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 )Ask and You Shall Receive
The other day I walked into a conversation that seemed to be about the adage “you have not because you ask not.” The gist of the conversation was this. Most of us don’t ask for help when we need it because we have all kinds of (wrong) ideas about what it means to need help. In refusing to ask for help, we not only hurt ourselves, but we also hurt our potential helpers.
Many things keep us from asking for help. Pride (I already know what the answer is). Fear (If they only knew, they would reject me). Our perceived inadequacies (If they find out I don’t know, they’ll think I’m a fraud). Inconvenience to others (I don’t want them to go out of their way just for me). We don’t want to be selfish, a taker.
Many of us were taught as kids that to ask for too much was simply too much. How many times did we hear an adult say stop pestering me or ask me again and you’ll get nothing? Socialization (family, education, geography, gender) taught us that we should be quietly content with what we have. Or that only brown noses, weaklings, etc. ask for help. The rest of us do it ourselves.
Did I mention that the ideas we have about asking for help are likely wrong? In addition to hurting ourselves when we don’t ask for help, we hurt others by depriving them of the opportunity to give. To help others is part of our basic humanity. It’s how we find common ground. It’s how we connect.
It took a couple of days for me to fully process this conversation. I thought of all the hundreds of times I have not asked for help when I needed it, and, as a result, all the harm I’ve caused myself. I thought too about all the times I’ve offered my help and been rejected, and how it gave me a bit of a hollow feeling inside, even if the offer was as simple as carrying a heavy load for a complete stranger.
Inevitably, I thought about running. How many times have I wondered why other runners train or eat a certain way. Where they learned a particular technique. How they do what they do. But I haven’t asked. Even when I’ve been in physical pain and their knowledge could have helped me.
Why? Since hearing this conversation, I can’t think of one good reason.
What do you do when you need help?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 5 so far )Perseverance
I’ve been asked to speak to an elementary school next month about perseverance. This school works hard to develop character in their students. Each month is dedicated to a different character trait; the school holds an assembly to award those students who have demonstrated the characteristic, and then someone gives a short talk.
April is perseverance month. Running, the thinking goes, takes perseverance.
For months I’ve been wondering what to say to a group of K through 8th graders about the relationship between running and perseverance. Do most of them even like to run? What is running, really, for kids? From what I have observed, most kids do the sprint-walk. That is, they run all out as far as they can until they virtually collapse, and then they stagger into a walk, sucking in air like a turbojet.
Many of the adults I’ve seen who’ve tried to run with these kids have a hard time keeping up. Maybe they should get an award for perseverance.
I thought about talking to the kids about Wilma Rudolph, a remarkable woman who overcame tremendous hardship to run. Not only did she excel at running, but her efforts broke down some racial barriers in the segregated south. A true role model, in my opinion, not only as a runner but as a human being. Rudolph inspires me, but would she hold the kids’ interest?
What do kids know about perseverance anyway? To persevere is to not give up. To keep going in the face of all adversity, even when you feel like quitting. It means that obstacles cannot be obstacles; they can be hurdles or hills. Maybe even mountains. But you know that if you keep going you will find a way over. So you keep going.
How do you relate that to a kid’s world? What is it that Sponge Bob perseveres at, or Puss in Boots? I have known kids who have demonstrated perseverance without necessarily knowing it. Some have fought hard to stay in school when their parents have wanted to pull them out to work or help with childcare. Others have lived through debilitating illnesses or undergone painful surgeries, only to smile and encourage their caregivers through the whole ordeal.
And I have known kids with incredible dreams who have had no support from the adults in their world. They have been scoffed at and belittled, chastised to the point where many adults would fold and say enough, I give. But not them. They become artists and doctors, entrepreneurs and writers.
Some become runners.
To persevere implies that a goal has been set, that there is some end a person is working toward. Goal setting may be the starting point of perseverance. Maybe getting kids to run, to set goals—even small ones of just a few more yards or, maybe, eventually, a 5K—is the starting point to develop perseverance.
I don’t know if perseverance is learned or innate. Maybe it is a bit of both. Those of us who run know how good it feels to reach the goal we’ve set for ourselves. It makes us want to work even harder, to extend ourselves beyond what we believe to be our capabilities.
When we fail to reach our goal, that too can make us work harder yet. We run through rain and sleet and snow. Bitter cold and blistering heat. Up hills that seem more like cliffs. Through physical pain, illness, family issues. We persevere. Do we get scoffed at? Maybe. But in the end, who cares?
I suppose that this is what to tell the kids. It doesn’t matter what other people think. It doesn’t even matter so much what they do or say. Figure out what you love to do, and then set a goal to do it. Work hard to get there, because if you love it, work won’t feel like work. And falling down won’t hurt as much as staying down. In fact, you may come to feel like a Weeble.
If you haven’t yet figured out what you love to do, take up running. Somewhere in the midst of the sprint-walk you might just hear that still, small voice that speaks to most runners. It will set you straight. And it may keep you running.
What would the rest of you runners say to kids about perseverance?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )
The Joy of Sprinting
Wednesdays used to be Prince spaghetti days. Now they’re sprint days.
For years I avoided doing sprints. Although I had read article after article about the benefits of sprints—how they boost metabolism, strengthen the cardiovascular system, strengthen muscle, increase endurance, increase human growth hormone…do I need to go on?—I talked myself out of doing them. Why? Fear.
I watched other runners sprint. Saw how fast they ran, how easy they made it look, how lean they were, and I did what I knew I shouldn’t. I compared myself to them. I could never do that, I told myself, never be like them. Never, ever run that fast without breaking a bone or falling flat on my face.
