Slacker or Sage

In every yoga class I say to my students -- at least once -- something like, "Check in with yourself. Rest if you need to. Push a little harder if that's what you need today. Be in the truth of what is going on Now."

Many times, it seems, the things I say to my students are the words I need to hear for myself. There are days when it's clear as glass that I've got energy enough to power the state of California. Those days I push, run, stronger, harder, faster, and I smile through the whole thing feeling like an Amazon warrior goddess. There are other days when my body and spirit just want to roll out my yoga mat, find some long, deep hip stretches and then lay across a bolster, cover myself in a blanket, and chillax in savasana while the rest of the class sweats through sun salutations.

And then there are those other days.
Foggy days when the inner compass just spins.
Where am I, and where do I want to be?

On those murky days I can't tell my sage from my inner slacker. Is that voice inside me that says "chill out" just some lazy snail that wants to take the easy way? I have a deep fear of being lazy. It comes from too many childhood years spent eating bowls of cereal and watching after-school specials, waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come home. When I left home at seventeen I left television as well. Already I felt like I'd let too much of my life slide by, lost important years of creative activity, passed by my full potential. When I went to college I went with a vision of creating something out of this life -- I wasn't sure what, but it would have a purpose, a vision, a drive. Still, twenty-one years since I left home, lazy feels like a rabbit hole that I could still easily slip down. I have a fear of falling into a state of complacency. Of being pulled into a life of consuming crap television shows while eating crap food and creating a life of nothing-special. Crap.

Or, on those murky days, is it the wise woman side of me who whispers "let me tuck you in, you should rest"? In my fear of lazy I've gotten confused. My window to my compass is covered in condensation.

This sage versus slacker question also rings with a familiarity from something else. It doesn't just remind me of the cereal/after-school specials years because of the non-productivity. It reminds of the zero-or-ten starvation/binge eating cycle that I bounced between starting around high school, wracked with guilt for dipping into the fundraising candy box and then ricocheting into the vow "do not let anything pass by these lips". I knew how to go too far in either direction. It wasn't just me, though. It seemed at times that eating was a family activity. We didn't gather around meals to nurture our need for community. We gathered around meals to overeat and then go on diets. No wonder I lost signal and then over-corrected.

Another familial gift I received was strong muscles. That's from my dad, I think. I was a gym rat since I took the weight-room option for 10th grade Phys Ed. In college I still didn't know how to eat, but I knew how to lift. I knew how to climb. I knew how to put on headphones and sweat the elliptical trainer.

I've gone through different phases of working out since those 10th grade Phys Ed days, but yoga taught me the best. I am still trying to learn how to read my compass for steady. Yoga at least taught me that there is a compass to look for. For center. For body-need. For truth. For compassion. To trust myself and the signals from my tired -- or wired -- muscles.

So here is where I am. Today I ran. Yesterday I ran. The day before I ran. My compass bounced around between inner slacker / wise sage and steady ahead.

Sunday was great, and I was completely in tune with my wise woman after my first rainy 5.5 mile loop around Griffith Park. I've actually been applauding myself that I bailed on the second loop as planned. I just didn't have the stamina for a 12 mile hilly course for my first run after six days of no activity. (Back story: Last week I didn't work out at all due to being sick. My inner compass read pretty clear since my skin was hot and red. I had no interest in anything but rest). Instead I took it easy like Sunday morning and went home, showered, ate, and then had a wonderfully sweaty yoga class with my sweetheart.

Yesterday's windy 4.5 mile run was harder compass-wise. My body was tired from running and yoga the day before. I wished my old running partner was around. She wasn't fast but she was constant. At least, until she wasn't constant any more. Somehow I managed to mostly run, partly walk it, with a foray into some roadside push ups to keep things interesting. At the end I bumped into another runner whose company helped me eke out another mile or so.

