Facing a fear

I wore a watch today for the first time in awhile. Here's how it looked:

1.25 mile warm up @ 8:20 pace
1600 @ 6:41
1200 @ 5:03
800 @ 3:11
800 @ 3:10
1.25 mile cool down @ 8:30 pace

Short and sweet...and not as slow as I feared. Maybe this love affair isn't over after all...

Still here

I see you there, running. I see you in the sunny morning, perfect for a long, leisurely trail run. I see you in packs of like-minded people, pursuing their passion. I see you running fast, swift, strong. I feel your joy, and I relish it from my distant vantage point. I see you in my closet, overflowing with shoes both tired and worn and a few still pretty new, waiting for their turn to go out again. I see you asking me if I'll race next week...hopeful, maybe, that I haven't given up. I see you on the roads and on the trails and in my mind.

I know that you know I am watching you from afar, and I know that you are looking for me too. Looking for a sign that I'm still here. This is your sign. I'm here. But I'm not the same, running. It hurts now....my whole body hurts. I run, but not like I used to. Not like I want to. I run until my body tells me to stop, and then I stop. No desire to keep moving forward. I stop when it hurts, and sometimes I sit down. 

The pain is overwhelming, running. But I'm getting help. Help you couldn't give me, and I could not have expected to come from you. I have a whole team, actually, helping me deal with the pain of past and present. 

Like all religions, running, an element of faith is required. I am putting faith in you, running, that you will be there for me when I have worked through the pain and emerge a whole, healed person. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to help and support others, and to give as much of me as I can to you. And I expect, in the end, that you'll give back to me tenfold.

Dear Running

Dear Running,

I have to go away for awhile. I don't know exactly where I'm going or how long I'll be gone, only that I have to go. Please know, it makes me very sad to leave you behind.

I'm not sure exactly what's led up to this. It can't be blamed entirely for that time I jumped off the cliff and got injured. You were there, true, but I understand you were powerless to stop me from falling. I think it has more to do with the box I've put you in. I thought by putting you in a box I could keep you safe from the dangerous things that can happen when you love something too much. But it's hard to breathe inside that box, I know, and that's left both of us panicked.

I won't be alone where I'm going. I'll have George Sheehan, Matt Fitzgerald, and other writers to keep me company and give me hope. Perhaps I'll occasionally visit you here. I trust that you'll be waiting for me when I'm ready to come back.

With great sadness,
Christy

Chaos to clarity (and back again) and intentions for 2015

I seem to alternate between periods where my thoughts are chaotic and disorganized and periods of total clarity. And the thing is, I always seem to experience chaos/clarity in all aspects of my life simultaneously (at least those where I am trying to grow) - I'm never crystal clear at work, and disorganized and chaotic about running goals, for example. However, when clarity comes, it is universal too. I can often go for weeks, even months, uncertain about my direction or path...sometimes just going on faith that the plans I've laid are the best ones, but not really feeling certain... until *SNAP* all at once, I know just what to do to move forward.

Interestingly, running seems to help me get to that point of clarity, and writing serves to solidify it. Writing can be nearly impossible for me during those disorganized periods...but once I've achieved clarity, I feel compelled to write (this is probably an unconscious attempt to preserve all those hard earned clear thoughts).

I think I started this post in a moment of clarity, but now, a few weeks later, I think I'm tipping back to chaos again...(sigh). Going to try to stop the slide by posting some intentions for 2015. I wrote these in my run journal a few weeks ago, but reiterating them here may bring them back into focus:

• Run more miles
• Focus on full recovery between hard run efforts
• Strength train to correct imbalances and avoid injury
• Learn something new (I'm thinking it's going to be learning to use a pottery wheel)
• Do fewer things, but do them well
• Love bravely (more on this later)

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...