Thoughts on risk taking

Thoughts on risk taking:

I am a calculated risk taker

Who likes adventure

Taking risks, when the outcome was good, has enriched my life

Taking risks, when the outcome was not good, has caused me alot of pain....but also eventually enriched my life

Running is my religion.

I wrote this post a few months ago, but never finished it. I'm in a little different place now and not sure it doesn't resonate quite as much as it did when I wrote it...but its still good so I thought I'd post it for the sake of not losing the thoughts. I'm sure I'll come back to this one again.

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This one took me awhile to work out. The thought just popped into my head one day last fall: "Running is my religion". I knew it was true for me, but I struggled to put it into words. I think I've finally got it down. In my head....now let's see if I can put that thought to "paper".

Thinking back to last fall when the thought first occurred, running was going so well! I'd spent the summer working hard on the track and in the gym, I'd started working with a new coach which expanded my running community, and I set several new PR's. I felt good and strong and committed. I had also been going through some hard times and running offered a reprieve - it helped me focus on the present, get out of my head and just be in my body.

Then disaster struck in the form of a femoral stress fracture, which required months of physical therapy, no running at all for 6 weeks, and a shift in focus from "training" to "healing". This experience challenged my patience, my ability to be kind to others (especially other non-injured runners), and my self-confidence (Was I really a runner if I wasn't running? Would I ever be able to get back to where I was?)

So....I did ALOT of thinking, and I read about 27,000 books about running and mindfulness, and suddenly it all came together! So, here goes:

Running gives me purpose, and a way to practice being my best self. It gives me a reason to take loving care of the body I've been given, to nourish it by eating healthy foods and to avoid (excessive) alcohol and sweets. Running offers me an opportunity to practice kindness and compassion for others who are struggling to maintain motivation to run or who have been sidelined by injury. It also has made me confront aspects of myself that I don't like, such as envy, pettiness, and comparing myself with others.

Running has also caused me to think about my priorities. With running at the helm, it is easier to let go of people and things (like cookies) that don't serve me. But it also highlights where my priorities are out of order, such as when my run plan becomes more important than time with my husband or not being available when my kids need me. Running gives me the chance to practice gratitude for my health, my environment, and my supportive husband.

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Since I'm still practicing letting go of perfect, I'm going to go ahead and post this even though it's not quite finished.

Ciao, for now.

Letting go of perfect

This might be the hardest post yet. I've started it at least 10 times, but never made it past the title. You (I) see, originally I wanted to write about my struggle letting go of a need to be perfect at everything all the time. But as I've mulled this over I realized that while this is mostly true, what's even more true for me is that I need to be perceived by others as being perfect at everything all the time.

Ugh.

What an ugly truth!

There's a kind of martyrdom in perfectionism. There are worse things in life than striving for perfection. Perfectionists tend to work hard and accomplish alot. They produce quality work and persist through struggle to overcome obstacles. In their quest for perfect, people often tell perfectionists to not work so hard, not worry so much, not be so hard on themselves. In my world, these are compliments. "Don't work so hard!" = Strong work ethic! "Don't worry so much!" = You really care about what you do! "Don't be so hard on yourself" = You are humble.

[Two weeks has passed since I wrote what is above]:

Oh man, I just can't seem to finish this post...but I really want to get something down (because my thoughts only become real when I write them down). So I'm going to finish this post with a bulleted list of thoughts that don't have a cohesive beginning, middle, or end/conclusion (how's that for embracing good enough?!!):

• The need to appear perfect is a quality of perfectionism (at their core, perfectionists know they can't actually be perfect all the time, which results in feelings of anxiety and shame....which results in a mad cycle of Striving for perfect > Not achieving perfect (because it's impossible) > Anxiety and shame > Working harder to be perfect).
• I've been trying to understand perfectionism vs. striving to do well by reading what others have to say on the topic. I like this blog post and I like pretty much everything I've ever read or heard by Brene Brown (links to TED talks here). I just ordered her book Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. (Side note: After spending 20 minutes trying to figure out how to insert an accented e into this text, I decided to let go of perfect in favor of getting this damn post done, so Brene reads like it's pronounced "Breen", when in fact it is "Bre-nay". But it's OK. I'm embracing imperfect).
• A wise mentor and friend frequently reminds me "Don't let perfect get in the way of good" (or simply done, for that matter). This is a good daily reminder for me.
• It's important to try to understand the roots of perfectionism and how to break the cycle, because it appears that perfectionism is taught (not ingrained in our DNA, as the image above suggests). I learned it from my parents, and I'm teaching it to my kids.