Today was better. I hooked up with the new running partner (Jacob) which kept me moving. It was a new route, new company, new day. As it turns out, it was just his second day running in years, and it was my stamina that kept him going for the 2.75 mile loop we did together. Just busting those first miles with some new company helped me finish off my run of 5 miles. I could tell that if Jacob hadn't been there, my inner slacker would have stepped in.



SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 27, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Raining, in the 60's.

Run:
5.5 miles
53:54
average pace: 9:45


MONDAY'S RUN/WALK/PUSHUPS: 
Setting:
January 28, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, low-60s

Run:
4.51 miles
44:41
average pace: 9:54

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 29, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, mid-50s

Run:
4.93 miles
45:07
average pace: 9:09

Jinxed

Trolley Town at Griffith Park, LA, CA 1/20/13

It's that time of year when half of the office is out on sick leave and the other half sounds like it is rehearsing for an audition with the National Coughing Chorus. Along with that, at least in my world, comes the annual Flu Shot Debate. My dad calls me up to find out if I've gotten the latest flu shot for this year's "worst flu epidemic of all time". I never have, I never do, and as my life stretches out in front of me, I can imagine that I possibly never will.

Not surprisingly, given the number of people we know who are sick, last week my boyfriend and I were talking about flu shots.

Hold on. Have I properly introduced you to my life? As a recap, my boyfriend and I began dating in '09 and now live together in a cute pink and  blue Tudor-style house in a Los Angeles valley neighborhood. He has two daughters, aged 8 and 12, and they split their time almost 50-50 between our house and their mother's which is about five miles away. Between us, their mom and step-dad, their god-mother, and the whole community that makes up our little world, our girls have a village raising them. Mostly it works out pretty well. Sometimes there are "values" differences between our house and their mom's, but we like to think that the differences give the girls a broader perspective on life. Occasionally, we hit upon some issue that their dad and mom try to resolve - usually under the general category of "Health".

So, last week we were talking about flu shots. The girls' mother is considering getting the girls the shots. At a 60% success rate for avoidance of the flu, and given that the girls are hardly in the risk demographic for extreme flu consequences (death), my boyfriend and I both believe that they should not have the shots.

"Why are people so afraid of getting sick?" I said.

I've been wondering about that lately. Of course, I hate being sick just as much as everyone else. But, I do love a lazy day in bed. I fantasize about a late morning reading, dozing for a bit, maybe watching an afternoon movie. I rarely get those kinds of days, and although I love my life, it is a pretty fantasy, even if the reality comes with a stuffy head and achy body.

I understand that getting sick is inconvenient to our schedules, but that just seems so small-minded to me. In the bigger picture, getting sick is part of life, it's part of the balance of health. Most of the time, for a generally healthy individual, getting sick helps our bodies to better combat bugs over time. It's like working out with weights - we break down the muscle in order for it to be even stronger as it repairs.

"Maybe we get sick because we don't give ourselves enough zone-out time. It's the body's way of saying, hey, slow down." I distinctly recall saying this to my boyfriend last week while we were talking. I distinctly recall believing it to be true.

I distinctly think I may have jinxed myself.

Did I accidentally put that prayer out into the universe? Something or someone must have heard me because midway through dinner on Saturday night I suddenly knew I desperately needed a Claritin. I don't generally have allergies, but I could feel my body begin to react to some mystery trigger that, now for the third time in ten months, has appeared in my life. I've spent the past two days exhausted as my body deals with its reaction to the unknown source that has me all red and splotchy, and hiding from the sun. My normally skinny fingers are swollen like sausages. My gums hurt when I brush my teeth. Even my softest clothes feel scratchy against my skin. I can't exercise right now because I can't stand to be over-heated. I'm bundled in layers because my skin is overly sensitive to being cold. Since I've found daily exercise to be the main thing that keeps me sane (for the sake of us all), I would feel exceptionally miserable right now except for this fact:

On Sunday morning, before the full effects of the allergic reaction settled in, and while Los Angeles was still wrapped in chilly high-40s, for the first time in months I ran almost 11 miles. Even as I groaned through the last few minutes, I could feel my runner's high. Even as I feel pretty crappy right now from this sickness, I still feel cloaked in my superhero cape from Sunday's run.

SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 20, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the high 40's-50's

Walk/Run:
10.6 miles
1:44:06
average pace: 9:49 per mile


FRIDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 18, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 70's

Walk/Run:
4.9 miles
41:22
average pace: 8:26 per mile


THURSDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 17, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 60's

Walk/Run:
3.55 miles
31:54
average pace: 8:58 per mile

Bird song

After a scattered day with too much multi-tasking and too little focus, last night I was glad to finally get to the yoga studio where I teach three times a week. I started the class as I always do with a seated meditation. After all the mind-chatter of the day, I needed it as much as my students. I'm always struck by the contrast between the initial chit-chat when I walk in the door, and then the quiet at the end of the meditation. By the time I ask my students to bring their hands in prayer at their heart and remind themselves of why they came to class that day, why they chose to show up on the mat that evening, there's a remarkable shift in the energy of the room. There's a quiet, but it's more than that. It's a stillness. It's a stillness at the very core of each person in the room.

I officially started meditating in the spring of 2008. I began with two minutes, twice a day. I set up a little altar in the spare bedroom, and sat on a pillow I snagged from the bed. I set my alarm clock, and then closed my eyes and rested my hands on my knees as I had seen in photos. My mind raced. Every itch came alive. My foot fell asleep. My mind-chatter told me I was a failure. The next week I increased the torture to three minutes, twice a day. The next week I quit.

Later that spring I read Eat, Pray, Love, and celebrated when the author Elizabeth Gilbert wrote for three long pages about the uselessness of her own attempts. And then, one night, she had a break-through. I tried again.

On a beautiful Saturday morning, I went with my then-husband to the rickety building where his band rehearsed. While the boys were rocking out inside, I wandered outside and found an old thrown away couch to sit on. The sky was blue and the sun cast a cooling shadow of a wall across the couch.  In the background, there was the faint rhythm of music as the bass rumbled and the drums smacked. The birds were singing from the tree tops. I sat cross-legged on the couch and closed my eyes. I listened to the birds. I felt the sunshine. I heard a car drive past. I listened to my breath. I relaxed my brow and a vision of buckets of water came to my mind, tipping, spilling, righting, filling, tipping, and spilling again. I found complete stillness, and was filled with joy. There was no other place I longed to be.

I don't know how long I sat on that couch. At some point, other cars pulled into the lot behind the wall, and other bands began unloading their trunks. Cigarette smoke wafted in, and voices. I let them all come and go, and when I had my fill, I opened my eyes and stretched.

The best way I know to come to complete presence is to listen. In last night's yoga class, I talked my class through the sounds of the cars on the busy road one story below us, the sounds of all of us breathing together, my voice, their hearts beating in their chests. Without attachment, the sounds become like instruments in an orchestra, each taking their own melody, their own sonic space, to create a landscape of the moment.

Despite the fact that I am a musician, I never listen to music while I run. I think about things, and when my mind is quiet enough, I just listen. Today was a day of listening. The birds were full of song when I started out. The wind was not as strong as Monday, and my breath mingled with it. The rusty autumn leaves skidded over the asphalt. A dog barked, and then another. There was a train whistle that blew, and then blew again. The gardeners were out with leaf-blowers, the worst invention ever. There was a protest outside the hospital, and the picketers were chanting, and then cheered as I ran by.

A few times I worked on my speed, and then my ears shut down. I've been only a little dismayed at my slowed pace these past few weeks, but it would be nice if I could manage a steady nine-minute mile. Last year I was running closer to eight-and-a-half. I've resigned myself to not getting that pace in time for the half marathon in one month - mostly right now I am concerned about distance - but for my second half marathon of the spring, I'd like to have some speed. Mostly, I'd like to feel as if I am not dragging. It is hard to pull a body for 13 miles, but the longer it takes, the harder it is. The faster I am, the easier it is on my body, so today I worked a few speed intervals.

