Thursday, March 19, 2015

The Long Run

Somewhere in the last two miles, I felt it. A shift. Into new territory yes, we were running farther today than ever before, but it was more than that. An internal transformation had begun. A kind of freedom that comes in the long run.

A few weeks ago I, along with my husband Aaron, finished a 10 mile run. 10 miles. I never thought I would accomplish running such a distance. To some, 10 miles may not seem very far, but when you consider that we could actually run from the school Aaron works at, to our house --the distance of two towns away-- it seems more significant. This signified something in the long run that is more than just a sport, fun, a way to get or keep fit, or even accomplish one's race goals. Running is a way to get somewhere! Or maybe to be nowhere in particular. Perhaps something about running this distance represents becoming independently mobile on some level that heretofore I did not imagine.

The last two miles of the 10 miler were, in truth So. Not. Fun. The 9th mile was all uphill, the last back down that same hill and I learned at least a few things that day. First, that much camber on the side of the road makes my foot and ankle very unhappy. To make matters worse, this hill was covered in variegated sharp poky rocks which hurt our feet. I had on Vibrams, but it hurt like nobody's business. I do not know how Aaron managed to go it barefoot! But we survived, mainly because that hill was the way back to our car, so we had no choice but to return by that route. The second grain of knowledge I acquired was that having only 8 oz of water per person on a 10 mile run is a less than stellar idea. We got tired those last couple miles for sure, and it was more of an effort to keep going. But I do think this also relates to running the rocky hill, see above. Note to self: next time bring more to drink. This did lead to stashing a gallon of water in the trunk of our van, for future emergency.

We finished the 10 miler and thought we might die, as we staggered back to the car, as walking was way more painful than running at that point. Only to find that it seemed we had lost the car key, which we so cleverly brought with us in the zip pocket of my running pants. This. The epitome of why I insisted on finding pants with a zip pocket, and then this happens? My oh-so-clever zip pocket was in fact, unzipped. Seems some brilliant person forgot to zip said pocket as we began our run. Since they were my pants, I'll admit it. It was (probably) me. We were soooo thirsty and starving, (ala the lesson-learned, above-mentioned 8 oz water apiece during the entire run)  and the only water was IN our car, we were stuck OUTSIDE our car, miles from a place to buy food or drink. The key was LOST and we were screwed. In a cloud of growing panic, we realized we had no choice but to retrace our steps for possibly THE ENTIRE 10 MILE ROUTE to search for the keys, or else call AAA and wait at least an hour to have them arrive and jimmy the lock and we would then have to get a new car key, adding salt to this fuel-deprived fire. As fate or the gods were smiling that day, we found the key about 40 feet away, but not before a few choice words were uttered. It might have been me who said something like "we're going to die!" Ever so luckily for us, the key was lying in the grass at the edge of the parking lot where our run had begun.

This led to us vowing to get another one of those doohickeys (we used to have one) for a spare key that you attach to a hidden part of your car. We have yet to acquire a new one, however. Lesson three: Zip.The.Pocket.

There was another thing to be learned on this long run. If you are going to run in uncharted areas, bring fuel, and also bring money to buy water or other fluids/fuel at random gas stations and food selling edifices along the way. AND make sure there is at least one such place close enough to run to during our planned route. We did end up bringing the money, (which thank goodness did NOT fall out of the aforementioned wicked pocket) but we did not realize it was so far to a place to refuel. To get there we would have had to continue past 10 miles on the rocky road, we would have had a few extra miles walk back to the car, which I think would have led to hobbling, and a very painful type of unplanned half marathon, don't you agree?

A few weeks later, I was sitting in the car at sunset after a long walk, a day when I'll admit it, I scrapped a scheduled short run. Parked two towns away from home, when I realized it had grown dark. I had stupidly got sucked into an inspiring book on nutrition (which is not bad in itself, but read on) and had been reading with the dome lights on. When it was time to go home, the car wouldn't start. Oy. As if that wasn't enough, Aaron wasn't answering my calls or texts, and suddenly I could not get any cell reception. Which is weird because I have not have had trouble with reception anywhere in that town before. Of course.

