I'm an evening runner

There was a small guest house nestled in between a bamboo forest and a larger home on a corner street in a neighborhood near White Rock Lake in Dallas. For a year this was my home. I was in third grade, eight years old, constantly had my nose in a book and acted out made up stories in the bamboo forest. There were evenings when my mom and I would stroll through the neighborhood past large storybook homes. Somehow, I always remember these evenings happening in the summer, though I'm sure they happened throughout the year. We would walk to nearby parks. The tall trees lining the street would block out the last streaks of sun before it set. I could feel the hot, sticky air clingy to my skin. I would race my mom pushing as hard as I could against the ground, grass crunching under my feet. There were still fireflies everywhere, lighting up the evening sky. I felt free and strong and fast in these moments.

Those nights are what I think of when I can manage an evening run, setting out as the last corner of the sun kisses the horizon. The dried grass crunches under my feet, immediately taking me back to a time when I imagined a shallow stretch of bamboo to be a vast forest leading me to a magical kingdom. If I squint, headlights in the distance remind me of the flashing fireflies dancing across the night sky. Without the sun glaring down on me, the hot July air doesn't feel so unbearable.

When I was in the fourth grade, I lived on another street. This street was filled with families and chatter and the ringing of bike bells as we rode up and down the hill. I would run through the alleys with my friend Stephanie gathering seeds from the four o'clocks that lined the fences. We would pull honeysuckle flowers off their bushes and suck out the insides. I would climb the tree in my front yard, hiding from the boys as the rode by on their bikes trying to get me to laugh at them. The sun was setting when I would drag myself inside, sticky and smelling like grass and humid Texas air. Yes, humid Texas air has a smell.

I love Texas evenings. And I love the Texas evenings when I'm not working an can manage a run. I imagine expansive prairies whenever I pass undeveloped land. I imagine massive military forts whenever I pass apartment complexes. I imagine I am Laura Ingalls Wilder roaming the last frontier during her childhood. I imagine that the small rabbits pushed from their native homes by the golf course and the town homes are actually just part of Peter Rabbit's family. And when I'm approaching, I laugh when they stop, still as a garden statue, hoping I don't notice them.

Tonight I passed one of these rabbits flattened in the road. I fought back tears feeling guilty that my home had overtaken his. I felt guilty that I was still running, when he didn't run fast enough in the last moments of his life.

I ran just a little bit faster up that last hill.

Immersion...running?

I haven't gone for a run in several days. I was at a writing conference all weekend. That's a good excuse, right?

And, let's be honest, I am not quite that dedicated yet to running--no matter what.

This year's topic was immersion. Some of the tactics the writers used were for reporting shorter news stories. Other speakers have spent years fully immersed in a story for a book. I'm just not that well-funded. I probably won't be moving to Hawaii to live with surfers (oh but I want to!). I'm not likely to get a job as a corrections officer just so I can get an inside look of a prison.

How does this have anything to do with running? I can immerse myself in running, right? Just go every day (or at least try to). Lesson learned. Well not quite. Running is a culture. It has its own jargon, community and attitudes. To some extent, running is becoming popular. It seems every nonprofit organization puts on some kind of walk or fun run. The Rock n Roll marathon series is a growing for-profit business. The Boston Marathon recently reduced its qualifying times, narrowing the potential field of runners accepted to the race each year. And within the larger running community, there are subcultures: barefoot runners, female runners, male runners, elderly runners, gluten free runners, professional runners, ultramarathoners, marathoners, sprinters, trail runners, and the list goes on.

I'm slowly learning some of the jargon in the running community. PR is a big one. In my writing and news world, I hear PR, and I think public relations. A runner hears PR and thinks personal record. Or PB: personal best. This is for those time obsessed racers seeking BQs: Boston qualifying times. I've learned what fartleks are. I know what speedwork is. Hill repeats. ITBS. Stress fractures. Gu. Butt kicks.

