When You’re Smiling, the Whole World Smiles with You
If there’s one thing that bothers me it’s being ignored. Not by my mom or siblings or friends, but by complete strangers. It seems odd to me to pass another person and not make eye contact, whether I’m in a hallway, on the sidewalk, or in a grocery store. I find it especially weird to not acknowledge someone when we are the only two people in sight. Like, say, on a trail in the middle of a forest.
I try to be a friendly everywhere, even when I run. I like to smile and say hello to everyone I encounter. On long runs, however, I may not always smile at passers-by. If you catch me in the last quarter or so of my run, you may get only a nod, a flick of the hand in your general direction. Eye contact, for sure, but it may be the case that all the extra energy I have is expended by looking at you.
However, I rediscovered something during last weekend’s long run. The power of a smile. I don’t mean how a smile affects the recipient—at some point in my run I really don’t care. I just want to get the damn thing over with and get back to my car. I mean the power a smile can have on your energy level.
I started my run a little later than usual last Saturday on a trail I haven’t run since February. It was packed—alarmingly packed—with people of all persuasions: Runners, walkers, bikers, stroller-pushers, dog-walkers, meanderers, and even kids on Big Wheels.
I found all these people to be a challenge. On the one hand, I was happy they were there, particularly the runners. My competitiveness piqued and I ran a little bit faster because of it. On the other hand, there were so many people (dogs, bikes, walkers spread in a horizontal line across the trail—and even a startled deer) to dodge that I initially found it difficult to get into my own head space.
But once I was there, it was bliss. Thank God. The reason (one of many) I run.
Since it was later in the morning than dawn, the Texas sun was up and blazing. Since it was later in the morning than I’m used to, I didn’t think to bring a hat or sunglasses. I headed back to my car squinting into the sun, sweating profusely, and probably not quite the friendly runner I try to be.
Before long, my squint screwed into a scowl. I didn’t really notice it, however, until a pack of people came into eyeshot, walking slowly toward me. Somehow, I had been running a stretch of trail virtually alone. Just me and the cardinals and an errant mosquito or two. Bliss. Thank God. Another reason I run.
Because I had such a long stretch alone, I forgot about people, pulled into my head, and apparently twisted my face into a grimace. When I passed this mob of walkers, I forced myself to make eye contact, and I smiled.
Incredibly, all the tension in my body melted away. A simple smile loosened my facial muscles, which are connected to my neck muscles, which are connected to my shoulder muscles, then back, arms. You know the song. It’s all connected, and like a ripple the tension throughout my body released. I felt stronger, lighter, and faster. In short, I hauled.
And then I remembered that I had heard this before from numerous sources: We tend to clench our jaw, tighten our face when we’re stressed. If we can remember to relax our face, our whole body loosens and we de-stress. What better way to relax your face than to smile?
So I tested this theory for the rest of my run by making faces. I must have scowled, grimaced, frowned, glowered, glared, smirked, and puckered, then alternately smiled, beamed, grinned, and glimmered. It was amazing what a difference a simple expression could make in the whole experience of my run—my pace, gait, attitude, and posture improved remarkably.
I made it back to my car and walked around the park a bit, drinking water, cooling down. Another group of walkers I vaguely remember passing must have parked there too, because they came back loudly, chatting it up. Until they saw me. They stopped, quieted down, and gave me a wide berth. I guess I had forgotten to pay attention to passers-by mid-experiment.
I made a point of walking by them as I left. I smiled, Chesire cat-like, and nodded. They averted their eyes nervously, as if I wasn’t there. For once, I didn’t mind being ignored.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )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 )(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 )Circle of Care
My friend Erica is a grief counselor for children. A heart-wrenching job, for sure. You enclose these kids in a circle of care, she says, to help them understand what’s happening to them and their world.
When she says circle of care, Erica holds up her arms in front of her for emphasis like she’s holding a laundry basket. Their lives are like a basket filled with things that have become soiled but can be made clean again. Erica’s job is to hold the kids loosely, but firmly, until they’re ready to unload their own basket.
I see this image of Erica with arched arms often when I think of Girls on the Run. Most recently at last weekend’s race.
On the way to the race, the SUV I was driving, loaded with nearly everything we needed for race day, was forced off the highway and into a cement wall, totaling the car. It was my mom’s SUV. She was my passenger. Miraculously, we are both fine.