Once again, though, luck was with me, because after many fruitless attempts at calling home and AAA, crossing the street to try to get a signal (no dice) and wandering up and down the block like an idiot, a nice woman was walking her dog past me and I managed to ask if she had a phone. She had an accent I didn't recognize, and I told her my situation. She kindly invited me to her friends house that she was on her way back to right then. Which happened to be the house my van was parked in front. Her friend let me borrow her cell, (same carrier as me but somehow she had reception?) and I after a few failed attempts got in touch with AAA. She invited me in and offered me water, but this time I had the keys to my car with its emergency stash of water (see lesson two from the long run), so I waited outside. Once again, I was starving, it was way past dinnertime, and I was very tired. They told me it could be up to an hour before help arrived, but suddenly I got a text saying they were 5 minutes away! I was saved. They must carry turbo-power car charging devices in those trucks, because the clamps were on for maybe 10 seconds and my engine was good to go! Huzzah!

Lessons learned: do not read with lights or battery on in car after sunset. Especially do not park in car two towns away, when it's been hours since last meal. Maybe keep a food stash of energy bars and such in trunk, along with that emergency water.

When all was said and done, and I made it home to a late, brilliantly cooked dinner a deux by my dear husband, and the kids asleep -- wait, maybe I should reconsider that going out at sunset thing? I was too tired to eat much, but realized something else.  Something that running more than 10 miles had taught me. I could get places on my own two feet. From where I was parked, it was only about 8 miles to home. Worst case, if I hadn't been able to reach triple A or husband, and barring the kindness of local strangers, I realized that I now have another mode of transportation that for most of my life eluded me. For this, and other reasons, the long run grants us a kind of freedom. For a future lesson in mobility, I could have run it.


Sunday, January 25, 2015

The Run Not Taken

After glorifying the infinite beauties of the run, and reaffirming my commitment to running no matter what, as I sit here drinking wine, I find I must write an addendum to that notion. Sometimes the best run is the run never done.

Last week, the hubs and I dragged ourselves out the door and to the trail just before sunset. The air was frigid as can be, at least for us SoCal wimps, and there was no denying January was in full bloom. What we planned as just a short out-and-back, turned into just plain short. A turn-back-around, if you will. We lasted exactly 5 minutes before I (yes I caved before my husband) turned to him and said, "I'm done." We didn't even finish the warm up walk, you could say, since technically we never warmed up.

Just one of the ways running keeps me ever surprised and humbled.

That said, we then jaunted to a local grill and enjoyed an impromptu delicious and rare, quiet dinner a deux. It was the night of the SOTU. I had been wanting to see it, and by serendipity, a TV was on in the place, and while we ate we had prime seats to the president's address.  It was moving, inspiring, hopeful and endearing. And though it inspired some skepticism, it also reminded me of the good qualities of our president and country. However vast the flaws of our system and leadership, (and if you ask me, there are many), there is a lot we take for granted as well.

We then drove to the grocery store for a few items, and I mulled over what I had heard. As a Native American (Ojibwe), Jewish American, Buddhist American, I do not agree with policies or acts of aggression by any nation or people. There is a T-shirt which depicts a group of Native Americans holding shotguns via the 1800's with the caption: fighting terrorism since 1492. This idea amuses me, and also has the ring of a degree of truth to it. On the one hand, you see, fighting terrorism- threats to one's nation and one's people, is not something new. Not an idea only the white man has had to deal with. At the same time, the pacifist in me cannot condone meeting violence with violence. The Buddha said, "Hatred cannot be cured through hatred; through love alone can it be healed." I don't think this bespeaks of a naivete on the part of the historical Buddha. One can too easily imagine the face of the pacifist attitude as a passive, smiling numbskull, who doesn't understand the necessities of such things. Rather, to dismantle nuclear arms, to seek peace for all over gain for any particular country, is to keep the welfare of all in mind. And that is very difficult to do on a global scale. Yet any student of history can tell you that wars only beget wars. I haven't seen the sense in bloodshed, in the murders of millions, of the killing of innocents that official- and unofficial- war has perpetuated. I liked what the president said about America keeping war as an option of last resort.  I don't know how often that has been true of recent history.

Also, by design the speech of leadership (my fellow Americans) is to instill and invigorate in the listener a united by common ground and love of country patriotism. Something I admire in President Obama's oratory is this very ability. Even as I'm aware of concepts expressed for this reason, it moves me nonetheless. Being Native does not make me less American. Indeed, if one defines founders of a country by those who first lived and died and walked its soil, being Ojibwe makes me more American than most! The national policies dictated by its government sometimes make me feel more or less aligned with its principles, but I am as subject to patriotism and national pride as the rest. Yet I cannot let that overrule reason and a certain alliance to the notion of global welfare.

