Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Friday, April 26, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
On Running
I'm training to run a half-marathon. I started training in January, and at the end of February began having pain in my ankle. The pain has persisted, and my training hasn't gone as I imagined it would. I've had to take weeks off to let the tendons rest, I've missed lots of runs, and still the ankle hurts. It's incredibly frustrating. I'm not only running for myself, I'm running on behalf of a greyhound rescue organization, using the run as a way to raise money for the care of the dogs until their adoptive homes can be found.
I always hated running. I could make it through the mile in the Presidential Fitness Test in middle school, but not with any ease and certainly not quickly. As time went on I ran sometimes, a couple of miles, and called it good enough. I always felt good after my runs, but during them everything was terrible. Once I had a reason to push past my comfort level, knowing that I was accountable to the people who had donated to my fundraising campaign and to the dogs I'm trying to help, things began to change. For my first long run, I went out and made it five and a half miles, the most I had ever run in my life. Then I made it seven, then eight. It's still not easy, and I'm still slow, but I learned to get through the first couple of miles to the part where everything just works, where my legs keep going and my mind wanders from what my muscles are doing to what I'll make for dinner, or what I'll wear tomorrow. That place is wonderful. It's a moving sort of meditation, and it's a feeling I've come to cherish in large part because it's difficult to achieve it.
The training has helped me to change the way I think about a number of things, in fact. I'm a bit of a perfectionist—not enough to let it rule my life, but enough that I feel guilty that I don't let it rule my life. I'm in a stage of my life that is full of change, some of it positive and some of it even more difficult than the runs. Every day I struggle to do my job well, to keep my apartment clean, to be a good friend and girlfriend, to contribute more to the world than I take from it, to recycle, to find creative outlets, to talk to my mother often enough, to face down my flaws and correct them. It's a huge amount of pressure to put on myself, and it does come from myself. I'm great at appearances, and it is, for reasons not entirely clear or probably entirely healthy, very important to me that the act looks effortless. I strive to be the sort of person other people want to be.
Sometimes it's not possible. Sometimes a break is necessary. So I've adopted a new mantra: "I will try." I will try to do my laundry before it starts to smell weird. I will try to do my dishes as they are dirtied. I will try to keep a positive attitude at work even when I'm frustrated. I will try to keep in better touch with my friends. I will try to be a good daughter and a good sister. I will to eat healthily. I will try to fit in some writing every day. I will try to communicate my emotions constructively to those relevant to them. I will try to do the difficult thing when I know it is the right thing.
I will not always succeed. I'm far too ambitious to only undertake things that I know will go well. These are all of the things I will try to do, and if I fail I will try again. If I can do some of them most of the time, or most of them some of the time, I'll consider it a victory. It's not possible to be all things at all times. A lot of motivational speakers would tell you that this phrasing is self-defeating, that I should excise "try" and state the certainly that I will. What works best for me is to allow room for human error, and to give myself a space in which to forgive my shortcomings.
Will I run the whole half marathon? I don't know. It will, at this point, depend mostly on how my ankle feels that day. One thing I can say with certainty is that I'll damn well try.
I always hated running. I could make it through the mile in the Presidential Fitness Test in middle school, but not with any ease and certainly not quickly. As time went on I ran sometimes, a couple of miles, and called it good enough. I always felt good after my runs, but during them everything was terrible. Once I had a reason to push past my comfort level, knowing that I was accountable to the people who had donated to my fundraising campaign and to the dogs I'm trying to help, things began to change. For my first long run, I went out and made it five and a half miles, the most I had ever run in my life. Then I made it seven, then eight. It's still not easy, and I'm still slow, but I learned to get through the first couple of miles to the part where everything just works, where my legs keep going and my mind wanders from what my muscles are doing to what I'll make for dinner, or what I'll wear tomorrow. That place is wonderful. It's a moving sort of meditation, and it's a feeling I've come to cherish in large part because it's difficult to achieve it.
The training has helped me to change the way I think about a number of things, in fact. I'm a bit of a perfectionist—not enough to let it rule my life, but enough that I feel guilty that I don't let it rule my life. I'm in a stage of my life that is full of change, some of it positive and some of it even more difficult than the runs. Every day I struggle to do my job well, to keep my apartment clean, to be a good friend and girlfriend, to contribute more to the world than I take from it, to recycle, to find creative outlets, to talk to my mother often enough, to face down my flaws and correct them. It's a huge amount of pressure to put on myself, and it does come from myself. I'm great at appearances, and it is, for reasons not entirely clear or probably entirely healthy, very important to me that the act looks effortless. I strive to be the sort of person other people want to be.
Sometimes it's not possible. Sometimes a break is necessary. So I've adopted a new mantra: "I will try." I will try to do my laundry before it starts to smell weird. I will try to do my dishes as they are dirtied. I will try to keep a positive attitude at work even when I'm frustrated. I will try to keep in better touch with my friends. I will try to be a good daughter and a good sister. I will to eat healthily. I will try to fit in some writing every day. I will try to communicate my emotions constructively to those relevant to them. I will try to do the difficult thing when I know it is the right thing.
I will not always succeed. I'm far too ambitious to only undertake things that I know will go well. These are all of the things I will try to do, and if I fail I will try again. If I can do some of them most of the time, or most of them some of the time, I'll consider it a victory. It's not possible to be all things at all times. A lot of motivational speakers would tell you that this phrasing is self-defeating, that I should excise "try" and state the certainly that I will. What works best for me is to allow room for human error, and to give myself a space in which to forgive my shortcomings.
Will I run the whole half marathon? I don't know. It will, at this point, depend mostly on how my ankle feels that day. One thing I can say with certainty is that I'll damn well try.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)