Ode To My Lower Back. And A Bit About Fear.

O back
Do thy job
And hold my sorry ass up
O wait
I mean ass: down
Rest of me: up
You get the picture
Right?

Sorry for the silence-- I had no runs to report for a few days, and houseguests as well, and neglected to let you know what was going on.

My lower back is a menace and has been giving me trouble.  Doctor appointment next week.  I've had years of chiropractic manhandling and it still pops in and out of alignment on a whim.  There are days when I feel like I have the mobility of an 80 year-old woman, which is a terrifying thought since I am not yet out of my 30s.  It's not going to get any easier.  This road slopes sharply downhill.

When I was 19, I was in a pretty crazy high-speed, head-on collision with a drunk driver who came around a blind corner on my side of the road.  I was going about 50mph, she was going about 70.  No time to brake. 

Her Honda Civic hit my little '71 Volkswagen Beetle (named Iris; how I miss her!) dead center, and forced the end of a big, wishbone-shaped tow bar that I kept in my trunk (in the front on old Bugs) up through the steel dashboard, where it stopped right behind my steering wheel.  I flew forward with the impact, pressed my knees two full inches into that same dashboard steel, broke the steering wheel with my face, and hit the end of the tow bar with my forehead.  

It popped a silver dollar-sized hole in the front of my skull and came less than 1/4 inch from pushing right into my brain.  I was saved by the flimsy, after-market shoulder strap that I wore only occasionally and happened to have on that night.

Wear your seatbelts, kids.  They really do save lives.

My recovery from that accident was both short and endless.  On the surface, it looked great.  Physically, I was healed up and back on my feet within a few weeks. I had some very minor brain damage from the impact that was like the affects of a mild stroke-- I had trouble remembering certain words, but my circuits rewired themselves over the next year or two and this went away. 

Mentally, I was surprisingly composed and overcame fears of driving within a few months.  Life went back to something like normal, and I got some money from the accident and got a new car and a cool stereo and could afford to pay for a fancy private college.

But there was plenty that stayed with me, and remains with me to this day.  Because of optical nerve damage, my vision has never been the same.  I have a Harry Potter-like scar in the middle of my forehead and another on my chin.  My knees are still numb-- they never regained feeling.  And my neck and my back have plagued me ever since and will never be completely free of trouble.

That's the physical.  It's not a great picture.  And the mental stuff was a little scary too-- PTSD is a real problem for survivors of traumatic events, and this was one for me.  I eventually began to suffer flashbacks, strange associations between everyday actions and the night of the accident, panic attacks and survivor guilt... stuff that lasted for years. 

But it's the emotional part that has done the real damage, I think, over the years.  It's the emotional part that I think I still need to face, on some level, even after all this time.

That night on the highway, I lost a lot more than my car and the feeling in my knees.  I was 19 years old, at the height of my youthful immortality; unstoppable, idealistic, innocent.  I lost all of those things, in a very real sense.  I learned that things can happen to you without your participation or consent. Big, terrible, life-changing things.  Things that come to define you, although you never chose them.  Things that force you to be a different person than you were before, without the gradual life experience that usually makes such transitions feel earned.

A lot of this stuff seems almost silly, now.  Looking back on it from the other side of the divide between youth and adulthood, I know these things to be true, now, just as surely as I didn't know then as my 19 year-old self.  But to lose those illusions in the space of single, violating second is like a boulder thrown into a still pond, sending waves, then surges, then ripples out in invisible rings through your life for a long, long time.  Maybe forever.  I don't know.  

It's been almost 20 years, and they haven't stopped yet.

So what does this have to do with running, you might be asking yourself.  Well, aside from the obvious-- I've got a trick back and need to be careful or my running career will end before it really starts-- I think that one of the ripples from that long-ago night has been a low, steady undercurrent of fear in my life.  Fear of risk, fear of injury, fear of the unknown, fear of the unexpected, fear of a lack or a loss of control.  


Fear of this sort is a funny little demon.  It's not of a "Step back from the ledge--you might fall!" variety, prompted by real circumstance and a legitimate reaction to an actual threat.  It's more insidious than that... it's the tiny, clear voice that keeps you from going near the ledge in the first place. And not just that, but anywhere that MIGHT have a ledge.  and not just that, but anywhere where people might TALK about places they've been that have ledges. 

