A Girl on Track
I am blessed to be involved with a life-changing organization. Girls on the Run© is an empowerment program for girls in 3rd through 8th grade. Its purpose is to show girls that they don’t have to conform to the stereotypes society would impose upon them. They don’t have to give in to pressure—from family, their peers, society. They can choose to be themselves, they can choose to be strong.
They can choose.
You would think by the name that this is a running program. It’s not. Our mission has a much greater scope than to teach girls how to run. They’re kids. They already know how, even if they don’t yet know it, even if they choose not to.
But running, as runners know, is a great tool. Once you learn that you can do it—that you can reach what seem like impossible goals and that your body can do remarkable things—you learn that you can do anything.
You develop confidence. A healthy respect for your body.
I have been blessed to see this becoming (I sometimes don’t really know what else to call it) in many girls, and I have seen the struggle to become in many others. The becoming is beautiful. The struggle is agonizing. I have been watching it in one particular girl this season.
“Eloise” was one of mine 3 seasons ago, when I was her coach in Girls on Track, the program for 6th through 8th graders. You can see in her eyes that she has greatness in her. She is smart, creative, strong. And you can see in the twist of her lips and the tilt of her head the pull from her peers to be something she is not. Dumb. Aloof. Too cool to participate, especially when the boys hang around.
Her coaches this season tell me of the ongoing battle of wills between them and her. She skips the lessons, ignores the coaches, smirks defiantly. They tell her that they want her there but, as with most things, it is her choice to participate or not. Sometimes she chooses not.
But a curious girl, this Eloise. For all her defiance and playing at aloofness, for all her hiding out behind playground equipment and around corners, she keeps showing up. This is, in fact, her third season. And more than anything else she chooses to do or not do, she chooses to run.
Our season ends with a 5K race. The girls train for it during their 10 to 12 weeks of learning to be ok with themselves, and, we hope, learning that they are an important and irreplaceable piece in the puzzle of the world. Many of them do not believe when the season begins that they have it in them to run that far. All of them who come, finish.
In December, Eloise showed up to our 5K race. To get to the starting line, I recently discovered, she walked, alone, 2.42 miles, from her home. I know this, because when I found out, I mapped it.
Our spring season 5K is on Saturday, April 21. The battle of wills between Eloise and her coaches wages on. I think, however, that running will win, and Eloise will be there again. I believe that running gives her a glimmer of her potential. I’ve seen her face when she runs. All the tension disappears and is replaced with determination, joy.
I don’t know for sure if this is how she feels, but if she shows up, I will ask her. I want her to know, again, that she’s on the right track.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )Milestones
This week I hit two milestones:
1. I finally reached my sprint goal. (Yay!)
2. I officially registered for the June sprint tri.
I’ve been working toward my sprint goal for a good couple of months. I was so happy when I reached it this week that I almost pulled a George Jetson and flew backwards off the treadmill. Thank goodness for railings.
Not only was I ecstatic because I actually reached my goal, I was—and am—ecstatic because attaining my goal means I get to set a new one. A bigger one. A more challenging one.
Which is why I am doing the sprint tri. I’ve said that this will be my third tri. It will actually be my third and a half. I was so nervous the first time around that my friend and I entered as a two (wo)man team. The tri was called A Little Sand in Your Shoe, and it was on the beach in Guam.
I had to swim from Tumon Bay out to a sand bar and back, bury a ball in the sand, then run down the beach to tag my teammate. She had to ride her bike through the jungle (one participant got lost—I think I got the good end of the deal), run back down the beach, and dig up the ball I had buried.
Except that I was so caught up in the event that I didn’t mark the location of our ball well enough, and my teammate couldn’t find it. We came in 2nd place for the 2-man team anyway. It didn’t matter that there were only two teams. I was hooked.
As I was thinking about that race this week, I recalled the reason I entered it in the first place. It was a challenge. A fun way to see how far I could push myself, see what my body could do. Only I didn’t have enough confidence in myself to do it alone, and I was fortunate to have a friend in the same boat. Funny how often we end up hanging out with people who are so like us.
That got me to thinking about the reason I set out to do two sprint tris on my own. My motivation for them, as it turns out, was not so uplifting. Each of the two tris were like bookends containing a a heavy life load. The collapse of a marriage. Sickness. Death. I needed something to hold on to, something of my own. I needed to know that I could rely on myself—and I needed to preoccupy my mind and my time. At this point in life, I was figuring out how to do that without self-destructing.
Turns out that running—competing in tris and half marathons and other races—is good therapy. It shows you what you’re made of. It gives you confidence and peace. At least it does for me.
This time, my third full sprint tri, I am back to where I started in Tumon Bay—almost. I set this particular goal not to dull any pain or preoccupy my mind. I am blessed. Life is, after all, really good. I set this goal to challenge myself, and to have fun. But now I have the confidence to rely on my own abilities, whether I succeed or fail.
