Pressing On

I'm not a fan of excising.  Let's just get that out of the way.  I have had the hardest time setting a schedule to 'work out' and sticking to it for more than a few weeks.  The best intentions right?  Now, that's not to say I don't get out and move.  I walk the dogs.  I love to hike.  And I have a seasonal love affair with my bike.  See riding is my 'me time'.  I tend to take 'me time' once or twice a week from the time it warms up to 50° until it cools back down to 50°. The wind in my face.  The burn in my thighs.  The sound of the tires crunching in the aggregate.  The freedom to think and feel without interruption.  Love my 'me time'.  But I don't think of it as exercise.  There is no consistency.  I do it as I need it.

I promised Myka (That would be my sweet ride. A beautiful 16in, 2008 Specialized Myka Sport. White with red butterflies 'tearing' out of the frame. A pretty sweet ride indeed.) that after the Tour de Cure, I would take her in for a tune up and cleaning.  Afterall, a happy bike means a happy ride. And she deserves it. And I've taken my sweet time getting her in.  So I felt I needed to do something else to get out and move.  I think we all know what's coming...

                                                               Myka. She's pretty sweet.


I took up running.  Well I move my legs more than walking and bounce a little. Running would be a generous description of what I am actually doing.  But I'm doing it.  And not some fancy 'couch to 5k training' program.  Been there, tried that, FAILED.  And I hated it.  I tied my old worn out shoes and was determined to do it.  So I did. I walked to the preserve a half mile away from the house and picked a spot and said 'I will run there' and went.  And when I got to that point I stopped, stretched, and picked a new spot.  And so on.  I walked and ran 3 miles that first time.  And I went home and took a shower and felt ok.  Not bad for my first run since high school.

I woke up the next morning and felt awful.  I was incredibly sore.  My feet hurt and were completely stressed out.  My knees were on fire.  Muscles I didn't realized I had even used were audibly ticked off with me.  And I wanted to cry.  'This is why I don't run.'  'What the hell was I thinking?'  Work was painful.  And I knew it would be weeks before I would do that again.

And it was.  3 weeks.  To be fair, Tour was the week after the run and there was NO way I was going to stress my body out while I was in the final stages of training for 30 miles.  I don't know what it was.  I just couldn't quit this time.  I needed to move while I was waiting for Myka to be done at the shop.  I needed to find 'me time' with the 2 dogs at home (who always need to be in the exact same spot I am).  I am stubborn to a fault sometimes.  I looked up a few tips and picked out that I thought would help.

I decided to tape my feet for arch support (a little trick from playing soccer).  The only tape I had was painters tape.  So I used it.

                                                 Pre-Run injury prevention. Thanks 3M:-p

Carry the water bottle was stressful on my hands (I clutched it until I thought it would tear).  So I grabbed one of my running shirts with the pockets in the back.  Fits the water bottle perfectly.  Bonus: I can carry my inhaler in the pocket and not carry it either, AND my phone fits in the 3rd pocket: running tunes!

My feet went numb.  I found a site that suggested threading my laces 'straight' at the top of my foot not in an X pattern.  So I did.

And I went out.

I had a path in mind that combined walking and running and stuck to my plan.  I moved slower than a turtle, but I pressed on.  I went 4 miles, with about half of it actually running.  I got home sweaty and exhausted.  I did what I set out to do.  And I felt pretty darn proud of myself.  The next morning was sore, but not awful.  The little tricks made a big difference.  And I made myself do it again 2 days later.  I wasn't going to give up.


And I haven't so far.  I plan out my runs for Tuesday and Thursday nights.  This way when the school year starts again, this will still fit into my schedule.  I am slow.  But I press on.


I have a blister that covers the complete instep of my right foot.  It is extremely sore to the touch.  It finally dried out and broke open last night half way through my run.  But I  press on.


I have so many bug bites.  They have welted in spots and are impossible not to itch raw.  But I press on.


The tendons in my feet are tearing and healing after each run as they get used to the impact.  There are a few mornings it's been hard to walk.  But I press on.


My neck and shoulders are stiff from my running posture.  I am learning how to hold myself correctly, but it's a process.  It's interrupted my sleep a few nights.  But I press on.


I feel a bizarre sense of accomplishment after I finish each run.  I can actually feel my body responding and getting stronger with every mile.  After 6 consistent runs, I can see physical changes in my body.  My thighs are tighter.  I've lost inches around my middle.  My arms are slimmer.  (My tush looks great!)  I never set out to lose weight or even really change anything.  I just wanted to get out and move and my normal mode of outdoor movement was in the shop.  I understand how people can say running is addicting.  I have found my mantra 'each step is one more than yesterday'.