It's the kind of fear that feels like nothing more than the desire to stay home, or to walk on the paved path, or to order the same thing you ordered last time, or to do the thing you know how to do well, instead of the thing you've never tried.


It's the worst kind of fear there is, I think.  It's the kind that seems like it's just who you are.

I'm not saying I haven't lived, now.  I'm not saying there haven't been risks here and there, adventures now and then, the occasional pushing of the envelope or leap of faith.  But I often wonder what my life would be like if those moments weren't tempered by paralyzing anxiety, or if every step forward weren't a struggle against the four steps backward I had to take to get up the nerve to move. I wonder how many more of those moments there might otherwise have been.


I'm painting this in pretty broad strokes here, and I'm actually surprising myself by how true this feels, even in this extreme rendition.  This is true.  This happened to me.  It is still happening.  This is one of the stories of my life.  And today, I add this twist:  

It is still up to me-- as it always has been-- how central this story will be to who I am.


Running, for me, is a way to conquer fear.  Not all of it; maybe not even most.  But some.  More specifically, it's a way to prove to myself that I DO have control, over my body, my mind, my self.  I get a say.  I get to act.  I get to affect years of impacted pain and loss.  I get to alter the person I was, on my own terms, and become someone else through earned moments, conscious processes, deliberate acts of change.

I am now in charge. And I am not letting fear keep me from getting out there and running, no matter how crazy an idea it seems to be.  This is my decision: to transform myself in ways I never thought I could.  And running is only one of them.  And I will do it.




I am as shocked as you are by what I've written here (maybe more-- ha ha.  Some of you have a much higher opinion of my character than I do).  I didn't know this was in there.  I wonder what else I'll find down the road?

 

Run #36: I Want It That Way

Today's run was notable for one reason: I rediscovered the point where the level of difficulty stops going up and begins to go back down again.

If you're new to running, look forward to this: you just keep going when it gets hard, and soon it stops getting harder, and you keep going through that part too, and if you do, you're rewarded: it actually begins to get easier. It's a crazy, wonderful feeling.  All of a sudden, your breathing returns to something like normal, and your legs are warm and flexible, and it's more about rhythm than effort, and you can just relax.

Today, like many of my pre-5k runs, it was easier to run the second mile than the first.  You could never, EVER have convinced me that this was possible before I had a chance to experience it myself.  I'd lost a bit of my edge after floundering for five weeks after the 5k; it's like I'm starting all over.  But it's coming back, and today was proof.  

Remember this, fellow fledglings: it DOES get easier!  

Musical highlight for today was... well... um... I can't quite bring myself to tell you who it was, but I will tell you that it was all because of this. 

A lot of people wish they could work in an office like that. I did.  It was awesome. 

Run #35: Strength From An Unexpected Source

Today's run was supposed to be my long one this week (although only two miles at this point).  Sundays, on this plan, will be my long runs; the others will be shorter.  I love this idea-- I guess I'd assumed that once you started running longer distances, you were supposed to run them every time you went out.  But according to this plan and a very helpful article on coolrunning.com, this is not the case.  

One more example, I see, of the all-or-nothing thinking that creeps into my daily life, despite all my well-therapized, CBT-trained vigilance. Ha.

But I digress. Something sort of amazing happened on my run today.

I took the girls with me (Daddy is off enjoying some well-deserved "Daddy Time"), and I decided to take them along my new residential route.  I don't usually run with the stroller, and while it's never as hard as I think it's going to be, it IS harder than I think it should be.  There is more of an upper body workout involved than you might expect, pushing that thing-- not from the pushing so much as the controlling-and-keeping-it-from-flying-off-the-sidewalk-and-into-the-street.  It requires attention, and this, at my stage, at least, saps energy I'd otherwise be using for running.

So I did my warm-up and my stretches and set off, and realized fairly quickly that this was a lot more taxing than normal, and two miles with the stroller would be tough.  I wrestled with that for a while as I ran, and finally decided I'd just run the same 1.5 mile route I've been running, and count the stroller as the extra exertion.  I didn't want to wimp out but I also wanted to be able to finish my run without stopping to walk.  I was feeling very frustrated with the magnitude of the stroller's impact on my psyche and my ability, and started thinking about something that happened during my 5k run in June.


