Embrace the Hard

The thing I'm noticing about long distance running (and perhaps aging ties into this as well) is that the point at which I feel warmed up seems to be getting farther and farther from the point at which I start running. This is especially unfortunate when I feel warmed up at around the three mile mark of a 3.5 mile run. Most of my runs at the gym feel unfortunate.

There is, of course, the option to continue running after that three mile mark, but running much more than three miles on a treadmill makes me hyperaware that I am on a machine in order to simulate running, that I'm paying for the privilege to fake run, that my life is overly dependent on computers and machinery to help me function, that even my most basic human connections are mediated by technology, that I don't remember the last time I had a real conversation on the telephone instead of texting or emailing the people I love the most in this world, that our capacity to connect, empathize, and love is rapidly diminishing in this digital era, and that we run the risk of losing what makes us human for the sake of entertainment, convenience, and commerce.

Running is enough work on its own, I can't have an existential crisis every time I step onto the treadmill. Five miles is my absolute limit. Beyond that, I need the outdoors and proximity to the universe to give my mind room for vast expansion.

While running on the treadmill on Monday, well before slipping into the comfortable warmed-up zone, I thought about how much I wished this were easier. My left shin and ankle felt tight, like running with a plaster cast from foot to knee, my heel hurt, and both legs felt tired and wimpy. Not doing this was a lot more appealing than doing this. After a few minutes of wallowing, however, a rather radical thought dawned on me: I don't actually wish this were easier.

I mean, yes, of course it would be quite nice to be able to run ten miles at a seven minute pace and barely break a sweat. But really, no matter where I am in my fitness and training, I'm not actually looking to do something easy. I've set a huge goal for myself because I want to do something hard. I sign up for marathons because they are much more of a challenge than 5Ks at this point in my running life. Shifting from lusting after easy, to relishing the hard gives hard a purpose beyond just tormenting me. Hard is getting me somewhere. Embrace the hard! Hard is what I want!

This new (and unfortunately worded) mantra propelled me through the rest of the run and I finished my 4.2 miles feeling optimistic. (Or, maybe I was just finally warmed up.) 

Sour Grape Legs

There's a story I want to tell about myself as a runner. And I want the story to be true, so I have to run the narrative I want to tell. The drive to tell a certain story motivated me this week.

The week began with the banshee wailing in my ear. How do I do this when I often get home from work at 8pm, eat dinner at 8:30, and go to bed at 9:30? Is it okay to not do anything? Every time I don't do something, does that negate the something I did the day before? How do I to this when at the end of the day, my body feels like a wadded up paper ball that some sweaty-palmed middle schooler has been throwing at a wall all day?

On Wednesday I came home while it was still light and hurried back out the door to get my body moving before my brain had a chance to realize what was happening. It felt really good for the first ten steps. And then my legs went acid on me. My muscles felt like someone had strung every sinew with sour grapes - like if you bit into my legs the tartness would go straight to that spot just under the back of your jawbone. (Well, no. At first you'd have to bite through a layer of fat, and as we know, fat is flavor, so for the first bite or two I'm not sour, I'm absolutely delicious. And then sour.)

It was a pretty terrible run. The walking part went well, though, and over half of it was walking, so overall, it was kind of great?

I ran again today after school, which makes three runs in the past week. That's the beginning of a good story.

Stacking the Deck

After publicly stating that I'm going to run, it seemed pretty important that I actually do so. And so I stacked the deck in my favor this morning.

1) I wore my running clothes to my National Boards Certification meeting and told my fellow candidates that I'm running a marathon in December. (And by running, I mean confidently striding for the first 10 miles, then walking since I'm approximately 4 months behind on my training for this one.) Looking like a runner and talking like a runner made me feel very runnerly. It was nice. When the meeting was over, I was ready to run.

Due to the success of this strategy, I may have to reconsider my powerful belief that leggings are not, in fact, trousers, and should not be worn in public for non-exercise related activities, like attending National Boards meetings.

2) I did not go home after my meeting. I love home. It's cozy, warm, relaxing, and the perfect place to settle in and not go running. Transitioning from home to running feels impossible most days. I regularly tell myself I'm going to change into running clothes real quick, and then go for a run first thing when I get home from school. It's happened one time since school started in September. Once I'm in the door I deflate like a saggy old balloon. Saggy old balloons do not like to run. They like to drape themselves over sofas and watch Dr. Who.

So, instead of going home today, I went straight to the gym. And I ran!

That's it. I have to remember how simple this can be. Get dressed. Don't go home. Go run.

These are my legs

This is what my legs look like. They're a robust blend of Okinawan and German stock. They're the descendants of pioneer ladies and laboring immigrants. I owe a great deal to these weighty stems. They carry me across finish lines, lead me through the mountains of the Pacific Northwest, wander the streets of India, pedal across the United States, and support me every day as I stand in front of a public school classroom. They're good legs!

Lately, these good legs have been the unfortunate recipients of neglect. As another year of teaching 8th grade settles over me, running is the first thing to get pushed out of my schedule. Intellectually I know the very best thing after a long, wretched day at school is a run outside in the wooded park near my house. Unfortunately, I am an intellectual void at the end of these types of days, and instead of thinking with my head, I feel with my stomach.

The struggle to choose the long-term joy of healthy over the immediacy and comfort of unhealthy is a specter lingering at my side. There are stretches of time where it floats on the periphery of my life, a mostly-forgotten ghost. But it never fails to return, not content to merely haunt, but manifest itself in the form of a tireless banshee. 

I'm going to run tomorrow (even though I really don't want to, and there's an epic storm forecast for the morning, and my shoes are not that good, and I haven't run in over 4 weeks).

It's time to shush the banshee.