s been 10 days since I’ve done much more than walk my dogs. Although I’ve walked them a lot (one now hides at the sight of her leash), my energy level won’t move into overdrive.
Ever have those days when your head really wants you to be out there doing something, but your body refuses? Each morning, I set my alarm, planning to get up and run. Each morning, I shut it completely off thinking maybe I’ll bike later (I don’t) or run tomorrow (I haven’t).
I catch myself instead staring wistfully at my training log as I mark another X through an unachievable workout, distraught by the momentum of nothingness that seems to be building.
I am hoping this lag in training is not unstoppable. I’m not quite sure what to do to get back on the right track. If I know my body, it will start one morning on its own, without telling me.
(Sort of like the jack-in-the-box you had when you were a kid, and you kept cranking and cranking and thought you were getting nowhere and then Pop! goes the weasel, and you jumped about a mile out of your skin. Stupid toy, scaring kids to death like that.)
I just hope it doesn’t take catastrophic explosions, the destruction of small towns, or Denzel Washington to get me re-railed.
Well, maybe Denzel Washington.
Any suggestions?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )Thank God for Spectators
I passed the family twice. A little boy sitting in the yard with his parents, watching runners file by. His dad held a cup of coffee. All three clapped periodically, yelled words of encouragement.
Last Saturday’s 10K was a double 5K loop through a hilly neighborhood. This family was just one of many to spend their morning rooting for strangers. The second time around, I looked for them. I was hot and needed support. When I saw the little boy, I ran faster, glad he was there.
Two days later, I thought of them again when I heard about the horrendous bombing of the Boston Marathon. Like many this week, I’ve struggled to make sense of it. I can’t.
I have tried to imagine what it was like from the perspective of the runners, the spectators. Any way I come at it, I am baffled, to say the least.
I have never been a race spectator. I come to races to run, to compete, to enjoy the course, the day. In almost every event I’ve entered, at some point as I’m passing spectators I’ve wondered, what are they doing here?
A running event is not like most other spectator events. There’s not a lot of action to follow, no rules to figure out, not even a separate, designated space for the athletes to compete. Sure there’s a course, but it’s not for runners only. Anyone can jump in at any time and run with a friend or a stranger, cheer that person on.
(And thank God for that.)
Running is a relatively simple sport. You go from over here to over there and, in some events, it’s really far. So what’s there to see?
People line the streets in a race and practice random acts of kindness—passing out orange slices, hosing down runners when it’s hot, cheering on complete strangers—because they are inspired by what runners do. They come out to see the face of endurance.
Running may be a simple sport, but it’s one that requires a tremendous amount of determination. Perseverance. Sometimes, a sheer act of the will to push the body places you did not think it could go. It’s a sport that is simultaneously solitary and sociable. Every runner is alone with her own mind and body, yet leans on the community that has gathered to help push her along.
Spectators at a race can get close enough to every single competitor to look endurance right in the eye. They get to witness people reaching a difficult goal, one that takes time, hard work, and self-discipline to achieve. How could that not be inspiring?
As it is for the runners who see and hear complete strangers yelling for them. Their energy is like a magnet, pulling you ahead faster and stronger than you would be if they were not there.
Who are these people? They show up in the heat or the cold, stand around for hours on end, lose their voice from yelling encouragement. The people who show up for races are the people who show up for you in life. You know that you can count on them to see you through darkness and pain, or happiness and light. They will be there, urging you along.
Tomorrow Girls on the Run of Bexar County will hold our end-of-the-season 5K. There will likely be more spectators than girls. We get to witness their determination and see it blossom into confidence when they cross the finish line.
I suspect some of them will be running for those who could not finish the race in Boston. All of them will run, buoyed along by the people who will line the way and not let even one of them fall.
So we join the community of runners in our determination to support each other, and to run.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 1 so far )Are You a Loner or a Leaner?
If I fall, I will crush them.
I looked at the circle of girls the head coach assigned me to. Group A. Fitting. There were only 5 of them but they each had an idea of how this game should proceed, and none were reluctant to share.
The day’s Girls on the Run lesson was about community. What it is, how it works, the character traits of those involved in one that is cohesive. The game that introduces the lesson involves trust, a key component in working toward a common goal. We must trust each other if we are to succeed.
Trust. A necessary trait in any community, including the community of runners, though not one I had thought too much about in connection with running.
I have always been a loner, especially as a runner. Running is my time to think, meditate, pray. I need the solitude to plan, dream, vent. As a writer, I need it perhaps most of all—I run rather than sleep on ideas.
