A New Level of Crazy…

It was freaking gorgeous in Seattle on Saturday. I’m talking almost barefoot weather, with sun shining and I think I saw a unicorn out for a stroll when I was walking with Boof. It was one of those days where I felt the itch to run, which is still surprising to me! I sacrificed alone time running for a family walk, which was healing on so many levels. Potamus enjoyed the first 2.25 miles of the walk and only got crabby the last half-lap home, which forced me to do funny tricks like running backward with Scrummy and making faces while Boof pushed the jogging stroller. I figured the good-times-running-feeling would last until Sunday morning, so I held off until the morning.

After laundry and putting Potamus down for a nap, I told Boof I’d take off on a run. Solo. Without Scrummy dragging me down. Excited about this desire, I set out…into the Seattle sunshine. Which, in case you don’t know, is…rain.

Yes.

The magical unicorn-sunshine of the day before had deteriorated to rain, but fortunately it was sprinkling. I decided to run at least a mile, which doesn’t take too long, but ended up actually running for 28 minutes. But this time I ran without a timer. I wasn’t looking at how long I had been gone for, I just put the podcast on and headed out, in the rain, to get a little exercise. I even ventured out of my normal route and tried something new, which felt exhilerating. And while I was tired, and dragging toward the end of the almost-2 miles, it felt nice to run just to run instead of running for training or running for time. I passed daffodils and crocuses and a new level of crazy in this whole running time of my life.

Running with Bronchitis

I haven’t felt this shitty since I was in high school and first diagnosed with asthma (so THAT’s what was making my otherwise in-shape body puke after every warmup in volleyball). We had moved to Eastern Washington a few years before and so it was a surprise to find the beginning of 10th grade with asthmatic symptoms that continued through the rest of my short-lived high school sports days. I ended up hating to run, which I attribute to a combination of mean coaches who yelled (not my kind of motivation) and the inability to breathe. I was put on various inhalers and pills to manage my deteriorating lung capacity and limped through the rest of my teenage years with a wheeze and a shake.

Truthfully, I hated the medication. I never felt like it did anything to help and what I noticed was all of the shakiness and heart-racing that accompanies inhaling random chemicals into my lungs. When I started college I vowed to make a change, and went back to my interest in yoga and began working really diligently to use yogic breathing techniques to augment my asthmatic tendencies. After getting a job at the American Lung Association, as an asthma educator, I learned that despite a few years of not taking medication, my lung capacity was quite diminished. The doctors asked me why I didn’t take inhalers and I told them that I had gotten used to belly breathing and was quite pleased with the results, despite what my spirometry tests said.

It’s been over 10 years since I’ve had to consistently take inhalers, and only rarely in that time have I had to even use a “rescue” inhaler or even felt symptoms of my asthma. Granted, I never tried running. So I was pleased when I began this couch-5k journey and found that I could run, slowly, gaining strength and didn’t have any of my old asthma symptoms. Being out of breath was because of working hard, and my lungs didn’t seem tight or wheezy.

But then I got bronchitis, the day after my first 5k, and I haven’t been able to run since. I’m hopped up on inhalers and folding laundry makes me tired. I’m supposed to “run” a 5k this Sunday and am worried that the combination of bronchitis, not being able to train, and it being at 6 AM, that I’m going to have a negative experience that’s going to reinforce my old belief about running, which is, that I am not cut out for it.

I go back and forth. Truthfully I have enjoyed running these past few months. But I also acknowledge that I haven’t been running long enough to really miss it. Yesterday when I came home, let the dog out, raked some leaves and played with Potamus, I was pretty content and didn’t miss my Tuesday run. Maybe that’s because I’m feeling so crummy in the lung-department, though, so who knows.

Question runners: what prompts you to get back to running when you’ve taken, or been forced to take, a hiatus?

When did I become a person who could run two miles?

On Sunday I was whining about being slow and steady in the running department, in comparison to my friend who had only run 3 times (as opposed to my 8 weeks) and finished the 3 miles faster. After talking to my sister-in-law, a former college track/cross country runner and now high-school track coach, about my training methods vs. my friend’s, I was feeling much more confident in the longevity of my training routine. Her advice was to keep at it, slowly, building up endurance and then working on speed, while focusing on form…all things that I have been doing in my runs. She said that my friend’s leg pain was probably going to compound itself and cause an injury if she’s not careful. Her advice made me feel more relaxed about my running, and so off I went.

Today I was able to squeeze in a few minutes of running post-work and pre-Potamus-pick-up. It just happened: a two mile run. While not the first time I’ve run two miles, it was certainly the first time that I felt confident in running two miles. I did need to walk for about 10 seconds a few times, just to catch my breath and bearings, before I was off and running again. And the consistent pace was what impressed me the most. Whereas before I had found myself running harder at the beginning and reaaaaaaaaaalllly slowing down toward the end. But today I felt like I was consistent, even with a nasty headwind on the hills home.

While I didn’t get the “runner’s high” I’ve heard about in legend, it was pretty cool to feel an almost-effortless ability to run that far. I struggled at points, but it’s a far cry from where I was 9 weeks ago! Cheers to forming new habits and going slow & steady toward the goal line. Looking forward to Saturday and my first 5k!

 

 

Barefoot Running or Shoes are like Bras for Feet

Shoes are like bras for feet

I have had two major bouts of barefooting. Once for four months, my senior year of high school. I took my shoes off in English class one day and absentmindedly left them behind under my desk. It started a trend-turned-social-experiment, where I tested various stores and venues to see what their bias toward a barefoot gal would be. I was already labelled the “hippie” girl at school, so my barefoot ways endeared me to my fellow classmates. Even now, over ten years later, when I bump into one of those peers they always comment on my shoe-wearing ways.