On that note, I very much appreciated the president's sentiments on waking up to the reality of climate change, improvements of late in solar energy and his stated determination that this progress should continue. To reverse the damage done ecologically, I agree, will take effort on a global, not solely a national scale. That there is even someone in office, and I have lived to see this day, who would acknowledge and express sentiments such as the necessity of universal affordable healthcare, education, childcare, retirement plans, and so forth, not to mention considering and speaking to world health issues and poverty, and peacemaking, makes me glad. However intended for political effect these may be, and however far-off in attainability, I'll take hope where I can get it. In these times, it's good to take stock of all the ways we are fortunate. To have each other in this beautiful, painful, fragile world is a rare and precious thing. Sometimes you find it in unexpected times and places, like the run that never was, culminating in shared impromptu date with husband and geopolitical contemplation.

Driving home, the state of the union address ended, and the radio commentary began- to pick apart and analyze what must be the strategy of various aspects of the president's speech. I turned it off, preferring for the moment to contemplate the possibility of hope and change for all of us, rather than the limitations of historical reality. Just because something has been true since the dawn of mankind does not mean it will forever hold true.

And just because I am committed to running for the long term, does not mean that an occasional flakiness to the trail will hold me hostage to permanent failure. At the risk of sounding trite or offering facile solutions, as many might believe a pacifist would, I'd wager that a certain creativity and flexibility are required both in running and life, both in leadership of a nation and the actions of its people, if we are to dwell harmoniously as a people, with wellbeing and happiness for all. And by that I mean not only Americans, but every one.

In a moment of personal and political sentimentalism, let us raise a glass, make a toast - to a better now for us all.


Monday, January 12, 2015

Running Amok

Why I Run


So the thing is, I love running. And so much of the time, I hate it. The flames of this love are fanned by a really good run. On Sunday I had a great time, ran over an hour, felt stronger the second half than the first, and finished feeling great. The great run only seems to happen often enough to reignite the sputtering flames just before they die out.  In between great runs, there a few good runs, which lately means I felt okay during the run and finished feeling glad I hung in there. There are also the okay runs, during which I may have to cheat and take a few walk breaks for or so, but feel guilty and wimpy for that. Then there are the not-so-good runs. The not-so-good runs are times I can't stand running and wonder what madness made me attempt this ridiculous activity in the first place, and hating myself on weak, rubbery legs as snails pass me by. The truly awful runs are the ones that never happen because I quit 3 minutes in, or 10 minutes in, or halfway through.

It strikes me as odd that I feel so compelled to keep up running at these times. Given that not-so-good and okay runs happen more often than the good ones. Certainly much more than the great times. What is it about running that addicts me, keeps me donkey-stubborn tied to the trail when oftentimes it would be so much more enjoyable to take a nice walk with my husband, or sit in a cafe and stuff my face with a chocolate croissant (my weakness), or put my feet up and have a nice margarita by the spa (a girl can dream, can't she?). Heck, sometimes a poke in the eye sounds a lot better than running when I'm running and hating every minute (yes that happens. sadly too often). And I wonder why I do this to myself.

Running has not improved my life so very much. It hasn't helped me with weight loss (at least not in the past two years). I don't feel younger, or spryer (is that even a word?) or more flexible. I've got even more freckles and moles now on my limbs than I had before, and am not loving this bonus for my skin.  It eats up way too much time now that we live where we have to drive to a trail to run, because after two months of hurting knees, I simply cannot do the hills around my house. Sometimes it seems like it eats up half the weekend, and many Saturday and Sunday mornings I would like to just be lazy and stay home and watch a family movie.

Yet you hardly ever have to drag me out the door. The main time I am reluctant to go is when it gets dark and I get more and more tired as the day wears on dealing with young children, so that a post-dinner run, at least during the wintertime, sounds as appealing as a cold bath. I just don't have the energy by then. As long as it's sometime in the relative morning, the first half of the day, at least before total darkness, I can't wait to run.

What's wrong with me?

Many times while running I am passed by what I think of as the real runners. You know, tanned, sweaty persons, with a great physique, their eyes fixed on the horizon, listening to their itunes, running purposefully, (and MUCH faster than I), toward their unseen goal. Often I envy them. You'd think being not-a-real runner would give me another reason to quit. I don't love it. It gives me another reason to feel inadequate and down about myself, which I do often enough anyway. Who needs another reason to feel bad? I dislike comparing myself to others, yet with as many people out for a run on the weekends, the trail invites it.

Why do this to myself? Perhaps I really SHOULD quit running. Or quit fooling myself that I can call what I'm doing "going for a run."

