Each month during “running season,” I set a mileage goal. Most of the time it’s 50 miles, but this August I cut it to 40 so I could add strength training to the mix. Some months it’s down to the wire in terms of whether or not I’ll hit that magic number. In fact, one month it seemed so unlikely, I pretty much gave up.
Last month was another close call. On the very last day of July I ran a personal long of over six miles in order to pull out a victory.
I was very proud of myself, but I’m not a fan of close calls. I just can’t stand the tension. So although today would’ve been optimal for cross-training, I opted instead to head out for the winning miles.
For my troubles, I spotted a deer. And although I wasn’t able to snap his picture, I was able to at least say hi before he dashed back into the woods.
And it was a great run, too. I lifted weights yesterday, which means squats among another things. And although my legs started to feel it toward the end of today’s 3-miler, I really can tell the difference. I really love the difference.
I saw my two regulars today. I’ll call Ivan and Dan. I’ve never spoken to either of them except breathless good mornings or smiles or waves. They are both mustached men. Ivan bikes. Dan runs.
Ivan and I often arrive around the same time, which is interesting to me since I don’t have an official start time. But time and again, there we are. He pulls up in his Jeep, unloads his bike, straps on his helmet and rides off into the distance as I’m walking up to the start. We don’t see each other again until the next morning I’m out for a run.
Dan, on the other hand, doesn’t arrive when I do. Most of the time I go out for a stretch – anywhere from 1.5 to 2.5 miles – then I turn around and come back in. I’ll usually pass Dan on the home stretch. He’s a walker. His stride is an interesting cross between a brisk march and a stroll, all while his head tilts a bit to the right. In case I miss the gait, the mustache peeking underneath the army green baseball cap gives the game away. And sure enough, the hand juts out in greeting just as we pass.
A few mornings I’ve gone running much later than usual, only to find Dan on the home stretch while I was just starting. And the other day, I took such long rest breaks, Dan walked past me on the way and turned around and passed me again on the return.
I like seeing them. The regulars. The other day I recognized Ivan’s jeep approaching as I was preparing to turn on the main road leading to the Greenway. And when we both arrived, his wave was a little more vigorous than usual. It had been a few days since we saw each other.
Today, again, I ran. And Ivan biked. Dan walked. We waved and smiled good morning.
It’s not my favorite type of exercise, but I enjoy it enough to give it a go for weeks or months at a time, and the benefits are definitely worth the investment. A few months ago, I retired the weights for a while. It felt more of a drag than a joy and besides, the weather was finally warm enough for running. Like most things that resonate, I knew I’d pick up the barbell again, but I didn’t pencil it in my calendar.
My runs have been good, but really great. My legs had stamina but lacked power, and I didn’t see any improvement in the offing. For me strength is sexy and it was time to bring sexy back.
About a week or so later, I pulled out my barbell and dusted off my Pump DVDs. I decreased my monthly mileage goal from 50 to 40 to make room for strength training. As expected, the first runs post weights weren’t easy:
But today? Today was a different story. I started off faster and maintained my pace longer. And unlike recent weeks where my legs worked hard to keep up with my lungs, today they put in equal work.
He invited me to the Navy Ball. Originally, he had a date, but for reasons, he decided she was a bad idea. So he nixed that plan and asked drama-free me T-minus eight days away from the event. I shrugged and agreed. No biggie. We weren’t dating, I wasn’t busy, and I already had something to wear.
Hanging in my closet was a tea-length champagne dress I had worn to the Vanity Fair party at the Cannes Film Festival a year or two earlier. Something urged me to confirm the short, backless, halter would indeed be appropriate attire.
Nicole & Halle @ Vanity Fair in Cannes (2006)
To my horror, no. Attendees would be in conservative, floor length gowns. It was a ball after all, not a party.
With a week to go, I reconsidered my quick, uninformed yes. How many graduate students do you know with extra money for ball gowns lying around? Before I panicked, I searched my closet and found a dress that would work. Floor-length black gown, with a (less dramatic) halter top and a deep fuchsia splash down the back. Little fuchsia beads adorned the halter. I wore it years ago in a faculty fashion show. It was muted and elegant.
There was one problem. It no longer fit.
I could sort of wear it. Sort of means I could get into the the dress, but I couldn’t zip it all the way up. I’d only gained a couple of inches and a few pounds, but too many of each to wear that dress in a week.
