“Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.” - Aristotle
“We all know we're going to die; what's important is the kind of men and women we are in the face of this.”~ Anne Lamott
When we are tested, physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, our selves are revealed. For some of us, running is the path to that self discovery.
When you are in pain, and want to stop, and give up, what will you do? When you see others going through something, do you run away, or do you put a metaphorical (or real) arm around them, and tell them, go. You can do this. I'm with you. Don't give up. Or do you turn away. Afraid that you are looking into a mirror of weakness, doubt...the past...the future. Yesterday I ran the Colfax marathon. And there is always a story...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am tired, mentally, physically, psychically for many reasons, and it is a hard time for me from the gun. The last two times I've run this race were just for fun, thrown in at the last minute. But this time I want to see what I have in me, even though I ran Boston just under 4 weeks ago, and spent two long days on my feet working at the expo - and then there's the rest of life. And so, I run, and it feels like a push the whole way. The paces I can usually just click along at, feel like an effort, but I can still do it, and so I do. But there is a weariness that keeps surfacing, and I push it down.
Around mile 20, passing through the last relay point, coming out of Sport Authority stadium (always a bit of an energy boosting point, and I notice my pace picked up to 7:25) a woman turns to me, baton in hand;
"You actually look like you're running the whole thing."
"I am"
"Oh. You are??"
"How fast are you running? 9:30?"
"Ummm, no. Mostly between 8:45 and 9:00ish" (we are running 8:27 as we are having this conversation)
"Oh, wow."
"I'm on about a 3:55 pace right now. I'll see how things go from here."
"So in a mile or 2 things will get really hard, right?"
"Ummm, no. I hope not. Not if I've run it well."
"I ran a marathon and everything was fine until mile 22"....
So for the next mile or so we talk about running (she asks if I was a professional runner when I was younger. Bwahahah), kids, nursing and running, etc. And at this point I need to stop talking. And we run on. We pass miles 22, 23, 24...we run...she's ahead...then I'm ahead....and on...
Miles 24-25, the route goes through some residential streets, first a little downhill, then an up hill before turning into City Park on to the finish. I am surrounded by 10 miler and relay bibs. As we turn onto the last uphill, a young woman in yellow shorts catches my eye beside me. She has on a green bib - marathon. We round the curve at the top of the hill step by step together, and I edge ahead, and turn and say, "Come on. That's the last hill. Let's go." And she takes off ahead of me. We weave through the park. My watch says 8:06.
I catch my relayer friend first, and say, "You've got to have more than me at this point. Go. Push this. You've got half a mile to go!!!"
And she goes!
Then I see the yellow shorts ahead, and catch those. She's struggling. We are passing the cormorant rookery, and I say, "Come on. One more turn and we're done. Come with me.", and we run hard, our legs and feet completely in step with each other...through the finish area, weaving around people, and I lose her for a bit.
My relayer friend waits over the finish, and thanks me for pushing her, and we make our way through the crowds, grabbing water, food...and then just as I am about to leave the finish area, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn. I see the yellow shorts.
"Thank you so much for helping me. There's no way I would have gotten that time without you."
"Have you run this before?"
"No. This is my first marathon."...
And these two women, these two total strangers, made my race, my day. They made this what I will remember and carry with me.
So, once again, this seemingly individual, selfish sport of running, is anything but. If that were all it was, we would all probably give up. For me, it's as much about others as it is about me, and about me among all the others.
With every race, I am enriched, not because of my achievements, but because of my human interactions along the way. And what is so amazing about all of this is that it is always a gift and a surprise. It greets you along the way, if you are open to it. You can never know what it will be. What it will become. It makes you and you make it. For me, this is how I experience grace, whatever that may be. Lots of people ask me why I started racing again, at my advanced age, five years ago, after almost 20 years away from racing. And, over time I've discovered that THIS is why I race. And that's why I will continue to race for as long as I can.
“Accept what life offers you and try to drink from every cup. All wines
should be tasted; some should only be sipped, but with others, drink the
whole bottle.”~ Paulo Coelho
“If you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans.”~ Anne Lamott
This is what I hear from so many runners post marathon or racing season:
Coming off a good race/season:
I can't stop NOW!
I'm in great shape!
I need to build on this!
I can't loose what's taken so long to achieve!
I want more! I must do more...
OR:
Coming off a disappointing race/season:
I didn't work very hard.
I don't deserve to rest.
I wasted all that training. I need to do something with it.
If that didn't work, I need to just work harder.
And so the usual approach looks something like this:
Following a good race/season:
For a couple days, you rest. Perhaps you go for a walk...a swim...or dust off the bike for a ride. But after a couple days, you're itching to run. You're losing fitness. You feel it oooozing from your pores. You see your legs getting soft. Sure you had a good race. But that post-race glow fades fast. Two days ago, you were ecstatic. Life was great. The world was a bright and happy place. Today you wake up unable to drag your sorry butt out from under the covers. You are depressed. You are floating in a sea of ambiguity. What now?