I'll come back to this one I'm sure, but that's enough for now.

Ciao, baby...

Keeping myself sane

Writing is such a painful process for me. So, why do it, you ask (you, who is actually me, since nobody reads this)? I think I write to relieve the pressure of the constant running dialogue occurring in my head. And I do mean dialogue...in my head I ask and answer questions and offer differing viewpoints as would two or more people having a discussion. These conversations with myself happen all day long, and often in the middle of the night as well. Writing down my thoughts gives them somewhere else to be, and allows for self-expression (expulsion?) without having to subject other people to the minutiae of my brain. My dear, patient husband gets enough of this already. Writing my thoughts down also makes them somehow more legitimate....like they don't exist until they're in clear, written form.

Whew, had to get that thought down in writing....it's been driving me a little insane.

Speaking of insanity, I'm still not running. OK, well, I did get to run three times this week, if you call 3 minutes running followed by 2 minutes walking for 15 minutes total every other day "running". I can literally feel my goals for this season slipping away....I realize this negative thinking is not helpful, but this no running thing is the pits.

I did get a good laugh out of Lauren Fleshman's recent article in Runner's World "How to Injure Yourself Like a Pro".

http://www.runnersworld.com/sites/default/files/screwupmar500x310_0.jpg

It turns out I have more in common with elite runners than I thought, at least when it comes to avoiding injury. You can read the full article here. I love Lauren. I wish we could be friends. We kind of are, in my head.

But enough about running...or not running, as it were. Let's talk about something else that has been swimming around in my head for awhile: men. Specifically, how much I love them. Actually, let's not leave out the boys. Let's talk about all male humans. Or, at least the loveable ones. I don't really want to talk about the creepers right now because for much of my life men were all kind of creepers to me, but they're not anymore, so I want to celebrate that.

OK, so Men (and boys). Why do I love them? What do I love about them? Why did it take me so long to figure out how great they are? Which men in my life made me realize their greatness? Why am I still a little afraid to love them?

Let's start at the top: Why do I love men? The first thing that comes to mind is their physical and emotional strength. This is a generalization of course, (I also know many physically and emotionally strong women) but it is true of many men I admire. As frustrating as it can sometimes be, women athletes have not achieved the physical feats of men. I find men's strength and speed and physical ability inspirational. They set the bar high for us. The men I admire for their emotional strength are not swayed in their decision-making by emotional highs and lows. I realize that what appears to be emotional strength in some men is in reality a mask for pain or lack of sensitivity to more subtle feelings...but I do think that men, in general, tend to think with logic and reason without getting all mixed up in a jumble of emotions. This makes men great to work with and it also makes them great friends (though the jury is still out for me on whether true platonic friendship between men and women is possible, but more on that later).

Other things I love about men (and boys): they like to get dirty (and I'm talking about actually dirt here), they rarely obsess over their appearance, they find humor in bodily functions (oh my goodness, my boys' fart humor makes a mama proud), and they are great at building with Legos (more generalizing, I know). I also admire the way men speak with authority, even about things they don't know that much about (though I could make an opposing argument about how annoying this is).

So, why did it take me so long to figure out how great men are? I can honestly say the realization that I love men, not just a specific man, came to me like a light bulb turning on a year or so ago. My delayed appreciation might have something to do with the fact that I don't feel like I had much exposure to men/boys growing up and some of my early experiences were less than great. There are three girls in my family so my dad was seriously outnumbered in our household. And while my dad was certainly very present in my childhood, he is a very emotionally sensitive man so he didn't always seem like other Dads (with a capital D) to me - this is a good thing, actually, but it might have contributed to the foreignness of men/boys to me. I also didn't have great first boyfriend experiences. My first real boyfriend was manipulative and deceitful, and he ended our relationship in the worst possible way (by taking up with a new girl and not telling me about it, I had to figure it out on my own). It took me years to get over the pain of that relationship. Not long after that I learned my dad had cheated on my mom, which gave me another reason to distrust men. However, men were not just foreign and deceitful, but something to be feared. I'm not sure exactly how I arrived at this perception, but I suspect it came both from my parents wish to protect me and the myriad messages girls receive about not becoming victims of rape or other forms of violence. I still struggle with this one (alot).

