It has been a busy time for me...so busy in fact I have not had time to blog about my runs. I suppose I could not run to give myself time to blog, but then I would have nothing to blog about. You see, I require a reason to place myself on these pages.
It was a week ago that I began to feel Life's Heaviness bare down upon my soul. Responsibility, being my mantra, is the door for entry: Responsibility to my family, to my clients, and to all of those to whom I owe a hard and honest day's work.
As far as I can tell, I took a pledge sometime before I was born, likely when that Icon of Justice was being imprinted upon my soul, that I would care for others. I like to think of myself as the first hue of paint which begins the Painter's great work. As one examines the finished artwork, the first hue of color is not distinguished. It is there, and it holds together the other colors, but it cannot itself be seen. Even Surat used a basic hue prior to dotting his masterpieces. Caravaggio was the master of the basic hue, over which he brought forth God's own breath.
And so it goes that I am, like all of humanity, simply part of a greater masterpiece. I am a part which is necessary, but which cannot be fully seen in the end.
When I speak of Life's Heaviness this is not in the depressed sense of the term. Rather, Life's Heaviness is a very old and dear friend to me. I welcome Life's Heaviness. It is my privilege to serve Him when He knocks upon my soul.
In order to serve Life's Heaviness, I must care for myself in a way that might seem indulgent to others. It is not self-indugence. I know that if I am to tender my due to Life's Heaviness, I must be of sound mind, body, and soul.
This is why I run.
And run I did before Life's Heaviness paid His most recent visit. I was prepared physically for the challenge.
Soonafter, it occurred to me that I had not laughed in several days. I mean really laughed. I saw no humor in what was presented.
I wore tight blinders to the possibility of even seeing something remotely funny in Life's Heaviness. I was, after all, called to serve and protect. I was, as always, a tool in the hand of the Builder.
I momentarily forgot that the tool does not work without the Architect. I required a lift out of the toolbox.
And so it was that I sat outside of my gym on a bench. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I intended to put on my running shoes. I was a humorless but earnest tool. I was barefoot and in no hurry.
I was in a place where I could not be found unless I consented to the finding.
God found me ripe for the joke.
I looked up to see an elderly man on a vintage bicycle. He looked like Earnest Hemingway's twin. No. He was Earnest Hemingway's ghost. I had a double take. Hemingway was circling around me on my bench. Why, I do not know. He had a wicker basket on the front of his old bicycle. There was a fishing pole sticking out of the side. It was a bamboo fly rod. This man had a very scruffy, short white beard and a tan, and he wore clothing I would only imagine on Earnest Hemingway's body.
I stopped in my bare feet and began to stare at this man circling around my bench. He made 3 full circles. He was nowhere near a bike or pedestrian path. He came out of the parking lot, from all I could tell. I did not see his entry. I saw only his circles around my bench.
I said to myself, "This man looks like Earnest Hemingway!" I wanted to hear his voice, because I have always wanted to talk to Earnest Hemingway. But I dared not speak to him, for fear he was really a ghost, or worse, a mental case who pretends to be Earnest Hemingway on weekday afternoons.
He rode away, and I put on my shoes and made entry into the gym. I turned back, only to see Mr. Hemingway's face pressed against the glass. I think he was trying to see what was inside the gym and he must not have wanted to part with his bike long enough to come inside and get a real view. Either that, or the ghost of Hemingway was fooling around with me.
As I ran that day I laughed inside about my encounter with Hemingway. I considered that maybe God needed to take dramatic steps to get my attention away from Life's Heaviness, and He did so in fine form.
But God was not done with my funny bone. Sometime during mile-5, I saw in front of me a 50-ish man on a banana seat bicycle, peddling as if his life depended on it. He was wearing street clothes and a bright, shiney, red, solid helmet. It was a helmet the likes of which a WWII soldier would wear, except it was bright red. He also wore rather large yellow-framed sunglasses. He zipped by me on a mission I imagined to be related to saving the mentally ill from an asteroid.
I considered that image in my mind as I ran. I thought it was very funny . Perhaps both Hemingway and Helmet Man may have thought my Batman Belt, with its accompaniments were also very funny, and that I was on a mission to save the world's runners from dehydration.
A while later, from behind, I heard a bicycle bell dinging incessantly. I felt like my 10-year-old had somehow located my coordinates and had skipped school and was bicycling madly to reach me. I turned, only to see Helmet Man crouched down over his handlebars, zooming at a high speed. He did not let up on the bell. His yellow framed sunglasses seemed much larger to me now.
In an instant he was gone into the distance. I asked myself whether I had, in fact, just seen Helmet Man again, but this time with a loud bell.
I guess God thought I needed more to get my attention.
"Ok", I thought, "I get the joke!"
I should have known that there has to be the Last Word, which came yesterday, sometime during mile-10. I saw in the distance a man on a bicycle and I thought it odd that he sat so high up on his bike. As he drew near, I thought to myself that I have never seen a man on such a tall bike.
When he was even nearer, I realized that this man was on a unicycle. Yes, a unicycle. It was a very tall unicycle and he was alone, as was I. He wore dark knee pads and a dark helmet and dark clothing. We were on a rather isolated dirt/gravel path, a place you would think that unicycles fear to tread. He had no shame about his tall unicycle. He was completely at ease as he passed me. I stared way up at him and I smiled.
Unicycle Man smiled back as he intently maintained his balance. I wanted to ask him for a turn on his unicycle, but I, of course, did not know him well enough for that type of intimacy.
I have always wanted to try a unicycle.
God knows that.
I laughed for the remainder of my run.
So it goes that I am 6-days from my goal of running in the Chicago Marathon, and I am laughing inside, despite Life's Heaviness.
I am in taper mode, and I am laughing inside.
Sunday's finish line will, God willing, find me still laughing inside, just as I hope that I will laugh inside as I cross the finish line of my Life's Longest Run.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Somebody's Son
I have not had much time to blog about my runs this week. My work has kept me occupied to the exclusion of all else.
I did run 9-miles on Wednesday, and then I attempted to run another 7- miles on Thursday, but I checked my voicemail from my cell phone before I allowed my legs to move from neutral into high gear. One thing led to another, and, the next thing I knew, I was anxiously pacing the running path with my cell phone burning my ear.
It was not a good day for me.
I dealt with the Thursday crisis as best as I could. As I kicked the dust and gravel, I realized that the surrender message was again floating about me on the path like a heavy fog.
Friday I had the pleasure of returning to the Purgatory County where I am battling The Forces on behalf of a young, innocent client who is facing 50-years in prison if convicted. I had planned an 8-mile run for Friday afternoon, as my hearing with the Court Jesters was to last only an hour over lunch. Instead, I realized that my role for Friday's drama was to be the suffering-with-dignity protagonist, or so I would like to think.
I am a shield. Into the shield go the arrows of the enemy. Temperance goes a long way. A huge part success in the Battle for Good depends upon one's ability to self-control, rather than one's ability to control others. Self-control was my mantra all day Friday as I was tossed and turned in the Grinder of Justice.
I know that God was with me, and though I could not see Him, I did feel Him. One consolation was that the experience Friday gave me no time to throw myself a pity party from my Thursday trauma.
Come 2 p.m., all I wanted to do was to run in the Land of Never-Never.
At about 3 p.m., when it became apparent to me that I would be denied my running escape, I let go of the fantasy.
Thankfully, as a suffering-with-dignity protagonist, I knew better than to chase the windmills planted for me by the Minions of Injustice. I instead focused on the Icon of Justice, which the Holy One presented to me in the womb, and which I then accepted to be my own, thereby allowing its image to be forever imprinted upon my soul.
When one has an Icon of Justice imprinted upon one's soul, it cannot be hidden. It is also, unfortunately, a magnet for those unholy Minions of Injustice, who swarm about my Inner Icon.
And so it was that instead of running in Never Never Land, I found myself sitting in a jail with my young client, who was anxious and scared about his impending trial. I am part mother, part shaman, and part lawyer in these situations. As I departed, he asked me what he should wear for his jury, and I told him to what to wear, explaining that I wanted him to "look like Somebody's Son."
This is because my young client is Somebody's Son. I blessed him with a final dose of legalese, and returned to the lion's den to Battle in the Colosseum.
I was nearly eaten by the Lion, who cares not about Somebody's Son. I prayed for my soul's imprints of humility and strength to emerge, and they did emerge as called upon. I asked St. Thomas Moore to protect me, and He did intervene.
For that I gave thanks during my 8-mile run on Saturday, after which I felt a keen desire to lift some weights to make myself stronger. I ran and lifted and gave some more thanks.
It was during today's long run that I stopped giving thanks and started listening. It was a beautiful day--perfect running weather. I slept in, as I define that term. I took my time getting to the path where I belong.
When I did arrive I felt nothing but peace within. After all, I am doing my best for Somebody's Son. I am also tending to the Garden of My Soul and this week I did some major weeding. It is so difficult to weed one's own garden because the weeds get intertwined with the good fruit, and sometimes the weeds take upon a beauty of their own and make The Gardner think that the weed is acceptable in the garden.
One thing for sure: All weeds return.
I planned a 26-mile run, in derogation of the running program I have faithfully followed. My thinking was that because I missed 15-miles on Thursday and Friday, then I had to make it up. I was supposed to run 8-miles today. That is 23-miles added up together, and then I figured I would throw in another 3-miles so that I could time the distance of the Marathon.
All was well until mile 18 when I began to get severe abdominal cramps. By mile 20 I was unable to walk, let alone run. My abdomen became severely distended. I worried about my kidneys, because I have a disease which attacks the kidneys (Lupus). I worried about dehydration, because I have a deadly disease which causes my blood to clot (Hughes Syndrome).
And so I surrendered.
I laid myself down upon a bench and unsuccessfully tried to contact my husband and some other family members, with the hope I could get a ride to my car, which was 6-miles from the bench. Then I phoned my priest, who lives just a mile or so from the bench. He drove to get me, and took me to my car. Being also my good friend, we discussed my run and the marathon, and his marathons, as I clung to my tummy along the way.
