Tag Archives: running

2012 was a year of lies

20 Feb

In third grade it was clear I was a procrastinator. Not only did I get my first C because I put off learning math, but I stayed up later than my parents NOT doing my homework. I was working on a research project on President Nixon one night that year when my dad tried to rescue me. I can still picture him standing over my white desk (that also flipped up into a high chair) trying to explain Watergate to me. I looked up at him, nodding, my mind fixated on the opposite of wiretaps. Eventually, I created a collage of Nixon’s presidency using rubber cement. It LOOKED great, but I doubt I was clear that Watergate was the name of the hotel.

Patching problems became my second nature, and so began my long-practiced craft of applying band-aids to temporarily fix situations. Once the pain stopped, I rarely took the time to heal the faulty process that led to the wounds. It’s much easier to buy more band-aids. This carried into the smallest behaviors of my life:

I bought new underwear instead of going to the laundromat.

When I couldn’t decide what groceries to buy for dinner, I got take out or had many sad “whatever is in the fridge meals.” The worst of which was green beans with onions. Raw onions.

I put off dealing with the reality of a relationship for years too tedious to count.

I moved the same unpacked boxes from apartment to apartment to house.

(Try not to trip over that baggage metaphor.)

I just kept purchasing those beige, adhesive warriors in bulk at 24-hour pharmacies.

I’m not too hard on myself now because I know this is not unusual: patching the surface to get by is more the norm than the exception. (Lie #1 I told myself.)

Something about moving to Florida and getting distance from the usual comforts forced me to take more action on the root of things instead of patching the side effects. Someone very close to me participates in a 12-step program, and while I don’t need the program for addictions, the tenets have proved helpful in my own search to live life more deliberately and less reactionary.

Lie #2: I don’t have my shit together enough to cook real meals every night.

This  turned out to be a true lie. At my most organized, I cooked maybe three times a week. That merited celebration; mostly, I considered myself a food-preparer. Or a taker-outer. Or a throw-a-party-to-inspire-cooking-er.

I wanted to cook at home because I knew it was healthier, less expensive, and more satisfying than the-dinner-less-planned.

Inspired by my sister who preps and shops for her family of five on the weekends, I vowed to do the same. We are two people with a cat: it’s a little embarrassing if we can’t figure this out.

In order to be a person who cooks every night, I had to learn to be a person who plans to cook every night. This meant sitting down every weekend and churning those collected recipes on Pinterest into a menu, and transforming that menu into a grocery list. Going to the grocery store only once a week meant we couldn’t talk ourselves out of cooking because everything we needed was right there in our refrigerator.

Also, once a week? At our old apartment, people at our local Publix started to know us because either Aaron or I was there every.single.day. Meal planning  equaled phone calls after work to each other asking who was going to deal with that mess?

Now we cook 5-6 nights a week, save money, and wear smaller pants.

Issues of frugality and health aside, cooking is creating. By doing it regularly, I experiment with ingredients I’ve never used, and methods that once intimidated me. I’m on month seven of being a cooker, and I love the process as much as the end result.  But there are times I hate it and it feels like work, just like writing. I used to wait until I was inspired to cook; now I do it as habit.

Since no one is asking me to write, I have to boss myself around.

Note to self: I am stubborn and refuse to listen.

Truth of 2013: Inspiration is temporary; write at least a paragraph every day.

Lie #3: I want to run a half marathon.

My college roommate and her fiance traveled down here to run a half marathon this past weekend so I thought maybe it was a sign that I was ready go from 6.2 miles to 13.1. One of my colleagues and neighbors is a long-distance runner and was even willing to help me train. But it was still an “I want to want to run 13 miles” situation. I threw myself into the process for weeks at times, then I took breaks and had to restart again. My last push came during my winter break from school and the week afterwards. I ran in Virginia in 20-degree temps, undaunted. I returned to run in Florida at 80 degrees in full sun with humidity, and motivation started to wane. Then I got sick for 7+ days and it was over. There just wasn’t time to want the things I didn’t really want to begin with.

Wanting what other people want never works. Actually, working towards something you think you want never works either.  I wanted to run two 10K’s, and I ran them, the second one faster than the first. Eventually, I might want to run a half marathon. That time is not now; it’s fine.

My 30’s have been a decade of learning the difference between what I want and what I think I should want. The difference between what fulfills me and what fulfills other people.  Running for longer than an hour at a time does not complete me.

“Comparison is the thief of joy.”

–Theodore Roosevelt

Truth of  2013: Run at least once a week, even when I don’t want to.

Lie #4: Self-discipline is a breakthrough, not a long-term battle.

This lie screamed the loudest. My procrastination habits had always crippled me without deadlines. Too often I allow distractions to shift my focus; it’s a lifelong battle to manage them. In 2012, I imitated a home DIY-er, an amateur sous chef, a real runner, a regular reader and writer, and a motivated teacher who grades essays in a timely fashion.

Home projects accomplished in 2013: Zero.

Miles run in 2013: 20 in one week then a steady zero.

Meals cooked in 2013: 35 (The system works!)

Books read in 2013: Zero.

Blogs/articles/podcasts/animal videos that distracted me from reading books in 2013: ALL OF THEM.

Oscar-nominated films seen in 2013: Three.

Papers graded in 2013: 3.14156 per hour over the square root of it never ends.

