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.

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.

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.