Coming up short – compelled to post

I’ve been trying to think of something to say about the bombings at the Boston Marathon finish line yesterday.

Needless to say, I’ve been coming up short.

I’ve been reminded – over and over – about this post, more than a year old at this point. Leaning into why I run (even when I’m not actively running) and committing my race Saturday to those affected in Boston.

May all beings have happiness and its causes,
May all beings be free of suffering and its causes,
May all beings never be separated from bliss without suffering,
May all beings be in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger.

I get by with a little help from my friends: Reminders of community

Laughing with my community

Yesterday, something incredible happened.

See, a few months ago, I decided to call on the support of my community to help me. I wanted to pull together something special – a group of people to join me and Sarah for a charity run for the Arthritis Foundation, in honor of my sister. I sent out a call to runners I know who knew my sister.

The response was way more than I was expecting. We ended up with a total of 20 people over two separate races wearing shirts designed by two friends of mine. And, we were able to keep it under wraps until today.

That, in and of itself is pretty amazing. But, when things started coming together, there was something else … really important … that I was reminded of.

I was reminded how important community is. That the ways we help and support each other – through it all – is vital. I was reminded of the ways that we help build each other up and allow ourselves to be a part of a world that is so hard, and so beautiful. We can’t make it without each other. And trying to do so is so freaking hard.

I know there have been times that I have done just that. I tend to shut myself off when I’m feeling down, or when I’m overwhelmed. I know I tend to push people away. And it’s not helpful. It’s not how we storytellers, makers of dreams and builders of futures, are made to function.

The past few weeks have been schoolwork, liberally sprinkled with reminders of community… Today was the universe’s cumulative way of telling me how freaking powerful community it.

I am filled with so much gratitude.

Through the Glass Backwards: What changes…?

Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as  the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.

This was written after my Wednesday morning run.

I step outside to the chill of mid-morning. As I run familiar sidewalks, I notice that the world around me has not changed. The sky is overcast; they’re calling for a potential nor’easter this afternoon and evening. There are still dead leaves, discarded wrappers. There are still cars traveling too fast on the Jones Falls Expressway running underneath this bridge I’m on. The music on my headphones is a playlist I’ve run to nearly every time I’ve gone out by myself for the past month.

I step outside, move to the rhythm of my breath, taking in my city. Outside, nothing has changed.

Inside, everything has changed. Thoughts of what next? What changes? How will we do the best that we can? all run through my head. Thoughts of how to respond to thoughtful remarks about this country… my country. Thoughts about this city… my city. How do we build bridges when we’ve been blowing up the territory we hope to build on?

I breathe the sharp air in; I am uncomfortable with this uncertainty. But certainty has built walls hard to break through. I follow my breath, the sidewalk, the gray sky.

Outside, nothing has changed. Inside, everything has.

Through the Glass Backwards: Running up that hill

Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as  the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.

Note: Subject line from song “Running Up That Hill,” originally performed by Kate Bush. (I am fond of the Placebo version.)

***

I had music playing in my ears. It was a beautiful evening. I nearly stopped to catch the sun setting, the red peeking through the tree limbs with are slowly becoming more and more bare. But, I kept going.

When I’m tired, I seem to notice every rise in the ground.

This run, there were a lot of them. I didn’t take any of our usual paths, instead cobbling together an hour long run. I struggled through much of it, especially the areas that I didn’t know as well. The hills, I worked to be grateful for the hills, to find a way up them without losing my breath entirely, and a way down them without tripping over broken sidewalks covered in yellow, orange, and red leaves.

I seemed to hit my stride when I reached areas I knew. I knew when to expect a rise and when I could coast down and enjoying the crunching under my feet.

What is it about places we know? How do expectations and known stories lend more stability? How do we break out of the moments we fight against what we don’t know? How do we keep reaching for areas that are uncomfortable?

Found via Hungry Runner

Through the Glass Backwards: Continuing to move forward

Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as  the city slipped by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.

***

A moment from the Baltimore Running Festival half-marathon.

Every single step that I take, my hips are screaming at me. Lift my foot, move forward. Breathing. Trying to remember to breathe. There are people around me. The person who matters most is walking right next to me. The miles are adding up. We keep going. It is a beautiful day; I couldn’t have asked for better. The sun is out and when we’re out in the open, the sun drips into the black fabric of my long sleeve shirt. When we duck under the cover of trees, I feel my body cooling.

In retrospect, a good reminder that nothing stays the same. Ever.

The road looks long. We’re about two miles from home. We’re three, four miles from the finish line. There’s another hill coming. Even the speed bumps in the road feel like too much.