Following a less than stellar race/season:
For a couple days you fester and try to find some silver lining - some lesson to be learned - some positive something. You may feel tired, but that's just weakness, manifest, not real, deserved fatigue. Soon you are back out there having decided on a new goal, or trying to beat your weary body into submission. Whatever you did didn't work. The only answer is to hit it harder.
“You don't always have to chop with the sword of truth. You can point with it too.”~ Anne Lamott
And these generally work for about 7 days before you hit the skids (results may vary). At some time, usually during week two or three, you feel exactly zero motivation to ever run again. Every run feels like a herculean effort - physically, psychologically, and emotionally. And then you beat yourself up a little more for not wanting it more. Thus ensues a vicious circle that lasts...a week...a month...a year or more...
I've seen runners take as long as a year, or even longer than a year, to recover from their recovery! But, usually, you will eventually get past this slump, and move onto new
projects. But if you still haven't really recovered (physically, psychologically, emotionally) then your new start is
already compromised.
Now a lot of this depends on your goals in running. If your goal is to run a marathon every week or month, then your methods will be different. BUT if your goal is quality over quantity, then you MUST see recovery as a crucial microcycle - part of your training. Recovery IS training.
As a running coach, one who continues both pursuing educational
opportunities and doing research, I experiment a LOT on myself while
avoiding unreasonable experimentation with others. So, I sometimes do
things that I would not recommend others do. This is why comments like:
How can she be a good coach if she's injured?; or, She runs back to back
hard runs so that must be a good thing to do; or, Running two marathons
in 2 weeks is obviously a good idea, - is utter nonsense (as is copying
anyone elses training!). And I've made some effort, recently, to
keep what I do under-wraps so as not to inadvertently encourage others
to do dumb ass shit!
Jean-Paul Sartre argued that our freedom (which is absolute and
inescapable) entailed certain responsibilities - one being taking
seriously what our actions say to others regarding what we hold to be
best. He maintained that we are each responsible for ourselves and for
all humans:
"I am thus responsible
for myself and for all men, and I am creating a certain image of man as I
would have him to be. In fashioning myself, I fashion man" Existentialism Is A Humanism
What
he is saying is that when we act we are saying
to others - "This is a good way to act." Not in a moral sense, for
Sartre didn't believe in that - but that when we act we do what is believe is best.
What we show others says something about what we value (again for
Sartre, in an amoral sense). If I don't want others to know what I'm
doing, that's probably because I don't think that what I'm doing is a very
good thing. So, we put ourselves out there as models of action. As free
humans, it's up to us how we fashion ourselves - but it's important to
be aware that our actions speak to others and we are always setting an
example - so be the example you believe in.
So, where am I going with this??? Well, I'm going to make an example of myself.
I am going to do something that I want others to see. I want to make an example of myself, because if I can survive the next week, anyone can. What most runners don't seem to notice, is that really good runners take breaks. They schedule breaks into their yearly plans - most of us fly by the seat of our pants and plan our races willy-nilly. But if you want to get quality out of yourself, if you want to see what YOU can do, then you need a plan/s - short, medium and long term - and in that grand plan, you must include periods of rest.
On Sunday I'm planning to run the Colfax Marathon. This is just under 4 weeks since running Boston. I've run many marathons closer together - but please note - I do not RACE all marathons. I have been running fairly steadily for many many years. Any breaks are usually due to injury or illness.
Next week I will not run, at least until Saturday, possibly longer. BUT I am committed to taking Monday through Friday off entirely from running. I shan't run a single step. But, more importantly, I will also allow a full month for recovery.
I will do other things. I will work on my yard, which has suffered from neglect these many months - possibly years - from too much marathon running. I will swim and sit in the hot tub. I may go for a bike ride. I will go for walks. I will write more. I will get some business stuff done on my mile long 'to do' list. I will take a nap. I will read a book. I will go climbing again, and feel what real weakness is all about. I will cook.Oh, and I'm finally going to get the windshield of my car replaced because I really can't see where I'm going any longer.
And at the end...I may be more refreshed. More ready to run again. My muscles and body and mind and heart and soul may WANT it more. Time will tell.
“It's good to do uncomfortable things. It's weight training for life.” ~ Anne Lamott
“Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.”~ Samuel Johnson
So, since running the Boston Marathon, some WEEKS ago (...hmmm, how many??...), I've been flooded with thoughts, feelings, reactions, visions, memories...the whole experience feels like trying to catch a grasshopper: I see it. I approach it slowly, quietly, stealthily, aiming to grab it, catch it, embrace it, and the instant I go to close my hand it flies off into the air. Oy. Settle down mind.
So here I sit, feeling that I want to put something down now before I forget it all, I want to put it all down, and I just can't seem to get it out and it already feels so long ago. It is so much a part of me that I am having trouble stepping back and actually seeing it. And perhaps that is good. But...I want to see it... Here goes...
