greetings from another side

Facebook - I enjoy keeping up with what's going on in my friends' lives, but lately, I've not wanted to condense my life to a few lines in a status update. Staying silent was the choice I made for awhile, but it left me feeling closed off and frankly a bit voyeuristic. Not good for me. I happened to read my horoscope for this week, which had some rather odd, but welcome advice for this Scorpio. In a nutshell, update the blog. I took it as a sign, and just the amount of encouragement I needed to lurk less, blog more.

With that bit of business taken care of, today's topic is running. I've been a runner for the better part of 25 years. I started when I was 16, not as part of the school track team or through any organized training, but because I felt terrible about my body and my self. That was the year I started my period (a whole other topic I may or may not ever get to), and really started to wonder what was wrong with me that boys weren't interested in dating me. Here's the part where I tell you I was quite clueless about my sexual orientation for another nine years, which, yes, is another topic or ten. Back to the running. I was starting to get some womanly curves and cellulite and was not happy about either one. So I started running up and down our 1/10th mile driveway. And I discovered I liked it. It felt good, and I felt good. Both when I ran and afterward. So I kept running.

One of the things my mother and I share is a love for shoes, and shoe shopping. Particularly at discount shoe outlets, which there was a dearth of in my hometown when I was in high school. So we would take these all day shopping excursions to Pasadena, Clear Lake, and places I can't even remember, so absorbed was I in the array of shoes from which to choose. Shoes were the one aspect of my wardrobe my mother did not have any interest in shaping. She never tired of suggesting cute, feminine articles of clothing to this devout tomboy, but shoes got a pass. So, when I added a pair of discounted New Balance running shoes to the stack of Bass loafers and saddle shoes (tomboy prep), there was no argument or explanation necessary. And I kept running.

I ran my very first race when I was in college. It was a 5K to benefit the college orchestra, as I recall. Part of my motivation was to support the orchestra, something I'd been a part of in high school, but dropped to make room for more FFA activities. And I was curious about racing. I have no recollection of my finishing time, but I remember enjoying the test of my abilities, and I remember wearing that race shirt for many years afterward. The next race was the 4th of July Heat Wave 5 miler in my hometown. I think I was still in college and it was the longest I'd ever run. Heat wave was right. I stopped sweating in the last mile of the race and almost got heat stroke. My mother was not pleased, but looking back, it was fun. I didn't race for quite a few years after that. Mostly because I was cheap and broke and reluctant to part with the standard race fee. But I kept running.

After I married, I quit for about a year, but my body and soul missed what running gave me, so I started back. I was probably on my second pair of New Balance running shoes by then. When my husband & I moved into central Houston/the Montrose, I started running through Rice University. I remember having a breakthrough one morning as I exited the central loop through campus and headed back to our apartment. I'm not doing this for anyone but myself. I don't care what anyone else thinks about how I look or how my body looks. I run for me. It was a powerful moment, and a precursor to my acknowledgment and acceptance of my sexuality.

Running has been a near-constant thread in my adult life. Through the many changes in our marriage, separation, and divorce, I kept running. When I moved back in with my parents, the driveway was shorter, but I kept running. As I discovered how to live on my own as a gay woman, I kept running, grateful to be back in a neighborhood near Rice and it's familiar paths. When my first girlfriend moved in, I stopped. For almost five years. Toward the end of that relationship, I started running again, and promised I'd never give up that part of myself again.

I ran at least a couple races a year after that, did my first triathlon, and started thinking about a marathon, which had been on my life list since I was in high school. I was in another relationship by then, but still running. Then my left knee started to hurt. An MRI did not show any damaged connective tissue. Physical therapy and a break from running were all I could really do. So for six weeks (that felt like six months) I biked and swam. For the second time in three years I started back running. Within a year I was doing triathlons again. In three more years I was single again, trying to survive the worst breakup I'd ever experienced. Often, as I headed out for a morning run, I'd feel as if getting hit by a truck would be better than having to keep feeling so much pain. But I kept running. At the beginning of 2006, realizing I hadn't done many of the things on my life list, I set a goal to do an Olympic triathlon. A dear friend encouraged me to train with Team in Training, and through that organization I discovered the benefits of good coaching and came to appreciate my love of running and the gift that it is.

I focused on triathlons for a couple of years, but running was always my favorite part, and my strength. When I was hiking the Appalachian Trail in 2009, I missed running. I remember one glorious afternoon in Pennsylvania when I realized I'd dropped my water filter some ways back on the trail. I left Gracie & my pack at the shelter where we'd stopped, and tore back down the trail. Without the weight of the pack, I felt like I was flying and I ran as fast as the terrain would allow. It was pure bliss and I remember wondering how much better my running would be by trails end. When I got back from the hike, my body and psyche were wrung out, beat up, and depleted. I tried valiantly to run in the first few weeks after I quit hiking. I knew from my triathlon experience that I needed physical activity to combat PTHD (Post Thru-Hike Depression). But my body wasn't having any of it. My feet hurt for at least two months following the hike, and my knees barked at anything other than walking pace on level ground. My runner's heart was despondent. For a long time, I didn't want to do anything physical. The times I did, my body said otherwise. At a time when my sure-fire antidote to depression and malaise was unavailable, I was entering into a dark night of the soul. My life was full of uncertainty and questions. I felt heavy, lonely, doubtful, afraid.

Where once I ran, I turned to food. Biking and hiking were out of the question according to my knees. In retrospect, yoga or swimming would have been more beneficial than for me to continue eating like a hiker. So why food? The simplest answer is that I was looking to feed an emptiness. And that would be a topic for yet another post. Thanks to the motivation of a dear triathlon buddy and running partner, I eased back into running yet again over the winter. Dark six am runs at Lady Bird Lake can be a really good start to the day. Bringing things full circle, I was glad to be running in the dark because I was struggling with my body image again. By summer, every now and then I would feel like I was getting my pre-hike body back. What I know now is that I will never again have yesterday's, last month's, or last year's body. Today I am better able to enjoy the body I have in the present moment and what it is capable of, and to have compassion for it and myself when I feel the pull to make comparisons or self-target.

So, now, 25 years from when I started, I am in the middle of training for my first marathon, with an ultimate goal to qualify for and race the Boston marathon. The sun is rising after the long, dark night. Sometimes I have dreams where running feels plodding and awkward, but me and my body feel good these days when I run. I still struggle with compulsive eating, but I have more awareness and compassion, and I'm working toward finding balance around the compulsive behaviors in my life. And I'm still running.