I can’t do this. This is the story I am telling myself.

In retrospect, I know that this is where I learn to dig deep. The last half mile of the Cherry Blossom Run. The last mile of the 10 1-mile laps in a flat Virginia suburb. This is remembering why I run.

To come this far and not finish?

Never an option.

From I heart to Run’s Facebook page

Baltimore Running Festival 2012: The good, the ugly, the practice

Yesterday’s poem, Invictus, was the one poem that came to mind immediately when I was pondering poetry for this week’s Monday Poetry. In so many ways, it conveys the pride, desperation, and keep going mentality that marked Saturday’s half marathon.

A bit of background for you. I consider my running start date June 11, 2011, which was my 30th birthday. I’d tried running before, but it never stuck. I gave up, started, gave up, started, gave up. But, 2011 marked a year of changes and working to become healthier. I started the Couch to 5K program and felt stronger and [dare I say it?] braver than I ever had. Since then, I have run a number of 5Ks (3.1 miles), a 10K (6.2 miles), and two ten mile races.

This past Saturday was my first half marathon (13.1 miles).

We signed up way back in December 2011, figuring that the Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Race in April was a good start to getting us to half marathon readiness by October. And, had we kept up with our training, it would have. Only… we didn’t. Looking back at the mileage I’ve covered over the year, training peaked in June and then fell off the charts. (Taper is too kind a word.) We did a few shorter runs in the weeks leading up to the half marathon – peaking at 5 miles (once).

Oops.

All that background to say that the fact we finished is pretty freaking amazing. We finished just under four hours and it included a whole lot of walking, because if you didn’t know if before? Baltimore is hilly. The finisher’s medal even says at the bottom, “What hills don’t kill you make you stronger.”

The half marathon started about two hours after the marathon, and the marathoners were looping around where our start point was, so it was incredibly humbling and amazing to be able to see the marathoners racing and to cheer them on. We started in the last corral (back of the pack runners) and it was a great start. Around mile three, the halfers and the full marathoners merged into one race route, so that was also fun to be joining in with the runners who were on mile 17 or so. To be honest, the first seven or eight miles went by in a flash. We did a fair amount of walking, but took advantage of every single downhill, taking the chance to stretch and run and enjoy the beautiful day. Those miles felt almost easy. I was enjoying being on my feet, being able to take in my city in a way that I rarely get the chance to. Plus, being back of the pack runners, we get to engage with a lot of runners and walkers who don’t take things too seriously. We’re out there and we’re proud we’ve made it out there.

We saw great signs and had cheerleaders through much of the race. (One of my favourite signs was “Go random stranger go!”) And there were residents along the route who were outside in lawn chairs, cheering us on. There were two people, dressed as tigers, standing on top of a car, blaring “Eye of the Tiger” and dancing around. There were small children with hand signs for “FREE HIGH FIVES.” There were pleasant law enforcement officers. (Including the very kind one near the end who promised us there were no more hills and that we were in the final stretch. God bless that man.)

All that said, it was around mile 9 (of 13.1) that started looking pretty ugly for me. Where Every Single Part Of My Body screamed at me. My hips. My thighs. My calves. Everything. My stomach had also started playing topsy turvey with me, and that was less than ideal. (It meant I was also scared to take any of the gels I had with me, because I wasn’t sure what the additional sugar would do. I think taking the sugar/caffeine one first was probably a Bad Idea.) I was feeling really thirsty, but the more I drank, the sicker I felt. It felt like every single step was getting me further away from the finish.

Like I said, pretty ugly.

The last stretch of the race was one of the physically hardest things I’ve ever done. I was running on empty, I was this.close to bursting into tears, curling up in between the numbers at Oriole Stadium and just calling it quits. (This was less than a mile from the end.) Can I say I am grateful beyond measure for Sarah, who kept me going those last few hundred yards and that she pushed with everything left in her to make it the strongest finish we both could have had. Together, we reminded each other of why we run. (She beat me by 3 seconds. I have challenged her to a rematch next year. As long as we train.) It took every single thing inside of me to not give up, just say forget this, and walk (limp) away.

So, here I am, a few days later, and I can say how freaking proud I am of Sarah and myself, for not giving up, even though we were both tired, cranky, and really really sore. I can laugh about how it felt and know that when I talk about practice, it’s practice that can help me improve and it’s practice that helps me see the story I was telling myself. (Not in the moment. I hadn’t been practicing, remember?)

Here is to learning.
Here is to trying.
Here is to not giving up.
Here is to doing the best I could, where I was.
Here is to amazing running partners.
Here is to hills and putting them on our training route for next year.
Here is to what helps us move forward.