I told you already that I kept finding myself getting teary as I ran the race that day, and the teariest moment came when I was about 2/3 of the way to the turnaround point-- not quite halfway through the race.  I was running along the center divider of Shoreline Drive, where they had set up a partition to divide the runners from the traffic lanes.  All of a sudden, up ahead, I heard people beginning to cheer, and the cheering was traveling backward through the pack toward me.  


The reason soon became clear: the first runner had made the turnaround and was on her way back, running outside of the partition on the traffic side because there wasn't room for anyone yet in the runners' lanes.


The cheers got louder, and I got an unobstructed view of her as she flew past me on my left at a full sprint.  Short, athletic-looking little spark plug of a woman, probably around my age, tanned and blonde and looking like the cheerleader who is always at the top of the pyramid or getting thrown into the air-- one of those little bouncy badass girls.  That was what I noticed first.  But then I noticed who was with her.

She was running full-out, legs stretching gracefully straight between strides, like a gazelle.  She had a huge smile on her face as people called out encouragement... and she was pushing a little blonde boy in a jog stroller.

That was the moment I truly realized, I think, that I could DO this, that I could make this happen even with two babies, that it was possible. It gave me a huge burst of energy that stayed with me for the rest of the race. It's hard to describe such a profound moment of clarity, but seeing that woman racing past with her stroller was so moving, and so inspiring, that even now, I'm getting emotional just writing about it.


Which brings me back to my run today, where I had the same reaction just reliving that moment in my mind-- I was tearing up and trying to remind myself that my babies in the stroller weren't obstacles in my path, they were the reason I was on the path to begin with, and I was just feeling generally emotional about the whole thing (oh yes, posts coming on this topic).


And then, I swear to god, something happened.


I was chuckling to myself over my weird running tears, and looked up and met the eye of an older woman who was strolling down the sidewalk toward me, about 30 feet away.  She took us in with a glance, and then broke into a huge smile, shook her head in admiration, and gave me a very emphatic double thumbs-up as I ran past her.


Holy shit. That running, smiling woman with the stroller, all of a sudden, was me.

It's all relative, it turns out.  There is no "there" there, no place where all the fit people who love exercise and run long distances go and close the door behind them and leave the rest of us out on the curb with our empty pizza boxes and stale donuts and too-tight t-shirts.  It's not all or nothing.  We each have a chance to make progress for ourselves, starting from wherever we start and going to wherever we want to go, for whatever reasons that motivate us.  We each get to choose our own adventure, and follow it at our own pace.


I'd like to think that that woman kept her smile as she continued on down the sidewalk, and that for that moment and maybe a few more, her idea of what was possible was expanded beyond the boundaries she'd kept before.  I'd like to think that seeing us gave her more spring in her step than she'd had when she started on her walk, and that she felt fortified by our exchange, and just a tiny bit more able to meet what lay ahead of her on the road.


I know I did.
    

Run #34: Strike While the Irons Are Sleeping

Another 1.5 miles down the road for me, and I finished in 20min, 15sec, or on a 13.5min/mile pace again.  A few seconds faster than yesterday, but negligible in the long run.  Still, it's a big chunk shaved off of my previous pace for no apparent reason, and I'd like it to become the new standard.  I can't be runnin' no 10ks if it takes me longer than nap time!  I've got to strike while the iron is hot around here... rather, while the irons are sleeping, and I can't be dawdling around on a 15-minute mile pace if I'm going to be putting in some serious distance.


I said "no apparent reason" before, and that's not exactly true.  There is, I think, a non-magical reason my pace has increased, and it's so absurd that I just have to tell you about it.  I'm new to running, as you know, and I am just winging it, really.  I have begun to study up on the fundamentals (because, in true nerd fashion, I don't feel bona fide until there is homework), and have been thinking about whether to tackle increasing my pace or my distance first. I'd decided on pace but am seeing recommendations for distance until I have more experience as a runner for more difficult pace work.  Drat.


So. Distance it is; hence the 10k plan.  But in the meantime, I've found something that helps with pace too, and here it is, all you fellow newbies... hold on to your seats... ready?  


I started taking longer steps.


Yep.  That's it.  15 minutes to 13.5 minutes, just like that.  You can laugh, but it is actually harder than it sounds, and requires some concentration to keep it going.  This is where that chronic self-consciousness thing actually helps.  Because OF COURSE I'm already concentrating on every single detail and angle and portrait pose of my body's placement on the sidewalk. Pshh.  