I'm still a beginner. I don't yet belong to a subculture of runners. I haven't fully immersed myself in this elite society of masochistic people. Mostly, I run by myself on some road near my apartment hoping to achieve the bliss I felt during my one perfect run. It was in Hawaii. I'm in Texas. Big difference. Occasionally I pass another runner. I nod. We share a quick wave and then go about our business.

Though I was sitting most of the weekend inside on overly air conditioned conference room, I was imagining how what I learned could be applied to running. Running keeps me writing. And writing keeps me running. Now I just need to take the next step and fully infiltrate this world I've only been visiting. It's time to join the subculture, go full immersion.

I'm going native.

I'm a lazy runner (blogger)

I haven't blogged in awhile. Clearly. I ran last night. But sometimes I have to remind myself I'm supposed to be a runner. Just like I'm reminding myself now that I'm supposed to be a writer.

Sometimes it's easy to think, "Well, gosh, I've done that before. I can do it again." I did a cartwheel once. Not so sure I could do it again. I've never quite grasped cartwheeling. I ran a half marathon once (well, six months ago). Just because I did it once doesn't mean I can up and run 13.1 miles right now. It takes practice. Doing cartwheels takes practice. Writing takes practice. Running takes practice.

I played the violin for many years. I can still play but, trust me, it's not a beautiful sound. Why? Because I haven't practiced in years. It's like the old joke:

A tourist stops a New Yorker. "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" he asks.

"Practice," the New Yorker responds.

How do I run a half marathon? Practice.

How do I write a great blog (or at least a good one)? Practice.

How do I play the violin? Practice.

How do I balance chemistry formulas? Practice.

You get the picture. Well, so do I. But a couple of weeks ago I had to remind myself. I'm not going to run this half marathon just because I ran one before. I've taken an American History test before, but it doesn't mean I would pass one now. Our minds don't retain information without a little practice (aka studying), and our muscles don't remember without training.

I've recently been feeling a little down, because I'm looking for a (real) full-time job. Unless you've been living under a rock for the past several years, this statement shouldn't surprise you. I wasn't expecting it to be quite so tough, quite so competitive. But I have to keep trying. Just like I have to keep running.

My best friend sent me this text message after I said I was beating myself up a bit: "You are, but it's who you are. You're a perfectionist and an overachiever and there's nothing wrong with that. But among all those things, you're also a strong woman and you have to believe in yourself and believe you WILL find a great job. You are not one to give up either, so just remember that too!"

I received it right as I was coming up on one of the toughest hills near my house. I didn't want to run it, but I did, because I have people who believe in me. They believe that with practice I will get better. And one day soon I will cross that finish line, whether it's at a marathon or in the job market.

This blog may not make much sense now. I'm out of practice. It'll get better.

What's Weight Got to do With It

I would be lying if I said that the prospect of losing weight came to my mind when my aunt first asked me if I would be interested in training for a half-marathon. Since I began my quest to become a runner, several people have commented on how great running must be for weight loss. I had already started making changes in my eating habits before I started running consistently. I lost some weight due to the better diet and settled back into my most consistent adult weight. But once I was running more frequently and longer distances, I noticed that my body settled into its new routine. The changes in my muscles and endurance slowed. My body was growing more and more efficient the longer I ran. I could feel it.

Though my main reason for running was to accomplish something new, get in better shape and stick to a difficult habit, there was still the thought in the back of my mind, "Shouldn't this make me hot?" When I was running, this thought never crossed my mind. It only hit at other points during the day or after someone would mention that running must be great for weight loss. Many people still believe that if you run, you can eat what you want and still manage to lose weight. Though there is plenty of accessible research and news articles on fitness and weight loss research, it seems most people still don't grasp that weight management is all about calorie input and output. Yeah, blah, blah. You know. Running does make you hungry. Your body needs fuel for running any length of time but especially on those long runs. So what do you do? You eat more. What's my point? Running is great for weight managment but not necessarily weight loss.