He got me all situated at my car, and I gave him thanks for his help with my longest run, in the literal and metaphoric sense. After all, it is not lost on me that today I was "saved" by a priest.
The running week has ended and I look forward to the next running week which begins for me tomorrow. Though I tried to run my longest run today, I did not finish. I surrendered to my fate.
In the other sense, though, I did go the distance of my longest run today.
I did run 9-miles on Wednesday, and then I attempted to run another 7- miles on Thursday, but I checked my voicemail from my cell phone before I allowed my legs to move from neutral into high gear. One thing led to another, and, the next thing I knew, I was anxiously pacing the running path with my cell phone burning my ear.
It was not a good day for me.
I dealt with the Thursday crisis as best as I could. As I kicked the dust and gravel, I realized that the surrender message was again floating about me on the path like a heavy fog.
Friday I had the pleasure of returning to the Purgatory County where I am battling The Forces on behalf of a young, innocent client who is facing 50-years in prison if convicted. I had planned an 8-mile run for Friday afternoon, as my hearing with the Court Jesters was to last only an hour over lunch. Instead, I realized that my role for Friday's drama was to be the suffering-with-dignity protagonist, or so I would like to think.
I am a shield. Into the shield go the arrows of the enemy. Temperance goes a long way. A huge part success in the Battle for Good depends upon one's ability to self-control, rather than one's ability to control others. Self-control was my mantra all day Friday as I was tossed and turned in the Grinder of Justice.
I know that God was with me, and though I could not see Him, I did feel Him. One consolation was that the experience Friday gave me no time to throw myself a pity party from my Thursday trauma.
Come 2 p.m., all I wanted to do was to run in the Land of Never-Never.
At about 3 p.m., when it became apparent to me that I would be denied my running escape, I let go of the fantasy.
Thankfully, as a suffering-with-dignity protagonist, I knew better than to chase the windmills planted for me by the Minions of Injustice. I instead focused on the Icon of Justice, which the Holy One presented to me in the womb, and which I then accepted to be my own, thereby allowing its image to be forever imprinted upon my soul.
When one has an Icon of Justice imprinted upon one's soul, it cannot be hidden. It is also, unfortunately, a magnet for those unholy Minions of Injustice, who swarm about my Inner Icon.
And so it was that instead of running in Never Never Land, I found myself sitting in a jail with my young client, who was anxious and scared about his impending trial. I am part mother, part shaman, and part lawyer in these situations. As I departed, he asked me what he should wear for his jury, and I told him to what to wear, explaining that I wanted him to "look like Somebody's Son."
This is because my young client is Somebody's Son. I blessed him with a final dose of legalese, and returned to the lion's den to Battle in the Colosseum.
I was nearly eaten by the Lion, who cares not about Somebody's Son. I prayed for my soul's imprints of humility and strength to emerge, and they did emerge as called upon. I asked St. Thomas Moore to protect me, and He did intervene.
For that I gave thanks during my 8-mile run on Saturday, after which I felt a keen desire to lift some weights to make myself stronger. I ran and lifted and gave some more thanks.
It was during today's long run that I stopped giving thanks and started listening. It was a beautiful day--perfect running weather. I slept in, as I define that term. I took my time getting to the path where I belong.
When I did arrive I felt nothing but peace within. After all, I am doing my best for Somebody's Son. I am also tending to the Garden of My Soul and this week I did some major weeding. It is so difficult to weed one's own garden because the weeds get intertwined with the good fruit, and sometimes the weeds take upon a beauty of their own and make The Gardner think that the weed is acceptable in the garden.
One thing for sure: All weeds return.
I planned a 26-mile run, in derogation of the running program I have faithfully followed. My thinking was that because I missed 15-miles on Thursday and Friday, then I had to make it up. I was supposed to run 8-miles today. That is 23-miles added up together, and then I figured I would throw in another 3-miles so that I could time the distance of the Marathon.
All was well until mile 18 when I began to get severe abdominal cramps. By mile 20 I was unable to walk, let alone run. My abdomen became severely distended. I worried about my kidneys, because I have a disease which attacks the kidneys (Lupus). I worried about dehydration, because I have a deadly disease which causes my blood to clot (Hughes Syndrome).
And so I surrendered.
I laid myself down upon a bench and unsuccessfully tried to contact my husband and some other family members, with the hope I could get a ride to my car, which was 6-miles from the bench. Then I phoned my priest, who lives just a mile or so from the bench. He drove to get me, and took me to my car. Being also my good friend, we discussed my run and the marathon, and his marathons, as I clung to my tummy along the way.
He got me all situated at my car, and I gave him thanks for his help with my longest run, in the literal and metaphoric sense. After all, it is not lost on me that today I was "saved" by a priest.
The running week has ended and I look forward to the next running week which begins for me tomorrow. Though I tried to run my longest run today, I did not finish. I surrendered to my fate.
In the other sense, though, I did go the distance of my longest run today.
Monday, September 10, 2007
No Simple Highway
Today I had the pleasure of spending time with my running buddies, Jerry and Robert and Mickey. We spent a good bit of time together running 15-miles.
I miss these traveling companions. Jerry discussed the end of summer and the coming winter months. He clearly suffers from seasonal affective disorder, as evidenced by his following declaration:
"When the last bolt of sunshine hits the mountain
And the stars seem to splatter in the sky
When the moon splits the south west horizon
And scream of an eagle on the fly
I will walk alone by the black muddy river
And listen to the ripples as they moan
I will walk alone by the black muddy river
Sing me a song of my own"
Jerry might need some therapy in January.
Robert lamented his cocaine-addicted friend, Casey Jones.
Mickey suggested that Casey might just be A Friend of the Devil.
Maybe so, I thought.
Normally Monday is a day of rest for me, but Jerry goaded me when he shouted something about a Fire on the Mountain, and then he yelled the following in my direction: "Long distance runner, why you standing there for? Get up, get up...get out of that door!"
He really Got My Mojo Going.
Ok guys. I am sorry I neglected you. I know you missed me. I missed you too. I Feel Like Stranger. Can we discuss life a bit?
And so it was sometime during mile 15 that Jerry and Robert and Mickey spoke well to me about life's longest run:
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine.
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music?
Would you hold it near, as it were your own?
It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of man
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall, you fall alone
If you should stand, then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way, I would take you home
I miss these traveling companions. Jerry discussed the end of summer and the coming winter months. He clearly suffers from seasonal affective disorder, as evidenced by his following declaration:
"When the last bolt of sunshine hits the mountain
And the stars seem to splatter in the sky
When the moon splits the south west horizon
And scream of an eagle on the fly
I will walk alone by the black muddy river
And listen to the ripples as they moan
I will walk alone by the black muddy river
Sing me a song of my own"
Jerry might need some therapy in January.
Robert lamented his cocaine-addicted friend, Casey Jones.
Mickey suggested that Casey might just be A Friend of the Devil.
Maybe so, I thought.
Normally Monday is a day of rest for me, but Jerry goaded me when he shouted something about a Fire on the Mountain, and then he yelled the following in my direction: "Long distance runner, why you standing there for? Get up, get up...get out of that door!"
He really Got My Mojo Going.
Ok guys. I am sorry I neglected you. I know you missed me. I missed you too. I Feel Like Stranger. Can we discuss life a bit?
And so it was sometime during mile 15 that Jerry and Robert and Mickey spoke well to me about life's longest run:
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine.
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music?
Would you hold it near, as it were your own?
It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of man
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go, no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall, you fall alone
If you should stand, then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way, I would take you home
Friday, September 7, 2007
Hurricanes and Beavers
Yesterday I ran 7 "speed work" miles because it was Thursday. My knee obeyed my mind and I felt no pain. Problem is, I did not want to leave the run and join my real life. I had this overwhelming desire to spend the entire day on the running path, but I did not do so because others depend on my getting off the running path.
I first had breakfast with my brother, where we discussed his chaos and upheaval. Out of respect for him, I will not blog our discussion, though if tit were for tat, I'd blog every word of it. You see, he has a history of writing about our intimate family of origin details and sharing them with the entire world. I will instead teach him good writing manners and a respect for personal boundaries.
It was very nice to talk to him, to his 4 recent tattoos, and to his puppy--a beagle tucked neatly inside of my brother's jacket as he pulled up to greet me on his motorcycle.
He is my older brother by 5-years. He suffers from an extreme mid-life crisis, the wake from which even Hurricane Katrina could not match. I would characterize it as a massive Tsunami, but that would imply this was an unexpected event. No, his situation is a hurricane. We monitored its progress offshore and, like Katrina, no one anticipated the shear force of its impact upon land.
Now I am looking for loved ones in the aftermath, clinging as best I can to whatever life line they throw my way. I love my sister-in-law and my nephew and two nieces. I also love my brother, and his tattoos and his little puppy.
Though not planning to have done so, I gave him my new Mother Teresa book. I read to page 8 and called my omelet friend and told her that the book was so intense that it was a difficult read for me. I am thinking Mother Teresa's power is so great that it will reach out from that book and touch my brother in a way that mortal humans cannot.
She is a saint of the abandoned (though not yet canonized). She is a saint of darkness and she saw her purpose to bring light to those in the dark. My brother is flipping around like a fish on the deck of a midnight fisherman's boat.
A little light, please, Mother, so that the fisherman can settle this fish...
And so I left Big Brother and Puppy and set off to do my run. I sped down the path as fast as possible. There was an overcast and it even sprinkled. The humidity was thick. Somewhere in mile 5 I stopped to walk a bit and a fellow path soul joined me. She is a 50-ish, dark, African American woman and I have seen her before, but not often.
Reason I remember her is she is so deep in thought as she walks. She never runs. She seems in another world as I pass her. I call her Thinking Walker.