The concept of a running community—friends to run with or to make while running—is new to me. Until recently, I had not considered that a running buddy could be fun, beneficial, even necessary. Rather than relying on my own determination or perseverance, enlisting a running buddy—becoming part of a community—would require that I learn to depend on others, that I learn to lean.
Leaning is an integral part of the game that began that day’s lesson. The object is to demonstrate not only that we can be trusted, but that we can trust others. It requires a kind of letting go.
Naturally, I thought, the girls can trust me. Physically I top them by nearly half a person. Their foreheads brush my triceps at best. I would not let them fall.
Nevertheless, as each girl had her turn at trust, one was reluctant to play. My heart wrenched as she stepped back from the circle, setting herself apart. But she had to go, the girls insisted. She was part of their team.
Afraid to close her eyes and let go, she held her body stiff rather than pliable, insisted on control rather than vulnerability. We convinced her to stay with it long enough to relax, let go. Gradually, her muscles released and her eyes closed. The rest of us smiled as we worked together to keep her safe in the circle.
It was a good game, I thought, beginning to break from the circle, happy for the girls’ experience. But wait, the girls squealed, what about you?
I stepped back from the circle, shaking my head.
Don’t you trust us?
If I fall, I thought as I gazed down at the tops of their heads, I will crush you.
Don’t worry, they said. We’ve got you.
So I leaned.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike
It’s springtime in central Texas. The mountain laurel has bloomed, saturating the air with its grape soda smell. Bluebonnets blanket hills and highway medians. We hit a record 95° high last week, only to be followed by nights dipping into the 30s this week. Definitely spring in Texas.
My neighbors are elbow-deep into spring cleaning. There’s pruning and mowing and aerating outside. Carpet cleaning, closet organizing, and decluttering inside. Garage sales blossom like prickly pears.
My spring cleaning isn’t quite like theirs. I dust off only two things: My bicycle and Queen.
Not Queen Elizabeth II, or even Queen Latifah. You know, Queen. You probably recognize the bleacher stomping at most sports events. We Will Rock You. That Queen.
A few days ago, I broke out my bike. Wheeled it out of the garage, pumped up its flat tires, wiped off cobwebs and last year’s tri sticker, oiled and polished it to a sheen.
I haven’t been on it since last year’s tri.
This year’s tri is coming soon enough, and I have a new goal. I need to finish it in better time than last year. I need to make it up the monster bike hill without the momentary standing still on the steepest grade, the rolling slightly backward.
I need to ride. More than that, I want to.
And so Queen will be my closest companion on early Sunday mornings from here on out, Bicycle Race on continuous loop on the iPod in my head.
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride my bike
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like
Spring cleaning? Nothing to it. Just me and my bike.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Are You a Runner?
I have a friend who’s run 2 marathons and several shorter races since she took up running 3 years ago. She says she’s not a runner. She says her friend, on the other hand, is. We’ve had some lengthy discussions about what the heck she means.
What, exactly, does it mean to be a runner?
Runners run. At least at some point in their lives they did, even if they do not now. But there is something more to being a runner than running.
What are the physical parameters a runner maintains? Perhaps more important, is there something unique inside a runner’s head?
What do you think–what is a runner? Are you one?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )Good-Bye No-Plan Plan, Hello (Torture) Structure
After three weeks of aimlessness, I have an official training plan.
Last Sunday I created a 3+ month training schedule and registered for the races I had already selected, one per month:
- March 23 – 10k
- April 6 – 10k
- May 18 – 10K
- June 22 – Sprint tri
What a relief. Sort of.
I kicked off my plan with a day of rest. I needed time to process the whole thing, for starters. Plus it was a Sunday, already late in the afternoon by the time I sat down to figure things out. It was also the first day of Daylight Savings Time, which I still am not adjusted to, and the day after my birthday, a late night to say the least. I actually slept until almost 10 am. A record, I think.
Even though I’m excited to have a plan again, it’s been a tough week of adjustment. I’ve had a hard time waking up at 5ish after three weeks of sleeping until 6 or 7, and an even harder time with daily motivation.
However, I figured out a long time ago that I’m the kind of person who needs the structure of a training plan not only to keep me on the right health track but also to keep me on-task in life. I am so much more productive in all other areas of my life when I can roll out of bed and run.
One more week, and I’ll be fine. It will feel less like torture and more like it should feel—fun.
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