Yes, I have lost weight. Yes, my body is different, better. But most importantly, I feel good. Weight shouldn't be your reason to run. The time to clear your mind should be a reason. Increased strength should be your reason. A fitter, more capable body should be the reason. It's not about aesthetics. The beauty is learning that you are capable of more than you could've ever dreamed.

I want to be an adventurer!

In addition to running, I've been reading. Yes. Reading. That's what I do. Once I become interested in a topic, I must learn more about it. So now I'm a proud subscriber of Runner's World and Outside magazine in addition to the subscription to Women's Health, which I already had. That brings me back to the title of this blog post: I want to be an adventurer. The more I read these magazines and look at photos of these super humans doing amazing thugs like running ultramarathons in Canada and climbing Mount Everest and hiking the Amazon, the more I want to take part. No, my next blog won't be about how I decided to trek the farthest reaches of the world. Yet, I can't help but wonder what it must be like to create adventure in a world where there are few or no undiscovered places. And to get to the bits of adventure coveted in these magazines, one must have an endless supply of money or be willing to live poorer than poor. Sure, I would love to go run the marathon in New York and a trail run in Vancouver. Biking across New Zealand sounds like a blast. Climbing and hiking in the Himalayas sounds simultaneously challenging and peaceful.

Instead I'm stuck in Texas with barely enough money to spare to sign up for an occasional road race near home. And it's not exactly like Colorado with seemingly endless outdoor possibilities. It's all flat land and highway and dried up rivers in the summer. So, dear reader, I want your input. What kind of adventure can I find close to home? Save me from the doldrums of treadmill running and running on busy roads near my apartment. I have an active imagination. Maybe if I find a big enough hill, I can pretend I'm climbing Everest.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

"Facing a challenge is not always going to be fun. If we waited around for intrinsic motivation to kick in before doing anything, we'd spend all our time eating candy apples and soaking in hot tubs."
- David Nowell, clinical neuropsychologist. Quoted in Psychology Today.

I read this quote in an article about how a middle aged dad found the motivation to become an ultra-marathoner. I couldn't help but laugh. I regularly battle with my "intrinsic motivation." Do I take out the trash now, even though I'm tired? Nah, I'll wait until I have more energy. Do I start working on the novel I've had in my head for years? No, no. It's not the right time. My mind isn't clear. Should I go for a run today? Oh, no, don't do it. I'm tired!

How often do we let sluggishness and a busy schedule get in the way of our dreams? How often do we feel let down by the reality around us when our expectations are so much greater? There's a great scene in (500) Days of Summer in which the main character goes to a party where he knows he will see his ex. The screen is split between his expectations and reality. His expectations show him having a wonderful time rekindling his love with his ex-girlfriend. Reality shows him sitting alone at the party without ever reigniting the spark with his dream girl. Life doesn't always go according to plan. If my life were a movie, the split screen would look something like this:

Expectations:
I wake up at 6:45 a.m. before my alarm goes off. I hop out of bed happy to start the day. I quickly dress, lace up my running shoes and go on an effortless five mile run. I come home, shower, dress, eat a full breakfast and head to my dream job. I don't hit traffic. I arrive at work early and energetic. I come up with a brilliant story idea which will win a Pulitzer. I don't waste time surfing the internet and Facebook stalking. I get home, cook a three-course meal, sit down and read Voltaire in French (because I've taken the time to learn French). I finish the evening working on the next great American novel and fall into bed feeling accomplished.

Reality:
I hit the snooze button ten times before rolling out of bed. I eat a bowl of cereal. Stare at the TV urging myself to go work out. I wash the dishes and tell myself that it's time for spring cleaning. I waste time staring at all the clutter I would like to get rid of. By that time, it's nearly time for lunch, and I still haven't worked out, but I'm oh so hungry. So I heat up a frozen meal. It's almost time to get dressed to go work my not-so-ideal restaurant job. I'm too full to work out anyway. I sit in bumper-to-bumper traffic on my way to work. Once I leave work I'm too tired to work on my great American novel and read French classics.