But for long stretches in between, all I did was listen to the birds. Sometimes you need a pillow to sit on. Sometimes you just need the birds.

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 16, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the high 60's

Walk/Run:
4.96 miles
43:39
average pace: 8:47 per mile

Like a Dog Loves Chase

That in my east coast years I never knew a wind by name makes me wonder if I had ever really known wind at all.

I knew hurricanes well enough. In my south Florida town, Andrew was a good excuse for my ex-1-week boyfriend to grab his surf board and for me to crawl up to Orlando for a few days with some friends to catch Lollapalooza (#2). Katrina hit while I was living in Boston, and we all trolled the internet for weeks for photos of her. Sandy just popped in recently, and although I'm on the left coast now, I've stalked her too.

Wind, singular, was just something that came along with other types of weather. Noreasters, rain. Winds, plural, were not something I was ever introduced to until about six years ago when I moved to Los Angeles with my then-husband. A few sunny blue sky months after we'd finished unpacking our new apartment I was nearly slammed back into the glass lobby of my company's tower by the lash of a blast of air. The next day there were arrow signs on all the front lobby doors, indicating that all entrances were closed due to the Santa Anas, and we should go around back. Nice to meet you Santa Ana.

I don't know if Santa Ana was the name of today's wind, but she was fierce and cold, the kind of wind that fills your ears and you have to turn fully around to check for cars before you cross the street. The liquid amber seed pods littered both sides of the road so that I had to run fairly close to the middle. The branches on the west side of the trees were stripped bare, even when the red and gold of autumn still clung to east side branches. The evergreens bent at impossible angles, even the one with the "thumbs up! keep going, girl!" branch that I always look to on my southbound way up Fulton.

Today, I didn't need a story or number to keep going. My ears and my thoughts were all on the wind, first pushing me along, then whipping my hat, then holding me back for the long curved block back around.

Today, I didn't have a plan. I ran 9 miles yesterday, and according to the schedule I mapped out on New Years Day, today I should have rested. But, by god, I wanted to run. I wanted to run last Monday too, on my rest day, but I held myself back and by Tuesday the mind chatter had returned. Today I just wanted to run as a dog loves to chase. I wanted to run with the wind, hear the exhales of my breath mingle with the wintery cold. Today there were only three sounds -- the wind, my breath, and the slap of my shoes -- and one thought: wind, wind, wind. I ran until I didn't want to run any more. And then I stopped.

YESTERDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 13, 2013.
LA Equestrian Center and Griffith Park, Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the low 30's.

Walk/Run:
9.1 miles
1:25:56
average pace: 9:32 per mile

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 14, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 40's-50's... very windy

Walk/Run:
3.20 miles
29:29
average pace: 9:13 per mile

 

Good Enough For Me

I didn't get in many winks last night. Woke up to the streets covered in rain. Sneezed a bunch this morning. My youngest stepdaughter has been coughing for weeks. Ran / did spin / practiced yoga a bunch more in the past 9 days than I had in the 8 weeks before. Came home from spin last night a hot, drippy mess. I feel exhausted.

Am I looking for a reason to just take it easy today? I am trying to decide if my spirit is weak if I skip today's run and have some hot soup for lunch, or if rest is what I really need instead. This is often the fine line that hurls me into indecision. I need to examine it more closely, but on days like these it is hard for me to discern my own motives.
 
What is today's better decision for taking care of my body? Is it better to take a rest from running (knowing that I will be teaching and then taking a yoga class tonight), especially in light of an upcoming busy few days of teaching and gigging? Or is it better, in the long vision, for me to lace up? Am I simply battling a weak will? Or will I be better prepared for Sunday's 9-10 mile training run if I rest today?

My fear of failure comes up in dreams. They've lessened in recent months, but every few weeks I still worry that my life will pass me by and I will not have accomplished anything. This worry of course assumes that I haven't accomplished anything yet. The past has a way of slipping away from me, and I forget to pat myself on the back for all that I have done, for the songs I have written, the places I have visited, the people I have learned from or taught, the ways I have loved. What is the accomplishment that will let me know that I have arrived? When will I be good enough for me?