It's pretty cool when we get the opportunity to turn a major weakness into a strength.


I've got some good thoughts brewing and am planning a few posts on what's really motivating me here, and I'll get to those as soon as I can.  In the meantime, a few more music links from today's run:


First of all, forget a slow warm up, especially if you are of a certain age and disposition, since you will appreciate this so much more (Jill, I don't know if your tastes ran to Boingo, but I always consider you my Target Demographic for this stuff).  Oh I know something about the ways of loving!

Second, a real treat for me-- a song I didn't get to listen to when I put it on my phone and haven't heard for years, but was THE song of my life when I was 16 or 17. In that movie of my life that was always playing in my head, this was the song that was playing in the background whenever I walked into the scene.  This song is why I was a goth, back in those days.


Speaking of back in those days, my 16-year old niece and I were discussing awesome footwear recently (you know, like ya do), and I advised her to get these, and then realized that a) I seriously covet these shoes, and b) if I were to wear them, I would look far less retro than "hasn't been shopping since 1988."  Because I AM TOO OLD FOR DOCS.


Oh my god.  And this leads me to the subject of an upcoming post: stress and running.  Wait for it!

Run #33: Mansions, Memories, Marilyn Manson, and the Erstwhile Queen of the Divan

All right, here we go. Just back from run #33, following my new 10k prep plan.  I realized, as I sat down to write this post, that when I looked at the plan last night to see how long this first run was supposed to be, I thought, oh man, only 1.5 miles?! Pshaw!  This plan is going to be SO EASY!

Let us recall, friends, that 32 runs ago, I couldn't even dream of being able to run 1.5 miles.  My entire routine, walking most of the way with short, 60-second bursts of jogging, was only 1.5 miles, including warm up and cool down.  I am still shocked by my progress when I stop to think about it.


Another new thing today: I ran a completely different route.  Usually, I run southwest from my house, 2 blocks down to the beach and run the path along the beach (Shoreline, for those of you familiar with Alameda).  Today, I ran northeast, up through a park and then along residential streets the whole way.  This is notable for me because again, 32 runs ago, I would have been WAY too self-conscious to run where there was the potential for so many non-running other people.

Yeah, maybe even 10 runs ago.  Maybe even fewer than that.  I haven't altered my route until now for that reason, even though I've wanted to. Today, I shattered that little paranoid glass ceiling.  It was quite nice, and got me close to the gorgeous Gold Coast neighborhoods of Alameda, with their multi-million dollar mansions and beautiful old trees.  I love looking at those houses, and have hoped to chart runs along those old streets for some time now. Other side of the tracks: here I come!


Today's run came in 2 full minutes under pace, and I'm crediting serendipitous music selections for that.  Before the 5k I loaded up my phone (I have no ipod.  It's me-- I'm the one) with a bunch of old-school stuff to keep me well-distracted.  Um, I mean focused.

First up was "Love Me To Death," an absolutely filthy song by The Mission UK, my favorite band from my late-high school goth days. Wayne Hussy's voice still gives me the warm-and-tinglies.  Oh lordy, what a sexy man. I certainly understood what the song was referring to when I was 17, but let's just say I appreciate it on a -ahem- deeper level now. Yes, kids, that's an actual record playing in the video. This was the first CD I ever bought, before I even owned a CD player.

What else? "The Beautiful People" by Marilyn Manson.  Oh Marilyn, how I love you.  It's all relative to the size of your steeple.

But today's winner is the song that single-handedly got me home on a 13.6-minute mile pace: "Ca Plan Pour Moi" by Plastic Bertrand. I double-dog-dare you to listen to that song while running and not keep the pace. Funny thing is, in looking up the translation just now I realized that this song is about a complete loser, "the king of the divan." 

A divan is a couch, right? And here I am, following my post Couch-to-5k running plan,driven to a brisk pace by some guy from 1978 France, reminding me of where I came from and just how far I've come. I am no longer the Queen of the Divan.  Thank you, Plastic Bertrand.  Thank you very much.

Love the jacket.

A 10k Schedule

I've been floundering a bit for the past few weeks, trying to get this blog up and running and find a new plan to follow.  Finally, here it is, with one small modification: Monday = Tuesday, etc. I need to scoot it over by one day so that Saturday is a rest day, because that is my "Mommy Day" and I like to spend it at the movies or something.  