I have this thing about races I'm going to run: I can usually see myself 'running' them and those where this doesn't happen (NYC 2012 and St. George 2013) usually don't happen. I don't know if it's a chicken or an egg issue - but, it can be worrisome when it happens. Oddly, I did not have this problem concerning Boston 2013, though I never made it to the starting line that year. I saw myself running Boston in 2013 and now, again, in 2014, but that was little comfort - and so, when I pulled the car away from the house, waving goodbye to my family, I wasn't really entirely confident that I was actually doing what I thought I was doing. There are those moments before you do something particularly big and momentous (for yourself) that you just can't grasp the thing to be done. It's downright unnerving. I had this strange mixture of calm excitement that often hits before a marathon - and makes me worry that I'm not amp-ted up enough. I should be more nervous.
And then...
I'm walking through DIA, and I see my gate, 32, and I see "BOSTON" in bold letters above. And the chills hit. My stomach is instantly full of butterflies. I glance around the seating area - lots of runners - Boston jackets and t-shirts from various years surround me.
A friendly chap, who seems to be jumping and vibrating under his skin with excitement asks me:
"Are you running?"
"Yes."
"Is this your first?"
"No. Second."
'Yours?"
"First."
Everyone suddenly gathers for a picture...and like that, I am all in! Just like that.
We land in Boston and my friend/coaching client, Bonnie, fetches me without a hitch. Everything is working like a well oiled machine. (Hmmm. That always worries me!) We drive out to a beautiful suburb north of the city and I settle into my comfortable, quiet, homey digs for the next couple days. I am wined and dined and ice creammed to my heart's content.
But wait - all this comfort - all this peace. That can't be good. Can it??
We go to the expo the next day - bib and t-shirt picked up...and the energy is contagious, bouncing from wall to wall. I think back to the expo in 2012. That was different. There was a feeling of dread in the air as each day dawned warmer than the last - with a forecast of 90+ for Patriot's Day I don't think many of us were thrilled with the idea of running. But this year couldn't be any more different! Runners, family members, volunteers - seem almost ecstatic to be here. The volunteer hands me my bib - so excited for me as if I'm not the 200th+ person she's spoken to that day, asks - 'Is this your first?' 'No.' 'Did you run last year?' 'No.' I tell her my story, briefly, and she smiles deeply. 'Have a great race and thank you for coming back.'
Thank you?? She's thanking ME! is what I think, for the first, but not the last time.
Then we do expo things:
The obligatory shot
Leaving my mark
Finding a friendly face at the SkirtSports booth
And then we find our way back to the car, drive down Boylston, right past the finish and make our way back to the peaceful suburbs. I take a nap, (A NAP!!!!) something I never do at home, eat dinner and hangout and chat with my gracious hosts, all runners themselves. I turn in for the night, packed and ready to go in the morning. I read all the well wishes posted on my Facebook page, all the messages
sent - the emails, the texts. This year is so much different from last
year. Last year I at this time I cried myself to sleep. This year I am
happy, grateful, scared, nervous, excited...alive again. ME. My splits are written in Sharpie on my forearm...let them sink into my bloodstream...I say
goodnight to my friends, to my husband and daughter, to the world...And I actually sleep.
The next morning I'm up before the alarm. We are driving out to Hopkinton State Park where I'll grab a quick shuttle to town. I have a marathon bar, cup of coffee, another cup of coffee, and we're off. We get a little lost but I need a little jinx, and so now I feel better. Once I leave the car I will have nothing but what I'm wearing to run and what I'm leaving behind in Hopkinton. I will not have my phone. Bonnie and I have a general plan and I will ask to use someone's phone after I finish to get in touch with her. I bid her farewell and then I'm off.
I will be without communication for the next many hours.
We go through about 4 security checkpoints, and then I'm there. I remember it all so well. I have about 30 minutes before I have to head for my corral. I hangout near the corrals, set out my stuff and chill. Use the porta potties a dozen times, choke down a gel, stuff my donated clothing and a pair of old shoes into a plastic bag and head for Corral 5. I think about my blow by blow Facebook posts the week before where every hour or so I post "Next week at this time: I will be..." and I marvel at how spot on I got it.
I hear the gun and slowly we are ushered forward. Walking first, then jogging, then running. Cross the mats, and we're off.
And it dawns on me, instantly, that I do remember 2012, even though my brain cooked that year - I remembered it all. I was actually paying attention that time.
This year: Crowds, Oh the crowds, so much more than last time, lining every inch of that 26.2 miles, often many, many people deep...masses of people outside bars lining the rural road between towns...cheering us on, and saying Thank You - so many signs this year say "thank you"...and the first pangs of emotion rise in my throat...the Harley riders hooting-and-hollering, beers in hand...cheering like we are all the Boston Red Sox...the miles I run slapping hands - and with each slap, and zing from skin slapping skin, energy travels through my arm, to my heart, which needs that energy...all the Wellseley women...I get as close as I can and feel the vibrations from their screams...and I stop and hug and kiss one this time...And the Newton Hills which are longer and harder this time...I don't remember that...cresting Heartbreak Hill...I wonder, what do I have left...And then I begin building momentum...numb feet, oh my damn numb feet...but ah, the legs are good...ignore the feet...slap more hands and the energy is back...miles go by a little quicker...as the heat rises from the city street...the final turn off Commonwealth Ave...
