The next post I planned to write was titled, "I'm Fat and Depressed
and Running Sucks." In it I would chronicle my dearth of running and
general distaste for exercise. Then I'd address my ongoing identity
crisis -- Am I a runner? How can I call myself a runner if I don't run?
Once you've accepted running into your heart are you a runner for the
rest of your life or can you fall away from running to such a degree
that you are no longer a runner? I would get into, like, deep
denominational sports philosophy.
There would be no pithy little life lesson at the end -- no "Here's how I'm taking all this negativity, grinding it up, squeezing out the juices, adding some patented look-at-the-sunnyside serum, and using it to fuel my dreams and goals and self-esteem." Pfffft. Instead I planned to end the post abruptly, waist-deep in the bog of my existential crisis, like a good French film.
Up until June I ran twice in a four-month span of time. And then I found an easy half-marathon training plan, wrote down what I was supposed to do each day on a free gift calendar from some save the animals charity, and started running a bit. That was it. Here's the stupid, annoying thing: There was no magical catalyst, no inspirational documentary, no pep-talk. It barely even felt like a decision. I just did it. (Nike. I know.)
Maybe the magic was in not thinking. I have a tendency to roll thoughts around in my brain, turning them every which way to examine and fret about every surface. This type of thinking can be reflective and lead to thoughtful change. But it can also cross a threshold of usefulness and border on obsessive. For me, running is binary. I'm either running or not running. Obsessively contemplating not running does not lead to running, so why let my brain keep tumbling these dead end thoughts? (Why? Because my brain does whatever it wants. Stupid brain.)
In summary, I stopped running, and then I started again.
It's not going that well. The bones in my feet remind me of making toothpick bridges in math class to see how much weight they could hold before they collapsed, my knees conjure images of a mortar and pestle vigorously grinding tissue into paste, and my low back and hips have the flexibility of Trump-era political views.
But it's getting incrementally better. Of course incremental improvement is not very satisfying, so I'm going to try to not think about it.
There would be no pithy little life lesson at the end -- no "Here's how I'm taking all this negativity, grinding it up, squeezing out the juices, adding some patented look-at-the-sunnyside serum, and using it to fuel my dreams and goals and self-esteem." Pfffft. Instead I planned to end the post abruptly, waist-deep in the bog of my existential crisis, like a good French film.
Up until June I ran twice in a four-month span of time. And then I found an easy half-marathon training plan, wrote down what I was supposed to do each day on a free gift calendar from some save the animals charity, and started running a bit. That was it. Here's the stupid, annoying thing: There was no magical catalyst, no inspirational documentary, no pep-talk. It barely even felt like a decision. I just did it. (Nike. I know.)
Maybe the magic was in not thinking. I have a tendency to roll thoughts around in my brain, turning them every which way to examine and fret about every surface. This type of thinking can be reflective and lead to thoughtful change. But it can also cross a threshold of usefulness and border on obsessive. For me, running is binary. I'm either running or not running. Obsessively contemplating not running does not lead to running, so why let my brain keep tumbling these dead end thoughts? (Why? Because my brain does whatever it wants. Stupid brain.)In summary, I stopped running, and then I started again.
It's not going that well. The bones in my feet remind me of making toothpick bridges in math class to see how much weight they could hold before they collapsed, my knees conjure images of a mortar and pestle vigorously grinding tissue into paste, and my low back and hips have the flexibility of Trump-era political views.
But it's getting incrementally better. Of course incremental improvement is not very satisfying, so I'm going to try to not think about it.
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