Runnner, Jogger, Walker, Mover.

Yesterday I completed my 6th half marathon.

To some it's an amazing feat, to others it's the ordinary, to me it is somewhere in between.

I started "running" when I was 16 and a Junior in High School.  A lot of my friends did track, so it was a great way for me to socialize after school.  On my first day of practice I couldn't run the length of the soccer field without stopping to walk.  I had never been forced to run, I had never been encouraged to run and I never wanted to run.  So that first day when I was faced with running, I remember thinking "why am I doing this???"  I thought that soccer field was going to be the hardest part of my day... then I had to figure out what my "events" were going to be.  What do you sign up for in Track & Field when you aren't fast, you don't have endurance and you aren't strong??  Most people would say, you should sit in the bleachers and just watch.  But I didn't.  I remember one of the Coaches (Coach Powell) working it out with me.  I was going to do the 400m and also work on the 800m and long jump.  These were, theoretically, things I could work on and get better through the season.

Coach Powell worked with the distance runners and I remember training with them.  I remember spending a lot of that first month walking with my head down because I was so embarassed. Slowly but surely, I started to improve. I also started to notice really weird things.... for one I was getting itty bitty leg muscles, but more noticeably I was getting bruises all up and down the insides of my calves.  I remember bringing it up to Coach one day and he said he'd keep an eye on my form to see if he could figure out why.  About 20 minutes into the work out, he called me over, chuckling.  I'll never forget him explaining to me, through chuckles, that I was bruised because I was kicking myself.  Yep.  Focused on moving forward, I wasn't paying attention to my weak ankles and was kicking myself.  Awesome.   Just another thing for me to work on. 

 By the end of that track season I was able to run over a mile without stopping, not moving fast, but at least I was moving continuously.

That summer I worked on my running by myself and with a friend of my parents.  At the end of the summer, I was doing the impossible--  I could run 5 miles without stopping.  I wasn't kicking myself.  I was rarely tripping on my own two feet.  I had found my sport.  And even now, 17 years later, I still credit Coach Powell for my dedication to a sport that I'm not good at, but that I do.  Because I can.

Yesterday, during my 13.1 miles of agony, I spent a lot of time thinking about running.  It's an awful activity that is a lot of impact on my aging joints.  I'm not built like a runner-- I'm short, with a small gait and I'm overweight.  I'm not graceful or fast or even good.  But when I hit the trail, the track or the treadmill it's a time where I can really push myself past my comfort zone.  When my body is saying "stop, you can't do this" or "you should stop, you haven't trained for this", my mind says "just keep putting one foot in front of the other."  So I do.  One foot in front of the other-- sometimes running, sometimes jogging,  sometimes walking (I did a lot of that yesterday), but always moving. 

Running is hard.  Running is uncomfortable.  Running is boring.  But running reminds me of the first time I started to believe myself-- back on that dirt track, in my adidas wind pants, with bruised calves.

Now that I'm older though, I've become a lazy runner.  See, I know I can go far mentally so I've stopped doing my homework.  I've stopped training, at that is where the joy is.   Race day is ok, but it's overcrowded, chaotic and makes me nervous.  Training is where I find myself pushing harder, testing limits and making improvements.

I completed two half marathons this year and did MAYBE 10 days of actual running training.  Not acceptable.  So I have drafted a training plan and it begins this week.  It's time for me to fall back in love with the process so that I can find the passion I once had.  And maybe I'll find some speed in my old age... or maybe just some more stitches.  Either way, it'll be something!

When you grow up....

What's crazy is that I actually thought posting yesterday was going to be therapeutic.  I thought that I would write down what I was feeling and I would be able to say "ok" and move forward. 


When I was a little kid, I would have reoccurring nightmares (hmm... still happens...).  My dad gave me a strategy for dealing with them, especially when I was really scared.  I would write down every detail of the dream from the bad guy's red plaid shirt to what the house looked like to what was happening.  Every single detail.  And if I had the dream again, I would add to the details.  Eventually, after writing stuff down, the nightmares would stop. 