Yesterday though, she spoke to me about a beaver in the canal that was splashing around near us. She enjoyed it. She had never seen the beaver. I told her the beaver is out often and there are more at the mile-1 marker. Then I told her about the doe and 2 fawns I saw early in the summer--how they swam across the canal (yes, they swam!) and joined me on the other side, and how the doe stopped and stared at me, as if to convey our commonalities.
Well, I didn't tell Thinking Walker about my impressions of the doe's intentions...Thinking Walker has enough on her mind. I told her about the butterflies and the birds and I asked her if she saw the young Blue Heron today, and she answered that she did. She talked more about the beaver and we stared into the water for a few moments then we parted ways.
I finished my run considering that I now have a relationship with Thinking Walker that I did not previously have, all because of a beaver, and that I now have a relationship with my brother that I did not previously have, all because of a hurricane.
I first had breakfast with my brother, where we discussed his chaos and upheaval. Out of respect for him, I will not blog our discussion, though if tit were for tat, I'd blog every word of it. You see, he has a history of writing about our intimate family of origin details and sharing them with the entire world. I will instead teach him good writing manners and a respect for personal boundaries.
It was very nice to talk to him, to his 4 recent tattoos, and to his puppy--a beagle tucked neatly inside of my brother's jacket as he pulled up to greet me on his motorcycle.
He is my older brother by 5-years. He suffers from an extreme mid-life crisis, the wake from which even Hurricane Katrina could not match. I would characterize it as a massive Tsunami, but that would imply this was an unexpected event. No, his situation is a hurricane. We monitored its progress offshore and, like Katrina, no one anticipated the shear force of its impact upon land.
Now I am looking for loved ones in the aftermath, clinging as best I can to whatever life line they throw my way. I love my sister-in-law and my nephew and two nieces. I also love my brother, and his tattoos and his little puppy.
Though not planning to have done so, I gave him my new Mother Teresa book. I read to page 8 and called my omelet friend and told her that the book was so intense that it was a difficult read for me. I am thinking Mother Teresa's power is so great that it will reach out from that book and touch my brother in a way that mortal humans cannot.
She is a saint of the abandoned (though not yet canonized). She is a saint of darkness and she saw her purpose to bring light to those in the dark. My brother is flipping around like a fish on the deck of a midnight fisherman's boat.
A little light, please, Mother, so that the fisherman can settle this fish...
And so I left Big Brother and Puppy and set off to do my run. I sped down the path as fast as possible. There was an overcast and it even sprinkled. The humidity was thick. Somewhere in mile 5 I stopped to walk a bit and a fellow path soul joined me. She is a 50-ish, dark, African American woman and I have seen her before, but not often.
Reason I remember her is she is so deep in thought as she walks. She never runs. She seems in another world as I pass her. I call her Thinking Walker.
Yesterday though, she spoke to me about a beaver in the canal that was splashing around near us. She enjoyed it. She had never seen the beaver. I told her the beaver is out often and there are more at the mile-1 marker. Then I told her about the doe and 2 fawns I saw early in the summer--how they swam across the canal (yes, they swam!) and joined me on the other side, and how the doe stopped and stared at me, as if to convey our commonalities.
Well, I didn't tell Thinking Walker about my impressions of the doe's intentions...Thinking Walker has enough on her mind. I told her about the butterflies and the birds and I asked her if she saw the young Blue Heron today, and she answered that she did. She talked more about the beaver and we stared into the water for a few moments then we parted ways.
I finished my run considering that I now have a relationship with Thinking Walker that I did not previously have, all because of a beaver, and that I now have a relationship with my brother that I did not previously have, all because of a hurricane.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Surrender
I worked until 2 a.m. last night, and the night before last I worked until midnight. This is because I do a couple of different jobs and sometimes, though not often, I have to burn the midnight oil. It is all worth it when I consider the following: (1) I don't have to work retail; (2) I don't have to wait tables; (3) I can run every day as long as I get my work done.
Sleep is sometimes incidental.
Running is not.
I ran 8 miles yesterday and 8 today. Yesterday I also managed to spend quality time with a friend over an omelet she made for me. We had an enlightening discussion about "surrender" and what that means in her life and mine...well, I was more of a listener when it came to the surrender discussion because I don't have a whole lot to say about the notion of surrender in my life.
On my way to the early morning omelet I stopped along the way to buy my friend a copy of Mother Teresa's new book, which came out yesterday. This is what triggered the surrender talk.
I thanked my friend on the way out for giving me something to think about on my run yesterday and those thoughts spilled over to today's run.
And so I ran yesterday on a bum knee. It is my right knee and I injured it on my 75-mile bike ride Saturday AM. I had problems with this knee after my last long ride, but I did not consider surrendering. Instead, I put a little black strap around my knee cap and made a deal with the devil in exchange for a bike ride from heaven.
Problem is, I put the strap on the wrong knee. I'd blame the devil for tricking me but, being Catholic, I don't think too much about the devil. The long Sunday run woke me up to the wrong knee situation.
Even after having that lovely discussion with my friend about surrender, I was unable to internalize the message, because yesterday after breakfast I ran those 8 miles (by God) and did not link the surrender thing to my knee.
Surrender is not in my repertoire.
During yesterday's run, I thought lots about our discussion and about how surrender is a concept that I do not fully comprehend. I told myself on mile-5 that "surrender is for navel-gazing sissies."
I had difficulty walking a flight of steps in my downtown parking garage yesterday after my run. Ok. Surrender is not a sissy thing, I thought, but I refuse to analyze my knee in this mixture.
This AM I got a later than usual start with my run because I worked until 2 a.m. A little sleep is necessary.
I had great difficulty running on my right knee. I passed my fellow path-mates, whom I have passed almost daily since April. They had never seen me wince in pain. One fellow, a round-faced African American who wears an ARMY t-shirt every day, and sometimes carries a stick while running (as though it were his weapon), made certain eye contact with me as we passed. We pass daily and he never looks at me. I call him West Point Runner.
Then I remembered one thing. Yesterday while sitting in my friend's kitchen, I vividly recall her turning around from the stove and her t-shirt clearly said ARMY on it. I almost commented but I did not want to interrupt her train of good thought (and I most certainly did not want to give her the idea that I was not paying attention to those good thoughts), and so I forgot to mention to her that I have never before seen her wearing an ARMY t-shirt.
So today on the path I realized that my omelet friend is in some sort of spiritual and mental conspiracy with West Point Runner. They are ganging up on me.
I could have sworn I heard West Point Runner say "surrender" as he passed me by, but that may have been a delusion from the pain.
It was then that I began to really think about surrender in my life journey. It is a topic worthy of exploration and I have merely knocked on its front door. No one has answered...yet.
Meanwhile, perhaps I will go get myself one of those ARMY shirts to wear, in case some day I am invited to join the co-conspirators of the surrender movement. Maybe I will even get myself a nice weapon-like stick to haul around when I really surrender.
For now, though, I can only surrender to my knee.
Sleep is sometimes incidental.
Running is not.
I ran 8 miles yesterday and 8 today. Yesterday I also managed to spend quality time with a friend over an omelet she made for me. We had an enlightening discussion about "surrender" and what that means in her life and mine...well, I was more of a listener when it came to the surrender discussion because I don't have a whole lot to say about the notion of surrender in my life.
On my way to the early morning omelet I stopped along the way to buy my friend a copy of Mother Teresa's new book, which came out yesterday. This is what triggered the surrender talk.
I thanked my friend on the way out for giving me something to think about on my run yesterday and those thoughts spilled over to today's run.
And so I ran yesterday on a bum knee. It is my right knee and I injured it on my 75-mile bike ride Saturday AM. I had problems with this knee after my last long ride, but I did not consider surrendering. Instead, I put a little black strap around my knee cap and made a deal with the devil in exchange for a bike ride from heaven.
Problem is, I put the strap on the wrong knee. I'd blame the devil for tricking me but, being Catholic, I don't think too much about the devil. The long Sunday run woke me up to the wrong knee situation.
Even after having that lovely discussion with my friend about surrender, I was unable to internalize the message, because yesterday after breakfast I ran those 8 miles (by God) and did not link the surrender thing to my knee.
Surrender is not in my repertoire.
During yesterday's run, I thought lots about our discussion and about how surrender is a concept that I do not fully comprehend. I told myself on mile-5 that "surrender is for navel-gazing sissies."
I had difficulty walking a flight of steps in my downtown parking garage yesterday after my run. Ok. Surrender is not a sissy thing, I thought, but I refuse to analyze my knee in this mixture.
This AM I got a later than usual start with my run because I worked until 2 a.m. A little sleep is necessary.
I had great difficulty running on my right knee. I passed my fellow path-mates, whom I have passed almost daily since April. They had never seen me wince in pain. One fellow, a round-faced African American who wears an ARMY t-shirt every day, and sometimes carries a stick while running (as though it were his weapon), made certain eye contact with me as we passed. We pass daily and he never looks at me. I call him West Point Runner.
Then I remembered one thing. Yesterday while sitting in my friend's kitchen, I vividly recall her turning around from the stove and her t-shirt clearly said ARMY on it. I almost commented but I did not want to interrupt her train of good thought (and I most certainly did not want to give her the idea that I was not paying attention to those good thoughts), and so I forgot to mention to her that I have never before seen her wearing an ARMY t-shirt.
So today on the path I realized that my omelet friend is in some sort of spiritual and mental conspiracy with West Point Runner. They are ganging up on me.
I could have sworn I heard West Point Runner say "surrender" as he passed me by, but that may have been a delusion from the pain.
It was then that I began to really think about surrender in my life journey. It is a topic worthy of exploration and I have merely knocked on its front door. No one has answered...yet.
Meanwhile, perhaps I will go get myself one of those ARMY shirts to wear, in case some day I am invited to join the co-conspirators of the surrender movement. Maybe I will even get myself a nice weapon-like stick to haul around when I really surrender.
For now, though, I can only surrender to my knee.