...into the shade of the tall buildings for a few brief moments...and the turn onto Boylston, into the sun...the crowds roar...even for us...they roar...the finish is clear in the distance...
And I look at my watch. How far is that finish??? Can I do this?? Oh damn, I don't know, but I give it everything I have left...
3:49:47. My B goal, under 3:50. The sun beats down hard. I am happy, satisfied, okay with that. And I fall in with the other runners as we make our way down Boylston. First stop...water, then...
I collect a poncho for I have nothing with me but my shorts and jog bra. I ask a volunteer if I can borrow her phone...too dazed and confused to figure out what the number scrawled along my sticky, sweaty arm is, she helps me decipher and dial. Bonnie answers the phone. We will meet at the corner of Charles and Beacon. I grab a food bag...all the food I have...and move toward the Boston Garden.
At the corner of Arlington and Boylston a huge crowd of people press together behind metal barriers, thanking runners as they leave the official runner area. And this is what I post the day after...
Yesterday
as I left the runner area entering Boston Garden to go to my meet up
place, an older gentleman behind a barrier looked me in the eye and
said, "Thank you so much for doing this, for coming here. For running.
We are so proud" - Huge crowds stood at the runner exit telling runners
"thank you!!" They weren't watching the race. There were hundred and
hundreds of them, just thanking us as we passed. All I could say was
'Thank YOU!!!' and then cry, all the way through the garden as more
strangers, along the way, grasped my arm and gave me heartfelt 'thanks'
and 'congrats'. Boston you are amazing! Thank You!!!
And I have told this story to so many. THIS was my Boston experience. The "Thank You"s runners heard all weekend long, each one brought (and continues to bring) a lump to my throat, and tears well up in my eyes.
I did not cry at the start, as I thought I might. I did not cry at the finish. But when it was all over, when I thought it was all over, I cried as another human being looked me, ME, in the eye and thanked ME. And I stood on the corner of Charles and Beacon for an hour and a half (road closures made our meet up plan impossible) and that whole time total strangers came to me, thanked me and congratulated me. One took a picture of the splits written on my arm because she thought it was cool. And over and over people would walk by, stop, walk over to me, stopping what they were doing, grab my hand, my arm, my shoulder, my gaze, and thank me. And that whole time I cried, quietly.
And I would have welcomed the chance to stand there for several hours more, in my shorts, jog bra and poncho, and experience people in a way I never have before, and may never again. Thank You, Boston.
“What's happened to me,' he thought. It was no dream.”~ Franz Kafka
“We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.”
~ T.S. Eliot
15 April 2014
One year ago today, this is where I am...In Colorado...Though I was supposed to be in Boston...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
15 April 2013
"I'm lying on the table at In Motion Rehab
connected to the e-stim machine. This is where I've been everyday since
injuring myself 10 days ago. My hope had been to get to the start of
the 117th Boston Marathon, but my body had other plans. And so instead
of running from Hopkinton to Boston on that pitch-perfect New England
spring day, I 'run' 7.5 miles on an indoor track in the midst of a
spring blizzard in Boulder - 13 laps to a mile - and I'm feeling pretty
damn sorry for myself.
All I think that whole day is: "Dammit. I shouldn't be here!"
And as electricity pulses through my posterior, I hear about it. I hear
Gene and Luz and Heather talking in the other room - there's a tone of
disbelief, as I piece together what they're saying. Henry Guzman calls
the office. His Lennox Hotel window overlooks one blast site.
Two bombs have just gone off near the finish of the Boston Marathon.
Instantly pictures of blood covered sidewalks, disembodied limbs and
chaos begin circulating through the internet. I drive home through heavy
snow, sobbing and shaking with grief and disbelief...
And that's been my general state all week. I have been unable really to
deal with much this week. After the injury, then the loss of my 16 year
old dog, the difficult days before Boston when I felt I should be there -
and feeling that life is supposed to be good right now - and it
isn't...and now this??? Enough already.
And for the rest of Monday I am inundated with calls, emails, messages,
texts...neighbors knock on the front door - Some are friends who think
I'm in Boston and check to see that I'm okay. Others send well meaning
and heartfelt messages - "I'm so glad you aren't in Boston."..."You
weren't meant to be there. You are where you should be."...
And all I can think, ALL I can think is, MY god. I wish I was there." ...
...So, now, short of death, I will be back in Boston for 2014...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One year later, I am getting set to run Boston this Monday. This is something I set my mind to doing last year when I felt such regret for not running. I wished, on that day, that I had just run, even with the injury. I could have just run it. But I didn't.
I had regrets piling up and worming their way incidiously into my being, first about hurting myself when I knew better AND THEN regrets about NOT following through. Regrets eat at you like a caustic poison, and it only recently hit me (like 2 DAYS ago!!): This stuff has eaten at my soul and spirit this whole year long.
Two nights ago my husband said something that slapped me awake - he said: "You're different".
