Run-July 12, 2009.

Goal: 3 km.
Reality: ~4 km.

Last night I got home from work wanting to run but sure I wouldn’t. I threw on my new running shorts and an old t-shirt anyway, just in case. After half an hour or so of vegging out I decided, if I’m going to go, now’s the time.

So I headed out with a vague route in mind. Well, I threw that away once I started running. I got to the imagined halfway point and said, I feel great, just keep going. So I ran and ran and ran some more. Perhaps 4 km doesn’t sound like much, but for someone who never got beyond 2.5 k runs, to do 4 on a whim is a big step. I was running slow, slow, slow, but that’s the pace my body wanted. I could feel a choice presented to me: keep running slowly and enjoy it or pick up the pace and hate it, cutting the run short. Put that way, slow and steady is the choice for me! Several times I was tempted to kick it up a notch, but, listening to my body’s cues, I kept it slow and gentle and treated the run not as exercise but as time alone with myself in the cool evening air.

Coming through the homestretch in a route I’ve never taken before I ran over the highway on a deserted overpass. The wind hitting me paired with the view of the highway turning into the bridge, with just lights coming and going was spectacular. A view I couldn’t have ever imagined wanting, but one that made my night. As I finished my run I had a huge smile plastered to my face. A job well done.

 

Note to self: don’t run past McDonald’s again. The smell is indescribably awful.

Listening to Your Body.

 In the past, taking a few days off has always been a guilt inducing experience. If I’m not running it’s because I’m “weak”, “lazy” or “undisciplined”. What an awful way to speak to yourself, eh? I would never, ever, ever say that to a friend who was taking a few days off. Those words wouldn’t even enter my mind.

 

If running is to be a joyful commitment to health, guilt has no place in it. If my body says it’s too tired (different from “I don’t feel like it”) or if the day is just too hot, I am, in fact, doing myself a favour by forgoing that day’s run.

And sure, some days I get home from work and it’s late and all I really want to do is lie on the couch and watch Dexter. And some days I do that. Should I be running even though I’m dead tired? Maybe. But I really don’t want the word should to control my health, my body or my running. Should is a word we get from the outside. If I want to look like [insert popstar here] I should go for a run. I had ice cream at lunch, I should go for a run. If I want to look how society tells me I ought to (a synonym for should), I should go for a run. And those shoulds quickly turn into “have to”. If I’m going to the beach next week I have to run every day before it.

You know what? Fuck “should”! I WANT to run. It makes me feel strong and powerful and feminine and alive. There’s no room for shoulds in my running life anymore.

Small Goals

Second run, July 7, 09.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved to run in the rain. Even at my least fit, least healthy, most unmotivated points, I’ve loved to run in the rain. I don’t mean a sprinkle, though. I mean a torrential downpour. Where you’re battered by every drop, cooled by every drip, and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is what it means to be alive. Every inch of you is hot, wet, panting, straining, rejoicing, in this ultimate of experiences.

So when I woke up to rain today, I knew today’s would be a good run. Of course, today has been one of those weird days where it’s pouring one minute, then not a drip the next. Drizzling a few minutes later, then pounding the pavement. Each time the rain came down hard, sideways, my heart would quicken just a touch. I’d feel that familiar longing to be out in the rain, loving every step. But every time I came back (after getting changed, brushing my teeth, etc.) the rain would be gone, taking with it my chance for the ultimate run.

The next time it started I said to myself, you’ve gotta go while the going’s good. And, I kid you not, I had a smile on my face, a little dance in my step as I walked out the door, down the stairs and across the street to begin warming up. “I’m a runner!” I said to myself.

Goal: 3 k
Reality: 3 k 

I started strong. Feeling good, breathing easily. And  maintained it past the midway point. By then I had just a teeny drizzle to cheer me on.  Not what I was hoping for, but I can’t complain. Running through the woods, along the river after a good rain brings with it a smell unlike any other. A fresh, clean, vibrant smell that reminds you we’re part of nature. For better, for worse, we will never escape our longing to be outside.

But then my step faltered. My legs felt like lead, my lungs wheezy, my brain tired. This is the point, as a beginner, where it is all too easy to give up, to give in. Too many times I’ve let myself walk at this point, let myself off the hook, finished my run on a down note. No, no. Not today. You wanna be a runner, girl? You gotta run! So I ran. With teeny, tiny goals in mind. Run to the next sign, then re-evaluate. Made it! Run to the playground. If you really need to stop you can stop. This got me almost to the end of my run. About 50 yards short of my finish line I had two choices: stop, or sprint. And I sprinted, baby, my God did I sprint! Heart pumping, lungs heaving, legs burning, I gave every last ounce of energy I had to those few yards.

And so I ended strong, proud, and running.

 

 

First Run–July 4, 2009.

Last Fall I almost got into a rhythm of running regularly. And again, last Spring, I almost got into a rhythm of running regularly. But something always stopped me. I think it was the subconscious notion that running was my penance. Running was my punishment. Punishment for growing up a fat kid. Punishment for still not being a healthy weight. Punishment for being undisciplined. Punishment for being lazy. Punishment for being too much of this, not enough of that.

But running isn’t punishment. Running is a reward. It’s hard work interspersed with moments of joy, and I’m thankful for the ability to do it. 

I can lace up my (very old) shoes, throw on my (prohibitively expensive for most) iPod and run safely in the streets. I don’t fear being mugged or raped or run down. I’m able-bodied, blessed with enough free time and few enough responsibilities that I can take an hour to myself and just run.

Put that way, it certainly doesn’t seem like atonement, now does it? It’s a privilege, a joy, and a treat.

Tonight I went for my first run in about a month. Instead of heading in with the dread I associate with running, I went in feeling strong, glad to be able to run.

Goal: 2 kilometers.
Reality: 3 kilometers.

Felt: on top of the world.

I started strong, feeling good for the first third, or so. Then it started to get hard, my legs moving slower, my breath becoming ragged. But I persevered, knowing I was almost at my turnaround. On the way back I was slogging through (metaphorical) mud, pushing myself to keep one foot in front of the other. Until the last 100 or so yards, when it became easy, light and fun. This is why I run.

Dreaming of athleticism.

A few months ago I had a nightmare in which my brother and I were trying to escape violent house-invaders. I knew that our survival (for he would never leave me to face them myself) depended on my ability to run, and, failing that, to fight. I knew that we were sunk.

I woke up more terrified than I’ve ever been. Not just because the dream felt real, but because the (mock)meat of the dream was real. I’ve never been in a place where I could trust my body to be there when I needed it. I’ve always known that if I needed to run from someone, I was hooped. 

Now’s when all that changes. I’m taking ownership of my body, of my mind, of my health and of my future.

I’ve set a modest goal of running an 8K race on Sunday, October 11. It will be my first (and hopefully not my last) race!

So, follow along if you want. If you’ve always wanted to run but never felt like you could, or if you’ve been running for years and want to remember the early days. Or if you want proof that vegans eat nutritious, energizing food that fuels us to great things.