Monday, September 3, 2007
The Further Part
I am proud of myself that yesterday I was running by 9:40 a.m. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. There was no humidity and it was in the upper-70's when the run began. I tried a new tactic in that I decided to give myself 4 hours and 20 minutes to do 22 miles, rather than go out and tell myself I could run until I finished the 22 miles. I finished the 22 miles in 4 hours even.
The lack of humidity and heat made such a difference in my performance. I want to say that the run was even easy, but I fear pride becoming an obstacle to my running, so I will instead say that I felt little pain and that my pace was respectable...at least for me. It was a 10:54 per mile pace. This sounds very slow but if you consider that I take breaks to re-apply sunscreen and to fill up my water bottles and to walk here and there, it is a decent pace. I would imagine that I ran a 9:30 actual pace when I was in fact running.
One other thing which slows me down considerably is that I always think I have to urinate even when I do not. I feel like my bladder is full and I cannot run with anything at all in my bladder and so I stopped 6 times to use various restrooms along the way. What I do is I go inside and I sweat all over the restroom and I do not have to go at all. I have accepted that I have some kind of psychological issue surrounding this matter. I know that I do not have a physiological issue because this never happens when I am not running.
Thankfully, I do not have time to over analyze this, because I fear what I might learn. I think it will not be an issue for me in the marathon because the race atmosphere trumps my little psychological issues. I have never suffered this malady in the 4 mini-marathons I have done.
When I run I experience the luxury of pure stream of consciousness. My malady got me to thinking while I was running about how the body can often trick the mind which then got me to thinking about a long discussion I had with one of my former clients who had been on death row for 25-years. He had a genius IQ. I knew him only in the last 5-years of his life, which means I knew the integrated, fully remorseful, humble, self-actualized man.
He was well-read and fluent in 4 languages. The very first time I met him was during an attorney visit to the death row cage in early 2000, when he came fresh off of the rec yard. He was sweaty and gross because he had just lifted weights. He was vibrant and strong and instantly he flashed his intelligence my way. He had to put me in my place right off the bat.
My first discussion with him was about his weight-lifting and how his muscles often trick him into thinking they can lift no more, but how he knows this about his muscles, and he pushes them further because "the further part" is where he gets the benefits from weight lifting. I assumed he was controlling our discussion with this weight lifting nonsense to avoid discussing the merits of his case, and so I did not really listen to his words.
This went on for about 2 years. It was a dance between us, with him speaking in blind metaphors as I sought out the concrete in an effort to do my job. He blocked every attempt I made to do my job and finally we came to blows. Being that he waived his attorney-client privilege with me prior to his death, I can share that I finally laid it on the line for him. I told him that he was sabotaging my efforts and that I could not save his life if he continued to throw road blocks my way.
He became angry and told me that it was not my job to save his life. He told me to "get off the cross" and to get down to the business of being a human being. He told me that this case was My Client vs. the State and not me vs. the State, and blah, blah, blah...
I was certainly disarmed. A couple of days later I received an apologetic letter from him.
And so for the next 2 years he allowed me to play lawyer, within limits. If I crossed his boundaries, he let me know. I have never been so frustrated in my professional life. That said, during that next 2 years a mutual friendship developed between me and him which was based upon respect and understanding.
The final year of his life was most beneficial to me. I fought as best I could in my lawyer role to save his life, but I was drowning in a sea of helplessness. This case was over well before I signed on as counsel. I spent countless hours talking with him, in an attempt to gain more trust from him with the hope it would provide me with the keys to pull a last-minute legal maneuver for victory.
That would not be. He continued to speak in blind metaphors, but during the final year, I really listened. A dervish, this client whirled about in my life. I paid attention to what he was trying to move onto me and into me.
It was an overwhelming period, those few months before he died. He had much to say and my capacity to absorb was greatly compromised by my own limitations.
I watched my client die on March 10, 2005.
Since that day, there have been many times when I have deciphered his words to and actions towards me. I have also deciphered the words he failed to say.
Often, as with yesterday's 22-miler, I think of him while running, not only as he was at midnight on March 10, 2005, but as he was before the needle and gurney. But yesterday, somewhere between miles 18 and 22, I understood for the first time that there really never was for me this client without the needle and gurney. This is because it was the needle and gurney which caused him to teach me in his own way about the "further part."
His lesson began on day one and continues now for me.
I am still learning about the "further part" in running and in life and he is with me every step of the way.
I don't know why that client came into my life, in the professional sense, but I do now understand why our paths crossed in every other sense.
If I could talk to my dead client about yesterday's run, I imagine he would grin, as he always did, while hunching over with an ornery look. He would mix in Pascal, Hegel, or Dostoevsky as he discussed the run. He would then likely tell me that I should push myself harder next time...that I should increase my pace and go to the place where I will benefit from the "further part" because, as he knew, our bodies can trick us about limits.
He was, of course, right. I am thankful he knocked me off my cross and into the "further part" of life.
I imagine him at the end of the long road, waiting for me at the end of my longest run. He will greet me as he always did. We will banter and perhaps even argue.
That is where my dead, executed client exists for me. He taught me to run with honor.
The lack of humidity and heat made such a difference in my performance. I want to say that the run was even easy, but I fear pride becoming an obstacle to my running, so I will instead say that I felt little pain and that my pace was respectable...at least for me. It was a 10:54 per mile pace. This sounds very slow but if you consider that I take breaks to re-apply sunscreen and to fill up my water bottles and to walk here and there, it is a decent pace. I would imagine that I ran a 9:30 actual pace when I was in fact running.
One other thing which slows me down considerably is that I always think I have to urinate even when I do not. I feel like my bladder is full and I cannot run with anything at all in my bladder and so I stopped 6 times to use various restrooms along the way. What I do is I go inside and I sweat all over the restroom and I do not have to go at all. I have accepted that I have some kind of psychological issue surrounding this matter. I know that I do not have a physiological issue because this never happens when I am not running.
Thankfully, I do not have time to over analyze this, because I fear what I might learn. I think it will not be an issue for me in the marathon because the race atmosphere trumps my little psychological issues. I have never suffered this malady in the 4 mini-marathons I have done.
When I run I experience the luxury of pure stream of consciousness. My malady got me to thinking while I was running about how the body can often trick the mind which then got me to thinking about a long discussion I had with one of my former clients who had been on death row for 25-years. He had a genius IQ. I knew him only in the last 5-years of his life, which means I knew the integrated, fully remorseful, humble, self-actualized man.
He was well-read and fluent in 4 languages. The very first time I met him was during an attorney visit to the death row cage in early 2000, when he came fresh off of the rec yard. He was sweaty and gross because he had just lifted weights. He was vibrant and strong and instantly he flashed his intelligence my way. He had to put me in my place right off the bat.
My first discussion with him was about his weight-lifting and how his muscles often trick him into thinking they can lift no more, but how he knows this about his muscles, and he pushes them further because "the further part" is where he gets the benefits from weight lifting. I assumed he was controlling our discussion with this weight lifting nonsense to avoid discussing the merits of his case, and so I did not really listen to his words.
This went on for about 2 years. It was a dance between us, with him speaking in blind metaphors as I sought out the concrete in an effort to do my job. He blocked every attempt I made to do my job and finally we came to blows. Being that he waived his attorney-client privilege with me prior to his death, I can share that I finally laid it on the line for him. I told him that he was sabotaging my efforts and that I could not save his life if he continued to throw road blocks my way.
He became angry and told me that it was not my job to save his life. He told me to "get off the cross" and to get down to the business of being a human being. He told me that this case was My Client vs. the State and not me vs. the State, and blah, blah, blah...
I was certainly disarmed. A couple of days later I received an apologetic letter from him.
And so for the next 2 years he allowed me to play lawyer, within limits. If I crossed his boundaries, he let me know. I have never been so frustrated in my professional life. That said, during that next 2 years a mutual friendship developed between me and him which was based upon respect and understanding.
The final year of his life was most beneficial to me. I fought as best I could in my lawyer role to save his life, but I was drowning in a sea of helplessness. This case was over well before I signed on as counsel. I spent countless hours talking with him, in an attempt to gain more trust from him with the hope it would provide me with the keys to pull a last-minute legal maneuver for victory.
That would not be. He continued to speak in blind metaphors, but during the final year, I really listened. A dervish, this client whirled about in my life. I paid attention to what he was trying to move onto me and into me.
It was an overwhelming period, those few months before he died. He had much to say and my capacity to absorb was greatly compromised by my own limitations.
I watched my client die on March 10, 2005.
Since that day, there have been many times when I have deciphered his words to and actions towards me. I have also deciphered the words he failed to say.
Often, as with yesterday's 22-miler, I think of him while running, not only as he was at midnight on March 10, 2005, but as he was before the needle and gurney. But yesterday, somewhere between miles 18 and 22, I understood for the first time that there really never was for me this client without the needle and gurney. This is because it was the needle and gurney which caused him to teach me in his own way about the "further part."
His lesson began on day one and continues now for me.
I am still learning about the "further part" in running and in life and he is with me every step of the way.
I don't know why that client came into my life, in the professional sense, but I do now understand why our paths crossed in every other sense.
If I could talk to my dead client about yesterday's run, I imagine he would grin, as he always did, while hunching over with an ornery look. He would mix in Pascal, Hegel, or Dostoevsky as he discussed the run. He would then likely tell me that I should push myself harder next time...that I should increase my pace and go to the place where I will benefit from the "further part" because, as he knew, our bodies can trick us about limits.
He was, of course, right. I am thankful he knocked me off my cross and into the "further part" of life.
I imagine him at the end of the long road, waiting for me at the end of my longest run. He will greet me as he always did. We will banter and perhaps even argue.
That is where my dead, executed client exists for me. He taught me to run with honor.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Do Good
One thing running has taught me is to forgive my body. My body wants to do many things that my mind does not envision, and sometimes when my mind envisions it, my body decides it will not yield to the directive.
Yesterday I ran 11.5 miles. I wanted to run an even 12, but I was 2-hours late for a commitment with my 10-year-old. As it does for many things in my life, guilt kept me from the final half mile. My body wanted to go more and my mind did not.