In college, senior year, again (hmm, noticing a theme, perhaps?), a friend forwarded me an article about some guy in Norway who had been barefoot for fifteen years. Well, if he could do it, in NORWAY, I figured that I could do it for awhile. It was January, in Central Washington, and there was snow on the ground. So naturally I picked the first day of class, winter quarter, to begin my new barefoot journey. This came after a weekend of researching barefoot laws and coming across the Society for Barefoot Living. That website had oodles of really great information about the history of barefooting, articles on feet mechanics in bare  feet vs. in shoes, and linked to a global list of members of the society.
Of course I joined, though haven’t actually made it to any meetups.

That journey of barefoot living lasted for a year.

Along the way I did meet some amazing people. I led retreats in my barefeet, went hiking, taught some of my friends about the joys of hiking barefoot, and travelled to Queens, New York, where I spent some time with shoes, but much of the time without. And met a fellow barefooter from Chicago. We challenged the status quo and got a dormitory to relax their rules on being barefoot in common areas. My chronic poor circulation was the best it’s ever been, that year, and I felt strong and stable and connected.

3/4 of a mile barefoot, feels good!

At the end of the barefoot year I moved to New Delhi, India and put on some sandals. I haven’t been a chronic barefooter for a few years, now, though I was introduced to the concept of barefoot running in barefoot simulated shoes. Wanting to be cool like one of my besties, I bought two pairs of Vibram Five Fingers barefoot shoes, and do love them. But there’s something magical about ACTUALLY feeling the mud between my toes and understanding how my body thrives when I am feeling grounded and connected to the earth.

I’ve been struggling with running lately. I’ve tried my two different pairs of shoes that had been recommended by a reputable running shop a few years ago. I’ve had these fluctuating mood swings while running and the negative thoughts have really begun to overwhelm me. I’ve been walking more and feel like my fear of performing poorly in my 5k is really messing with me. I’ve been ‘training’ and not ‘running’ for any type of pleasure.

So, today, at work I ran for awhile on campus. And then I took my shoes off.

The feel of the track under my feet felt marvelous. My form felt natural and my heel stopped striking even when I was tired. While I only ran 3/4 of a mile barefoot, it felt so good. There was sunshine on my shoulder and puddles underfoot, and I was running. Not training. Running.

And, it was kinda fun.

How breastfeeding is helping me become a runner

just after my 13:30 (plus dog-poop stop) mile run.

 

Whenever people would talk about running, I would usually jump in and say that “I only run if I’m being chased…and by someone much larger than me, someone I wouldn’t fight.” It would get laughs, but over the years I realized that defining myself as a not-runner had prevented me from exploring a form of exercise that is easily accessible to me. Running, like my love of yoga, doesn’t require a ton of equipment. It’s my body, some basic clothing (and shoes) and a place to run.

Yesterday I ran a mile in 13:30, which included 2 dog-poop pitstops, so I’m thinking I actually ran the mile in maybe 13 minutes. I was short on time, so I ran 1 mile faster than trying for longer. While the race is only 2 weeks away, I’ve only managed to run 1.7 miles at my furthest. I think with a little bumping up my game, I should be good to at least run 3/4 of the 5k on the 16th!

And I horned in on a friend’s facebook post about running the Hot Chocolate 5k in March, and asked if she wanted company. She was doing it alone, since her friend was doing the 15k version, and she was thrilled that I asked! That makes 2 5k’s in the first quarter of the year, which is exciting. I also think that if I decide that I don’t want to keep running, that doing two races is pretty respectable for a newbie.

I’ve been surprised at my dedication to training, even running in the rain Seattle Sunshine. I attribute this dedication to my decision to breastfeed. That might seem strange, especially since I avoided exercise at all costs for the first few eleven months of Potamus’ life for fear that my milk supply would dwindle (and because of sheer exhaustion). Every time I think of running I conjur up images of my 10th grade volleyball coach making us run endless Swedish miles on the track, her small, marathon runner’s body, pushing us to puke-or-pass-out levels. Or my basketball coach yelling from the sidelines to run faster, harder, when I just couldn’t do it. Needless to say, those yelling/shaming tactics didn’t really work on me. In fact, they pushed my anxiety over the edge to a level of sheer panic. I’ve self-induced vomitting only a handful of times, and those were all to get out of practice.

But there was a time when I enjoyed running. As a kid I played tag for hours, and football and kick-the-can in the neighborhood, and on the playground at school. I enjoyed running. It wasn’t until I had to run for a grade that I understood what people had been talking about when they complained of exercise.

So I’m learning to see myself as a maybe-runner. Or even, instead of trying to box in my identity into that category of runner, it’s must, I run, sometimes, and it feels good. And when it doesn’t feel good I am able to keep a longer perspective in mind. And THAT I attribute to breastfeeding. Because if I had given up when it had gotten hard, Potamus would have had formula since day 3. Or month 4 when I was back to work and having to come home every 3-6 hours. Or when he day-weaned but nursed every 1-2 hours all night. It’s not that I never reached a goal, or pushed through hard times to get their, before I breastfed, but certainly not to such a physical level. My goals had always been mental, like finishing school or writing a paper, this feels so different. The daily physical toll with an end-goal in mind.

I’m not there, yet, but I’m on my way. Pushing through on the daily, my eyes set on the goal, and who knows, maybe even after my two races I’ll keep running. After all, I haven’t weaned Potamus yet, after we made it to our year goal!