Finished pieces of writing: Zero. Not even this blog post started in 2012.

Pieces of writing worth your time: Zero (see # of books read in 2013).

Muses are fickle so I have find a way to freedom through self-flagellation. And so ends my mid-February New Year’s Resolutions post: cheers to the liars!

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Look out! Obvious running metaphor ahead! With lizards!

12 Jun

On January 1, I started running again. Not because I recovered from an injury that previously kept me from the road. Not solely because I wanted to get in better shape (even though I did). No, to get my shoes back on the pavement, I had to sign up to run a 10K in front of 40,000+ people.

Back in the fall, my sister-in-law proposed that we run the famous Monument Avenue 10K together in Richmond, VA (her current and my former home). I ran this same race two years ago (my first-ever 10K). And like every race before that (which, let’s face it, was one 5K), as soon as the race was over, I stopped running. Because I kind of hate it. But I love to have run. And while the moments of pain and wanting to stop are more frequent, I love those moments in the middle when it’s just you and your thoughts and your body just follows along. That feeling of being alive inspires me,  and inspiration in my day-to-day routine was easily obscured.

Since my year career-wise has been a challenge, I decided this kind of tangible goal was just what I needed to focus on (instead of the confusing mess that is my future in teaching).

Beginnings can be deceivingly easy

Once the calendar hit 2012, I vowed to run.

Day one, I ran two miles. The last .05 might have been less confident than the first 1.5, but overall I was shocked at how simple it had been to run two miles out of the gate. My running legs were back.

Two days later, two more miles! The next day? Three miles! I bought new shoes in between miles 2 and 3, so clearly nothing could stop me now.

And then attempts at 3+ miles began.

Then I took at least a week off from running.

When I started again, I climbed toward four miles at the pace of an inchworm going up a Royal Palm. I had two strong runs at 3.6 miles, and then I started to regress and want to stop nearly the entire run, every time I ran.

Mile 4, where you at?

Motivation: Who?

Inner voice: You’re not a runner. Told you so!

The middle’s the thing

When you hate running, you have to trick your mind into liking it. When your mind is willing, your body will follow. The problem is your mind is a stubborn, selfish creature bent on sabotage. The advantage of running over other mental challenges is that the goal is tangible; the distance is defined. So if you want to run, you will finish. Or better put: If you want to finish, you will run.

During the desperate moments of a run when I beg myself to let me stop, I look to the local lizards for inspiration. They dart in and out of the hedge onto the sidewalk during my runs. They want more than anything to stay under that hedge, where they’re hidden from view and feel safe from human feet. But being cold-blooded, they have to get into the sun to survive. So anywhere you walk in South Florida, you will see nervous lizards whipping around your feet, just praying for it to be over soon.

Tiny lizards you nearly smash with your sneakers.

Big fat lizards with curly tails that look like miniature alligators.

Green lizards.

Brown lizards.

All of them nervous.

All of them in a hurry.

But they never stop moving because their survival depends on it. The shade is less intimidating, but the sun keeps them alive.

It’s how you handle the middle, the transition, that defines you. It’s whether you hate it and give up or hate it and keep going because you want to finish that shows your perseverance. The pay-off doesn’t come until the end of the race.

Don’t listen to the real runners who tell you how AMAZING running feels. It only feels that way at the end; they’ve been running so long they’ve memorized the exhilaration of the end–they crave it even when they aren’t running, which is what gets them back out there at ungodly hours of the morning. They sometimes forget how painstaking each mile, even each half a mile can feel when you’re sweating it out on the pavement.

The finish line is the starting line to the next race

Some runs each moment feels like misery: how will you finish? How will you run for another 30 seconds? Some runs it feels too easy, almost like you’re cheating. You don’t feel any serious urge to stop. If those happened all the time, I’d become a real runner. Unfortunately I tend to get stuck in this vicious cycle:

Step one: Train for race. Inspiration/misery ensues.

Step two: Run race. Meet goals. Triumph!

Step three: Never run again.

Until this year when I continued running for weeks AFTER the race. I thought to myself, maybe I could become a real runner? Maybe this will be my new cardio.

Then May in Florida hit and the humidity began to cloud my judgment. Slowly but surely I reverted to step three above. To be a serious runner in Florida, you have to learn to run in the heat. Specifically full sun. Yes, you can run in the evening after the sun starts to go down, but then you’re fresh meat for mosquitoes: layers of deet required. The other option? Running at 4:30 am, which my triathlon/marathon-running friend does regularly. My body rejects this plan.

While I learn most from the process, I need the finish line to motivate me. I am never motivated to start by a process.  I can only reflect on how the process helped me after I finish. In fact, thinking too much about the process overwhelms me and stops me from starting things that ultimately I am capable of doing. This is why running is the perfect goal for me when I feel stuck or lost: the goal is clear. You’re either running or you’re walking: some black and white in a gray world.

Instead of beating myself up over not running because it got too hot, I realized I just needed to sign up for another race. If I knew I was running another race, I’d be out there running, heat or not. Or maybe I’d be up at 4:30 am, who knows? Probably not, but  I’m working on my optimism.  Know thyself, right? I need a goal, a deadline that means something, or else I’ll find a way out of it.

I once had a goal of running a second 10k. Here I am actually smiling before the finish line of that goal:

It’s time for a new race.