Today I rode 75-miles on my road bike. It was a grueling ride into the wind on the way out. With 20 miles to go I broke away from my riding group and took my own path. I pushed my body beyond its limits. My mind wanted what my body perhaps did not.
I finished the ride and spent the remainder of the day forgiving my body.
I recall discussing the body/mind dynamic with Jon, a former Ironman triathlete, and the best trial litigator whom I have known, not to mention a former State Supreme Court Justice. He was 18-years my senior. He was my mentor and my friend.
Jon told me that the body will control the mind if you allow it to, and that the mind can never control the body fully. He believed that life was a balance between all things, and that harmonious mind/body balance was the goal of any good life.
Jon shared with me tales of his younger days, when (he claims) he was hard drinking. I believed that only when I saw a certain look in his blue eyes. He said he had also been a smoker for years, but I never saw him light up. I knew the reformed Jon, evidently.
Jon saw Buddha in Christ and visa versa. He sprinkled his theology into our discussions. I didn't mind because I was in the presence of a great man. I say "great man" because he was an ordinary man who did extraordinary things.
I cannot get the image of him sitting across from me at his desk (as we often did), on a bright sunny day. His entire office walls were window, from ground up to ceiling and the wall sloped so as to make a window ceiling. He told me then that the key to balance is forgiveness. He discussed training for his Ironman and explained that there were many days when he just needed to forgive his body for not being the body that he pushed it to be.
Jon discussed the need for balance in training, and I did not realize then that he was also speaking about life in a metaphoric sense.
He was candid and kind and he taught me more about life than anything else.
I spoke to Jon my last time, two years from tomorrow's date. He died 4 days later of liver cancer, on September 6, 2005. Our last conversation was, again, about being gentle to oneself. While in a haze from the pain medicine, Jon spoke so gently and kindly to me about my future. The last thing he said to me was "do good."
Immediately after I spoke to him, I knew that I had just had my last words with Jon---that he had just said good-bye to me in his way.
Now a runner myself, in life and otherwise, I understand more of what Jon was trying to impart.
I will take his words with me on tomorrow's 22-mile run. It is Sunday long-run day. I think Jon would be happy that I will forgive my body tomorrow, and the next day and the next. He understood the balance between forgiving oneself and doing good.
I imagine that Jon might also be pleased that I am running my longest run.
Yesterday I ran 11.5 miles. I wanted to run an even 12, but I was 2-hours late for a commitment with my 10-year-old. As it does for many things in my life, guilt kept me from the final half mile. My body wanted to go more and my mind did not.
Today I rode 75-miles on my road bike. It was a grueling ride into the wind on the way out. With 20 miles to go I broke away from my riding group and took my own path. I pushed my body beyond its limits. My mind wanted what my body perhaps did not.
I finished the ride and spent the remainder of the day forgiving my body.
I recall discussing the body/mind dynamic with Jon, a former Ironman triathlete, and the best trial litigator whom I have known, not to mention a former State Supreme Court Justice. He was 18-years my senior. He was my mentor and my friend.
Jon told me that the body will control the mind if you allow it to, and that the mind can never control the body fully. He believed that life was a balance between all things, and that harmonious mind/body balance was the goal of any good life.
Jon shared with me tales of his younger days, when (he claims) he was hard drinking. I believed that only when I saw a certain look in his blue eyes. He said he had also been a smoker for years, but I never saw him light up. I knew the reformed Jon, evidently.
Jon saw Buddha in Christ and visa versa. He sprinkled his theology into our discussions. I didn't mind because I was in the presence of a great man. I say "great man" because he was an ordinary man who did extraordinary things.
I cannot get the image of him sitting across from me at his desk (as we often did), on a bright sunny day. His entire office walls were window, from ground up to ceiling and the wall sloped so as to make a window ceiling. He told me then that the key to balance is forgiveness. He discussed training for his Ironman and explained that there were many days when he just needed to forgive his body for not being the body that he pushed it to be.
Jon discussed the need for balance in training, and I did not realize then that he was also speaking about life in a metaphoric sense.
He was candid and kind and he taught me more about life than anything else.
I spoke to Jon my last time, two years from tomorrow's date. He died 4 days later of liver cancer, on September 6, 2005. Our last conversation was, again, about being gentle to oneself. While in a haze from the pain medicine, Jon spoke so gently and kindly to me about my future. The last thing he said to me was "do good."
Immediately after I spoke to him, I knew that I had just had my last words with Jon---that he had just said good-bye to me in his way.
Now a runner myself, in life and otherwise, I understand more of what Jon was trying to impart.
I will take his words with me on tomorrow's 22-mile run. It is Sunday long-run day. I think Jon would be happy that I will forgive my body tomorrow, and the next day and the next. He understood the balance between forgiving oneself and doing good.
I imagine that Jon might also be pleased that I am running my longest run.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
The Truth About Running
I did not get to run today.
Instead, I spent from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. working, then I took a break for an hour, only to drive another hour to attend court in a town that has given me insight into Purgatory. I argued with opposing counsels before the judge (2 against 1, which means I am winning), and when I was assured we were "off the record", I approached the bench and asked the judge whether he thought there was any chance that this trial might interfere with my plans to run the October 7th marathon.
The judge I think was expecting some complex legal thought to roll out of my mouth, and seemed a bit perplexed by this unusual turn of events in me.
All the while I felt what I was missing today: my hot, dusty, sweaty run.
After court I was banned to Limbo, which was the office of opposing counsel, where I had to sit for 5 long hours in excruciating depositions. Half-way through I realized that I was wearing one black and one brown shoe. They were otherwise identical, and both matched my new slim-lined suit. I stared at my mismatched shoes as I questioned a lying witness.
The depositions were mine, which means I had to do all of the direct-examination, save a torturous rehash by the pontificating opposing counsel on cross. I allowed him to ramble without objection because that gave me time to ponder what I was missing today: my breathless, painful-with-each-step, run.
I missed my iPod and my Fuel Belt, both of which I was tempted to wear to the depositions, to give opposing counsel the impression that I really was Batman in disguise.
I missed my sugar-free crystal light hydration mixture and my sunscreen and my Nike running shorts. I missed my Polar heart rate strap and monitor, and my Underarmor headband and support bra. I missed my cushy soft running socks and the expensive arch support with tennis shoes, and my two cell phone clip-ons, along with my mace and asthma inhaler.
I missed my state-of-the-art gym right off of the running path, where I always have the entire women's locker room to myself.
I missed the sun and the passers by, and the obligatory nods back and forth.
Running is like a camping trip for me.
I could not go without my noon-time Muscle Milk, which is what I drink within 20-minutes of a run. So I chugged it in between witness questions, all the while wishing my body were craving the Muscle Milk as it does after a run.
My brown and black shoe, notwithstanding, I drove straight to a "Back to School Night" event, where I surveyed each classroom, trying to assess which moms and dads might be looped into running, and which definitely were not.
I figured out the truth about running today, at least for me:
I am running, even when I am not.
Instead, I spent from 5 a.m. to 9 a.m. working, then I took a break for an hour, only to drive another hour to attend court in a town that has given me insight into Purgatory. I argued with opposing counsels before the judge (2 against 1, which means I am winning), and when I was assured we were "off the record", I approached the bench and asked the judge whether he thought there was any chance that this trial might interfere with my plans to run the October 7th marathon.
The judge I think was expecting some complex legal thought to roll out of my mouth, and seemed a bit perplexed by this unusual turn of events in me.
All the while I felt what I was missing today: my hot, dusty, sweaty run.
After court I was banned to Limbo, which was the office of opposing counsel, where I had to sit for 5 long hours in excruciating depositions. Half-way through I realized that I was wearing one black and one brown shoe. They were otherwise identical, and both matched my new slim-lined suit. I stared at my mismatched shoes as I questioned a lying witness.
The depositions were mine, which means I had to do all of the direct-examination, save a torturous rehash by the pontificating opposing counsel on cross. I allowed him to ramble without objection because that gave me time to ponder what I was missing today: my breathless, painful-with-each-step, run.
I missed my iPod and my Fuel Belt, both of which I was tempted to wear to the depositions, to give opposing counsel the impression that I really was Batman in disguise.
I missed my sugar-free crystal light hydration mixture and my sunscreen and my Nike running shorts. I missed my Polar heart rate strap and monitor, and my Underarmor headband and support bra. I missed my cushy soft running socks and the expensive arch support with tennis shoes, and my two cell phone clip-ons, along with my mace and asthma inhaler.
I missed my state-of-the-art gym right off of the running path, where I always have the entire women's locker room to myself.
I missed the sun and the passers by, and the obligatory nods back and forth.
Running is like a camping trip for me.
I could not go without my noon-time Muscle Milk, which is what I drink within 20-minutes of a run. So I chugged it in between witness questions, all the while wishing my body were craving the Muscle Milk as it does after a run.
My brown and black shoe, notwithstanding, I drove straight to a "Back to School Night" event, where I surveyed each classroom, trying to assess which moms and dads might be looped into running, and which definitely were not.
I figured out the truth about running today, at least for me:
I am running, even when I am not.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Other People's Crap
It was a 12-miler today. Actually, it was an 8-miler, but I likely cannot run tomorrow because of a 16 hour work day in store, and so I did 4 of tomorrow's miles today, and I will do the other 4 on Friday.
Again, I worked from 5 a.m. until 10 a.m., which means I did not find the path until about 11, when the heat began to emerge (Forgive me, Jewish Mother).
When the path and I met, I walked a few feet only to discover a huge pile of dog crap right in the middle of the path. My first thought was, "why in the world would someone leave that right in the middle of the path?" Then I realized that this huge pile of crap was one big metaphor message for my day.
I love metaphors because I see them often, and usually when other people just see a pile of crap.
People leave their crap behind all of the time. It is rare when someone leaves such a huge, smelly pile of crap on the path, which means to me that whomever left that gift had something to say to me and to all of the others on the path.