So.  Tomorrow is Day 1, which is a rest day, which seems a little counter-productive but I'm not going to argue with The Plan.  Otherwise, it seems like a nice, achievable schedule.  Exactly what I was looking for.  It only assumes you can already run 2 miles, which I can. (I CAN!!!?!)

Anybody else want to follow this plan too?

Week	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
1	Rest	1.5 m run	CT or Rest	1.5 m run	Rest	2 m run	25-30 min EZ
2	Rest	2 m run	CT or Rest	2 m run	Rest	2.5 m run	25-30 min EZ
3	Rest	2.5 mi run	CT or Rest	2 m run	Rest	3 m run	30-35 min EZ
4	Rest	2.5 m run	CT or Rest	2 m run	Rest	3.5 m run	35 min EZ
5	Rest	3 m run	CT or Rest	2.5 m run	Rest	4 m run	35-40 min EZ
6	Rest	3 m run	CT	2.5 m run	Rest	4.5 m run	35-40 min EZ
7	Rest	3.5 m run	CT	3 m run	Rest	5 m run	40 min EZ
8	Rest	3 m run	CT or Rest	2 m run	Rest	Rest	10K Race!

The Back Story, Part II

All right. So once the deciding part was over, it was just a matter of getting myself together, and I used as my organizing principle the coaching method I'd used so many times before with my students.

1. Create a SMART goal. That is, one that is

Specific (Get detailed. Not, "I'm going to start running," but, "I'm going to follow the program I found on coolrunnings.com and begin training for a 5k, starting tomorrow at 4pm.")

Measureable (How will I know I have made progress toward my goal, and/or reached it? I will be able to progress through the coolrunnings program, and I will register for a 5k in the near future to demonstrate my progress)

Attainable (The program says I can go from couch to 5k in 9 weeks; I have 12 until a 5k event is very handily scheduled to take place in my town, along the very same route I will be using for training)

Realistic (Ahem. Who knows? I'm not saying I'm going to run a marathon in three weeks; I'm following a relatively gentle program with more time than it claims I'll need, so I'll just need to have a little faith that it's possible)

Timely (Meaning, is there a time structure for completing the goal? Yes: a 5k in Alameda, 12 weeks away, and a week-by-week training program to follow for preparation)

2. Create accountability. I did this in two ways. First, I went and registered for the 5k. Signed up, paid the fee, got it on the calendar. I was now in for $45, and on the mailing list for updates and training tips. Second, I took step three, which was:

3. Create a support system. Of course, my husband was a great source of support and encouragement here He even trained along with me, and ran the 5k himself (his first, as well).  But I needed more than just his support-- I needed to get a strong network to keep myself going.

I emailed my three sisters and my brothers-in-law and told them my plan. They all responded enthusiastically, of course, and it was great to have them aboard. But these people, as wonderful and supportive as they are, are ALWAYS on my team. It goes without saying. And this time, I needed something more than unconditional support.

This is where I made my boldest move: I also decided to post my plans and updates on Facebook. Those of you who know me well: go ahead and laugh now. Yes, this one was quite out of character for me, and as it turned out, it was probably the key element in the whole plan.  I took the step I'd advised others to make so many times before, and I brought the threat of public humiliation into the mix. At least, that's what I thought I was doing.

As it happens, posting on Facebook was a gift from the gods. As I began my program, I fell in to the habit of posting a quick report every time I returned from a run: how it went, how I felt, the level of difficulty I experienced, etc. I vowed to myself that I would not be too self-deprecating (as is my wont); I would not complain; I would not wallow in fear or self-loathing or helplessness, which, let's face it, are the exercise novice's constant companions.

Not this time. Not me. On Facebook, I would post only what was true outside of my own head-- it was raining, I ran x far in y time, whatever. And I would only use positive or neutral language to describe my internal experience-- my knees hurt but I pushed through, it was easier (or harder) than last time, etc. I was determined not to allow myself to turn it into a joke, or to let my self-consciousness get in my way.

To digress from my main point for a second: I can't tell you what a profound impact that decision-- the decision to remain sarcasm-free--had on my progress. It might surprise some of you to hear this, but I am an EXTREMELY self-conscious person. I am forever the extremely reluctant audience member thrust rudely and unexpectedly into the spotlight. You might ask why I shy away from the spotlight, and it's a fair question.

I've been asking myself why I'd prefer to be an audience member in my own life.

