Unexpected Progress

Sometimes progress sneaks up so slowly, we don't notice it from one day to the next. Change is subtle. Growth is quiet. Without even realizing it, four miles has become comfortable. 

Several months ago, I completed my first four miler in ages. It wasn't pretty. Since then, I've had numerous bumps and setbacks. Discipline and motivation have been constant struggles, requiring me to completely rework my routine. My former method was no longer successful, so I tried a wide variety of options -- strength training, biking, yoga, swimming, Zumba. The results of these experiments have not always been apparent. I'm often the least advanced in the class, and my small weights are nothing compared to the beefcakes who bench on either side of me.  I hadn't noticed much progress, but I continued to try. 

Finally, it's working. 

I committed to a half marathon in October 2013, and last week I began my formal training. I anticipated a rocky start, as many of my recent endeavors have not gone well. Four miles was the plan for Day 1. I did it. Quite comfortably, at that. Thinking it may have been a fluke or just adrenaline from the excitement of a new race,  I tried the course again on Thursday, and yet a third time this morning. Each time, I felt strong and prepared. 

By no means do I expect this to continue for every run. As I continue to increase the distance, there will no doubt be bad days. Some runs will hurt, some will be slow, some will make me turn red and sweaty, and some will fill my head with negative thoughts that I can't quite shake. 

But my positive four mile streak gives me hope. If I can push through the bad runs, I can make it to the good ones. And before I know it, I'll be crossing the finish line. 

In Defense of Treadmills

Treadmills, I owe you an apology. For years I've avoided you at all costs. Rain, ice, snow, dark, traffic, mosquitoes, smog, cold, and wind all somehow seemed preferable to to the monotonous whir-whir-whir of a treadmill. Recently, though, I've started to come around. 

Treadmills offer a way to run that is always safe, well lit, and 68 degrees. They provide an area that is entirely mine, no sharing required. I no longer need to meander around mommy joggers with their enormous strollers.  I never have to red-rover my way through social walkers, chatting three abreast. There are no dogs, or gum, or puddles. It's a 3' x 6' space free of hazards or distractions. 

Indoor running also allows a higher level of spontaneity. Rather than commit in advance to a three, five, or seven mile loop, I can determine in real time what kind of run I want to make it. If I'm feeling strong and light, I can increase my speed with the touch of a button, or let the clock continue to run as I extend my miles. Hills and elevation changes are my own creation, and if I ever feel exhausted or hurt, I just step off. There's no fear of being stranded or injured miles away from home. When I need to be done, the run is over, no questions asked. 

Even competition is minimized, as each runner in the row looks straight ahead, concerned only with his or her own performance. The run is entirely personal. (Granted, healthy competition has its advantages. When I was feeling sluggish and tempted to quit on a long training run a few years ago, I was passed by a 70-year-old in a GRANDMAS TRI HARDER shirt. After that, I couldn't not finish the run. Shame is one hell of a motivator). 

I certainly won't be eliminating outdoor running anytime soon. The sunshine, the fresh air, the scenery, the using-your-legs-to-propel-your-body-forward-rather-than-letting-the-treadmill-belt-pull-them-back -- these are all important and beneficial aspects of running. Battling the elements is part of the reason we runners are so proud of our sport, and I have no intention of running exclusively in a sterile environment. But for the days when the great outdoors is just more than I can handle, it's nice to have a safe place to run. 

New Routine

One of my first jobs was on an assembly line in a packaging factory. Hour upon hour, repeating the same motion. Take it from the left, move it to the right. Again. And again. Sound like hell? It wasn't. It wasn't a dream job by any means, but it was pleasant, peaceful. I knew what to expect, and I did it. Every. Day.

I love routine, especially when it comes to running. Meals, paths, brands, race organizers, even specific annual races--if I like something once, I'll repeat it as regularly as possible. I don't do well with chaos, so I find order where I can.

For almost entirely positive reasons, routine has been out of the question this month. New job, new house, new dress code, new commute, new responsibilities, all in a city that I'm still discovering by the minute. Each change has been for the better, but adapting can be painful.

On my first run in the new neighborhood, I got lost. Despite Google Street Viewing and MayMyRunning the course, the turns happened sooner than I expected, or later. I don't know where I went wrong, but I did. No landmarks looked familiar. I hadn't set out on a long run, so I couldn't be that far astray, but it was enough to shake my confidence. I twisted and meandered my way back to a major street and found my way home, nowhere nearly as neatly as I'd intended.

As much as I try to hold on to structure and sameness, change just keeps on coming. But that's what's wonderful about running. Change can lead to exciting progress and new discoveries. The motions of running are consistent, but there are new variables every day. I can change location or time of my run, change my motivation for running, the distance, or level of difficulty. If I'm not getting the results I want, I can add a new element and improve the way I run.