I make my lists of plans and goals when I am at my most optimistic, but there are days when my energy lags. I was running 35 miles a week in October, but then had to rest for injury. Did I think I could jump right back in now? Was it even good for me to do it then? Forget about the training schedules out there in the world, what's the best way for *me* to prepare for Feb's half marathon? What's the best way for me to live my active life?

So here I go, taking stock, making sure that I "deserve" a rest day. Why do I think I must *do* anything but be happy and love fully? And now, having written them out, I have decided these questions are best pondered over a bowl of Thai tofu/vegetable soup.

No run today. 

The Alternate World

In an alternate world, spirits are given standard-issue bodies in which to reside for their physical life. Spec-ed to perfection, each body's performance falters or thrives in direct and clear correlation to the quality of their care. Commitment to health combined with daily discipline begets obvious and standardized positive results. Misuse or abuse triggers noticeable imbalance. In this alternate world, there is a standard-issue body for men, and another for woman. There is no airbrush to tweak the natural form. The ideal body is a singular image, and achievable by any who follow the care regimen.

But in this alternate world, would I notice the sweetness radiating out from the hazel of my love's eyes? Would I cherish how my head rests perfectly in the crook of his arm when we lay down together at night? Would I so admire the tautness of his belly and contour of his chest that I so admire now? Would he say to me, as he notices the lines that have begun to set around my eyes and mouth, that he can tell I will be beautiful old?

If I so love the specificity of my man, recognize him when I see him in a room of people, celebrate his perfect-because-it-is-his body, why should I not celebrate my own?

--------

Today's run was two steps forward/one step back. For days I have looked at my foam roller, sitting in the corner by the closet. Every day since Sunday I have thought "I should use that on my tight calf." And every day I have not. Tonight I will not forget. My left calf was so tight during today's run that I had to stop several times to stretch it out, then walked a bit, then ran. I took so much time in the stretching that I decided to take an alternate route to get back to my office. I missed passing Pauline, an older woman who sits on the front patio of her house and with whom I sometimes chat, but I did catch someone else...

Despite the starts and stops, it was a pleasant enough run. I will spin tonight, which I've come to really enjoy and find to be great cross-training for speed and endurance, and then go home to my sweet, specifically him, man and my stepkids. He will be working on a new song that he's been writing these past few days, and they will be dancing circles around me while I foam roll my calf muscle (and hey, while I'm at it, my glutes, hamstrings, and IT band as well). After we put them to bed and read another chapter in Anne of Green Gables, I will crawl under our own covers with the cat and a book. Later, when he is tired of working on the song, my man will turn out the lights, place my book on the nightstand, and curl up around my sleeping body. 


TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 9, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the low 60's... a little chilly once I started walking

Walk/Run:
3.78 miles
48:30
average pace: 12:49 per mile

Chasing

Effortless runs are not the runs I recall most clearly. The ones I remember best are those where I had some obstacle to overcome, sludging through miles during the weeks-long triple digit heat wave the month before my first half marathon, with only meditative counting and the inspiration of Cheryl Strayed's Wild to keep me going. Like the second time I went out for an11-miler, and bonked out so completely I could barely walk the last two miles. Like the first time I shared the road with two coyotes, before I learned that they would not bother me, my heart pounding and my cell phone coverage completely gone.

I don't recall those runs where my muscles carried my weight like a parent tossing a child in the air; where my mind was focused on my latest essay topic, working out the metaphors, turning over phrases; where my breath was steady and even like a song; where my spirit knew that I could do anything I set my mind to. What I remember, though, is the feeling after. The ease of mind. The full appreciation for my body. The profound peace in my heart. The elation that lasted for days.

I am chasing that feeling. There's a bit of it right now, as I sit here eating oranges after today's 5-miles, but it's just a bit. There was a bit of it Sunday too, after a glorious 8 miles, followed by my first full yoga class since Christmas, and then a sweet afternoon with my boyfriend. I am getting tastes of that feeling, but I have not gotten the full dose yet. I am still chasing.

