running

Much to my own astonishment, I ran the OKC Marathon in 2007. You can see an earlier post that discusses my experience of being a part of such a meaningful run, but the journey to that moment, the eight months of training, the view from the road while logging untold miles and the lessons I learned along the way about myself are what I will cherish forever.

Since then, running has been a little hit and miss for me. I enjoy it immensely, but it is so easy to make excuses for not taking that first step out my door. It’s too cold, it’s too hot, I’m too tired, I don’t have enough time, I don’t feel well, I didn’t sleep well last night, I need to work. I’m reading a new book. I would be more committed if I were training for an actual event. I could see that I had fallen into a familiar old rut. While my mind churned out excuse after excuse, the authentic me knew they were nothing but B.S. There’s no other way to say it.

I had choices, as we all do from a place of awareness. I was allowing my excuses and justifications to run my life. I was not in charge, a stubborn 15 year old was wielding all the power and I was just trying not to beat myself up about it. I wasn’t doing too well at that. Truth be told, I felt like a loser that I had trained my body to run for five hours at a time only to slide down to the level where pulling out three miles was a real challenge. I remember when it took a good three or four miles for me to even warm up when I was logging 45 miles a week.

When I trained for the marathon, I never ran with ear buds. It was strictly my body, my mind and the road. One of my daughters who ran distance in high school and college warned me that some events won’t allow ear buds and even if they did, I shouldn’t train with them because I would be at a real psychological disadvantage if the battery went dead on my MP3 player mid event and I had never learned the mental fortitude to keep going. She was right and I really leaned on my internal resources April 29, 2007.

Then one weekend not so many weeks ago, I got into a really good book, you know the kind that you just can’t put down? So, I basically sat in a chair all weekend and read that book, cover to cover. On reflection, I thought about how much I enjoyed the story, but how unproductive I felt. Then it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks. I could download audible versions of books I want to read onto my MP3 player and listen to them while I run! I made the rule that I can only listen to the book while I am running. So, when I can’t bear to wait for the next page or chapter, I have to get my shoes on and hit the road. Brilliant!

I have faithfully logged an average of 12 miles a week since I began this “run and read” program and have even gotten my distance back to 8 miles and climbing. I have really improved how I feel, dropped a few pounds and read a few books I’ve been dying to read.

The real struggle for me here was to resist my temptation to go all the way down the “yellow brick road of beating myself up” because of my lack of motivation. In awareness, I was able to see the pattern and find another way to honor myself enough to take the hardest step in any fitness program, the first step out the door.

Writer’s note: This is an article I wrote one year ago and was originally published in The Newcastle Pacer and Inside Southside newspapers. I share it here now as an offering of remembrance to those who suffered loss on April 19, 1995.

A run to remember—A view from the road

When I began this series of columns about creating the best year of my life last January, completing the 2007 Oklahoma City Marathon was already a goal. It was a goal despite the fact that I had only been running consistently since September. And when I spoke the words aloud, I fought back the nagging little voice within that whispered, who do you think you are? You’re not a runner! You have never been able to run, even as a kid. What makes you think you can say something like that?

I didn’t really know where to start, so I searched online and found a mileage build up schedule that would get me ready to begin actual training for the marathon. I did what the schedule said to do, one day at a time, one step at a time. My goal was to complete the build up phase by December 31, 2006. With that behind me, my next goal was to train for the marathon over the next four months.

Some weeks my training came with ease. Some weeks, I counted every step. I ran in the wind and the rain and the sleet and on the snow. I ran in the daylight and I ran in the darkness. In fact, I fell in the darkness one evening after work, injuring my left clavicle, although not seriously. Regardless of how grueling a training run was, I always ended with a real sense of accomplishment that I ran the mileage on my own two feet.

I had the joy of running with one of my daughters at least once a week,on the long Sunday runs. She and I ran the Marathon together. I had the support of all of family and friends, and practically every step I ran, I was followed closely by my husband, who rode his bike faithfully behind me. He carried a back pack filled with water, sports drinks, energy blocks, chap stick, gloves…any thing he thought I might need to make it, he carried on his back.

The view from the road is unique. Neighborhoods offer up their personality to the passing runner. Some are teeming with children, while others are more mature. Trees of a feather tend to flock together. Sprinkler begatssprinkler. Where one luscious green lawn thrives, three others aspire to its velvety beauty. Horse ranches sprawl out along the river bottom in the ten mile flats in Norman. City drivers are distracted and hurried. Country drivers raise their right index finger to say hello. Sunrise breaks with promise and clarity. Sunset retreats with a bonnet of calm.

I ran through five pairs of shoes and covered a few thousand miles. I learned about stretching and soaking and the power of little things that add up over the miles. I realized how much I had taken for granted and how ungrateful I could be. I found the inner strength to challenge what I knew to be possible for myself and ran through that wall.

When I arrived at the event in the wee hours of Sunday morning, the darkness obscured everything from my vision. As I pushed my way past other runners, a vision emerged from the blackness. From nothing rose 168 lighted chairs, floating above a serene, still water. I clutched my throat as I thought back to 9:03 a.m. on April 19, 1995.

I fought back tears as I sat down on the steps. I absorbed the presence and the purpose and the dignity with which these individuals gave up their lives. I understood in my soul that I was on holy ground. When the prayer service began under the Survivor Tree at 5:30 a.m. I knew exactly why we run. We run to remember.

I did not run alone. When I felt weak or tired or hot or thirsty, I remembered the 168 souls for which I ran. They inspired my every step. They were with me every step of the way, offering courage and strength and life. It took me 5 hours, forty minutes and forty-six seconds to cover 26.2 miles, and when I crossed the finish line strong, cheered on by my loving family and supportive friends, I knew why I had run. I ran to remember.