New Blog

Seeing that I did what I set out to do and decided not to do it again for at least a while, I've started a new blog.

finisher!

Yet feeling less than triumphant. It's taken me a week, and I'm still not sure what to say about the marathon experience.

I finished. Yet I feel no sense of accomplishment. In fact, I've been fighting a bout of self hatred more intense than bouts past. I'm agry at myself for running that friggin' marathon, for pushing, for trying to accomplish yet another outward goal that brings me nothing but pain.

I thought I signed up for this marathon for the journey, the process, not for the finish line. And I did, I really did. But I think there was a small part of me that thought if I could power through that 26.2 miles despite all the odds against me, something would change. My life would be okay. I would finally be okay. But that didn't happen.

God damn.

So, I have learned something very important here: the more I shoot to achieve something outside myself, the more I distance myself from my Self. I have been more disconnected from my body this past week than ever. I've felt like crap, I've been lying around in my flannel jammies every chance I get, avoiding the mess that is my house, eating bagels and cookies and mac and cheese. Comfort food that brings nothing but discomfort.

I've been hating my body, hating my life, hating my job(s), hating myself for all of the aforementioned hatables. It's sick. The first thing I thought when I saw the finisher photo of myself was "look at that fucking gut on her."

I'm a mess. And I've never been more in touch with my ugliest demon: I fear that I am utterly unlovable as I am, no matter what I do. I'm intensely aware of how ironic this is, especially with the outporing of love and support I've received from family, friends, colleagues, students. It helps, it really does. But only I alone can face down this demon. And it will have to come from compassion for the ugly beast. Whoowee. It ain't easy.

And my foot hurts like a bitch. Did I mention that?

So what have I done to try to jolt myself out of the post marathon stress disorder? I saw many members of my team for reinforcement: my chiropractor, my therapist, my massage therapist. They ask me to practice loving-kindness toward myself, to learn from this experience, and to not punish myself for not having all the answers. I'm trying.

I'm also trying to quit eating crap and start sending healing energy to my foot. My chiropractor says he doesn't think it's a stress fracture, just a tendon strain. Resting is hard.

I cancelled class twice last week because I simply couldn't get out of my jammies and drag my ass into public to face anyone. Then I did, and it was better.

I reviewed two dance performances this week. Ya think the universe is sending me a loud enough message about my body? Get in touch with that body, watch others performing in their bodies, knowing their bodies, training their bodies, trusting their bodies. Now your turn.

I don't know if I'll ever run a marathon again. I'd like to reach for things that bring me joy, I'd like to spend more time reaching inward. I'd like to practice being gentle with myself as a habit, not on the rare, forced occasion. I'd like to learn to become centered in my body when I become most vulnerable, rather than pulling away from my physical being. I'd like to sit with my power, with my fragility, with my grief and observe myself exactly as I am, without judgment.

This is the training for the marathon that is my life. I've been running since I was born. I think the time has come to stand still.

One week from today

. . . I'll be running. For a good long while.

But today I am sick as a dog. A sore throat turned into a stuffy nose and a congested head that can't seem to quit sneezing. And I'm tired as all get out.

I did make it through booty camp yesterday morning and we ran hills before jumping rope, running drills and tromping around on the playground at an elementary school. That has to count for something.

And I've consistently been working out with TTT and hitting the cardio machines three times a week at the gym. I haven't had a proper run in two weeks. But my hip is healed.

So as far as I'm concerned, I'm as ready as I'll ever be for this marathon. I'm hoping the energy and excitement of the day and the crowd will carry me far.

However it goes, I've already decided it will be enough. Far enough, fast enough, hard enough, fun enough.

Most importantly, I've got my outfit picked out. If nothing else, I'll be cute enough.

Two weeks to go . . .

not even.

It's decision time. So, I've decided:

I'm gonna give it a shot. It's true that I all but abandoned my training schedule for the salvation of my hip. This has been a very good thing. I've kept up all my other training: weights, bootcamp, spinning, cardio machines at the gym.

My thinking is this: I'm strong and in good health, so I'll give that marathon a go. I have released my attachment to the outcome. I'm not shooting for a particular time, I have no goal in mind. I'll just get out there. Run until I don't want to anymore. Then I'll walk. Then I'll run again.