This morning I looked back on my training sketch and was surprised to see that today is only January 8. I'd already forgotten how recently 2013 began. How quickly I lose my patience with my progress! Just last Tuesday I was sitting at a friend's dining room table, sketching out my training plan for the half marathon on February 17, while a pile of kids watched a movie and spilled popcorn in the living room. It's only a week later - of course I haven't hit my sailing pace yet. Of course I am still up against my doubts. Of course I am still feeling pudgy from the holiday season and lower miles of the last two months. Of course.

So, today's run was okay. I pushed myself to go a little faster than the snail's pace I started out with. Sometimes I do this weird thing - am I the only runner who counts? I grew up practicing music to a metronome, and I've wondered if that's where it comes from. I count while I practice yoga as well, but that's more about my breath. Today, over and over again, I counted to 100. It helped me keep my pace even as I wanted to slow, and it kept my mind distracted from doubt.



TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 8, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the mid-70's (what???!)
Run:
5 miles
45:28
average pace: 9:03 per mile

Runner's High

I'm sitting here eating second breakfast before dashing off to take my boyfriend's yoga class.  I'm just back from a rockin' run and still basking in the joy. This was the first good one of the year, the first one in many weeks that hasn't felt like a task. Today, I smiled and said hi to every runner and biker I passed along the way. I appreciated the raindrops still hanging from the pine needles. The weather forecast was for rain all day. Most of my run was a bath of clean sunshine.

This runner's high feeling is the reason I've been trucking through the training these past few weeks. I haven't had a run this good since my foot injury at the beginning of November. Today was the third time in the past three weeks that I've run an 8-mile route from the Forest Lawn Mortuary through Griffith Park and back to the Mortuary, but the last two times were tough. I felt it in my knees. Almost every step felt like it could be a stop. It took all my determination to keep going.

I still don't have the speed I had a few months ago, but today I felt like I was in perpetual forward motion. It felt great to catch up and sail past other runners. As I climbed up a long, slight incline, admiring the sunlight shining through the tree canopy, I drew closer and then passed two other women. I smiled "good morning" to them and they shouted after me, "You know there's a speed limit!" We all laughed. I felt fantastic.

After bonking last summer at mile 9 in an 11-miler, I've gotten better at fueling mid-run. Now for anything more than 6 miles, I bring something to replenish along the way. I had a Chocolate #9 at around 5.5 miles and checked my pace - 10 minutes per mile. There's a huge hill that slows me down at mile 3, but averaging 10:00/mile is a lot slower than I want to be for the half marathon in Feb. As soon as I washed the chocolate down with a swallow of water, I picked up the pace hoping to best my time from last week. Today, at Mile 5 I was at 9:43/mile. Then, I picked it up - Mile 6 was 9:19. Mile 7 was 9:50. And my last mile was 8:09 - I finished strong. Big smiles, today, especially knowing that the post-run yoga was going to feel great.


Next week, 9 miles.

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 6, 2013.
Griffith Park, Los Angeles, CA
Mid-morning
Temperature in the high 40's
Run:
8 miles
1:17:03
average pace: 9:38 per mile

Flipswitch

The mind-chatter today was out of control. For the full first loop of my run - 2.5 miles - I thought of excuse after excuse for why I should bail when I got back to my office door. I spent the first quarter mile fixing my hair. Then I had to re-tie my shoes. Twice. I considered reasons why I should only do half of the planned 5 miles. I justified them all.

And then, just before the 2.5 mile marker, I remembered my new year's agreement that I had with myself. If I wanted to bail halfway through the run, I could, I told myself. In fact, I can bail out any day. But, I can't go back into the office early. If I want to stop running, fine, but I have to spend that same amount of time walking.