Thankfully, I've since had many great experiences with men. I had a lengthy sometimes-boyfriend, sometimes friend relationship in college (I guess this might now be called a Friend With Benefits relationship, but I don't know...this became a pretty solid friendship and FWB seems cheap to me. I'm probably old fashioned. Or just old.) We seemed to always have each other, even when the other had another. While on the one hand this could seem like another occasion to feel demoralized or deceived, it actually felt very honest. We just really liked each other, but we didn't want to be exclusive. Other guys were possessive, Brian allowed me to be me, even if that meant I wanted to be with other people. Another man played a huge part in helping me get over my divorce from my first husband. I was 24 (that's a story for another post) and terrified that this mistake had damaged me so that no man would ever want to be with me again (seems silly now). John didn't care in the least, and even though it didn't last long (he was 10 years older and lived 2000 miles away), his acceptance of my past was enormously healing. And of course, there's my husband - he is the man I know best, and who has taught me the most about the wonders and joys (and challenges) of men.

It isn't just romantic relationships that have shed light on my love for men. I've had the opportunity to build great relationships with men with whom I work. Work is a setting I can really appreciate concrete, logical, critical thinking. It's also not just heterosexual men that I love. Some of my gay male friends are among the most compassionate, conscientious, and fun-loving people I know...and they are still men, with all those great manly qualities of rational decision making and displays of emotional strength. I love the men who are my neighbors, who show me how to tell my sons to "shake it off" when it's nothing serious, and who are always willing to lend their strength for heavy lifting or their fearlessness to check the house when I hear a funny noise and my husband is out of town. I love the men who have been my coaches and trainers for teaching me the things they know and encouraging me to push harder, reach higher, and go farther, and for just being there with me in silent company when I am defeated. I appreciate men especially during times when I am struggling with defeat and I don't want to talk about it - with men, I can just be and do, words are unnecessary. This is true in other situations with men, too. I like that I can say "are we cool?" and he says "yeah, we're cool" and I say "cool", and know that we really are.

So, now here comes the hard part, loving men also strikes a bit of fear in me, especially the unattached ones. It might herald from the foreignness of men, that I don't quite know how to be comfortable around them, so I'm always feeling a little guarded. Or maybe there's still some lingering distrust, so I always feel a little vulnerable. I've been told that my vulnerability makes me attractive...this sounds perverse, but I don't think that's how it was intended. It appears to bring out a desire in some men to protect or take care of me; it probably also makes me a target for men who seek to manipulate me. I'm generally not aware that I am giving off a vibe that alerts men to my vulnerability, and I am more careful about what I project as my awareness of this tendency has increased, but I also think this is just part of my nature. I am vulnerable with women, too. I am certain that this vulnerability also turns some men off...but I suppose I just don't get to know these men because they probably avoid me.

The jury is still out for me about whether men and women (or maybe just men and I) can have truly platonic close friendships. I have many male friends with whom I am certain there is no spark coming from either of us, but I wouldn't put any of them in the category of "close friend" with whom I'd share deep feelings like fear, shame, or even great joy. When I connect with men on this level, I find myself needing to pull away. I lose trust in my ability to love without being in love, or the possibility that I could be loved and cared for by a man in a non-sexual way. This makes me sad, when I think about it, because I don't want to miss out on the opportunity to connect deeply with as many people as I can during my life. Deep connections with people are what matter most to me, I think, and I've just spent this entire post contemplating how men offer a depth and richness to my life that women alone can not.

Perhaps I'll be able to get some resolution to this quandary of wanting close male relationships but being simultaneously fearful of them through my relationships with my sons as they grow into men. They are certainly giving me an education in physicality (boys really do play more rough than girls) and I am doing my best to ensure that they can correctly identify their emotions and to value femaleness. 

Or perhaps I need to take a cue from men and stop overthinking this and just be. That would probably be a start.