I may know who I am, but races always surprise me. I get to learn more about what I’m made of. And that’s a goal worth achieving.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )Sink or Swim
For as long as I can remember, I have been able to swim. I have no memory of not being near water, having grown up on a lake in Michigan and spending long summer days on or in the water until my lips turned blue and my fingers shriveled into prunes.
Even as an adult, I get to water as often as I can. I dive and snorkel and sail and most of the time would really rather be under water than just about anywhere else. It’s so much more peaceful.
So you’d think that I would look forward to the swim leg of the sprint tri I’m doing in June, especially since it’s in open water.
Not so.
Even though I learned how to swim at practically the same time I learned how to walk, apparently I didn’t learn right. Correct form? What’s that? I simply jumped in the water and off I went.
The closest thing to training I ever had was at age 12 in Girl Scout camp. Not freestyle, but sidestroke. Even now, the counselor’s words help keep my rhythm: Pick an apple, put it in the basket. Pick an apple, put it in the basket. If I could make a pie for every bushel of apples I’ve picked I could have opened my own bakery by now.
Freestyle, however, the stroke most conducive to tri competition, is the worm in my apple. I have watched countless swimmers glide gracefully through the water and have wondered how they can make it look so easy. When I try, I’m worn out before I finish a couple of laps. I feel like a wounded duck flailing around in the pool.
After two sprint triathlons and I won’t say how many years, it finally occurred to me that maybe I should take a lesson. I did recently figure out, after all, that it’s probably a good thing to ask for help when you need it.
So a few days ago, I took my first swim lesson. I spent most of the hour kicking myself. Why on earth hadn’t I done this before? In just one hour my stroke improved so tremendously that I was actually gliding through the water like a swan. And you know what? It was easy.
I came away from my lesson with a laundry list of things I was doing wrong. More important, I now know how to correct them. I can’t wait to get back in the water. I think I’ll be swimming once again until my lips turn blue and my fingers shrivel into plums.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 4 so far )In Decision
If I could make up my mind the way housekeeping makes up hotel beds, I would be in pretty good shape. Perfectly tucked and creased. Lumps in all the right places.
Unfortunately, my decision-making ability isn’t always quite that smooth.
Well, that’s not entirely true. When it comes to deciding between, say, Tagalongs or Thin Mints, the decision is easy. Both. And therein lies my problem.
There’s a sprint tri coming up in June that I really want to enter. It will be my first tri in almost two years, and I know what I need to do to train for it. I’ve done it before. However, for me, training for a race means I need to eat clean, stop wining, and stick diligently to the training schedule hanging on my fridge.
I have what’s called a competing commitment. I am committed to entering this race (and, once I’m out there, to placing). And I am also committed to Tagalongs and merlot. I can’t have both.
Fortunately, our minds are remarkable things. This is fortunate, that is, once we understand how they work, especially in terms of decision-making. About 90% of our decisions are already made for us—by our subconscious mind. The beliefs we have about ourselves and the world are “programmed” in us when we’re young by our families, culture, education, geographic location, etc. Are these beliefs right or wrong? That depends. How are they serving you?
Take me, for instance. I grew up with the belief that I was shy and non-athletic. I believed I was made to read books, draw pictures, hang out alone. Most of my circumstances supported this belief and when I tried to participate in an activity contrary to it, I usually failed.
Fast forward 20 or so years. A little voice inside me tells me there are things I want do. Like teach and public speak. Swim and run and ride my bike really fast. But these things aren’t “me.” I can’t see myself doing them—until I change my mind.
Once I decide I can do these things, I start honoring that voice. I see me doing what I want to do, and I start doing it. If my subconscious can be programmed by others when I’m young, it can be reprogrammed by me when I’m old(er). I can retrain my mind to think about me in a different way.
I became a teacher. A public speaker (however big or small the audience). A runner, biker, swimmer. I changed the way I saw myself. I decided I could do it. And I did.
So why has it been so hard for me to commit to training for the June tri? Until this week, I hadn’t fully resolved to do it. My mind wasn’t all in. It was still drawn to the boxes of Girl Scout cookies hidden in my freezer behind a wall of frozen vegetables and chicken.
Now that I reached the first step, I can take the second. The first act of deciding is in the mind. The follow through is in the body. Both require action. I’m finally in.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 9 so far )A Trying Time
I once read that it took Thomas Edison 10,000 attempts to make the light bulb before he finally got it right. 10,000. Can you imagine?
If you are near a mirror, take a look at your eyebrows. I’ll wait.
Can you count the number of hairs in just one? Seems like too many to count, at least in one sitting, doesn’t it? There are about 450. Edison failed more than 22 times that number. Nevertheless, he didn’t give up.