I'm not sure how I can say this, but I'm pretty sure running will stick.  I still don't 'like' it, but I love how it makes me feel.  Powerful.  Accomplished.  I know I can set reasonable goals that are tangible.  I've already met a few.  I am enjoying the challenge.  I even rewarded my feet last night with a new pair of shoes.  Happy feet means a happy run right?

                                                               Pressing on...in style.

Growing Up

One day you wake up, look in the mirror, and realize: you are a grown up.  No fanfare.  No big party to celebrate.  No milestone.  Just the realization that getting up, putting on slacks, mentally running through the list of 'to dos' at the office that morning while walking the dog, and sitting in rush hour traffic is the norm.  It's been routine for so long, you don't remember sleeping in, going to class, or worrying about what to wear to the party on Friday (ok let's be honest...I never actually worried about that).

Now it's: do I need milk? did I pay the eye doctor bill? when is the warranty up on the fridge?  The toilet is running, I should get new parts and fix it this weekend.  Ooo...there is a sale on linens!  And I'd love to say these are just examples thought up, but they are actual thoughts I have had in the last 2 weeks.  Normal, everyday, real grown up thoughts.  

I always assumed that growing up would happen with a life event to herald in this monumental life change.

Turning 18.  That makes you a legal grown up.  You can vote, join the army, enter into contracts.  A full fledged 'grown up'.  But it didn't feel so different than 17.  Or 19 for that matter.

Going to college.  Anyone who says that going to college is 'experiencing the real world' is lying. Perhaps it was the small, private, fairly isolated college I went to, but it was the furthest thing from being an adult.  Living with your friends, only having 4 hours of class most days, maybe working 2 hours, and spending the rest of the night eating pizza, watching Friends, and 'studying' was the ultimate childhood sleep over for 4 years.

That first real job.  Making an actual paycheck that will cover more than pizza and movies.  Being partly responsible for the bottom line and day to day running on an actual company.  Even getting an apartment and paying bills felt less than accomplished.  I was still grasping for that grown up feeling.

Buying my first house.  Signing the papers (and the heart attack that come with the final price after the interest).  Being handed the keys.  Even the very grown up house warming gifts of appliances and furniture.  It was all very exciting, but it didn't feel any more adult (maybe because it was actually less money) than signing the student loans. I expected it to feel more.  I expected the trumpets, the heart pounding, the 'now you are a real grown up' feeling.  But it wasn't the light switch I was expecting.

Growing up was a quiet event.  All the experiences of adult hood entwining together to form this strong, scarred, hodgepodged adult with a life full of responsibilities and obligation.  Full of adventure, laughter, and friendship holding all the pieces together.  Full of experiences, knowledge, and empathy sought out for advice and leadership.  A beautiful, complicated, busy life.

Realization came the day I brought home my new puppy.  The decision was not made in haste, it was measured and weighed.  Would my 'first born' accept a new member into our pack?  Was the energy level of the puppy compatible with the almost 6 year old?  Could I reassure 'first born' that he was not being replaced?  Would I be able to take the appropriate time during the day to walk and feed the puppy?  Research was done for the best way to aid in the transition.  Slow introductions were made.  New items were bought weeks ahead of the puppy so the oldest could get used to their placement.  We had sleepovers before bringing puppy home permanently.  Family was introduced to puppy outside of the home so the oldest would't be jealous at the attention.  There was a lot of excitement, but the transition was deliberate, careful, and well planned.

I sat on the couch the first night our pack was together, and it occurred to me that this was the most intentional decision I had ever made.  Not which college.  Not the house.  Not even the 'first born' was made with such careful consideration.  It wasn't about how cute the puppy was.  It wasn't about how much I wanted the puppy.  It was about considering how it would effect the 'first born'.  It was how it would all fit together.  I looked at the dogs asleep next to me, in the basement of my house, after a long day at work, and I realized: I wasn't sure when or how I got here, but I was here.  I was officially a grown up.  And I found peace in that thought.  I have endured and weathered the constant battering of growing up, and now the foundation was solid.  The waves will roll.  They always roll.  But I have survived.  I am standing here with a confidence that only comes with experience.  I'm proud of the scares.  I'm happy to my bones.  I have arrived.  And I think I like it.