At first I lashed out, indignantly. How dare he! It hurt like a stab, like a most wounding insult, because clearly this 'change' was not a positive thing. And I became defensive like a scared animal being threatened. And then it hit me. He was right. I had changed. This year I've become someone different, and someone I haven't really liked. Oh, there's been glimpses, from time to time, of the deep-down me, but yes. For the most part I've become overly self critical and scared and nervous and envious and worried - about everything!
When I look at where and when this began, I keep coming back to that day on the track, when I sprained my ass, the week leading up to Boston, and then April 15th, 2013, when I curled up in my basement office shaking and sobbing with sorrow and regret, snow burying the world outside, glued to the computer - searching for word of friends, and responding to messages, emails, phone calls.
Don't get me wrong. It is NOT ALL about running and Boston and races, and bladdy-blah. And lots of other things figure into this as well. I am not all overwrought about races and obsessed about running to that extent - though it is an important part of my core-self, But, something changed last April - perhaps for many reasons. And running is often, but not always, my way of working this crap out.
A couple weeks after Boston 2013, the BAA sent me my 2013 shirt. With all they had to do, why would they do this??? I didn't want it. I could NEVER wear it. I didn't deserve it. I already got rid of my 2013 jacket. But I didn't know what to do with it. So for the past year it has been lying on a dresser, untouched, various garments piled on top of it.
Today, I went out for an easy 6 mile taper jog, on a day that could not be more different from last year. A perfect, coolish, spring day. As I got dressed to go out, I saw the shirt and I put it on. And I wore it...
I never wear shirts for races I haven't run - NYCM 2012 being the exception - I do wear that one - but then NO ONE ran that one. But for some reason this felt like something I needed to do, today - not to say to those passing by, 'I ran this', but to say 'I stand by all runners - they are my people'. This is an important day for our tribe.
I realize now that the regret I've been harboring is also shame. I'm ashamed. I'm a loser. I'm inadequate. I should've been there. I should have...I should have...I should have...But I'm never good enough, strong enough, brave enough. And this has been my year. And, I'm done with it.
Today, I think of those who where there, those who where hurt, killed, terrified for lost loved ones, scared by the unknown - who had to deal with the horror and fear first hand. And I hope that they have ways of dealing with that - and they must find their way through this - and I hope that they understand how much we all stand with them. We all have different experiences, and need different things to brighten the dark times of life. I'm hoping to see the light at the end of my own little, personal tunnel.
“At the center of your being you have the answer; you know who you are and you know what you want.”
~ Lao Tzu
So, on Monday, 21 April 2014, I am running away from that person I've become, born of fear and shame and regret, and back to me, because I like me better.
“I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.” ~
Anaïs Nin
After Lauren Fleshman published Keeping It Real, the female running interweb groups were abuzz with discussions and debates and similar 'let's keep it real' posts with photos that some might deem less than perfect. This then led to some self effacing comments from women runners sheepishly posting their 'Bad' photos while other women criticized them for their self-critical judgements. Oy!!! The strange and vicious circles we run around and around and around in...We are so very confused.
So what is our deal??? What are our obsessions and complexes. What do we find motivating and inspiring, and what do we secretly (or not so secretly) hate and resent and hold against people - even as we make nice with them??? I think it's time we recognize that we are ALL flawed beings, and though you may not see the flaws obviously in front of your eyes, it's best not to assume that you know more about someone than you think you know...
So here's MY observations AND my confessions...
First, My Observations:
Everyday we are inundated with remarkable weight loss transformation stories - They are EVERYWHERE, and if you haven't gained a lot of weight and then lost a lot of weight, well, we don't want to hear about it. And then there are the self professed 'balanced' and 'healthy' plump souls who profess that no one would ever want to be 'skinny' if that means giving up pastries, because healthy food is just so gross. It's better to be fat and happy than thin and in need of a creme filled donut. And then there are those who argue, adamantly, that being anywhere within any 'target weight' calculation would result in their being ugly and emaciated.
On the other side are the skinny-mini, uber fit women telling all other women that they're just lazy if they aren't equally honed and ripped. Or the crazed endurance fiend who is forever going on about her amazing achievements because she has taken the risks and made the commitments that you just can't seem to muster.
There's just so much bloviating everywhere!! Is this doing anything for anyone?? Does this inspire, empower, motivate ANYONE??? We all have taken a different path to get to where we are today. We all have our own paths to find, to make - to dig out of the thick mess of weeds and seemingly impenetrable stones and rock hard dirt.
So here's my issue and perhaps I am alone on this - there are transformations and silent battles that people wage everyday that go unnoticed and unseen. We judge people's lives based on how they look from the outside and jump to conclusions, often erroneous conclusions, in doing so.
Recently I've had a number of experiences, and some personal attacks, that have hit hard in sensitive places.
Case in point: A discussion in a women's running group...
Question posed: I am trying to lose weight but my goal is higher then the recommendation for my height/frame. I think I would look awful being so skinny. Does anyone else feel this way? Will I be unhealthy at a weight 20lbs higher? I just think there's no way I can be healthy at the recommended weight.
