Hi there. I am, as they say in show business (and probably some other places), back.
My back has been bothering me and I've used that as an excuse not to run. This may or may not be warranted. But of course, I err on the side of inaction when it comes to these things. Which is probably why the problems persist, eh?
I've made an appointment for physical therapy and will begin soon. We also got a book on trigger-point massage, which we've both experienced before at the hands of an evil trainer named Mario and is one of the most painful things known to man, and we've identified some trigger points in my calves (calves?!) that have a HUGE effect on my lower back pain.
Seriously: anyone with muscle pain anywhere, give trigger-point massage a try. You can do it yourself, or get someone to help. Try this book. It is truly outstanding, easy to read, and you will feel a difference immediately. Like, in five minutes. I am not kidding.
Anyway. About action. I've been thinking about this one for a while and today's run was a good illustration of my theory: that action is essentially (emotionally) neutral, and the meaning it takes on comes from the stories we tell ourselves about it.
For example, my running has been difficult, and if I tell myself the story of how difficult running is for me, the act of running becomes something I dread, something I have a hard time motivating to do, something I don't think I can finish once I start.
However, if I tell myself a different story-- that running is something I never thought I could do but have found it to be far easier than I imagined, and the hard parts usually only last a few minutes, and every time I go I do better than the time before-- all of a sudden, running is inspiring, motivating, a vehicle for change.
The run, though? The actual, physical, feet-on-the-pavement run? It's basically the same either way. Same level of exertion, same aches and pains, same sweat and breath and MP3s.
We all know that negative thinking takes its toll. But it seems to me that it doesn't do me much good to pretend that being positive about running makes it less taxing, physically, because it doesn't. I have no immediate control over how my body feels, or how it performs, in a purely physical sense. I am who I am. I gots what I gots.
No, the physical part is not where I have any of the control. I suspect that a lot of new runners make this mistake-- we think that part should become easy, should become enjoyable, should be motivating in and of itself-- and we're barking up the wrong tree, there. The physical part is going to be what it is. Our bodies will do what they need to do to adapt, strengthen, transform, and we're basically just the facilitators.
But where I DO have control-- where I have ALL the control-- is in the stories I tell myself about what I am doing, what is happening within me, what I capable of achieving on the road.
The action itself is neutral. How you spin it, though: that makes all the difference.
In many ways, this seems pretty self-evident to me and almost ridiculous to point out. But this isn't the way most of us behave. Imagine the possibilities that spring from a simple shift in spin:
"I am shy and awkward, and I have a very difficult time in job interviews. I will never get that job."
OR
"I am shy and awkward, and I have a very difficult time in job interviews. I will find some ways to prepare so that I can make better use of my strengths and overcome my fears, and I will get this job."
Has anything changed about your shy/awkward past? No. Will the interview questions be the same? Yes. But you've taken control of the story you're telling, and this neutral action becomes part of your transformation instead of further proof that things can never change.
So. My running story has taken on a new chapter, and that chapter includes physical therapy for the back and continued efforts to get out there and keep it going. I can tell myself that my back pain prevents me from becoming a runner, and you know what? That story will come true.
So why not tell myself a different story? The one where I do everything I can to change the way my body works, and become the woman who leaves twenty years of discomfort and incapacity behind and runs off into the sunset, transformed? Why not choose to believe that this story will come true instead?
In the meantime, though: the road. One foot in front of the other. The aches and pains, the sweat and breath, the MP3s. What they are... is what they are. That part is beyond my control.
But what I do with them, what I tell myself (and you) about them, what I choose to make them mean...
That part is entirely up to me.
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