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i had a great run today--it was a nice, cool, sorta gray day. it even rained on me a little bit as i finished up. it's ironic that i get such a kick from running. i've been a runner for a long time--since i was about 4 and got the brace off my legs (it prevented me from doing anything faster than an awkward amble.) as a kid, i was always challenging people to race, and i usually won. i ran track in high school and was pretty fast. came close to setting a school record in the 400m. i ran off and on through my 20's, while i was working my way through the karate ranks, and after i moved to vermont. back then i was pretty content to run 2-3 miles at a time, comfortable pace. that changed about a month after my ex-husband and i separated. that's when i started trying to hurt myself by running--hence the aforementioned irony.
i know, it sounds implausible. i had been running for a long time, so i knew it was good for me. but at that point in my life, i started running much further and much faster than i ever had before. i ran until my lungs burned and my head felt dizzy, and then i ran some more. i often ran at times and in places that were less than safe (if the running itself didn't kill me, maybe i'd get attacked or hit by a car). of course i was also quite familiar with the maxim, "if it doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger," and while i knew on some level that running was more likely to make me stronger, i was really kind of hoping it would kill me, or at least hurt me really badly--even though i wasn't to the point where i could contemplate killing myself directly. i completely lost my taste for soda, junk food, and meat at about the same time, and could barely force myself to eat more than 1000 calories per day. in the space of about 2 months after i started trying to commit "suicide by running," i dropped about 20 lbs. and i was down to a size 0--that was bad, it scared my friends... so maybe *that* would kill me?
obviously it didn't, or it hasn't yet. all that mileage eventually added up to my first (thus far my only) marathon. but i'm a very different runner today than i was before. i'm solitary--anti-social even. i loved running with my dog, but people i can do without (even though i really enjoy people when i'm not running). i have little or no interest in running road races (maybe another marathon or two sometime) but i continue to enjoy running really far, at a pace that is moderately uncomfortable. but happily, i'm a lot nicer to myself now, and i run to feel good.
in retrospect, i can see that i was doing something that women have been doing for a very long time: making my pain and grief visible, somehow, on my body. i was lucky, that the overall effect of all that running has been positive. i got stronger, and in the process i learned how to really listen to--and trust--my own voice, my own internal guidance system (i think of it as a sort of emotional-metaphysical gps device). mile by mile, i lost a lot of old emotional baggage that i had been carrying, too--stuff from junior high, family dysfunctions, etc. i grew some new fears, too (most notably a wariness of commitment and a reluctance to rely on anyone but myself), but on balance it has been good.
ok, that's long enough. blah blah blog...
i know, it sounds implausible. i had been running for a long time, so i knew it was good for me. but at that point in my life, i started running much further and much faster than i ever had before. i ran until my lungs burned and my head felt dizzy, and then i ran some more. i often ran at times and in places that were less than safe (if the running itself didn't kill me, maybe i'd get attacked or hit by a car). of course i was also quite familiar with the maxim, "if it doesn't kill me, it'll make me stronger," and while i knew on some level that running was more likely to make me stronger, i was really kind of hoping it would kill me, or at least hurt me really badly--even though i wasn't to the point where i could contemplate killing myself directly. i completely lost my taste for soda, junk food, and meat at about the same time, and could barely force myself to eat more than 1000 calories per day. in the space of about 2 months after i started trying to commit "suicide by running," i dropped about 20 lbs. and i was down to a size 0--that was bad, it scared my friends... so maybe *that* would kill me?
obviously it didn't, or it hasn't yet. all that mileage eventually added up to my first (thus far my only) marathon. but i'm a very different runner today than i was before. i'm solitary--anti-social even. i loved running with my dog, but people i can do without (even though i really enjoy people when i'm not running). i have little or no interest in running road races (maybe another marathon or two sometime) but i continue to enjoy running really far, at a pace that is moderately uncomfortable. but happily, i'm a lot nicer to myself now, and i run to feel good.
in retrospect, i can see that i was doing something that women have been doing for a very long time: making my pain and grief visible, somehow, on my body. i was lucky, that the overall effect of all that running has been positive. i got stronger, and in the process i learned how to really listen to--and trust--my own voice, my own internal guidance system (i think of it as a sort of emotional-metaphysical gps device). mile by mile, i lost a lot of old emotional baggage that i had been carrying, too--stuff from junior high, family dysfunctions, etc. i grew some new fears, too (most notably a wariness of commitment and a reluctance to rely on anyone but myself), but on balance it has been good.
ok, that's long enough. blah blah blog...