Anyway, the language thing really worked. I let myself brag. Well, I guess it wasn't bragging, really; it was more like simply claiming my accomplishments and letting myself be proud of them publicly. At first, it felt like bragging, and it was weird and a little uncomfortable. And then it felt exciting. And then it became incredibly motivating and I looked forward to the next thing I'd be able to claim-- I looked forward to doing it, and I also looked forward to telling my friends I had done it.

I'd be out there on a run, planning the Facebook update in my head-- what I'd say, what I'd leave out, how I'd capture what was different about this particular run. When I got home, I'd go straight to the computer and post. I had to remind myself to stretch first-- I'd be in such a hurry to get online, write it down, make it real, that I would often forget and be stiff and sore within the hour.

And that brings me back to the biggest benefit of all: the response my posts began to get from friends. I don't know why it was such a surprise, but it was. People started to root for me. Their comments were encouraging and supportive and all the things you'd expect, intellectually, but emotionally, they became a lifeline for me. Seeing those comments pop up after I'd posted a fresh update was more gratifying than anything else. Maybe even more gratifying than the runs themselves. Or at the very least, the comments made the running seem even more worthwhile, like I was part of something bigger than just myself.  And maybe, through sharing my experience, I was.

Because it didn't stop there. At first, it was just "woo hoo" comments from well-wishers, and tips and guidance from my friends with running experience. But as time went by and I made more and more progress, people began to say things like, "You've inspired me to start running, too."  That was when it really hit me: motivation isn't simply a binary switch-- it's on or off, you have it or you don't. It's a multifaceted, living, breathing, evolving thing, given and received on many levels.

I'd found just enough motivation to get myself started, and I'd hoped to get little booster shots of it from the occasional friend cheering me on over Facebook, but it never occurred to me that I might motivate others through my actions. It never occurred to me that I might provide an example that someone else might want to follow, when it came to exercise. And it follows that it never occurred to me how much more motivated I would feel as a result.

By the time I was a few weeks in, my support network was firmly established and an essential part of my routine. All those times I'd coached others to identify the people on their team and recruit them to be their cheering section and to push them through when times got tough, I never really appreciated how very meaningful such an experience could be. All my coaching advice had remained in the abstract for me when it came to applying it to my own goals and actions, and here I was,finally, following the simplest and most basic coaching structure, and it was changing my life, almost literally overnight.

Physician, heal thyself!

From the end of March through the end of May, I followed the Couch-to-5k plan and found myself, to my utter shock and amazement, actually enjoying it. And not only that: I was also running, for real, farther than I ever thought I could possibly run. By the time June 5th rolled around, the date of my first official 5k run, I was ready. My husband and I brought our daughters with us, and as we joined the other stroller-pushers at the back of the pack, he turned to me and said, "I'll push the babies. You go do your run."

And I ran!

It was a slow, steady pace, just as I'd been doing in training in the previous weeks. A 15-minute mile is not a break-neck speed by any calculation. But it was the pace I'd set consistently, and it got me from start to finish without stopping, which was my only goal for that first race. I wove my way through the slow, walking crowd at the back and found myself somewhere in the middle of the 2000+ runners on the road that day. I kept seeing myself from above, seeing myself running, running, passing people, feeling strong, running, running, keeping up, not stopping, and I fought back the tears that kept coming and making it hard to breathe. 

The tears were a surprise. As I said before, I'm not so good with the emotional stuff. I'm not a crier. But finding myself out there on the road in a place I'd never, not once in my life, imagined I could be was more moving than I can describe. I don't think I have ever felt so powerful. There are only a few moments in my life where I have ever felt so proud.

I finished that first race in 45 minutes and 19 seconds. My husband was still behind me in the crowd, pushing the double stroller (an 80-pound monster on wheels, when fully loaded with babies and gear, and no small task), so he wasn't there to cheer me across the finish line, but it didn't matter. I couldn't keep the smile from my face as I came around the final corner, and I cheered myself across the finish line. 

It felt just as good.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that if I were really going to do my running updates justice, I'd need to move everything over to a blog. Facebook is nice, but it only allows you 420 characters in a status update (Oh, you clever, stoned FB technical architects! Put down the Doritos and go get some fresh air, will you?). So here I am, starting fresh with a new plan to work my way up to a 10k by the fall.