Somehow that thought carried me around the corner and a mile down the road. I found my rhythm. I found my focus. The chatter stopped and I started soaring. I forgot to care about my slow pace. I forgot that this was the first time in at least a month that I've run three days in a row. I stopped rationalizing that I could bail because I'd be doing a spin class later. My vision was straight ahead, and I found my pace.

In my yoga classes I often remind my students that yoga is an ancient wisdom tradition that was developed to relieve the suffering of the mind. Suffering comes from mind chatter - narratives that are attached to past pains and future fears, and that implant those ideas on the present moment. We can immerse ourselves in virtually any activity, and the amount of joy or suffering that we experience in the activity is up to us. The more we suffer, the more arduous the task is. That was my first 2.5 miles. But the joy! When the joy settles in, we soar.

The hardest part, then, is figuring out how to flipswitch from suffering to joy. Last October, when I started running I told myself that I did not want to suffer in it. I wanted to enjoy the activity as much as I want to enjoy life, so I found little things along the way to help. Listen to the birds. I reminded myself of that today. Hear the wind in the treetops. Think some more about the book projects I am working out. Find another layer in the experience of The List of 100 Things.

Okay, it worked. I enjoyed the second half of the run quite a lot. And I feel great about completing my first week of training. Tonight I'll do a spin class, and then tomorrow is a rest day. Actually, I'll be out tubing with Darby and the kidlets at some snow covered place outside of Los Angeles. I haven't seen snow in ages - possibly since I moved out here six years ago. What fun!

Sunday is my last 8-miler till February. Next week the miles start increasing.


TODAY'S RUN:
Setting:
January 4, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA.
Mid-afternoon.
Temperature in the mid-60's
Run:
5.2 miles
48:04
average pace: 9:12 per mile

Mind Games

3 January 2013

I have two routes for my weekday lunch hour runs. The first is mine. It began as a walk through the neighborhood when I started at this company back in '08. I'd walk down to the end of the road during my lunch hour, and then turn back. For a while that's all there was, back and forth down this road, but eventually my curiosity (or boredom) got the better of me and I turned a corner... literally and figuratively. Over time the walk took me through and around the neighborhood, mostly on small residential streets, and I got to know the little quirks of the place. Once I started running - last October a bit, and then more consistently last January - my route got longer. Now it loop-d-loops around to a full five miles.

The other route is my running partner's. She works at a hospital 1.25 miles from my office. Our routes cross over each other, and a few times last Spring she and I passed each other while we were both out. One day, instead of just waving as I went by, I turned around and started to run with her. She was training for a marathon and had her daily 5 mile route mapped out - twice around on the main city blocks, cutting through right past my office. She's slower than me, but I loved her dedicated spirit, and think it's funny that she always runs in hospital scrubs - my coworkers have all asked about "the nurse" I run with. I started running with her just as my own dedication needed a kick in the pants. The first day we ran together she told me that I could definitely run a half marathon. She inspired me, and I signed up for one a few weeks later. We started running together every Monday through Friday.

My running partner only works at the hospital three times a week now, and currently she's still out of town on holiday, but I've been running her route anyway. Her route feels safer, and not because of outside forces. My route, the scenic one that organically developed over time and loop-d-loops around the neighborhood, gives me too many options for bailing. If I turn right instead of left, it's a three mile run instead of the five I intended. My route demands determination that I just don't have right now. I'm a little softer, a little less strong, both in body and spirit, than I was a few months ago. This is the first time since my November foot injury that I am working back up to training mileage, and my route has too many outs. So, I'm running hers.

Her route is not as pretty, and it doesn't wind around the neighborhood streets, but it keeps me on track. It's exactly 5 miles, and I only pass by my office once midway as I loop around again. I pass the same things twice. Once I'm on mile 3, there's no option but to keep going to the end. I like it this way, this week. It's these kinds of little mind games that help sometimes, and I know there's a good payoff later on if I bust through this first week or so of training.