Whew, insanity (mostly) avoided for one more day. Thanks for listening, self. You're welcome, self, happy I could help.

This is Living with a capital L

A couple of nights ago as we were getting ready for a night out my husband asked if we should ride our bikes to our destination three miles away, and I responded sincerely and enthusiastically, "Sure!" despite the frigid temperature (I don't know what it was exactly, but it's been hovering around 0 to 10 below after dark lately) and the foot of packed snow and ice on the streets of our neighborhood (I hold my breath every time I come and go, certain my minivan will not make it).

Neither is my bike well-equipped for snow...my townie (more on that in a minute) is a converted 1980's Schwinn 10-speed with a moustache handlebar for comfort and three ample baskets for carrying veggies home from the farmer's market.

And ride we did! It was totally exhilarating. And it made me think - just a few years ago, I would never even have considered such a suggestion.

Now, granted, I've changed in a number of ways that have led me to this point. My husband has always been a bicycle aficionado...but it took me years to understand why on earth anyone would need more than one bike. I now own three (mountain, road, and townie - down from four, by the way, I sold my fixed gear recently), I understand bike porn, and my preferred mode of transportation for a night out is the bicycle. Still, I'm a relative novice and mostly a fair-weather rider.

So it turns out, this post isn't really about riding my bike in the snow...its about what happens when you push yourself out of your comfort zone.

That's where Living with a capital L happens.

Even as I write this, I realize the potential naivety of that statement and the luxury it implies. So a 40-something mom rides her bike to a book signing on a cold winter night, and you call that Living? Ho hum. But for me, it is an opportunity to remember (because in daily life, I sometimes forget) that I love the way experiencing new things makes me learn and grow, and that life really is too short not to take that opportunity to get out of your comfort zone every chance you get, in big and small ways.

And when you do, remember to savor the experience by being present to the cold air on your face, the reflection of moon on the snow that guides your way, the way your bike slips a little in the snow making you fear the loss of teeth is imminent...until, phew, solid ground reappears once again and the fear magically transforms to confidence.

Alex, testing the limits of what's comfortable

I'll never take you for granted again.

Running, please, please don't break up with me. I promise, I'll never take you for granted again.

It was careless of me to speak of us so lackadaisically, as if you aren't as essential to my well-being as eating, or breathing. As if I had control over my passion for you, like you are something to be contained.

I didn't mean it like that, really. I only meant that perhaps we were getting too enraptured, spending too much time together. And even when we weren't together, I was thinking about you, planning our next encounter. Maybe you've misunderstood and thought I meant that I don't care for you, or that I could give you up.

Not true, running. Not true.

It's not that I've wanted to stay away, I've been injured! And it's been hell! Let me tell you, those first few days after I told you I needed to take a break were torture. I was antsy and quick-tempered, short with my husband and kids (who am I kidding, I nearly bit the head off of anyone who came near). And, it's true, I'll admit, that after a few days apart I started to feel a little apathetic. I mused about how pleasant it was to have all that free time, and I fantasized about having beautiful feet, with all ten toenails. I started to lose sight of our goals... But, it's just that you've dominated my Sundays for so long! Just once, I thought, I could enjoy a lazy morning over bacon and eggs without worrying about impending gastrointestinal distress....I didn't mean I wanted that forever!

That fling with the stairmaster didn't mean anything, I swear. A desperate move, really. I was trying to find something to replace you (temporarily!)...but alas, running, you truly are the only one for me.

Have mercy.

Please. Come back to me.

I think you'll see I've changed. I'm stronger now. I've been taking care of myself - spending lots of quality time with the foam roller and doing so many single-leg squats that they almost resemble the form my trainer demonstrated. I can't guarantee we won't experience occasional setbacks...but please, give me a chance. Stop avoiding me and making it difficult to spend time together....I swear, I won't focus all of my energy on training for a race, getting faster and going farther....we can just be together, enjoying whatever the day brings. If I have to go back to that pole dancing class just to burn off some steam, with all that hip action and fancy choreography (there's a reason I'm a runner, let's not forget)...well, I just don't think I can take it.

If you'll just give us another chance I promise, I will never, ever, take you for granted again.