The crap-leaver perhaps wanted us to feel his anger. Or perhaps she wanted us to know that she did not have to pick up crap if she did not want to. He maybe was a conventional man who decided to live on the edge by leaving the crap when no one was looking--his only chance for adrenaline. Or maybe she secretly hoped to get caught leaving the crap on the path. We have to surmise that the crap-leaver was not running real fast because it had to have been a huge dog and I am certain the movement took some time.
All I know is I made sure not to step in the crap. I passed it 4 times, back and forth. No way I was going to clean up someone else's crap. I had to see it though, and experience another's crap in a vicarious manner.
It is important not to let other people's crap get onto you, because it will stick with you for the rest of the day, and perhaps even longer. I returned to work after the run and worked later than usual, ever-thankful that I did not step into that crap.
The run was enlightening, again.
Again, I worked from 5 a.m. until 10 a.m., which means I did not find the path until about 11, when the heat began to emerge (Forgive me, Jewish Mother).
When the path and I met, I walked a few feet only to discover a huge pile of dog crap right in the middle of the path. My first thought was, "why in the world would someone leave that right in the middle of the path?" Then I realized that this huge pile of crap was one big metaphor message for my day.
I love metaphors because I see them often, and usually when other people just see a pile of crap.
People leave their crap behind all of the time. It is rare when someone leaves such a huge, smelly pile of crap on the path, which means to me that whomever left that gift had something to say to me and to all of the others on the path.
The crap-leaver perhaps wanted us to feel his anger. Or perhaps she wanted us to know that she did not have to pick up crap if she did not want to. He maybe was a conventional man who decided to live on the edge by leaving the crap when no one was looking--his only chance for adrenaline. Or maybe she secretly hoped to get caught leaving the crap on the path. We have to surmise that the crap-leaver was not running real fast because it had to have been a huge dog and I am certain the movement took some time.
All I know is I made sure not to step in the crap. I passed it 4 times, back and forth. No way I was going to clean up someone else's crap. I had to see it though, and experience another's crap in a vicarious manner.
It is important not to let other people's crap get onto you, because it will stick with you for the rest of the day, and perhaps even longer. I returned to work after the run and worked later than usual, ever-thankful that I did not step into that crap.
The run was enlightening, again.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Obstacles
I ran an easy 8 miles this morning. 3.5 years and 85 pounds ago, I could never have imagined I would run 8 miles and consider it easy, but that is exactly how life is right now. I ran a 10:20 mile pace.
While running I considered life's various obstacles. Life is not as easy as my run would have me believe.
Obstacles to me are the essence of life. I know no other way to approach a run than to anticipate its possible obstacles, to strategize their defeat, and to in fact defeat them. My right foot is an example. I have been plagued with a tendon issue. I purchased expensive arch supports. I rotate shoes. I use expensive socks. I put a local anesthetic on the area. I changed the way I tie my shoe.
As in life, defeating running's obstacles requires first a desire to defeat, then anticipation, planning, and execution.
There are some obstacles in life which cannot be anticipated. The same is true for running. The pre-run rituals (and I have many) will not resolve these contingencies.
The best bet, as in life, is to enjoy the runs which present only minor obstacles.
Run hard.
Run, and do not stop.
Then, look back on the run and say to yourself, I could not have run better than I ran today.
While running I considered life's various obstacles. Life is not as easy as my run would have me believe.
Obstacles to me are the essence of life. I know no other way to approach a run than to anticipate its possible obstacles, to strategize their defeat, and to in fact defeat them. My right foot is an example. I have been plagued with a tendon issue. I purchased expensive arch supports. I rotate shoes. I use expensive socks. I put a local anesthetic on the area. I changed the way I tie my shoe.
As in life, defeating running's obstacles requires first a desire to defeat, then anticipation, planning, and execution.
There are some obstacles in life which cannot be anticipated. The same is true for running. The pre-run rituals (and I have many) will not resolve these contingencies.
The best bet, as in life, is to enjoy the runs which present only minor obstacles.
Run hard.
Run, and do not stop.
Then, look back on the run and say to yourself, I could not have run better than I ran today.
Monday, August 27, 2007
20 Miles on Mother Ship
My thoughts while running 20 miles consisted mainly of what it means to be a mother. My oldest child just started high school and I have learned more in 2 weeks about being a mother than I have in a long time. I do not have a road map to follow, and so as I ran I tried to devise a strategy for mothering a 14-year old girl in today's culture.
I am resolved not to simply hand over my child to the mass culture. She has left the comfortable cruise ship (Mother Ship) and is floating around on a life boat which is roped to the ship. I will not unhook the rope under any circumstance, though I may gradually increase the amount of rope she gets. I have an automated device which has a simple button that I can push which will reel in the rope and the life boat within seconds...before its passenger knows what is happening.
And that is just the way it is going to be, at least for the near future. She can float around to her heart's content but if I see danger, the rope is coming in...period.
So as to avoid a mutiny aboard Mother Ship, I have explained the rope's devices and the possibility that the rope shortening device my shorten without advance notice. This is not due to shark or other scary things in the water. It is due solely to a Captain's need to satisfy instinct. The Captain explained to the young sailor that the Captain's instincts have gotten Mother Ship to this location and that we must now survey the present location before allowing any sailor the freedom of being unhitched from Mother Ship. The sailor must also demonstrate that her instincts are operational and intact...this requires that the sailor have instincts worthy of a freed lifeboat.
It was a beautiful day for running. The humidity was non-existent and the temperature did not rise above 82 degrees. What a difference that made on my endurance! I parked my car at 75th & Westfield, which is the halfway point between the Monon Center and the 4-mile marker on the canal (just past the red bridge leading into the Art Museum). I measured this distance Saturday on my bike to be exactly 10 miles apart.
I completed the 20 miles in 4 hours and 5 minutes, which is a disappointing time for me. I had hoped to complete the Chicago Marathon in less than 4.5 hours. I reluctantly accept my shortfall here.
The consolation I realized in mile 20 is that even if I am a slow runner, I make a fine Captain of Mother Ship.
I am resolved not to simply hand over my child to the mass culture. She has left the comfortable cruise ship (Mother Ship) and is floating around on a life boat which is roped to the ship. I will not unhook the rope under any circumstance, though I may gradually increase the amount of rope she gets. I have an automated device which has a simple button that I can push which will reel in the rope and the life boat within seconds...before its passenger knows what is happening.
And that is just the way it is going to be, at least for the near future. She can float around to her heart's content but if I see danger, the rope is coming in...period.
So as to avoid a mutiny aboard Mother Ship, I have explained the rope's devices and the possibility that the rope shortening device my shorten without advance notice. This is not due to shark or other scary things in the water. It is due solely to a Captain's need to satisfy instinct. The Captain explained to the young sailor that the Captain's instincts have gotten Mother Ship to this location and that we must now survey the present location before allowing any sailor the freedom of being unhitched from Mother Ship. The sailor must also demonstrate that her instincts are operational and intact...this requires that the sailor have instincts worthy of a freed lifeboat.
It was a beautiful day for running. The humidity was non-existent and the temperature did not rise above 82 degrees. What a difference that made on my endurance! I parked my car at 75th & Westfield, which is the halfway point between the Monon Center and the 4-mile marker on the canal (just past the red bridge leading into the Art Museum). I measured this distance Saturday on my bike to be exactly 10 miles apart.
I completed the 20 miles in 4 hours and 5 minutes, which is a disappointing time for me. I had hoped to complete the Chicago Marathon in less than 4.5 hours. I reluctantly accept my shortfall here.
The consolation I realized in mile 20 is that even if I am a slow runner, I make a fine Captain of Mother Ship.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
The Rain Out
Being the day before the long run, Saturday is a day when I do not run. My program says that I can moderately cross-train. I do nothing in moderation. My plan was to meet my sister at 8 a.m. for a long bike ride. It was pouring rain and so we optimistically moved the ride back to 10 a.m. It was still raining, but I was in denial when I drove my two hybrid bikes to the Monon Center to meet my sister.
We decided to go have breakfast at Cafe Patachue on Range Line Rd. to wait out the rain. We drove and drove and could not locate the Cafe, partly because neither of us can focus long enough to map out the directions. We instead drove around with my sister slamming her breaks periodically as we finished each other's sentences. We finally settled upon Shapiros, but by then it was after 11.
It was pouring rain when we left Shapiros and so we decided to head over to my sister's apartment and wait out the rain. We went through family photos and continued to finish each other's sentences.
Finally the rain subsided and we went back to the Monon Center, where at 2 p.m. we embarked on a bike ride which took us down to Broadripple where we picked up the Canal Tow Path. We followed that over to the White River Path and took that to the downtown canal path and back again, for a grand total of 34 miles.
My sister is beginning her fitness journey. Near the end of the ride we were faced with 20 mile per hour headwinds. She was having difficulty moving the bike forward, but she continued along. She sunburns easily, unlike me. At one point earlier in the ride I looked back and she was nowhere in sight. She stopped to remove her bike shorts, and I, literally, left her in the canal dust.
I was listening to the Counting Crows sing about the Rain King, and so I did not hear her yell my name. When I realized she was missing, I simply waited in place until she appeared, which was quite a time later, sans bike shorts (she was wearing another pair of shorts under the bike shorts...a novice move on her part).
The ride was a walk in the park for me but I enjoyed the company. I could have done without the chocolate cheese cake though...but what are sisters for?
We decided to go have breakfast at Cafe Patachue on Range Line Rd. to wait out the rain. We drove and drove and could not locate the Cafe, partly because neither of us can focus long enough to map out the directions. We instead drove around with my sister slamming her breaks periodically as we finished each other's sentences. We finally settled upon Shapiros, but by then it was after 11.
It was pouring rain when we left Shapiros and so we decided to head over to my sister's apartment and wait out the rain. We went through family photos and continued to finish each other's sentences.