And I'll listen to my body. Hallelujah!

The wisdom has voice, and I won't stifle it.

So, if I hear, "Pull over lady. I see Johnny O'Hagan's in the distance and I'd like a pint of Guinness," who am I to deny such wisdom?

I do want to finish in 6 1/2 hours, though. To hell with running on the sidewalks after they reopen the streets. I refuse to be relegated to the sidelines, slow or not, bum hip or not.

Bottom line: I'm planning on having fun.

Anyone care to stop me?

Not MIA.

Don't know what to say lately about this whole marathon process. Part of me feels like I blew it, part of me realizes I was nuts to start, part of me grieves the approaching end and the damage to myself. But another part of me celebrates the victory of getting closer to who I am, of honoring my body, myself--first by attempting to push boundaries, and then by listening and responding in kind when I began to destroy myself. That ain't no small thing, methinks.

But now I'm torn about the race itself. Do I run what I can and then stop? Do I run and/or run/walk to the finish? Do I skip it and go for a champagne brunch?

People are coming from far and wide for this race, for MY race. Does that mean I have to do it?

I knew from the start this had to be about the process, not the endpoint; there is no endpoint.

My hip is so much better now that I've eased off the running. I still need to stretch plentifully, especially in the morning and at night, but I can walk without limping and exist without painful awareness of my hip. I've taken up a Saturday bootcamp in addition to my three times a week at the gym, and I daresay I am still in good shape. Or perhaps better shape with rest. An hour of outdoor running stairs and doing crazy drills: backwards, forwards, sideways sprints, shuffles and lunges--all felt good and I never wanted to die. Really.

So . . . there it is. No major progress, no major setbacks from last time. Just undecided. Perhaps the answer will appear with great clarity. . . .

Enough already!

I just don't know about this marathon anymore. The new shoes seem good for my hip but bad for my feet. Ouch.

It seems I have thrown myself into chaos once again. The marathon may do more harm than good, and that's where I have to draw the line. As the guy at the shoe store said, "There will be other marathons."

Of course, I might just go and run it until I don't want to run it anymore. I would have changed my registration to the half marathon, but when I called the marathon office to request the change, the lady said, "We don't have a half." Pam told me, "Don't let anyone tell you you can't run a half-marathon."

So, Carlos and I decided we'll just take it as it comes. Maybe we'll run the first 13.1 miles, then take a break at the nearest pub. Or maybe we'll jump in at 13.1 miles and run to the end. What the hell? It's our marathon.

And what I decided stands: I'm not going to break myself for this race. --or a job, or a class, or a relationship, or . . .

Bottom line: I'm done damaging myself. Or allowing myself to be damaged. It's time to heal, to rebuild.

I'm taking myself out of the race to find and follow the Middle Way.

And by not following my training schedule because of this injury, I've finally rediscovered the joy of running. I've stopped beating myself up about not running far enough, well enough, fast enough. Enough! Running two or three miles just to take a break from studying is fun and refreshing. It can be about listening to my body and not simply pushing and forcing and running just to run.

It is enough. I am enough.

Shit I had to go through a lot to get to this point!

Working it with new shoes.

I've run 5ish miles the past two mornings and it has gone just fine, except last night and this morning the old hip pain is back with a vengeance.

I saw my doc yesterday and she said pretty much all knee and hip running injuries women experience can be attributed to shoes. Shoes! Dammit, I thought I was being so good getting new shoes and rotating three different pairs. But if the shoe itself isn't quite right, three pairs rotating ain't gonna do a bit of good.

So, she recommended a particular shoe guy at a particular running store and I went to see him yesterday afternoon.

By yesterday evening, I walked outta that place two pairs of shoes, one sports bra and three pairs of socks richer. He showed me lots of good stretches and said the following: you are crazy; you are determined; there will be other marathons; I'm surprised you don't have more problems than you do; it probably was that sand that did you in.

Good God.

I still want to run that friggin' marathon, though. But my goal is to finish and to finish strong. If this means walking parts, so be it.

As I've come to realize, I will do everything in my power not to let any damn thing break me. To hell with what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. . . .

I'm all for learning to be gentle with myself. Because if I'm not, who will be?