Today I focused on numbers. On New Years Day I sketched out my schedule for the next 6 weeks of training. While I ran today, I considered the next bit. After February's, the next half marathon on my calendar is in April, but if I plan it well, there's a certain run that I've been wanting to do for months - my house to the beach. It's 18 miles, so I have to plan for it - 18 miles doesn't happen on a whim. I love the idea of running to the Pacific Ocean. It feels like a spirit journey. From my home in the "valley" it's not an easy jaunt - the Hollywood Hills fall right between us and the beach. Back in June this idea was impossible, but once I thought of it I couldn't get it off my mind. I trained the whole second half of the year for it, and did my first half marathon in October as a marker for my training. I originally figured I could do it the last week of December, but then my November injury interrupted the plan. During today's run I began considering the possibility of doing the beach run in March. Numbers, miles, days. The trick is staying injury-free.

Of course, first I have to get through this first week of training.

SECOND RUN OF 2013:
Setting:
January 3, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA.
Mid-afternoon.
Temperature in the mid-60's, windy.
Run:
5.2 miles
45:18
average pace: 8:43 per mile

First run of the year

Grafted mulberry trees that I pass on my weekday runs. Newly pruned.

 2 January 2013

After the celebrations of December and then the ironic timelessness of New Years, I anticipated that today's run would be tough. It's beautifully sunny, not cold at all, but it indeed felt like Sunday's 8-miler around Griffith Park had been a year ago. Well, it was last year - but it was only three days ago. Today's was the first run of 2013 and I feel as out of shape as my sedentary cat at home. I debated throughout the first three miles if I should bother with the last two, but the memory of Sunday's 8-miler pulled me through. Today I needed the inspiration of my own accomplishments. Around mile three, I got my mind on this blog. That's the way it often works for me - thoughts of writing always pull me through. Finally, my head got out of the challenge of the run and into the excitement of starting this blog.

I stumbled into this running life a year ago, and suddenly running and writing became, to me, very linked. On my runs I usually focus on whatever writing project I've been working on that day. Right now I've got several in mind for this year - two books that I'm too shy to talk about just yet, and several personal essays that I'm shaping now for hopeful publication. We shall see. I have two other blogs on other topics - Love Them Apples and The List of 100 Things. Meanwhile, here I am, introducing my newest blog, The Written Run.

The Written Run will be an exploration, and an archive. I'm curious to see what comes up in these posts as I recall my thoughts and experiences during my runs and as I mark my running progress through the year. Inspired by my List of 100 Things, running became a regular part of my life last January. Since then, it's about a 4-6 days a week venture, and since June or July, between 25-37 miles a week. I ran my first half marathon (Los Angeles Rock 'n Roll Half) in October in 1:58:01, bettering my goal of 2 hours by 2 minutes (minus the one second to steal a kiss from my man around mile 5). A week later, I was sidelined by an injury that kept me fairly sedentary in November. December was, well, December - not the easiest time of year to get back on a derailed track. It's January now, and I've mapped out my training for the next six weeks. My first major running point this year is on February 17 - the Pasadena Rock n' Roll Half Marathon.

First, by way of introduction, some grounding details:

I'm a Southerner by birth, Yankee by socialization, a Californian by choice. I was a child of the '70s to parents who were probably not far enough out of their own childhood to properly parent, but my brother and I are somehow working through our issues. He lives in NYC and I live in LA so we don't see each other nearly enough. Our parents each set up separate homes in their own corners of the country. You could say that we've all staked out our own territory. I like to think that we each are creating the lives we most want.

I am a writer, a musician, a vegan chef, and a yoga teacher. I juggle my creative passions and interests in well-being around my day job in the entertainment industry. It usually works pretty well. I run during my weekday lunch hours, spin or take a yoga class at night, run longer distances on Sunday and celebrate life with my man and my stepdaughters on the weekends. The girls are in elementary and middle school and are sweet, snarky, and super fun. My man is my dearest love. I count my blessings every day.

FIRST RUN OF 2013:
Setting:
January 2, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA.
Midday.
Temperature in the mid-60's.

Run:
5.1 miles
44:37
average pace: 8:44 per mile