But quitting is unthinkable. And it's not because I'm good. I don't think it's the endorphins. Considering how often a hopeful run turns into a slog, I'm not getting much in the way of a runners high most weeks. Yet there's virtually never a time I  regret finishing a run. I'm always glad I hung in there, even on the not-so-good and okay days. And it's not usually because I finished strong, or felt awesome along the way.

Running definitely helps with stress. My family gets it by now, as they've seen Mommy the Cranky emerge when I go too long without running. It does give me energy sometimes, though honestly, much of the time I feel tired and relieved to be done.

Just when I've had a bad run of running, several weeks when it basically sucks, out of nowhere a great run comes along and smacks me upside the head with a reminder. Oh THIS is why I'm out here. No, a great run every three months is not the reason. The few and far between endorphin rush can't be credited. Feeling strong every once in a while, or not hating the run by itself is not worth the 3-4 times a week effort. I don't know the reason for this love-hate-run relationship when sparks rarely fly.

But when I feel the world open up before me with the spacious sense: I CAN do this, I AM  doing this, and I am HERE. Then I feel strong, graceful, alive, present. The horizon calls to me with a song only I can hear, and seems to go on forever.

Things slide into perspective then, and though I still cannot put my finger on the power of running, I know that I too, must go on.


Thursday, January 1, 2015

New Year, New Me? Maybe

Happy New Year!

And that baby who was just 29 months? is now 33 months. Soon to be the big Oh-Three.

Poetry. That is what I'd really like to let this blog to be about. Poetry. Running. Cooking (though if I'm honest, as I must be, it's baking I love more than preparing meals). If it's true that you can only be truly good at three things, I'm in trouble, since I haven't even touched on Mothering or Spiritual practice. Which is What I Do. In daily life. those last two are the real focus of my life, the broth I am steeped in, whereas you could say for most of us, things like writing, reading, cooking, exercising are mere hobbies. A soup, say, or a dessert. I'd have to say that's true for my life, at least on the surface.

Strangely, since the two things I know most certainly are central to my existence are with me almost constantly, it's almost harder to talk about them, to step back or view them clearly.

Though here and there I allow an obsessive interest in all things running to take me over, my lack of finesse sooner or later jars me back to reality.

Though time and again, I let the flower of poetry blossom in my heart, it rarely makes it onto the page anymore. Somewhere in the attic is a trunk of hundreds, if not thousands, of poems of old. I keep meaning to do something with them. For a shining moment, I have had occasion to share them with others and allowed myself to believe I might share them with the world. Just briefly.

And cooking seems to surface as an all or nothing motif in my kitchen. Only during a mad cookfest such as holiday dinners or birthdays do I cook up a storm, and exhausted, hardly enter my kitchen for days afterward. Not like I would prefer to be: prepare beautiful feasts effortlessly, nourish my family with home cooked quality time, family dinners every night, and perfect organic deliciousness. Instead I find myself baking madly for a day or two, a week or two, a month or two, then lapsing. Getting excited over starting this or that cooking endeavor, new recipe, slow cooking, etc. What I would love to do is stay consistent, cook at least a bit daily, not pressure (cook) myself, be able to relax with what and whom I love.

It seems not to be.

Now it's a new year, a new start, at least fiscally, and I am wondering. Curious to see what I will do, how I will be, where I will fall, what will be the priorities.

Will I cook a bit each day, lose those ten pounds (finally!), bring my poetry back to life, be the mom I wish I was, be closer with my husband? Will I win a race? Run a marathon? Or even enter a race? Will I stay the course and not miss a run, going four times a week (like i did for about 10 months last year)? Will I, per chance, write more than three posts a year on this blog? (Will I ever get my PhD in psychology, or after many years of effort and orientation toward that goal, will I lay that goal to rest this year?)

Will I do anything I set out to do? Or will I, like each year prior, see a sea of missed chances, wasted opportunity, judgements, nonvirtues. The mountain of failures piled high over any small successes.

On Jan 1, 2015, I really don't have an answer for you. I wish I could tell you how it will turn out for me. I'm sorry, I don't know right now.

See you in December of this year for an update...

Only joking. Probably.

Maybe I'm too hard on myself.
Maybe this post is going on way too long. See there's that all or nothing thing again.

I do know that whatever else occurs, I must keep my commitment to spiritual practice, and let my mothering heart lead. I will be kind to my children as much as possible. I would love to be closer with my husband, a better daughter to my parents, a better sister, a better friend. Finally "do something" with my career.  Don't know how often I will succeed.

If all else fails, at least I will cook upon occasion, read every so often, run at least twice a week (please Lord), and maybe by a miracle, I will write a poem.