Maybe I'll join a running group. Maybe I'll try an obstacle course race. Maybe I'll stop running with a watch and run until I feel finished, not until I hit a certain time.

There's always a way to change and make it better. Even it's not the direction I intended to go.

Boston

It's been a week and a half since the Boston Marathon bombing. As a running blogger, I felt a sense of duty or obligation to write a response. But I couldn't. That Monday, I had no words. I watched the news as helplessly as the rest of the world. The images of the senseless crime made me nauseated and angry, but I couldn't reign it in. Tuesday came and went, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and I had a million emotions and reactions to the tragedy, but couldn't process them into words. The longer I waited, the more beautiful responses were being written and posted by other writers--professional journalists and blogger friends alike. They were all finding the words. They all pulled meaning and beauty out of the sadness. They all offered hope and strength in an insightful way. Why couldn't I?

This type of thinking is toxic, and it takes the focus off what actually matters. Boston was never about me.

I can't begin to understand the pain and heartbreak of the victims. My heart goes out to their families, and I sincerely hope they eventually find peace. The hateful acts of two people took the lives of three, and forever changed an amazing event. The Boston Marathon should have been the ultimate celebration of tenacity, and it forever will be, but now with an asterisk.

The race will return stronger than ever due to the strength of the city of Boston and the tireless community of runners. Runners will do what they have always done. We will come together to cheer and encourage. We will coach, and we will teach. We will push each other through pain, and help each other heal. It's who we are, because as runners, that's what we do. We move forward.

Celebrate

Lately, everything calls for a celebration. Spring has arrived in Oregon, and the sunshine and flowers are welcome sights. I completed my taxes early (by myself!), and got a surprise refund. And most significantly, I said goodbye to a job I didn't love and get to move to a career that excites me. It's been a good week.

My running schedule has also hit a nice rhythm. Longer days have allowed me to switch to evening runs, which are much more relaxing. Through the winter, I woke up early and ran before work. This was the only way to run in any sunlight, but the strict deadline of having someplace to be by 9:00 a.m. often caused me to cut a run short. Evening runs, however, are free. My responsibilities have been completed, and I have nowhere else to be. I run as I want. The only deadline is the sunset, which is getting later by the day. 

Running in the evenings has reminded me why I loved running so much in the first place: it's fun. It's really fun, actually. Running gives me a reason to be outside, to embrace sunshine or rain, to eat better, to drink more water, to sleep when I'm tired, to wave hello to neighbors walking their dogs, to be motivated by runners who pass me, to set goals and meet them. Running makes my brain feel clear and my body feel cleansed. Running makes me feel alive. Running makes me happy.

And that's worth celebrating. 

Agency

All things considered, there isn't much I can control. I have no say in the weather. I can't break up traffic jams. No one asks for my input on tax policies. 

This isn't the case when it comes to running. I do have control over my own body. I chose what I eat. I chose what I drink. I chose how to move, and how often. Running is up to me.

The past few weeks have been busy and stressful, and I've been feeling overwhelmed. Given how little control I have over outside factors, it's been even more important to hold on to what I can. When I leave the house with my running shoes, I control each step. I pick the course, I pick the distance. This level of authority is a rare luxury.

Some runs are amazing, and I feel strong and free. Other days I'm sluggish and slow. Neither of these results happens by chance. Successful runs are largely caused by the choices I've made, and I can turn around a poor run by making better choices tomorrow. 

When it comes to running, I have a choice. I have control. I have agency. And I love it.

Resolutions

I've never been much for New Year's resolutions. January 1 is an arbitrary date to make a life change, there's already so much pressure during the holidays, and surviving the winter is daunting enough as is. 

But that's not to say there isn't value in taking a step back. It's important to evaluate where you are, what could be better, and what needs to change. There is always room for improvement. 

Tomorrow is my birthday, so today seems as logical a time as ever to reflect on the past year.

27 started with running, but the running ended abruptly. I ran a half marathon in April, and almost immediately after that I packed my boxes and followed my heart to Oregon. Previous posts have dug deeper into this, but running stopped being a priority for several months. Getting back in a healthy routine has been a slow and difficult process. Worthwhile, of course, but difficult.

So here are my hopes for 28: 
To run with strength and confidence. 
To run my own race, regardless of who else is with me. 
To focus on what my body is capable of and not what it looks like. 
To stop when it hurts, but push when I'm tired.
To finish what I start. Even when it's raining.
To train smartly and safely. 
To be healthy. 
To be happy.
To be well.

Here's to a great year.