Finally the rain subsided and we went back to the Monon Center, where at 2 p.m. we embarked on a bike ride which took us down to Broadripple where we picked up the Canal Tow Path. We followed that over to the White River Path and took that to the downtown canal path and back again, for a grand total of 34 miles.
My sister is beginning her fitness journey. Near the end of the ride we were faced with 20 mile per hour headwinds. She was having difficulty moving the bike forward, but she continued along. She sunburns easily, unlike me. At one point earlier in the ride I looked back and she was nowhere in sight. She stopped to remove her bike shorts, and I, literally, left her in the canal dust.
I was listening to the Counting Crows sing about the Rain King, and so I did not hear her yell my name. When I realized she was missing, I simply waited in place until she appeared, which was quite a time later, sans bike shorts (she was wearing another pair of shorts under the bike shorts...a novice move on her part).
The ride was a walk in the park for me but I enjoyed the company. I could have done without the chocolate cheese cake though...but what are sisters for?
Friday, August 24, 2007
That's Why God Made Treadmills
Today I had the good fortune of receiving absolution prior to my run. I made a spontaneous stop in to confession on my way to run. Running with a clear conscience is interesting because the usual problem solving is not necessary. I am free to run without looking at myself.
The confession was direct and quick and and afterwards the priest led me to the area where the Blessed Sacrament resides. He said that for my penance I was to spend some time in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. I thought to myself, "Now?" I guess so because that is where I was led and I sat for a few minutes thinking about the run I was to complete, and I invited the Good Lord to join me on my run so that we could visit while we ran, and He accepted--or so I wanted to believe He did accept my invitation.
Being that I have never heard the voice of God, I chatted on my cell phone with my dear friend Anne just before my legs moved from neutral into high gear. Anne has this incredibly interesting Jewish Mother living inside of her. I mean that with all love and kindness--it is not Anne's fault that she was born with this Jewish Mother inside of her. I think it was from Anne's prior life and Little-Miss-Jewish-Mother simply refuses to be ignored in this life.
I spoke to Anne about the beautiful butterflies that I have been seeing while running this week. Anne is my butterfly friend. When our butterfly discussion neared its end, Jewish Mother needed to be heard. She was oh, so subtle, but I recognize her early warning signs. This is because I know Jewish Mother well. She has a real need to show herself to me because I bring about her finest points.
She knows I am incorrigible.
Jewish Mother began to emerge with subtlety when I told her about my penance. She said that I should view that penance as a reward and not a punishment. I thought to myself that I may have just heard a tinge of Jewish Mother in her voice. Jewish Mother then made a passing reference to running on the treadmill rather than outdoors in the heat. I thought to myself, "there you are beloved Jewish Mother! Let's talk!"
Jewish Mother said to me, "I don't think you should be running in this heat. I am serious! You look great but you will not look great in a casket. This heat is not meant for running in!"
I goaded Jewish Mother when I replied that people at my funeral would comment about what a nice, small casket I had. I told Jewish Mother, "I am used to the heat. I have been running in it all summer. I like the heat. I don't even notice it most of the time."
Jewish Mother was thrilled with my response because Jewish Mother could really come out in full force: "I guess that is just you. One thing I know is you are going to do what you want to do, no matter what anyone says. This heat is not good for you, especially with all of your health issues. But you never listen. You just do what you want to do."
I reasoned with Jewish Mother that if I did drop dead from running in the heat, at least I had just done my confession and that my soul was taken care of. Jewish Mother was not amused.
I assured Jewish Mother that her thoughts were sinking in to my head and that I intended to do my long run Sunday beginning at 7 a.m.
Jewish Mother said, "that's why God made treadmills..."
I can never win with Jewish Mother. One thing for certain is that she will be back. I love Jewish Mother. And I love my friend Anne in whom she dwells.
The confession was direct and quick and and afterwards the priest led me to the area where the Blessed Sacrament resides. He said that for my penance I was to spend some time in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. I thought to myself, "Now?" I guess so because that is where I was led and I sat for a few minutes thinking about the run I was to complete, and I invited the Good Lord to join me on my run so that we could visit while we ran, and He accepted--or so I wanted to believe He did accept my invitation.
Being that I have never heard the voice of God, I chatted on my cell phone with my dear friend Anne just before my legs moved from neutral into high gear. Anne has this incredibly interesting Jewish Mother living inside of her. I mean that with all love and kindness--it is not Anne's fault that she was born with this Jewish Mother inside of her. I think it was from Anne's prior life and Little-Miss-Jewish-Mother simply refuses to be ignored in this life.
I spoke to Anne about the beautiful butterflies that I have been seeing while running this week. Anne is my butterfly friend. When our butterfly discussion neared its end, Jewish Mother needed to be heard. She was oh, so subtle, but I recognize her early warning signs. This is because I know Jewish Mother well. She has a real need to show herself to me because I bring about her finest points.
She knows I am incorrigible.
Jewish Mother began to emerge with subtlety when I told her about my penance. She said that I should view that penance as a reward and not a punishment. I thought to myself that I may have just heard a tinge of Jewish Mother in her voice. Jewish Mother then made a passing reference to running on the treadmill rather than outdoors in the heat. I thought to myself, "there you are beloved Jewish Mother! Let's talk!"
Jewish Mother said to me, "I don't think you should be running in this heat. I am serious! You look great but you will not look great in a casket. This heat is not meant for running in!"
I goaded Jewish Mother when I replied that people at my funeral would comment about what a nice, small casket I had. I told Jewish Mother, "I am used to the heat. I have been running in it all summer. I like the heat. I don't even notice it most of the time."
Jewish Mother was thrilled with my response because Jewish Mother could really come out in full force: "I guess that is just you. One thing I know is you are going to do what you want to do, no matter what anyone says. This heat is not good for you, especially with all of your health issues. But you never listen. You just do what you want to do."
I reasoned with Jewish Mother that if I did drop dead from running in the heat, at least I had just done my confession and that my soul was taken care of. Jewish Mother was not amused.
I assured Jewish Mother that her thoughts were sinking in to my head and that I intended to do my long run Sunday beginning at 7 a.m.
Jewish Mother said, "that's why God made treadmills..."
I can never win with Jewish Mother. One thing for certain is that she will be back. I love Jewish Mother. And I love my friend Anne in whom she dwells.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Speed Work
I have to do speed work 1x per week on this program I am following, and Thursdays are speed work days. Speed work consists of interval training. Today I had to run 5 miles at a 10:20 per mile pace (yes, this is speed work for me!), and mix in another 2 miles here and there.
I did 2 miles at a 9:30 pace and 2 miles at a 10:00 pace, and 1 mile at a 10:10 pace.
Speed work makes me realize just how slow of a runner that I am.
Last Thursday I did my speed work at a local college running track, and there was a Javelin Man in the field throwing a javelin the entire time I was running. So impressed was I that I clapped for him after he threw his mighty javelin. This encouraged him. He looked my direction thereafter prior to and after each throw, wondering whether I would clap again. I did not clap again.
Today's speed work did not consist of Javelin Man because I avoided that track.
Today it was nose-to-the grindstone speed work.
Speed intervals take the joy out of running for me because running for me is about getting lost and letting my mind go. Running is not about deadlines and commitments. It is about being somewhere where no one can find me.
Last evening I looked up my sister-in-law's Boston Marathon time for this year. She is 5 -years my senior and she ran an 8:45 per mile pace for 26.2 miles at Boston.
All I could think about today while doing my speed work is how I will never make it to Boston.
Speed work makes me feel inadequate.
Javelin Man probably would not agree.
I did 2 miles at a 9:30 pace and 2 miles at a 10:00 pace, and 1 mile at a 10:10 pace.
Speed work makes me realize just how slow of a runner that I am.
Last Thursday I did my speed work at a local college running track, and there was a Javelin Man in the field throwing a javelin the entire time I was running. So impressed was I that I clapped for him after he threw his mighty javelin. This encouraged him. He looked my direction thereafter prior to and after each throw, wondering whether I would clap again. I did not clap again.
Today's speed work did not consist of Javelin Man because I avoided that track.
Today it was nose-to-the grindstone speed work.
Speed intervals take the joy out of running for me because running for me is about getting lost and letting my mind go. Running is not about deadlines and commitments. It is about being somewhere where no one can find me.
Last evening I looked up my sister-in-law's Boston Marathon time for this year. She is 5 -years my senior and she ran an 8:45 per mile pace for 26.2 miles at Boston.
All I could think about today while doing my speed work is how I will never make it to Boston.
Speed work makes me feel inadequate.
Javelin Man probably would not agree.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Running In A Straight Line
I have thought lots about how running is so much like life and how if one understands running, one might better understand life. Today, sometime between miles 10 and 12, I realized that there are times when I run that, while having every intention to run in a straight line, I fail to do so. This occurs only when I have reached my limit...when the run has become too much for me... that is when I do not run in a straight line like I want to.
It is a rare occurrence. When I find myself not running in a straight path, I am unaware of that fact until I bump into another person on the path, or until my foot falls over onto the shoulder. It is not intentional on my part to not run a straight path. It just happens.
Today it was 93 degrees when I concluded my 12 miles. I cannot seem to avoid the heat despite my best intentions. I ran a straight line for 10 miles, and I deviated for the last 2 miles.
And so it is that even the best-intentioned and most disciplined runner can end up not running straight when the run has become too much to endure.
It is a rare occurrence. When I find myself not running in a straight path, I am unaware of that fact until I bump into another person on the path, or until my foot falls over onto the shoulder. It is not intentional on my part to not run a straight path. It just happens.
Today it was 93 degrees when I concluded my 12 miles. I cannot seem to avoid the heat despite my best intentions. I ran a straight line for 10 miles, and I deviated for the last 2 miles.
And so it is that even the best-intentioned and most disciplined runner can end up not running straight when the run has become too much to endure.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Not Enough Time
Though I woke up at 5 a.m. with every intention of being on the running path by 7 a.m., I did not make it until 8:40 a.m. I had 9 miles to run at an 11:39 pace. I was on the canal tow path and my gym was nearby where I had to get ready for my 11 a.m. appointment.