Then just over two years ago I was invited to the Beach to Bay Relay in Corpus Christi, Texas, a marathon length relay race divided into 6 legs. I was to be part of a team. Leg 6.
No pressure. Just the one to pick up any slack the rest of the team might have dropped. The one to cross the finish line—on behalf of a team.
For the first time since I’d started running, I would be running not for myself, but for others. In my mind, I couldn’t let them down. So I decided to incorporate into my training the one tool I had been too afraid to use. Sprints.
When I first started them, I hated it. It hurt physically and mentally. Running sprints forced me to confront all my self-doubt. Who was I really, and why was I doing this? What was I made of—and was it good enough?
The more I stretched my self-imposed limitations, the more I began to enjoy sprinting. It reinforced what I already sort of knew—the human body is remarkable and can do pretty much anything. Provided the mind allows it to.
Running sprints also helped me to get a handle on one of the reasons I took up running—the need to see how far I could push my body until it broke. I hadn’t been putting all my effort into running, and until I did, I wouldn’t know my true limitations, physical and mental.
I still find it fascinating to learn how my body works. I have learned, for instance, that on the treadmill I cannot go from a full out sprint to a stop for water because my blood pressure can drop too quickly, say from 164 to 86, which is not conducive to standing.
I find it even more fascinating to learn how my mind works. I have let my gut take over when I run. My rational mind used to make a plan that looked like this: Start sprints on the treadmill at a safe speed (not faster than last week), run four incrementally faster sprints, cycle back down four, then stop. Very safe. Very rational. But not very effective at exceeding those boundaries.
Now I don’t worry so much about a plan. I do sprints on Wednesdays. That’s the plan. Start at a speed higher than last week and run as many incrementally higher sprints as I can until my legs turn to noodles. Then I run one more.
Now I love running sprints. And I suppose Wednesdays can still be Prince spaghetti days. Maybe for breakfast. After sprints.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Steppin Out
I prefer to run alone, before dawn. Down deserted sidewalks or streets, preferably near fields and woods, with only the fireflies and stars as companions. I don’t even like streetlights. For me, there’s something about running alone in the dark that’s invigorating, fulfilling. Joyful.
Selfish.
At least that’s the way it struck me recently. It seems like everyone I talk to lately is struggling with their health. Maybe they have high blood pressure and need to get it down. Their life could be on overdrive and they’re looking for a way to manage stress. It might be that they’re tired of waking up tired every day, barely able to drag themselves out of bed, and they just want to feel good. Or maybe they need to drop a few pounds—for their own self-satisfaction as much as for their health.
Where do they begin? It can be overwhelming to even think about joining a gym. Intimidating to take the first step on a run. Easier to stay where they are, status quo, good as any other day. Same as yesterday.
I’ve been thinking about all the times I joined a gym. And didn’t go. All the runs I started. I got dressed and put on my shoes, at least, even if I didn’t quite make it out the door. All the times I tried and failed to even begin.
So how did running finally stick? Someone invited me to join her on a run. More than once, in fact, before I finally accepted. I’m glad I did. Running with someone else gave me hope and confidence. It held me accountable first to her, then to myself. After awhile, I discovered that accountability to self is what comes first. That’s what integrity is, isn’t it?
How many people have you asked to join you on a run? Why not ask someone today? You know that neighbor who’s been eyeballing you each time you head out the door, looking after you wistfully as you stretch? Maybe he’s a closet runner and doesn’t know it yet. Maybe he’s a heart attack waiting to happen but doesn’t know that yet either. Maybe he’ll turn out to be a good friend.
Set a new goal for yourself, a challenge. Once a week, ask someone new to run with you. And when they say no, ask again. See how many people you can introduce to health, to joy—to running. You might just make a new friend. Or save a life. You never know. Someone saved mine.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )It’s About Time
I stopped wearing a watch nearly four years ago when I started working from home. There was no reason to wear one anymore, since my house had a clock visible from nearly every room and I spent much of my time in front of a computer anyway. Funny thing, time. It seems to change when you feel like you own it.
It made me think a lot about what my attitude toward time had been, particularly how much time I wasted because of the mindset I had adopted. I often thought of Henry Thoreau saying, “As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.” I had been injuring eternity all right, by doing a lot of nothing, or by doing the same thing. Stagnating, which is what happens when we feel like we’re moving backward or standing still.
I had experienced the feeling of time standing still when I moved in the dead of winter from Chicago to Guam, a tropical island near the foot of the Mariana Trench. In Guam, it’s always the same temperature and flowers are always in bloom. The seasons never change. Sound like paradise? Maybe. Until you realize that months and then years have passed with each day essentially the same.
I realized then the importance of seasons in triggering change—not only the obvious, outward changes like leaves first budding then browning, but the change that begins within, with us. When we stand still we stagnate. We do the same thing, repeatedly follow the same routine until it becomes thoughtless habit, like brushing our teeth. We get in a rut without realizing it, and before we know it, we are standing still. It’s as if time has stopped.
This can happen with running, or any other form of exercise. If you do the same thing again and again, your body stops responding to what you’re doing with your time, and you get nowhere. Fast. Has your pace stalled at the x-minute mile? Are you running the same number of miles a week you always have been, but suddenly seeing dimples show up on your thighs instead of your smile? It’s time, then, to do something different. It’s time to own the time you put into your workout.
It’s critical to change your routine, even if the change is as simple as taking a new route on your run or adding extra weight or reps to your workout. Your body will respond positively and thank you for it.
It’s almost spring—isn’t it about time for that change?
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