Why I run

Why I Run aka My Longest Post Ever

    When I was fourteen years old I started smoking. My formative years were spent huffing and puffing and chuffing around, wishing I could quit. I was just so damned anxious and depressed all the time, and smoking was... a smokescreen for it all. A bandaid. If only I had known then what good medicine running would have been for all that.  I did try the track team for about a week in eighth grade. Ran my first mile at a meet - then - baaarf. All over myself & the coach. So sorry Mr. Flaherty. So, I decided, sports were not for me and chose the route of distressed and angsty, artsy, chain-smoking grunge grrl. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never really run far or fast or enjoy it. I spent the next 13 years believing that I couldn't and wouldn't.   
     That same year in 8th grade, I learned another thing that would burrow in my mind and become a source of inspiration to this very day, 22 years later.  Mr. Svensen, my geography teacher. Rumor had it he had been a 2 pack a day smoker, gave them up, and ran 9 miles before school everyday. I don't know how accurate that it was - 9 miles is a long way to go before school, but no matter. He was lean and lanky and it seemed entirely possible this was his routine. Etched into my brain that little nugget-o-data was there to stay. A measure of possibility to store away for the future.

    I believe I was a little trouble maker in his class. We butted heads famously. He was very strict, held us to very high standards, and honed my love of travel and culture. I pushed back a lot, but what I needed the most at that time, though I'd be loathe to admit it then, was structure and strictness. Most adults were willing to allow me to get away with a lot, nobody really expected a lot from me it seemed - but he did and he demanded my best. I wish I could find him to thank him. Thank you Arthur Svensen, wherever you may be.  Your inspiration continues to this day! 

Green Blue Green. This is my rhythm when I run. It is TREES SKY BUSHES. GRASS RIVER TREES. LAND SKY WATER. It becomes the rhythm of the earth itself, a little marble spinning in the vastness of space. greenbluegreen spinning. It carries me. This was the rhythm that carried me along my very first 9 mile run, just a few weeks ago. A personal record for distance, and something I never in my life I thought I could do.

     I gave up smoking (the first time) when I was 27.  I had stopped smoking for a few days when I realized a really needed a physical release for my decades of pent up anxiety or I would become homicidal.  My lungs' ability could not match the driving force within me and I was very frustrated after getting winded completely after 1/4 mile. But I resolved to do better, go further the next time. So I did. I made it a half mile. And the next time 3/4 mile. When I ever ran that first full mile - what sweet victory! I didn't care about speed or time - I flippin' DID it! It was pure pleasure - the sheer joy of movement - of commanding my body to do something, working towards a seemingly unlikely goal and MAKING it happen. That was a first for me. It was so sweet. And I felt to good after. So relaxed and calm. What a gift. 

    Sadly, that was the first but not the last time I quit. But I HAD found a new habit to replace the old one - and it stuck. Over the next 6 years I'd smoke on & off, though never like I had up to that point. And I always ran a little further and a little faster. I had setbacks - my Dad died of cancer, three years later I lost my best friend. I'd briefly return to the comfort of my addiction. Then I got married and became pregnant with my first. Quit those buggers in a real hurry! After packing on about 45 lbs during pregnancy I decided then that I wanted to train for a sprint triathlon to get back into pre-baby shape. So I started training and - BAM -pregnant with my second. 2 babies in a span of 3 years. Now THAT gave me some major respect for all the transformative power and strength the female body is capable of. The physical journey of motherhood has been both very humbling and empowering.

    So here I am, running faster and further than I ever thought possible. Make no mistake - I am NOT a fast runner. But I am fast or me.  I go long for me. At this point in the game, I measure my success by getting my ass up off the couch and out the door. Once I'm outside, the rest is gravy.

    Running now has spiritual value for me as well. It is a time to quiet my mind and give thanks. Or to just be present. I observe life. A little girl in a white dress and pink crocks, delicately plucking clover and placing them in her bike basket. A woman sitting on a park bench with an old-school hand held radio listening to french music (Edith Piaf?) being broadcast from the local university. She is smiling gently.  A short, stout, stern looking Asian man with a large growth on his forehead. They are all so real, so beautiful when I run past them. So human. I fall in love with them all, a little bit. I fall in love with people when I'm in that place. All until I almost get run over by some jackass who doesn't stop for pedestrians, but even that makes me...alive. After all the mental chatter ebbs I connect to something greater than myself in a spirit of gratitude. That is - when I'm not too absorbed by doling out goldfish and raisins if the kids are along. My portable cheering section can be a little distracting.

Which brings me to - The Legend of the Half-Marathon with 3 in a Stroller.....

 More on that one next time....