I recently spoke to my dad about what I should blog about. As you’ve probably noticed, the frequency of my posts is sporadic at best, mostly because I don’t believe you all would be interested in the things I have to say. He suggested I write about my runs, what I think about, what I focus on, what I listen to…He used to look at all the front doors of the houses as he passed and I thought, hey! What a neat idea!
The motivation for me when I started running, other than weight loss, was to have the chance to be by myself for an hour. I don’t really enjoy working out with other people around, unless it’s a yoga class or the Grouse Grind, and that includes going to the gym with friends, despite how often they try to get me to join. It’s the only time I’m really alone with my thoughts. The days when I have the most on my mind, the days I want to do anything but run, are the days that I usually have to most productive run. I crank the tunes to drown out the drone of passing cars, I run at night so that the darkness provides a sort of cocoon around me, and I just think. I rage, or I cry (not actual tears, but I feel my sadness), I think about all the things I could have said to that person who was bitchy to me at work…It’s just me and the pavement, and it’s more than willing to take my abuse. I’m working out both my mind and body, killing two birds with one stone.
I rate my runs out of five, one point for each kilometre. The first two kilometres are a steady incline, and the second is usually the worst of the entire run. By the time I get to the apex of my climb, a little bit farther than 2km, I’m wishing I hadn’t gone for a run at all. I’m wishing for my bed and my jammies and my laptop and my tea. I’m cursing the world and my legs and the fact that my shoes are old and hating that I have to work out to stay in shape. I run faster at this point; the anger gets my legs moving faster, and by the time I round the corner onto Adera and start my decline, I’m flying. And feeling good. And wishing I ran more often. And looking forward to the day I can run the full 5km in under 30 minutes like I used to at the peak of my fitness.
I make small goals: each 5km run I aim to beat my previous time. Once I reach my 30 minute goal, I’ll add another kilometre. And another. And another, until I’m running 10km like it’s a breezy walk through the park. I’ve been there before, running 8km 6 times a week, and I’ve vowed to be able to do that again. The good thing is I’ll never run out of shit to over-think, so at least my motivation will never go away. I usually smile to myself as I sit in pigeon pose on the kitchen floor. No matter how angry I was, how frustrated, how emotional I was during my run, I’m proud of myself for accomplishing something. I did it for me, and I’ll do it again. Running is my therapy.