2012 Baltimore Half Marathon medal

Here is to the first half marathon, completed.

On burnout, breaks, and beginning again

Earlier this year, I was hyper focused on training for the Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Race. I followed a training plan, I focused and ran and ran and ran. Things began to peter out and my mileage diminished. The last race I ran was in June, and honestly, I didn’t run for 99% of the summer. So, here we are, a month before my next race – a half marathon. We haven’t been running or training, and while  I still enjoy running, it’s gotten harder to get myself out on the pavement.

How my brain works

Which inevitably has gotten me thinking about burnout and breaks. Because this is not a new phenomenon in my life. I tend to get really interested in something, and then that goes away, pretty quickly. The “brain switch” picture was circulating Facebook a few weeks ago and I thought it was perfect. (I don’t know the specific home credit to this image. If anyone could help me, I would greatly appreciate it.)

There are a lot of reasons for this, but, I think what interests me the most is beginning again – or that thing called perseverance. What does it take to get me continuing doing something I like, to remain interested but to also know what my limits are – both to exceed them when I can and to scale back so as to not hit burnout?

How do I learn to balance the “OMG I WANT TO DO THIS NOOOOOW!” with the logical aspect of “I want to do this for a long time”?

I can’t tell you I have any answers. This is one of those tricky questions I’ve been rattling around my brain for years. But I can share three little steps I’ve learned, slowly, again and again, that help me during this process of new beginnings… whether it’s something you have done for your entire life or something you’re just starting.

Ask yourself, What do I want to do?

Ask yourself, What is the first small thing I need to do to accomplish it?

Then, do that first step.

Whether it’s putting on my workout clothes, or getting out my pen and paper, or removing distraction so I can sit down with my homework, or walking into the room where the meditation cushion is, the key to getting it done is to know what the very start is and go there. Not all of it has to be done RIGHT THIS SECOND. But, you have to start.

Putting it off doesn’t make it any easier.

What is the first step you need to take to get where you need to go?

Weekend Reads

My Google Reader feed is still showing 1000+ unread items. It feels a bit overwhelming. But, I’m slowly going through them, as I can’t bear the thought of potentially missing a gem of a post. The next few weeks of Weekend Reads might be kind of long. Just warning you!

Share your comments and your own great finds in the comments (or your own blog)! Just be sure to point me in that direction :)

Persistence and Possibility
Seth Godin, I seriously think you are tapped into my brain. It’s a little scary. There’s always a post that I need to hear.

Building Your Strength in the Present Moment
Guest post over at Zen Habits. I like the idea that

It’s hard to understand just how important this concept [being present in the moment] is.

This is what I tell my clients: “The only thing you must do today is make every action count. If tomorrow happens to come, then repeat what you did today.”

This helps people take their mind off a goal that might seem very far away.

Perseverance (AKA “No, it’s not OK to Quit”)
Are you noticing a theme this week? Good to know I’m not the only one. Chris over at The Art of Non-Conformity went for a 20 mile run.

Questions We Ask Before We Trust Your New Idea
Another one where Seth Godin hits the nail on the head with something I need to hear.

How to Deconstruct Your Fear: An Exercise
I was introduced to this during my Starbucks days, but had forgotten about it. Danielle LaPorte encourages us and gives us a tool to snip the wires of a ticking anxiety bomb.

Tattoo Thinking
Seth Godin asks, “What are you waiting for? It’s not as permanent as a tattoo.”

Container Principle
Susan Piver describes possible ways to create a container to begin weaving practice – and creating strong containers for those practices. (Also? I’m working on a resources page, but Susan’s Open Heart Project is totally on it. If you’ve ever thought about a meditation practice, but not sure where to begin? OHP is a great place!)

Shaping a Heart
Guest post over at The Artist’s Road – looking at both structure and chaos as forms of creativity. (Plus, there are Legos.)

5 Thoughts on Gratitude
Another from the Art of Non-Conformity, about gratitude.

Stuck?
It’s about asking the right question, not about getting the right answer.

Why We Suffer
An insightful post from writer and contemplative arts teacher, Miriam Hall – not just about suffering, but creativity, process, and space.

On Boredom and the Radical Act of Doing Nothing
Susan Piver talks about the ways boredom may manifest, when there’s space and openness.

August Break: Day 25
A beautiful post from Jill at A Thousand Shades of Gray, examining that uncomfortable place between hope and fear.

