Hope in "the Grind"

I am in what I call “the grind” of training. My hardest, longest runs are in these weeks. “The grind” is when I most question my sanity, and most hate running, In these weeks my body aches to the point that I often avoid stairs and circle parking lots hoping for a better space, just to save myself some walking.

But the grind is also the place I see magnificent hope. Moments that might pass by unnoticed if I wasn’t so desperately looking for a sign I can get through it. 

J enjoying the sunrise on the lake

Last week, I did one of my 10-mile runs with a friend, J. She got up at 6 a.m. after going to bed around 3 a.m. to join me. We enjoyed the sunrise over the lake, laughed a lot, and looked for the meaning of life in our stories. Through sleepy eyes and tired bodies we ran. Near the end, J. exclaimed  “Allison, this is no longer fun anymore.” It was mile 9.8 and she was right. What she may not realize is that conversation and company was my sign of light that morning.

One week later, I hobbled in the door after a 17.5 mile run. Drenched in sweat, I gingerly moved towards the water glass on the table. Guzzling my drink, I walked into the living room where my dad, sister and our friend, L., were sitting., L ran the first 6 miles with me but was showered and dressed by now. They all looked up from the television when I said hi. My sister’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Oh my God! Are you okay? Did you chafe? You must have chafed.”

I looked down at my white shirt. There was a giant streak of blood mixed with sweat running from just above my heart to the bottom of my shirt. I felt the burning pain of the skin rubbed away on my chest around mile nine, but I soon forgot about it and focused on finding water instead. I never noticed the blood.  I wondered how many of the people I ran by noticed it?

It was fitting that the blood on my shirt started near my heart. I have been pushing so hard, just trying to move forward that I forget that others can see my pain. I forget there are a few people left who will notice, who care, and who will help me heal. They’re still out there.

J. and L. and my family understood a little bit of what I was going through. They were there for a piece of this journey—running with me for parts of it, or just being there when I finished to see the mix of joy, fatigue, and literal blood and sweat poured out. For the first time in months, I felt acknowledged in a complete way—as a strong human being who happens to be in the middle of one of life’s grinds.

We might run by a lot of people in life who never notice our heart is bleeding, or who chose to ignore it if they do see. Some of those people may even be people we used to count on. It is one of my greatest challenges to let them go on by. 

The grind can be a lonely time---mile after mile of choosing which pain of the many to deal with. Which wound to tend to first. Then once in awhile, we find someone who understands. Who will get up early, run a little bit of the race with us, or just pay attention to the wounds we’ve ignored. Once in awhile, if we just keep running, we run right into witnesses and companions. Symbols of hope in the grind. 

Why Am I Doing This?

The last week has been full of “Why am I doing this?” moments.

I am sure we’ve all had them. Times when the endeavor we’ve chosen seems too much to handle. Too hard. Not worth it. Those moments when we think seriously about throwing in the towel.

The moments of regular life—new job, school, transplant details and all of the why I am I doing this questions that go with each of those culminated in on Sunday, when my training plan called for my first 15 mile run. I was sitting on my couch in my running clothes, eating my sandwich and trying not to dread the run ahead. I tried to psych myself up but I kept thinking “I don’t have to do this. This is optional. Why am I doing this?”

For me, these moments always lead to some looking back over how I wound up here. What on earth possessed me to make this choice? Why did it ever seem like a good idea?

I thought about the freedom of choice. I didn’t have to run this afternoon and I didn’t have to run a marathon. While I was at it I didn’t have to do my homework or donate my kidney. But I knew I couldn’t back out. I knew I would be out the door in a half hour running mile after endless mile and following through with all of those other things. To do otherwise would be to deny my essential nature—to deny who I am and the faith I have in those decisions.

I knew this was going to be hard. Nothing about running 15 miles is easy. A quote from A League of Their Own popped into my head. “Hard? Of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be hard. If it weren’t everyone would do it. It’s the hard that makes it great.”  It’s supposed to be hard. I wasn’t sure about that. I don’t think these long hard runs, whatever they are for us, are meant to always teach us some lesson. I don’t think this is ‘for a reason.”

But I had to do it. I had to do it because it’s what I love and who I am. Not being out there with hurting feet at mile twelve, and three more to go, but being an endurance runner. Being someone who commits to something I want to do and following through.  