Don't try to tell me you can't relate. We all end up working jobs we don't love at some point in our life. We all wake up and don't quite feel like we can make it through another monotonous day. We sit around and think, "You know, if I had started running 10 years ago, I would be in shape." Or, "Man, if I could just go back in time to when I was starting college, I would've changed my major from journalism to biology, and I'd be almost finishing med school by now." Or how about, "Dammit, it's almost summer again. Why didn't I start working out in January? Oh well, I'll do it right next year."

So how about this. How about you join me in banning "shoulda, woulda, coulda." Yes, had I started running years ago, maybe I would already be in the habit and wouldn't be worrying about my knees. Of course, I should've been working on a writing project for the past two years, but I didn't. Sure, I could've been playing the violin all this time, and could claim 17 years of classical experience under my belt, but oops, I can't say that. All I have is today. And my expectations. Now let's make them a reality.

Ok, I'm going for a run now. And maybe, just maybe I'll listen to French tapes instead of Lady Gaga.

Runner's knee

It was Christmas day 2006. I don't much enjoy checking my mail often because there's only ever people asking me to pay my bills. But today
I was expecting cards and maybe even baklava from my Ya-Ya. So I put the dog on his leash and walked to the mail center to collect the bills and the goodies. With arms full of mail and dog on leash, we started climbing the concrete steps to my apartment. It was a combination of my clumsiness and the dog's leash that tripped me. With arms full, the only thing to catch my fall was my knees. Ouch. Right on the concrete corner of the step. In between laughter and tears, I managed to hop into my apartment before collapsing to the floor unable to walk. My left knee ballooned to the size of my thigh. The right wasn't as bad, but was still swollen. The doctor was certain I had shattered my knee cap, but x-rays showed it was a very bad sprain. I took the cue to relax, prop up my feet and read many books until I could walk without crutches or a limp.

It was only a month or two later when I got my first job at a small newspaper and began the weary life of commuting and working inconsistent hours. I didn't have the time to exercise, I told myself. I was certain I would take the time to strenghten my body and my knees once I got into a normal routine. It wasn't long before days turned into weeks, and then years had gone by since I had followed a consistent exercise regimen. I excused my laziness with, "Oh, I'm busy." "Oh, I have bad knees." But I didn't have bad knees. I had weak knees from lack of activity.

But, now I am avoiding injury. A real injury. After the half marathon my knees were stiff and sore. I hadn't run much in the two weeks prior to Cowtown after getting the flu and an upper respiratory infection. Thirteen miles was the longest I had ever run, and the quick increase in distance strained my knees. After reading in Runner's World (of which I am now a proud subscriber!), I diagnosed myself with runner's knee. It comes from mileage increases and weak glutes. Yes, glutes. That means my butt is weak. That's a confidence builder for sure. I identified the symptoms and then the illness and now it was time for treatment. But I didn't like the treatment. Slow down on the running, the magazine told me. Cross-train, it added. Exercise your butt, it snickered.

No running? That was scary. I had just become committed to something. If I slowed down or stop, I was afraid I would never start again. This experience has enhanced my understanding of myself. And that understanding shows that I operate in extremes. I am an all-or-nothing person. When I'm busy, I'm busy to the extreme. When I'm being lazy, I'm downright lethargic. So if I slow down on running, will I give up all together. Can I learn to operate in moderation?

Well, time will tell. I've been joining the elliptical exercisers. Some seem serious about it. Others wear jeans. Or makeup. Or read while on the machine. None of these things seem to mean vigorous workout in my eyes. But I'm trying to log the same mileage I would be running and doing it at about the same pace. I feel stronger. And maybe this break will make me a better runner. I will learn moderation and consistency and that sometimes it's about doing a little bit at a time. Oh, and maybe the squats for my knees will give me a better butt. I mean really: what girl doesn't want that?