Lessons on Life and Running

After traveling for business last week, and then enjoying a fun Friday night on the town with my partner in crime J (Chicago is her home town) I was feeling more than a little off.  Perhaps it was the combination of beer + carbs + more beer + more carbs that we consumed for copious amounts of hours.  Just sayin’. This riotous evening was soon followed by a very challenging 12 hour drive from Michigan to Georgia, where I was consuming anything with caffeine and sugar just to stay awake.  Needless to say, by the time I got home I was feeling blegh, akin to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I knew there was only one solution:

I needed to run.

I had been so diligent on my training for the 5k, and afterward, while not stopping “per se”, there was a definitely a slowdown that first week.  Then came more travel, and I just never seemed to get back into the rhythm I had created over the previous few weeks.  Now that I was back home, there were no more excuses.

But here is the truth.... dare I admit... I missed it.

For me, running is more than just a form of exercise.  For those that have known me a long time, you will understand the significance much more than most- it is a true departure from who I was years ago.  Running used to be this ever looming "thing" that just seemed impossible- that I would never be able to do.  And yet, here I am- hair pulled back into my Shrek-looking ponytails, nylon running shorts swishing as I zip around the house gathering my IPod, running watch and water bottle before heading out the door.

After a quick 10 minute drive I arrive at the running park, and I immediately set into my routine.  Stretch in the parking lot, walk to the place where I like to start on the path, and as I take my warm up walk I strap my IPod to my arm and arrange my headphones.  I feel comfortable, secure… this is my place, and I know it well.  As I hit the third .10 mile marker, I start to run.  And so it begins….

"Keep your pace" is my first mantra... if I start to fast I will burn out by the end of the first mile.  I slowly get my rhythm.  I have to remind myself, I am not here to impress anyone; it’s just me, the path I know, and the never ending fact that I am running.  I hear Eminem in my ears... his bitterness and angst getting me revved up.  Half a mile in, and I start to notice my breathing has fallen into place.  By 3/4 mile, already there is sweat streaming down my forehead (did I mention this state is HOT?).

My first mile is complete, and I feel like I can accomplish anything.  There is no challenge I can't take on! I recognize my running trail peeps that I have come to know and love; the man that walks the track holding a golf club, like he expects to be searching for a ball he shanked at any moment.  The group of new moms with their tiny babies in jogging strollers, starting that never ending battle to get the baby weight off, as well as the group of moms that look like a flash forward 10 years who realize they are beautiful as they are still carrying that post baby weight, and walk to commiserate with other likeminded women for that essential companionship.  There are many other runners, all at varying levels, just trying to beat their personal best. And then there is my personal cheerleader, a man whom I would guess is in his mid seventies, who applauds every time I pass him on the track.  Maybe it’s because by this point my face matches the color of my hair.

I am well into the next mile, and I hear Brittney singing to me, edging me on... "Stronger than yesterday, it's nothing but a mile away..." yes, Britney, just another mile. (and don't judge, Foo Fighters are next on the play list....) but now I'm half way in, and my legs are starting to burn.  My breathing becomes just a little more labored, and I have to be more cautious about keeping my rhythm.  And then, the argument ensues. 

It goes something like this.

"Just keep going.... "
"If you stop after this mile, no one will know.  Hey- at least you did something...."
"But YOU will know. And you have done this run before... why stop now?"
"You know how many other things you have to get done today?  Do you really have time for another mile?"
"Think about it- what will you feel like 30 minutes after you cut it short?  You will be so mad at yourself!”
"But do you really think you have enough in you to keep going?"

So I don't stop... but I don't fully commit to the next mile, either.  I know that at this moment, that next mile- that I have already accomplished before- seems like a marathon.  And as I round the corner and hit that mile marker, I start to will myself with every next step.

"Just make it to the next lamp post... don't think about the entire mile.  Just to the next lamp post." 

So, I start up the next hill.  A little slower than what I have done before, but the important thing is that I am still moving.  Moving forward. Not staying still, not sliding back.  And maybe not at the pace I want to go at, but the important thing is that I keep at it.

I make it up the hill and to the next lamp post, as if it were a beacon guiding me home.  Now the path starts to decline. Easy to think that here come a respite, but I have to remember to be careful- if I lose focus and coast I could go to fast and stumble out of control.  I tell myself- maintain pace, form, even when it seems a little easier.

I round the next corner, and I see the next hill looming- didn't I just get through the last one? It's at this point that I am almost screaming to myself, "If you even think about walking I will kick your ass!" (Yes, that would be me, kicking my own ass.  Nice.) But I know the reality- that once I stop, it is almost impossible to start again, and if I do, it’s twice as hard than if I had just fought through the pain and kept on going, regardless of my pace. 

The irony of how running reflects life is not lost on me.  It creeps in almost every time I run.  There is this “thing”… something looming in your life that seems so insurmountable that you wonder why you should even try.  It’s the proverbial pipe dream. But then one day, you decide ok, I am just going to try… and then you have to accept that just because you try doesn’t mean that you are going to be able to run 13.1 miles your first trip out the door.  Oh no- you have to start slow.  Walking.  And then adding some running in.  So slow it’s a frustrating unnaturally slow pace that you wonder if you are making any progress at all.  But you still keep at it.  And the path is not flat- there are ups and downs, and you have to navigate those while still maintaining your pace, willing yourself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and not lose control on the easy parts or else you won’t be able to recover when the path levels out.  And whatever you do- don’t walk.  Don’t quit- it’s so much harder to get your legs to run again after you have allowed them to stop.  And just when you think you’ve got it, along comes another hill.  And you do it all again. 

Because the truth that is so hard for me to accept is that this is not a race. No timer, no record to beat, no bonus if I just get this task accomplished faster than anyone else. It’s all about the journey, so appreciate it- even if it the path is a hilly oval running track that you are not sure if you will ever get off of.  I run just for me, and with every step I am closer to filling the gap of completing something that I set out to do.  Something that is a big deal to me, something that used to be a "thing" and instead is now "something" that I do.

I run.