Why am I doing this? Because I can’t imagine not.

Deep inside all of us is some sort of compass that tells us where we’re supposed to go and who we are supposed to be. We, being the creatures of free will that we are, can follow that or deny it. We can say yes or no to love and to ourselves. To say yes to love, to the direction our compass points, means sometimes following it right into darkness and difficult times. Hard is just part of the journey. There’s no way to being authentic without facing some daunting and lonely roads.

We can seek out the easy way, or turn back, or we can follow the direction we know we need to go, even when it’s difficult. I stepped out the door and looked down my street. I thought about the marathon, and what it meant to say yes right now. I thought about being the middle of the next hard choice, the next hard journey and the preparation that this run is for that moment. I took a deep breath and took off. Suddenly 15 miles didn’t seem so long after all.

  

The Hard Days

“When a person trains once, nothing happens. When a person forces himself to do a thing a hundred or a thousand times, then he certainly has developed in more ways than physical.” Emil Zapotek

I felt cold air blowing past my raw cheeks and trudged up the hill as fast as I could. My stomach hurt, and my entire body was damp with sweat, which was chilling in the 25-degree wind. I moved my arms in circles and tried pick up my pace. This just felt terrible.

I was at mile 4 of what was supposed to be a 10-mile run. The morning was gorgeous; the sun was beginning to rise and shine brightly through the trees. But I felt tired, and weak. I struggled to catch my breath, and settle my stomach. I thought about where I could turn to get home early, trying not to wallow in my misery. I told myself how strong I was and that I was through the hard part. I tried listening to the words of the music in my headphones, and looking at the beauty around me. Nothing worked. I was feeling residual sadness and unrest that I couldn’t shake, and my body was not cooperating today.

I finally decided to call the run…at mile 9. I wasn’t making the extra loop to make it 10. I was going home for a total of 9.5 miles instead. I clicked off the Nike+ I use to measure my runs. The stats were recited. Through this entire horrible run, I managed to clock a pace that would still put me under 5 hours for the marathon—my ultimate goal. I was beating up on myself for quitting early and running slowly. Though I had been averaging much faster paces than this lately, this was still in the right range for a long run.

In the shower, trying to warm up my frigid body, I realized how ridiculous I was being. I felt awful and I and I still ran a great pace and for ninety-five percent of the time I was supposed to run. I had 4 great runs in a row before this and I know every run can’t be awesome. I was dwelling on one run that didn’t feel good.

I thought about training. This lasts 5 months. It’s not about any one run. In some ways, this was better preparation than those great, fast runs. I know I can still hit my pace even if I feel like garbage. I know I can keep going. I still got out there and did it.

In running, and in life, the things we do each day don’t always feel great. Some days are work and we don’t see the results we crave. We don’t feel a reward or sense of accomplishment. We expend an excess of energy trying to meet a minimum standard. And that’s the best we can do—all we can do at that time.

Some days are just hard days. The question is: what do we do with those days? Phone it in? Or give it our best anyway, even knowing it won’t yield the outcome we seek? Do we go out and do what we have to do, what we love to do, because it makes a difference over time, or because it’s only rewarding that day?

There’s a reason our best isn’t quantifiable. It changes every day. Some days our best is our best ever and some days it only seems mediocre. But it’s still our best. We aren’t all held up against some uniform standard, we are called to give what we can, each day. Every day. Our best. That’s all. And in the long run, that makes all the difference. 

Changing My Stride

Running has been pretty good lately. My pace is a solid improvement over last year, and my mileage is right on target. I have my tired days and my good days. All in all, I can’t complain. Except. Except my knee often hurts going up and down stairs, I think I have tendonitis in my toe, and the area around my hip has never felt quite right despite all of my stretching.

I started to wonder if pretty good is good enough?

Today I went to my favorite running shoe store to check out some new shoes. This time I wanted something different. The helpful employee introduced himself as Paul, and asked if I was open to learning more about the shoes I came to see. “Tell me everything you know,” I replied.