What Three Mental Qualities are Roused by our Meditation Practice?
A good reminder (that I sometimes often need) of why I meditate

On Tender Spaces and Not Fixing Anything
A fantastic reminder from Jen Lemen (it also mentions Oriah Mountain Dreamer, so I figure it’s meant to be on this list this week.)

3 Questions to Kill Every Excuse You’ve Ever Had
Though, kill seems so harsh… either way, this is great :)

Here’s to the Mess
A great guest post over at Kind Over Matter. (And inspiration to this week’s Weekend Prompting.)

The Incredible Healing Power of Authenticity
From writer Ollin Morales, how being yourself is powerful and healing. “The world desperately needs you to be you.”

Through the Glass Backwards: In the middle of changes

Each Thursday, join me for my once a week practice, Through the Glass Backwards. The title of this series came from my former commute into work, when I took the light rail downtown. Even though I tend to get motion sick easily, I usually ended up facing backwards, watching as  the city slips by. Now that I work from home, these vignettes will be a 200 word glimpse of things I see as the world outside me lives its life, and I am fortunate enough to see, but not necessarily from the light rail window.

Baltimore’s late summer humidity is clinging to my arms, even as there is a light breeze, reminding me that autumn is around the corner. I don’t see any school buses, but I know that school starts back up today, students returning to classrooms across the city, the country. My own book learning starts in just over a week, but as my teal and white shoes hit the pavement, I keep learning.

I decide my route, and keep thinking I’m going too slow, why? Shouldn’t I be able to do this much more quickly than my watch says?

I keep forgetting to breathe, keep forgetting to look at the blue sky with white cotton clouds. The internal voice shouting at me won’t stop. It keeps telling me that I’m a slow runner, what makes me think… it’s there I can catch myself.

What makes me think I can do this? How about all the other times I’ve done it? And I recognize the fear that is trembling under my breastbone, thinking that this will be the one time that I can’t.

I look down at my feet and see a pine cone, perfect as it is, dark brown contrasting sidewalk pavement.

All the things you’d say – they were never true, never true.
Adele, “Set Fire to the Rain”

The Race of Gratitude, or Ode to my First Running Sneakers

Bare toes say “Thank you” to my first pair of running shoes

About a year ago, I got this crazy idea that I wanted to try running. Again. I had a pair of beat up old sneakers that I found for $20. I laced them up and started the Couch to 5K program podcasts with Laura.

Around week 5 or 6, I got the crazy idea to see how far I could go, with just my music. (I had been listening to the soundtrack to Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, so I blame Captain Jack Sparrow.) I completely surprised myself. And so, the running bug bit me and I [mostly] haven’t looked back.

About four months after I started running, I did a race at a farm. The day after it rained. While I don’t have pictures of my shoes, they were a sight. Plus, we’d decided it was probably a good idea to get decent shoes. To protect my already aching knees. So, to Charm City Run we went. (If you’re ever in the Baltimore area and are in need of walking or running shoes, go see them.)

I was staring at the wall that felt like it was towering way over my head. Deer, meet headlights. One of the sales people came up to me and asked if she could help. I looked at her and said, “I’m looking to get a pair of shoes. And I’m a very new runner.” She introduced herself and we got to work on finding me a pair of shoes that would work for me. A half hour later, I walked out with a pair of Saucony Hurricanes (13). It was a hard beginning, but it could have been that I decided it was a good idea to start tackling more hills at the same time I was breaking in new shoes. (Retrospect: Don’t do that. Bad idea.)

The shoes shown above have taken my legs at least 400 miles, in between running, walking, and regular use. This past Saturday, they ran their last race, the Baltimore 10 Miler. The race became my race of gratitude. For the wonderful police traffic controllers who made sure none of us runners (fast and slow alike) were hit. For my amazing partner who ran her butt off. For these shoes, who have helped me so much of what I can do. As we pounded the pavement and I was realizing this would be the last race for these particular shoes (I had gotten new shoes the weekend before – Saucony Hurricanes [14]), I knew I couldn’t retire them from running with a thank you.

So, thank you for your support.
Thank you for your consistency, even when I wasn’t.
Thank you for taking me so many miles, even when we were both tired.
Thank you for helping me dodge Baltimore potholes and street obstacle courses.
Thank you for taking me to an incredible Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Race PR.
Thank you for the 5Ks, the 10K, the two 10 milers.
Thank you for the short runs, the long runs, and that one time, 10 times around my parents’ suburban neighborhood.
Thank you for running with me when I had music, when I didn’t have music, when I felt like I was soaring, and when all I could do was whine.

Thank you for being there as I began to learn what I can do.

There will always be a soft spot in my heart for you, my pink Saucony Hurricanes [13].