Like my legs in the beginning, my writing is a bit shaky. I'm still warming up.  It's a double challenge now; not only to run, but to write with insight and vulnerability in such a public forum.  Neither of these things are my strong suits, yet (and yes, I do have three degrees in writing, but poetry and fiction are not the same as this kind of self-revelation. At least, they aren't for me. So it's different. Frustrating, but true). But I'm working on it. Slowly, surely, and at a steady pace.

I hope you'll join me for the trip.

The Back Story, Part I

A few months ago, I decided to start running.

That's a very simple sentence. Who would imagine what a monumental shift in ambition, motivation, identity and self-conception is contained in those few short words?

I had never run before. To be honest, I had never really even exercised before. I mean, sure, I'd marched around on an elliptical machine at various times in the past-- once quite regularly for three whole weeks in a row-- and I'd taken a few yoga classes and gone on long walks with my husband and owned a couple of 8-lb barbells that gathered dust in the corner of my living room, but if I'm really being fair, I have to admit I've never had an exercise regimen to speak of.

There are reasons behind how I got to where I found myself in March of 2010, and some of them are hard to talk about but I will try to delve into them here in the months to come. Suffice it to say, for now, that I finally decided, after 12 long years of bewilderment at the girth of the image in the mirror, to make a change. And for the first time, I had an idea of how to make it stick.

For the past few years, until the birth of my twin daughters in May of 2009, I worked for a company that partners with universities to provide coaching for their incoming students in order to help them assimilate, set goals and reach them, maximize their potential, and get the most from their educational experience. Essentially, I was a life coach. I helped hundreds of students set goals and create plans to meet them. I knew all the methods, all the tricks, all the best practices, and yet when it came to the one issue that plagued me every day of my life, I had never tried to use those methods myself.

And then, one day, something shifted. I'm not sure what it was-- I plan to explore that stuff in this blog, too-- but in the interest of getting this first step done, I'll just stick with that line for now:  something shifted. It wasn't the desire-- I had long desired to make a change. I think most people unhappy with their circumstances aren't lacking in the desire to change them. It wasn't that I didn't have any ideas about what I needed to do to begin, either. It was that I knew I needed to make this time different from all the times before. 

I knew perfectly well how to do that, too. The downside of being a life coach is that you've essentially removed from use all the stupid excuses you create in order to avoid making things happen in your life. You live, for as long as you can stand it, with the knowledge that the life you want is out there waiting for you, and you only need to take a step toward it to make it yours.

Easier said than done. I was a good coach, I think in large part because I empathized so much with the fear of taking that step. I could hardly have faulted others for being afraid to do the thing that paralyzed me to my core. I was gentle with my students about that fear, and respectful of the courage it took to make it. And somehow, I avoided for years having to take that step myself.

Full disclosure: I am not so good at the emotional stuff.  I'm not a heart-on-my-sleeve kind of person. So much of this running thing is about opening myself up to the world again, and this blog is emblematic of that. But I'm not going to lie: it's very uncomfortable for me. So I'm asking you, dear reader, to bear with me as I stumble through the deep dark feelings that have gotten me to where I am. I am hoping that as I delve into this, post by post, it will get easier. It's worked with the running, more swiftly and strongly than I ever imagined possible.

For today, though, I'll just stick with the facts.

So. March 2010. I'd been thinking about running for a while, in large part because my sisters and brothers-in-law had all begun running at various times and for various reasons over the past couple of years. One brother-in-law trained for and ran a marathon within a few short months.  The other quit smoking and cemented his commitment by signing up for a half-marathon of his own, and he and my sister embarked on their own rigorous training schedule. Finally, last summer, my other sister-- the one who had bad knees like I do and who never thought she could run-- started her own exercise program and had enormous success. She completed her first half-marathon in January.

I couldn't believe it was possible for anyone to run that far. At the time, I couldn't run to the end of my block. But something about my sister's achievement struck me differently than the achievements of so many others that I've watched from the sidelines in the past. It removed my last excuse. It made me confront the fact that the only reason I had never run before was that I had simply never run before. Period. Full stop.

So I decided to run. I just decided. And I decided to make this time different. I decided to do the things I thought I'd never do, so that they'd help me reach the goal I thought I'd never reach. I decided to try on someone else's way of thinking, someone else's way of doing. I decided to stop trying to be comfortable, and start trying to be successful.

I just decided. And I got going.