I spent an hour listening, talking, trying on shoes and running outside testing them out. I learned about mid-foot strikes, cadence, and heel to toe drop. The most valuable few minutes were running out in the cold. Paul watched me run. After a couple of back and forth trips I learned from him how to move my feet more efficiently. With a couple of drills (one of which included me flailing my arms in circles while running—can’t wait to do that one in public places) I discovered a way of running that felt so much more comfortable. I had run 11 miles that morning and with this new stride, I felt like I could go another 11. For the first time in my life, I was light on my feet.

No one ever watched me run and corrected my form. I just started running and kept going trying to get faster. We can only improve ourselves so much without bringing in outside help. Sometimes we need others to see what we cannot, and offer us a new way.

This new stride is going to take a lot of practice, and a lot of me looking silly, waving my arms around while I run those drills. If I can get it though, the payoff could be huge. Reduced injuries, faster times, and a more comfortable run. I am willing to be patient and keep working at it for that reward.

Driving home, new shoes at my side, I couldn’t help but think about how hard it is to change. It’s going to take me weeks of concentration and practice working on this running form. I’m not used to thinking about how I run. But sometimes it’s good to be challenged. We don’t realize how we’ve always done things until someone else sees what we do and questions it. Perhaps the most difficult thing about this process is accepting the questions. Recognizing that maybe our way isn’t so great after all. Maybe this outsider has a valuable point that we should consider. Maybe that means doing something we are uncomfortable with to change.

If only we can have the humility to realize that we aren’t perfect. That what has been working for us may not have been working well. There is education and wisdom out there if only we’re willing to open ourselves to it.

I hope this makes a big difference in my running. I will be sure to post my progress. I know it’s going to take a lot of practice; anything worth learning does. But if we can embrace openness and humility, patience and practice, there’s no limit to what we can do and who we can become. With such exciting possibilities ahead, accepting “pretty good” no longer seems good enough.  

Getting Real and Getting Stronger

Once again, I was rushing out of work trying to get home, change clothes, and get out the door for my evening run. I needed to squeeze in six miles at my target marathon pace and doubted my ability to do so. It’s hard enough to hit my ambitious goal pace when I have stoplights and hills to contend with, and I have been tired and overwhelmed. I took off fast, letting anxious energy go with each step.

I breathed in the cold air and let my thoughts drift to a conversation I had earlier that day.

I’ve been in this hard-to-define friendship for over a year. The meetings and conversations have been great but I always leave a little unsatisfied. Today was no exception. It’s not the hour or so spent, but the question “what’s next?” I always want more. I wonder how to accept what is good, and let go of the rest. I am still searching for what it will take for peace around this.

Today I was trying in some way to out run this issue. Maybe if I just go fast enough, I will get past this ambiguity and anxious energy that plague me and find my way to being settled. Why was I so unsettled about this anyway?

I am immersed in busyness, and overwhelming amounts of transition. With almost everyone around me in crisis mode all of the time (for good reasons) and trying not to succumb to it myself, I am longing for some sort of rock to cling to. Someone to say, “You’re going to make it.” In times of chaos, sometimes we need friends who aren’t wondering themselves if they can get through it. We need to be reminded that we are still loveable no matter what curveballs life throws at us. We need to know steady people who see the good and beauty in us in our darkest times.

By circumstance, the people around me have too much going on. They all need their own rocks. I realized that it was relief to sit for an hour today without wondering how to be supportive, or how to hold the challenges of someone else, and simultaneously struggle with my own. Even with the ambiguity around the mechanics of the friendship, there are still elements of support. Of being appreciated for who I am during difficult times. This is one friend who isn’t in crisis mode. The conversations bring clarity and peace to my chaos for just a little while.

Those conversations also remind me what I have lost: rocks in my life that have moved to different places; who aren’t where I can see them. I still grieve the loss of their daily presence. Perhaps that’s why the sadness around this relationship. Sometimes it’s easier to try to forget the things you miss most.

I picked up the pace, not knowing what else to do. I looked down at my watch at mile six. I finished 42 seconds faster than my target time. I walked the last block to my house, caught my breath and thought about how much strength it takes to grow. It means looking at our lives and being honest about what isn’t working, what we miss, and what we need. Strength is paying attention to unsettled feelings long enough to discover where they come from. Maybe we won’t know how to fix it right away. But we will eventually. Having the courage struggle, and admit to pieces of our lives being empty or broken will only move us towards healing faster—in this case, maybe 42 seconds faster.