Think you could try—and fail—at something more times than you really want to count?
I thought about this the other day when my alarm went off way before dawn on sprint day. Now sprints, I just love sprints. Really I do. But I haven’t yet reached my goal speed. I’ve tried. And failed. And tried again. Once a week, for months. Sometimes I think that instead of trying yet again, I should revise my goal, make it easier.
So when my eyes shot open (the alarm volume is set to fear-raising) and I remembered that it was sprint day, my stomach was not pleased. It turned back over on its own. Geez, I thought, it’s so early and I’m so tired and it’s going to be so hard. Do I really even want to try?
But when I flicked on my lamp I remembered Edison and his 10,000 attempts. Not failures, he said, only 10,000 ways that didn’t work. I rolled myself and my stomach out of bed.
Edison was a pretty smart man and maybe one of the hardest working men in history. As I climbed on the treadmill that morning, I thought about something else he said: “Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.”
And so I ran.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 6 so far )To See or Not to See
I first took up running 11 years ago when I lived in Guam. Looking back, I can see all the good reasons why I began. At the time, however, it all boiled down to one thing: spite. I set out to run with the specific intension of showing “them” that I could.
Ah, the nebulous “them.” All those people, circumstances, events, voices that conspire to tell us we’re not enough of one kind of person—or too much of another—to make it even a mile down the road, much less run a race. We all know “them,” whether they show up in our running or camp out on some other doorstep in our head.
Spite might get you going, but it sends you down the road alone. At least it did me. Because I initially set myself apart from other runners, I spent a lot of time not only physically uncomfortable but downright miserable. I didn’t know, for instance, that companies actually make clothing specifically designed to keep runners cool, so I ran for months in heavy cotton t-shirts, losing more weight in sweat than in anything else. It’s always the little things that make such a big difference. It wasn’t until I was ready to receive the knowledge and friendship of other runners that I found that running could actually be comfortable, and even fun. Up until then, I kinda hated it.
Once I opened myself up, I received all kinds of great things. Practical advice. Training tips. Cool new routes to run. New friends. All these things made me a better runner, but they did something more. They smothered the voices of “them.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “People only see what they are prepared to see.” Certainly, I had to be prepared to receive other runners, but I also had to be ready to let go of “them” and hold onto me. I had to believe in myself. I had to alter my vision of myself in order to really, truly believe that I could accomplish my goals. I had to prepare my mind to see me differently.
Fortunately, and, ironically, through running, I eventually learned to send “them” packing off down the road and to leave me alone. But I’m not really alone anymore. I belong to a community of runners. And I know that I can run—I’ve seen it for myself.
What are you preparing yourself to see?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Why Run?
It’s January, the first month of the year, the month when we post our resolutions smack dab on the front of the refrigerator, clear and bold and brazen for everyone to see. We resolve to eat right, exercise more, get our finances in order, spend more time with the people we love. We resolve to be kinder, gentler, more patient. And for some of us, the very first goal is one we really don’t need to post on our list because we’d do it anyway.
We resolve to run.
In 1990, there were approximately 4.8 million runners in the US; by 2010, there were almost 13 million. In just one short decade the number of runners nearly tripled. And that number accounts only for road race finishers, or those people who finished a 5K, 10K, half marathon, or marathon. It does not include your Average Joe or Joan who runs the neighborhood streets before dawn.
Running as a sport has exploded. Why do we run? According to Running USA’s latest survey (July 2011), most people run to stay in shape, stay healthy, have fun, and relieve stress. Additionally, many people take up running as a means of taking on a new challenge and achieving a new goal. Sometimes the goal is health-related, often it is not.
Although most people surveyed claim that the motivating factor to continue running is to stay in shape, just over 40% claim that they are not happy with the shape they are currently in. So they keep running, determined to attain the level of health they desire.
Running, however, does much more than get our bodies in shape. It gets our souls in shape as well. What I mean by soul is simply this: the soul is the essence of our being. It is who we are. There is something about running that allows us to tap into our essential humanity. We find our center, our core, that thing inside that makes us unique and connects us to the other souls out there too.
When we run we get to find out what we are made of. Can we make it up that hill? Can we reach the end of the road? Can we even begin? Often, what we are made of surprises us. We find that we have more power than we thought. We are strong, responsible, intentional. And the more we run, the farther we go, we also find that running opens us up. What we often find through this openness is optimism, gratitude, joy.
For most of us, running is not an end in itself. It is the means. It is the tool that helps to shape us. Like a carpenter’s adze, running makes intricate carvings in our character, refining us with each mile or minute we run. Even though it’s January, the first month of the year, we can resolve to run—but running itself can make us resolved.
Why do you run?
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