Everything that was loaded into the SUV in an orderly, organized fashion suddenly looked like tornado debris. Somehow, with the help of my great friend Chris who showed up within minutes of being called, we were able to transport the race gear to the park in time for the run.
Each girl who participates in Girls on the Run receives a medal when she finishes the race. It’s a mark of accomplishment not only for achieving her race goal but for completing the entire season. 
I love to see the hanger full of medals strung from our tent, each one waiting to be hung around girls’ necks. This season, we arranged the hanger weeks before the event, just so we could look at it.
The medals swayed in the back of the car, streams of blue and pink, and jangled as we drove. When we hit the cement wall, the medals flew off the hanger in every direction and crumpled on the floor.
I picked up all I could find and held them in a ragged mound on my lap as Chris drove us to the park. There was no more order, only wrinkled or dirty ribbons speckled with broken glass. I carried them in my arms, a mangled heap, to our set-up site, still a bit dazed, wondering how to recreate order out of what had become chaos.
It was then I was reminded of Erica. I put the medals down and stepped away. Dozens of others stepped in and did what they were there to do. The tent and tables went up, gear was organized and distributed, girls and buddies signed in, medals re-hung. There was smiling, laughter, nervous anticipation. Clouds of pink hairspray.
And then, girls running. Not alone, but with their buddies.
At the finish line, I watched coaches drape a medal around each girl’s neck, followed quickly by a hug big enough to enclose us all.
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 )In Sync with Greensleeves
Greensleeves was in my sight from the moment the 10K runners split from the 5. There were only 4 runners ahead of me. Greensleeves was the closest.
This is a mistake, I thought as we approached the water stop before the turn, not to keep my eye on her but to even think the name Greensleeves.
Everybody knows “Greensleeves,” an age old song whose tune has been most frequently adapted to Christmas music. Think “What Child Is This” and you know the tune. Slow. Kinda pretty. Not exactly conducive to fast running.
But it wasn’t my fault that my brain chose to name her this. She was, after all, wearing green sleeves, a shoulderless running bra with unmistakeably bright green sleeves.
For almost a mile, I couldn’t shake the song from my head.
But I made a promise to run well. It was the Wild Woman 5K/10K, part of the first annual Wild Woman Weekend held in Blanco, Texas, and I needed to run faster than ever before.
I had to lose this stupid song.
When we turned at the halfway point, the stream of runners trickling along for a good half mile or more startled me. I had been focusing so intently on what lie ahead of me that I hadn’t even thought about what might lie behind. It didn’t register until that moment that I was actually running pretty well, but it would only take one powerhouse runner to catch her second wind and I’d be left in the dust.
That was enough to blow the song right out of my head—and to gain quickly on Greensleeves. Before I knew it, I was close enough to hear her iPod.
I hung back for a bit, debating what to do. We still had almost 3 miles to run and I didn’t want to pull out all the stops just to pass her and risk crashing close to the finish line.
I knew she knew I was there. She glanced back once or twice. We were running virtually alone on a country road outside of Blanco, and it felt a little creepy. I kinda felt like a stalker, running so close behind. So I pulled up to run beside her.
The next 2.5+ miles were some of the best running I have experienced. It was almost surreal. There were no people, only cows and birds, the wind and the smell of flowers. If there were cars, I don’t remember them. We simply ran, breathing simultaneously, keeping the same pace, feet striking the pavement in sync.
When we hit mile 4, there was no marker to indicate it. I held up 4 fingers. This is 4, I said.
That sucked coming down, Greensleeves said at the bottom of a steep hill.
It sucked going up, I replied.
There was no more talking, no need to. We were in stride, side by side, and running fast.
I’ve never checked my watch so frequently. I wasn’t interested at that moment in beating her. I was, instead, astonished at our pace: 7:37, 8:02, 7:58. For over 2.5 miles we maintained an 8-minute mile average. We might as well have been flying.
With less than 1 mile left, Greensleeves stopped to drink and, I think, to breathe. I kept running, but not as fast. It just wasn’t the same without Greensleeves.
She shot across the finish line only a couple of minutes after me. I waited, high-fived her when she crossed.
That was great, I said. Thanks.
Dang, she said, and we smiled.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 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 )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?
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More Than Running... 