As an adult I sometimes still hope that if I write down what's bothering me or scaring me, it'll stop effecting me.  But when you grow up?  That doesn't really happen, now does it? I write about stuff and sometimes it helps... but most of the time I write and it's still there.  The emotion, the frustration, the confusion... they remain.  And it's not like I'm opposed to doing work to get through these things, I just wish there was a path carved out for me to follow and move through it all. 


But that's ok.  I'll be ok.  I already am ok.  And sometimes I forget that.  I am just fine.  Things can remain as they are and yes, I'll feel lonely from time to time, I'll get emotional, but I?  I am fine.  What is fine though?  My saying "I'm fine" feels like a good thing, but if you Google image the phrase "I'm fine" the most depressing shit EVER shows up.  So maybe I need to reframe.  Change gears.  What can I be other than "fine" (Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional.  Thanks Google.)?   Where are my affirmations when I need them?


I am worthy.                          I am determined.
I am strong.                           I am loved.
I am compassionate.              I am loyal.
I am helpful.                          I am optimistic.
I am silly.                               I matter.
I am emotional.                      I am a work in progress.
I am loving.                           I am pretty fucking fantastic.


And I am.  I am all of those things.  So maybe this is something I need to do.  Note to self: I need to make sure when sadness starts to creep in, I check in with myself.  Is it time for me to explore the sad feelings or is it time to reframe and use affirmations to pull myself out of it.  Yesterday, definitely was the day to explore the sadness.  Today?  It's time to remind myself how wonderful shit really is, how blessed I really am and that I'm really lucky.  Because when you grow up? Life is hard enough without you being hard on yourself too.   And I might still be sad, but I'll be so many other things too. 

Fall into Emotion

Fall seems to have arrived in Sacramento.  At least for now, anyway.  The leaves are falling, we had a lovely little rain the other night, temperatures have dropped into the 70's and breezes are moving everything around.  Sweaters have been pulled from the deep recesses of closets, boots dusted off and scarves worn with glee.  Pumpkin spice everything is every where.


Fall has to be my all time favorite season.  I love this time of year.  I love wearing hoodies and Uggs and watching scary movies... warm beverages, wind-chilled cheeks, long sleeved shirts, and shorter days.


And even though I have so much to be happy about, so much to be thankful for and so much joy in my life--- I can't help it, I feel lonely.  Being alone in the Spring and Summer are always fine with me-- it's too hot to want to cuddle (much) and it seems like things are happening non-stop, distracting me from the fact that I'm alone.  But in the fall?  The things I love doing would be so much better if I had someone to do them with.    Someone to snuggle up on the couch with as a pumpkin candle burns and the scary movie's plot intensifies.


It's not that I'm in a hurry or looking to be married again right away, I'm perfectly ok with patiently waiting for the right person.  I'm great company to be around, so I'm ok with being alone.  But the void, the emptiness that echoes as I walk through my house... I can feel it in my chest. 


I know I don't want to completely share my life or my home with someone until I am sure they are the right person.  I'm not looking to compromise my standards again and I feel like I have a greater understanding of what I am worth, after everything that I've been through.  But it would still be nice...


Maybe romantic-comedies and my failed marriage have ruined me for love.  Maybe  my expectations are now too high and I've played all of this backwards-- I should have started with high standards in the first place. 




I listen to soft music that fills my heart so full of emotion that tears come to my eyes.  Good tears, happy tears.... I'm singing along to the love songs that express what I hope to experience.  And although I'm sure most men would be totally put off by this emotion, I hope and I have faith that the one man-- the one that is right for me is out there and wouldn't mind.  He would understand that my feelings are always at the brim of my being, just waiting to pour over, whether in love or joy or passion or sadness--- they are never far from the surface.


 It's a blessing and a curse; I find myself over-sheltering and protecting the world from who I am because nobody wants to see the tear streaked face of a divorcee who has been overcome by the beauty of a song.  Or maybe that's just what I say inside so that I can really just protect myself from the world.  At this point I'm not sure which one of those is the real deal, but maybe it's a little bit of both. 


So as Fall envelopes us further I hope that you (yes you) are happy, you are being held tight and you are feeling the love that is around you and within you.