What followed are about 150 or so comments all supporting the questioner's position - All defending the view that anyone who falls within those guidelines looks god-awful. Well, how lovely. Technically I'm probably below most of those recommendations, so I feel the urge to change my FB profile picture to something less revealing. Ewwwww. Am I that god-awful hideous. This discussion goes on and on, and yes, I could just go elsewhere, but I'm a curious sort. SO I listen - and even chime in, about how we should try to tune into where we feel the best - not on some number on the scale.
Yet, the support and camaraderie was clear - being soooooo 'thin' is just ugly and unhealthy and unrealistic.
Perhaps I'm be hyper-sensitive, but a lot of people don't think that others have these sensitive places if they don't SEE them. I would NEVER discuss another person's weight, but they have NO qualms commenting on mine. Why??? Because I'm 'thin' and so, that seems to give everyone the right to go on and on about how thin I am, and how I should eat more. At parties if I don't eat a ton, people comment - "No wonder you're so thin. You need to eat. We need to fatten you up!" Would I ever say to someone, "Woooo there. Maybe you've had enough." No. Because I don't care!!!
SO here's the thing that everyone seems to be missing - We are MORE than our bodies!!! I am more than my bleeping-body! But what people don't get is that there are often stories no one knows about.
Yes. I know everyone is saying - 'Ohhh boo-hoo for you', but I have to say, I've had enough. NO ONE KNOWS WHERE I'VE been. I don't wear it for all to see. I don't advertise my battles and trials. But you better believe - I've had them. And I always assume that others have similar personal trials and tribulations.
Now: My Confessions: Don't assume you understand something you simply do not understand.
As a child: The only thing anyone ever notices about me is that I am 'skinny' - not smart, not cute, not beautiful, not talented, etc - just skinny. I am painfully shy and quiet - so what else can they say, right? But, you take a small girl, who's a perfectionist (My father once told me that I would only try things I believed I'd be able to do well!), who only gets attention for being skinny, and well, sh*t happens in her head.
So, move on into adolescence, and that dreaded female maturity crap - you know, hips and boobs and all that good curvy stuff - and being a late bloomer (smaller, thinner, flatter than the other girls) and I'm still the 'skinny' one - and I run - and I barely eat - because I need to be skinny, or who am I??? I learn to hide food away from my mother so she thinks I'm eating. You have to be fairly cleaver to get away with it all and I do get away with it. I need to be a skinny runner because that's what everyone expects. At some point, I'm around 15 or 16 years old, and at 5'5'' I'm at about 90 pounds. I'm lying on the beach with my boyfriend and marvel at how far my hip bones stick out! My parents are oblivious, as far as I can tell, to the whole thing, until they sit me down and say, "You need to gain weight or we're putting you in the hospital". I guess that's all I need at that time - and I gain some weight - but, always under my control!
During college, I keep running but I also smoke and drink too much at times. I eat horribly - living on Tab and cigarettes and running - and I guess you can get away with that kind of abuse when you're young.
But once I get out of college, running becomes my saving grace. But first things go bad.
I start to run road races, mostly 10ks. My first experiences are encouraging. I win or place high in some small local races around Ithaca NY where I live. My times start to drop quickly, and with that my goals grow more ambitious, and my weight drops. I move to Maine and get faster, and race more and more. And then I get completely, totally burned-out. I can't take the pressure anymore. I start to hate racing, and I'm down to 90 pounds again and running 70 miles a week.
But no one really sees what's going on beneath the surface because I still run. I still have energy. And I've always been thin. But THIS thin? No ever notices that something is wrong. Well, my mother does and every time I go home to visit her, she pushes food on me. The second I walk in the door from running..."Would you like me to make you some eggs?" Blech. No. I'm FINE!
But that can only last for so long and I hit the skids. I quit road racing, cold turkey. It may or may not have help that I am also going through a difficult relationship break up at this point - but everything seems to just fall apart at the same time. I listen to a lot of Sinead O'Connor these days ;) Turns out it may be the best thing that could have happened to me. I quit racing, though I keep running, and for the next 19 years I run and I put things to rights for me and my life.
I've never really been into food. I don't get excited about most food - never have - though I have an ice cream weakness - and so it was really pretty easy NOT to eat. But now I see that food is the fuel I must have to do the things I want to do. At 50 I can't get away with what I used to. AND I don't want to be that skinny little girl anymore - I want to be as strong and as fast as I can be and, most importantly, I want to be able to continue doing this. The only way to do that is to make peace with my body and love it for it allows me to do amazing things. But most of all, I just want to be happy - in the Aristotelian 'flourishing' sense of happy, where things are the way they should be and I am deeply content with myself. And now I eat heartily (ask anyone who spent the week at the Olympic Training Center with me!) and happily and healthy because I need it and I want it because I need it. And believe it or not, I LOVE a huge plate of steamed veggies and brown rice. I know. Weird.
