Chasing the Light

Rain poured from the sky. I kept putting my arm out the front door and pulling it back in, evaluating just how wet I might get, and if the rain would stop soon. It was 5 p.m. and dark. I was in my running clothes, keys in my pocket, and headlamp switched on. I played the arm game for 15 minutes before I reminded myself I’d run the better part of marathons in rain and it was time to get out the door, or put on my pajamas. I trudged into the darkness.

About three miles in I realized just how dark, windy and wet it was outside. I entered a neighborhood with narrow roads and no streetlights. Mansions are set into hillsides so even porch lights and living room lamps shining through windows didn’t offer their usual ambient glow. It was only because of the tiny beam of my headlamp that I could see at all.

As I struggled up one of the hills I started to question why I was doing this. I thought about why I chose an eight-mile route on a night like this and even questioned the safety of running in this darkness. As I shuffled these cards of questions in my mind, familiar questions about life came up like pesky jokers in the deck. Where am I going, really? Not just on this run but in my family? Work? Relationships? School? Am I making the right choices? How can I know if I am gong the right direction when it’s so dark?

Just as uncertainty was rising in me like the panic that sets in when you are lost and you know you might have made a wrong turn miles ago, I happened to look sideways at one of the lawns. So close I could have reached out and touched her was a giant doe eating the grass. I caught my breath in my throat and slowed my pace. She looked up at me and right into my eyes. We stood there staring at each other for just a second. I exhaled and continued on and she went back to eating.

The lost, panicked feeling of a moment ago was replaced as fast as it came with calm relief. The darkness now seemed safe, even peaceful. The beam of my headlamp was all the light I needed. When I got home I read this quote:

Life's answers lie within. Life's questions can be answered from within. Running is the medium through which these answers will be revealed. All you have to do is look, listen, feel and trust.

As you advance to greater challenges, you will continue to gain knowledge of yourself. Periodically you will be required to reach ever deeper in to your inner being, seeking out the strength needed to continue the endeavor of the moment. The strength you seek is layered within. The number of layers in infinite. All you have to do is believe, have faith in yourself, and expect to find that which you seek."--Keith Pippin

There may be periods of darkness and rain, and they may last for awhile, but darkness doesn’t necessarily mean stop. Darkness beckons us to look for grace in unfamiliar places—like right next to us, close enough to touch. Grace we could miss in the familiarity of daylight and nice weather. Darkness reminds us to go deeper. To turn inward, breathe deeply, and stay with the big questions until we can look at them long enough to believe the light we carry is all we need guide the way. 

Practice? Or Play?

Somewhere between being a kid and being an adult we lose our focus on having fun and start looking for results. We have a vision for how we want things to be: work, running, creative pursuits, even our rec league softball swing. We start doing things not because they are fun, but because we can achieve a certain outcome.

What I think we often forget is that it takes years of practice to be really good at something. We aren’t going to sit down at a piano and play Mozart the first time. We aren’t going to run a perfect race...ever! We may make some huge and embarrassing beginner mistakes. I know I have.

I wonder what would happen if we forgot about results and returned to play? Yesterday, on a beautiful day, I was running through windy roads lined with piles of crisp and crunchy fall leaves that practically begged me to run through them. Feeling light on my feet, I flew down the hills, abandoning form and letting the wind push me forward, pumping my arms and smiling, mouthing words to the music on my ipod. It was fun. I felt as free as a small child running down a steep hill just because it was there.

What if we just celebrated the joy in moving towards something? Whenever I start something new, I now consciously remind myself that it will take practice. I think of starting the piano when I was 10 and playing something along the lines of twinkle, twinkle little star (and not well) at my first recital. I was so bad at the saxophone when I began, my dog used to bark at me and bite at my ankles. I had to start somewhere. We all do. And there is virtue in the practice of doing something you love. I never wanted to be a professional musician; I just wanted to play some instruments. It’s not always about an end result, but just getting better over time. What if we celebrated, in the way a proud parent celebrates a child’s little league base hit, or first dance recital, the work we have already done? What if we gave ourselves permission to make mistakes, to learn, to grow, and to cherish each improvement?

We are so focused on accomplishment in this society, on the ends. We forget to celebrate beginnings and small achievements. We forget that we practice and play because it brings us some internal joy. I want to remind every beginning runner that it should be fun.  I need to remind myself of this. If you are going so hard you are miserable why would you continue to do it? As my sister once reminded me, “you aren’t training for the Olympics.”  When I remember there isn’t a gold medal on the line, I remember to stop taking myself, and my running so seriously. Running isn’t always about goals or faster times or better conditioning. Sometimes it is just my excuse to “play outside” for a while. We all know what practice makes, but when practice is actually fun? Nothing can stop us.

Forget about pace splits and gadgets, and gear and proper form. Have fun. And by all means, don’t feel like you need to be home before the streetlights come on. That’s what headlamps are for. Play on, friends. 

Self-Doubt's Day Off

I am convinced we are not meant to find the limits of our potential on our own.

A few weeks ago, a friend (C.) and I decided to sign up for the Halloween Half Marathon. I spent the last couple of months increasing my weekly and daily mileage, motivated by the cool fall air and gorgeous days for running. Looking for a race to direct all of this mileage towards, C. suggested this half. We officially registered and began exchanging encouraging e-mails about our training.

On race day, I stepped into the chilly 36 degree air, and wondered if I had dressed warmly enough. I hopped into the car with C. and her husband to ride to the race. Initially a group of people had expressed enthusiasm for running this race, but when the day arrived it was just C. and me running, and her husband to cheer us on.

That was all I needed.

C. and I never ran together before, and I am always nervous about new running buddies. Are they going to want to listen to music or talk? How much talking should we do? What if we’re having different kinds of races? Will I say “go ahead” or try to keep up? Will I feel okay going ahead if I need to? Are we the right pace for each other?

Running with a new person is risky. There is a balance between being comfortable with yourself and adapting to someone else. In some ways it is like dating. You just can’t be sure about the other person, and if it is going to work until you spend some time together. However, if you are willing to risk potential discomfort, the payoff can be huge.

The voice of self-doubt is an annoying, nagging thing that seems to pester us negativity.  “You couldn’t possibly…” “remember this time when you failed?” “no one cares if you do or don’t…” That voice is hard to shut-up, especially in a test of physical endurance when your body is tired and echoing everything it says, or when it would be easier to choose not to try at all.

Running with the right person is the perfect antidote to self-doubt. With the right person, you become a better runner. There is a feeling of being both challenged and supported. There are times when you forget you are running, and times with mutual complaining. Being able to say, “this sucks!” to someone in the same situation keeps away the “I can’t do it” that always seems to follow.

Doubt and self imposed limitation can’t survive when the race is no longer about “what can I do,” but “what can we do together?” I have learned a lot in the solitude of running by myself, but it has only been in the company of other runners that I have seen what I can become. In my quest to be realistic I set up barriers. I wonder how many times I have said to myself or to others “I go this pace, I can’t go that one.” 

Our imaginations are so limited. Sometimes we need someone else to shed light on the potential we can’t see in ourselves. We need someone to just believe in us. Somewhere along the way I forgot to question whether or not and for how long I could sustain this faster pace. I just ran with C., who didn’t question my ability at all. Together we both found our way to new PRs and new understandings of our potential. Together, we gave self-doubt a needed day off.