I am a lawyer addicted to running. Work gets in the way of my running, and not visa versa.
I was not feeling the love this morning as I drove to the canal. I had to wear my Brooks, rather than my Saucany's. You know it is an off running day when you can't wear your most favored running shoes. I had to switch shoes today because one of the toes on my right foot got bruised from Sunday's 18-miler.
It was humid as heck, though not as hot as I am used to. I ran until 9:45 a.m., which was a mere 6 miles, I am embarrassed to say. I was slower than slow. I did not meet my recommended mileage for the first time ever.
I had no particular thoughts as I was running, other than that I wished I had made it out earlier so that I could do all of my miles, and that I wished I did not have to work today, so that I could do all of my miles and then go for a long bike ride, and perhaps play some tennis.
I made it 5 minutes late to my 11 a.m. appt and I worked for the remainder of the day until after hours, when I wished again that I had been able to run more this AM.
I am not addicted enough to go run those 3 miles this evening. I will instead run 12 tomorrow, rather than my allotted 9. I will be on the path by 7 a.m. and I will not retreat until mile 12 and I will run an 11 minute per mile pace average.
Hopefully I will have meaningful thoughts throughout the run and I will feel the love...
I am a lawyer addicted to running. Work gets in the way of my running, and not visa versa.
I was not feeling the love this morning as I drove to the canal. I had to wear my Brooks, rather than my Saucany's. You know it is an off running day when you can't wear your most favored running shoes. I had to switch shoes today because one of the toes on my right foot got bruised from Sunday's 18-miler.
It was humid as heck, though not as hot as I am used to. I ran until 9:45 a.m., which was a mere 6 miles, I am embarrassed to say. I was slower than slow. I did not meet my recommended mileage for the first time ever.
I had no particular thoughts as I was running, other than that I wished I had made it out earlier so that I could do all of my miles, and that I wished I did not have to work today, so that I could do all of my miles and then go for a long bike ride, and perhaps play some tennis.
I made it 5 minutes late to my 11 a.m. appt and I worked for the remainder of the day until after hours, when I wished again that I had been able to run more this AM.
I am not addicted enough to go run those 3 miles this evening. I will instead run 12 tomorrow, rather than my allotted 9. I will be on the path by 7 a.m. and I will not retreat until mile 12 and I will run an 11 minute per mile pace average.
Hopefully I will have meaningful thoughts throughout the run and I will feel the love...
Monday, August 20, 2007
My First 18 Mile Run
Sunday, August 19, 2007:
I had every intention of getting an early start to beat the heat. As usual though, I spent my Sunday morning reading the Sunday NYT and I also made the mistake of answering work emails, which pulled me into a vortex of timelessness. And so it was that I did not get on the running path until approximately 1:00 p.m. It was 89 degrees when I started my run. I began at the Monon Center, which is located between 111th Street and 116th Street, in Hamilton County, Indiana. I intended to run 17 miles on the Monon Trail, which is an old railroad path paved over, as heaven would have it.
I loaded up my fuel belt with 36 ounces of water, flavored by Crystal Light Hydration (a sugar-free alternative to Gatorade). I added my iPod, headphones, cell phone, money, car key, tissues, and 1 Power Gel. I also carried a 33 oz. bottle of water to hide in the bushes along the way. I popped 2 tylenol and 1 800 mg Ibuprofen tablet. I need these because my right foot is experiencing severe swelling and pain because I lacked proper arch support until 2 weeks ago. My left knee was also bothering me from a strenuous 45-mile bike ride yesterday (my "off" day for running).
I walked the first 1/2 mile after a good stretch, but not before starting my heart rate monitor, because my SmartCoach training guide instructed me to run an 11:39 minute mile pace today.
At the 1/2 mile marker, I began running, only to feel my limbs go numb, which happens to me at the start of every run. It is like I have no circulation at all until after mile 2. That sensation makes me feel like I have MS or some other disease which takes away my ability to command my body at will. Because I am familiar with this, I continued on until the blood began flowing throughout my entire body. I ran at a 10 minute per mile pace for the next 3 miles, when I then walked for another 1/2 mile while I hydrated. It is now 91 degrees but the Monon is graced with good shade in most places. I ran the next 3.5 miles at a 10 minute mile pace.
Running the Monon on a beautiful Sunday has it disadvantages. There is Monon riff-raff, which is what I call the weekend warriors who come out with their Schwinns and twins and strollers and dogs. While crossing Main Street in Carmel, Indiana, I was rear-ended by what appeared to be a 6-year old girl on her little pink bike with large white tires. She was adorned with matching pink sunglasses and a pink helmet, and her father was not an experienced rider as well, because when she hit me he gave me a look to kill. His sunglasses were not pink, though they should have been.
Today my run was shared by thoughts of God and whether God is forgiving enough to know my heart...I mean really know my heart. I also thought about how nice it would be to bring my rosary for my next long run. And as my thoughts come in pairs these days, I cannot blog my other thoughts of the day.
I ran back to the Monon Center for 7.5 miles total, and refueled at my car trunk. I then ran a 2-mile lap around Central Park at a 9.5 minute per mile pace and then south on the Monon to the 3 mile marker in Marion County (no more bicycle patrol police after crossing 96th Street). Before crossing 96th St., I filled up my water bottles at the fountain. I filled up again when returning back over 96th Street.
This is the moment when I experienced my first ever BONK. After filling up my bottles and knowing I had only 1.5 miles to go, I entered back onto the Monon facing north. I got very disoriented and had difficulty comprehending why I was standing at that location at that particular moment. I kept reminding myself that I was training for the Chicago Marathon and that I had only 1.5 miles to go. Everything was very light. I began to run but my body said "no". It was 92 degrees.
My clothes were soaking wet and there was no dry place on my body. I had no towel to wipe my hands, and so my fingers were like little raisins. I walked another 1/4 mile and then ran 1/2 mile and then gave up and walked the distance to the Monon Center, where I had a banana smoothie with protein powder.
On the drive home I phoned my sister-in-law, a 2-time Boston Marathoner, and told her about my BONK. She and I discussed the affects of Gatorade on my digestive system and she reminded me for the 100th time not to run in the heat.
All in all... it was a great run.
I had every intention of getting an early start to beat the heat. As usual though, I spent my Sunday morning reading the Sunday NYT and I also made the mistake of answering work emails, which pulled me into a vortex of timelessness. And so it was that I did not get on the running path until approximately 1:00 p.m. It was 89 degrees when I started my run. I began at the Monon Center, which is located between 111th Street and 116th Street, in Hamilton County, Indiana. I intended to run 17 miles on the Monon Trail, which is an old railroad path paved over, as heaven would have it.
I loaded up my fuel belt with 36 ounces of water, flavored by Crystal Light Hydration (a sugar-free alternative to Gatorade). I added my iPod, headphones, cell phone, money, car key, tissues, and 1 Power Gel. I also carried a 33 oz. bottle of water to hide in the bushes along the way. I popped 2 tylenol and 1 800 mg Ibuprofen tablet. I need these because my right foot is experiencing severe swelling and pain because I lacked proper arch support until 2 weeks ago. My left knee was also bothering me from a strenuous 45-mile bike ride yesterday (my "off" day for running).
I walked the first 1/2 mile after a good stretch, but not before starting my heart rate monitor, because my SmartCoach training guide instructed me to run an 11:39 minute mile pace today.
At the 1/2 mile marker, I began running, only to feel my limbs go numb, which happens to me at the start of every run. It is like I have no circulation at all until after mile 2. That sensation makes me feel like I have MS or some other disease which takes away my ability to command my body at will. Because I am familiar with this, I continued on until the blood began flowing throughout my entire body. I ran at a 10 minute per mile pace for the next 3 miles, when I then walked for another 1/2 mile while I hydrated. It is now 91 degrees but the Monon is graced with good shade in most places. I ran the next 3.5 miles at a 10 minute mile pace.
Running the Monon on a beautiful Sunday has it disadvantages. There is Monon riff-raff, which is what I call the weekend warriors who come out with their Schwinns and twins and strollers and dogs. While crossing Main Street in Carmel, Indiana, I was rear-ended by what appeared to be a 6-year old girl on her little pink bike with large white tires. She was adorned with matching pink sunglasses and a pink helmet, and her father was not an experienced rider as well, because when she hit me he gave me a look to kill. His sunglasses were not pink, though they should have been.
Today my run was shared by thoughts of God and whether God is forgiving enough to know my heart...I mean really know my heart. I also thought about how nice it would be to bring my rosary for my next long run. And as my thoughts come in pairs these days, I cannot blog my other thoughts of the day.
I ran back to the Monon Center for 7.5 miles total, and refueled at my car trunk. I then ran a 2-mile lap around Central Park at a 9.5 minute per mile pace and then south on the Monon to the 3 mile marker in Marion County (no more bicycle patrol police after crossing 96th Street). Before crossing 96th St., I filled up my water bottles at the fountain. I filled up again when returning back over 96th Street.
This is the moment when I experienced my first ever BONK. After filling up my bottles and knowing I had only 1.5 miles to go, I entered back onto the Monon facing north. I got very disoriented and had difficulty comprehending why I was standing at that location at that particular moment. I kept reminding myself that I was training for the Chicago Marathon and that I had only 1.5 miles to go. Everything was very light. I began to run but my body said "no". It was 92 degrees.
My clothes were soaking wet and there was no dry place on my body. I had no towel to wipe my hands, and so my fingers were like little raisins. I walked another 1/4 mile and then ran 1/2 mile and then gave up and walked the distance to the Monon Center, where I had a banana smoothie with protein powder.
On the drive home I phoned my sister-in-law, a 2-time Boston Marathoner, and told her about my BONK. She and I discussed the affects of Gatorade on my digestive system and she reminded me for the 100th time not to run in the heat.
All in all... it was a great run.
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