And the fact is, that someone can live a happy life and not be so into food! I realize that some don't get that, but it's true. I don't like donuts. I mean, I actually don't like them. it's not some issue of denying myself something that's pleasurable. The fat/happy, thin/miserable dichotomy is FALSE. Period.
So, while I know that the transformation stories, from overweight to healthy are motivating, I believe that there are many out there like me - and this story is important as well. But, because it is easier to hide, there seems to be more shame attached to it. And that is why I need to say all of this. AND I have never said most of this to anyone EVER.
I am, at last, happy with myself...Most of myself, most of the time.
And yet the chinks in the armor are still there if you want to find them, and I can be easily poked in those painful spots. And they are actually pretty dang exposed and being a woman in a culture obsessed with the superficial is a hard place for me to live. I want more. I want people to look more deeply. I wish people wouldn't judge based on looks, but rather on actions. But that's not how it is.
And I need to let other people's issues go if they use them to hurt me. I am so tempted to press the delete button on this one - but then perhaps one other person out there will understand my purpose.
Be charitable, be compassionate - I have yet to meet a person who isn't fighting SOME battle. Understanding that that can mean a world of difference, and perhaps - dream of dream - a different world.
I walk into the YMCA. I'm meeting Cecilia who is pounding out the tempo miles on the treadmill on an uber windy morning. I've just finished up a pleasant, albeit windy, 5 mile easy recovery run at Teller Farms and will now embark on the strength training segment of the morning - this, I have just reintroduced after a couple decade's break (scary!! Something, ummmm, different). I'm attempting to do what I say, not what I do...
I rest between sets of lat pull-downs and watch the runners on the treadmills, neatly lined up along the windowed wall. They're all in their own worlds. They're all running their own paces. Different cadences, different idiosyncratic gaits, different shapes and sizes. Some are glued to the TV screen in front of them. Others are listening to music. A few are just running. They are all running to nowhere, like we all are when we end up where we started.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/try.html#L4Z1KPlQ4izvd2CW.99I walk into the YMCA where I plan to find Cecilia, pounding out the tempo miles on the treadmill. I've just run an easy 5 miles on the Teller Farm trail, and now I'm here to add on some strength stuff, which I've just started doing after too many years away from it (doing something newish - s-c-a-r-y).I sit, resting between lat-pull-down sets, and watch all the runners lined up across the wall of windows, running to nowhere, off in their own little worlds, running smoothly on the treadmill. Each at a different pace and cadence. Each with their own idiosyncratic gait. Some watch shows on the screen in front of them. Some listen to music. Some just run.
I do another set of lat pull-downs. And then I sit and watch and think.
This has been a very rough winter for running. All over the country (and apparently the US has been hit by one of the worst winters while the rest of the hemisphere has enjoyed a mild winter), runners have been dealing with tests of will, tenacity, commitment, toughness and stupidity of one sort or another. Here, in Colorado, it's been ice and snow and heinous winds, and several frigid spells of sub-zero highs. All but ONE day, I have run outside and I haven't missed a single day of training. The one day I ran inside consisted of running around the Y's track (11 laps to a mile) for at least 10 miles (I lost count from time to time but always erred on the low count side as runners always do). I did this because of my ongoing tweaky foot issues - and on that day, running inside was more prudent, for my physical well being and my Boston aspirations, than running outside.
But there were many days this winter that I pined for an indoor option other than the track. This track is not, for instance, the most suitable for tempo runs - tight turns and too many other runners makes it difficult to maintain a steady pace - AND the Garmin doesn't work there - SO, arrrgggg, I ran outside on some days that running inside would have been smarter - as in, my TRAINING would have benefited.
And then it hits me, as I sit there, about to pull-down again...
I'm afraid to run on a treadmill!!
Every other runner in the world...
...and me...
mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa
Yup. That's what I said. It's true. I'm 50 years old. At this age you start getting all set in your stupid ways, and well, I'm set in mine. This can be a good thing when habit overcomes reluctance and you head out the door to run even when you don't really feel like it for the simple reason that that is just 'what you do'. But the bad side of this is the fear that maybe you just can't do that thing you've never done before. Okay. I did run on a TM once, when I was 25, and doing a research project on myself for a sports physiology class I was taking at the University of Southern Maine. But that was the first and last time.
For a lot of you, I'm sure you can't fathom such nonsense. I mean, how lame! This is basic stuff. I have the same response when someone says they're afraid to run by themselves - not due to safety issues but just because. I don't get that, so I'm sure most won't get my little problem.
We are creatures of habit and we tend to like what we've always done - what WE are comfortable with. For me, running outside is where I'm comfortable. Doing what we KNOW is comfortable. Doing something different??? Not so comfortable. But what we've always done may be, well, stupid. And this is the thought I find myself with at the moment.
But then I think...This is not just me. Or is it.
Do you just opt for the option that feels the most comfortable?? I know many women, for instance, who are nervous about running outside, in public, seen by others, by themselves - or others who just find the treadmill 'easier' - No hassle. No stress. No route to choose. No traffic to deal with. And it's just what they do - and so, even on a beautiful spring day, those treadmills are running, all day.
While I will always choose running outside over running inside when that makes sense, the fact is that there are good reasons to hit the TM. I always joke with people that I 'can't' run on a treadmill. That I'd probably kill myself. But it dawned on me that I actually may believe that. Everyone else can do it, but not me. My jokes are a pathetic cover - and they're not even really jokes!!
So, there you have it. People seem to think I have an elitist attitude about treadmills and that I'm somehow trying to prove something by running outside in ALL weather. But the fact is that I'm just plain, simple, stupid scared.
Perhaps 'scared' is too strong. Let's say, 'uneasy'. And the fact is, that in most cases it really doesn't matter to me - but, on those occasions it does, well, there's the rub. And so, now I know.
Now, be nice and don't make fun!
“I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. I know I can.” ~ The Little Engine That Could
Most of us tend to prefer what we know and are comfortable with - that may be outside running, TM running, running with a group, always running routes in the same direction, running at the same time of day, running with a dog...etc. but I've been making an attempt to expand my horizon. I did it when I started swimming a little over a year ago after a 20 year break from it. I'm doing it now with the strength stuff. Will I do it with the treadmill. Time will tell and spring is almost here...I may get a reprieve.
“Seek out that particular mental attribute which makes you feel most
deeply and vitally alive, along with which comes the inner voice which
says, 'This is the real me,' and when you have found that attitude,
follow it.”
~William James
So you care about something.
You really, really, care about it.
It gives your life a certain zest, a certain vitality.
It makes everything else in your life sweeter, and more precious.
It isn't 'your life' but it's an essential part of your life.
Perhaps others see it as silly,
Self-centered,
Pointless,
Trivial.
But for you, it is an essential part of the whole.
You are a tiny Geist,
You are your own little world,
But you are also an essential piece in this huge reality,
and each part is a crucial piece.
Like a puzzle, the picture may be clear with a few pieces missing,
but it is not complete, and whole.
And, if you are missing essential pieces,
the picture is rendered a meaningless collection of shapes and colors.
Passions make us whole,
Though life, in appearance, may continue,
even when the passions are lost, denied - ripped from us.
Do you get that?
Do you feel that?
Do you have that?
And this is when we are tested.
“If any organism fails to fulfill its potentialities, it becomes sick.” ~ William James
The scariest part of being passionate about something is that that same passion can cause so much pain and angst because we care so much about it.
Last night:
I toss and turn from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m. and then doze, on and off, for the next 2ish hours until the alarm buzzes at 6:50. Why??? Stupid running. Stupid damn running. This is not precipitated by any 'important' worries - just running. The tears are bottled up in my throat all night long. I try to quiet the voices of doom...of weakness...of stupidity...Fail.
And, actually it's all about the fact that I haven't 'really' been able to run for almost 3 weeks when I should be training for Boston...When I had finally felt that I was in shape to do something that mattered to me...When I can feel myself losing it...and fast.
7:05 a.m.:
My husband notices that I'm bleary eyed. "Are you okay?"
"No. I was up from 2-5, and after"
"Why? Is it JUST the foot thing? Or something else..."
JUST!!!?? JUST!!!?? Why YES, it IS JUST the f-ing foot 'THING'.
And this 'foot thing' is not 'just' an injury. It's a repeating story. 13 years ago I tore my Posterior Tibialis tendon falling while bouldering and since I had no health insurance at the time my treatment and rehab was less than optimal. I was in a cast for 6 weeks and then I was on my own. It took me about 2 years to get back to what I felt was full function. Importantly, this isn't just a typical post. tib. injury because it has complications. And that past injury continues to return when least expected. And in this case I really did not see it coming.
Worse, the long term complications can be devastating ( Posterior tibial tendon dysfunction) for a runner - and I'm not AWFULIZING - or am I?
“The strenuous life tastes better”
~ Willam James
And so I lie awake nights thinking about all of this. And it is JUST my foot. And this is JUST Boston...and I've gone through this before and I will go through it again. These are the risks we all take. And I think people are probably tired of listening to it. So I TRY to stuff it. And this is the only way I let it out...And crying inside my head at 2 a.m.
I believe most of us who are passionate about something understand the fear of losing what we most love - be that a lover, a child, an ability, whatever. It is safer not to care. Then I could just shake this off. I could use this time to do other things I care about.
But I don't want to do that, I say, shaking my fist at the heavens. I just want to run.
What I need right now, is Faith.
"Faith means belief in something concerning which
doubt is still theoretically possible ... faith is the readiness to act
in a cause the prosperous issue of which is not certified to us in
advance." ~ William James, "The Will To Believe"
Maybe I'm being silly about 'The (stupid) Foot'. But, I don't understand people who seem not to care.
There are times I wish I cared less. And then I realize that if I did, I would be dead, in a sense.
I gnash my teeth and claw at the forces that test me, that try to deny me what I care about - and at times I feel weary, head in hands, and I weep.
But then I pick myself back up, and I press on. Because I have no other choice.
“The greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another. ~ William James