I’m not big on magazines, but for reasons I can no longer recall, I remembered reading that celebrities lost “those last few inches” for the red carpet through strange diets and/or super intense workouts. A couple of them said running was their magic slimfast. I wondered if it could be mine, too.
Because of previous bouts with runner’s itch, I wasn’t sure it would work. I’d try it, prepared to opt for a new dress if pounds and inches were more stubborn than I was. I had no plans to make any dramatic shifts with food. I would increase my water intake, but I wasn’t planning to go hungry or mix any olive oil cocktails.
Sunday afternoon, I headed to the stuffy little room known as my apartment’s fitness center and mounted the treadmill. I decided I’d jog – slowly – until I got tired. I had no idea how long that would take or how far I would go. I called it quits at the 3-mile mark and no one was more surprised than I was. I thought I’d be done by mile one. I felt pretty good, all things considered, and decided to return the next day.
Monday was another slow jog, another 3 miles. I drank a little coffee before the run and I got a nice burst of energy near the end.
Tuesday, same deal, same results. Nine miles in three days. No runner’s itch, no overly tired muscles. And in fact, I felt even more energized this time. After Tuesday’s workout, I tried the dress. The zipper damn near made it closed!
Another day, another three miles on Wednesday.
One last day to run – Thursday. The ball was Saturday. Would I have to shop after all or could I make this work? Friday’s test was zipping and breathing.
So five days and fifteen miles later, victory! The zipper went up with no hesitation. Breathing? No problem! Sitting posed a bit of challenge unless I employed perfect posture and tightened abs. Given the fact that dinner was also part of the proceedings, I’d have to suck it up, literally. But there I was, in that dress.
Me, two months after the ball, now running outdoors.
Who could’ve known that I, a former high school sprinter, would enjoy running short distances? And who would’ve believed I’d lose enough inches/weight to wear a dress on Saturday that I couldn’t zip up the weekend before?
Because of a slow jog on a treadmill?
I was sold.
And thus began my foray into the world of running.
Yesterday’s run was my first in months. Despite my consistent cardio and weight-lifting regimen, nothing works the body quite the same as running. During the run my breathing was labored. I had to stop a couple of times because of runner’s itch. When I was done, I felt good, but I was wheezing.
It was tough overall, but a great baseline.
I woke up a little sore this morning and ready to run again. The only thing that gets the body more conditioned is more conditioning, so out I went. As I thought, today’s run was markedly better. Less itching, easier breathing, and I was able to lock into a comfortable, albeit slow, stride.
My legs have that comforting I’ve been working out ache. I’m excited to be back on the pavement.
Weight lifting is interesting for me. On the one hand, I love seeing progress. I can lift the weight with less effort as time goes on and see real strength. My muscles get sculpted. I lift and carry heavy groceries in a single bound.
On the other hand, it’s hard for me to get psyched up to do it. A run in the early morning? No problem. My favorite aerobic workout before sunrise? No sweat. Weightlifting, however, requires some mental gymnastics to get motivated.
But yesterday? Crushed.
I do a full body workout with a barbell and plates. Ten tracks including warm up, squats, chest, back, biceps, triceps, lunges, shoulders, abs and cool down.
When I first started the program (Les Mills Pump), I wasn’t on the road, so I was able to follow it as outlined each day. Over the past couple of years, I’ve been traveling. That and other circumstances as of late led me to take it easy with my workouts. I found what amounts to a comfortable challenge for each track and stuck with it. For weeks.
In the past couple of weeks I decided if I was going to hang out at these easier weights, I’d really focus on form, and I have. But it was time for more.
Yesterday I felt energized, motivated, and ready for a challenge. It reflects an overall mood I’ve been in the past few months – one of action and forward motion. I’ve not yet blogged about my theme for 2014 (see 2013, 2011) but it definitely incorporates movement. I’ve started new projects and made strides in new areas.
And so yesterday, when it was time to get that barbell out, I knew it was also time to kick it up a notch. I increased weights on all working tracks. I worked harder than I have in a long time and it felt great! I was proud of myself all day and flexed my muscles in every mirror.
One of my favorite things about exercising is learning the lessons my body teaches. Yesterday’s lesson? If you keep doing the same things, you’ll find yourself in the same place. Progress requires effort. Lay down those bricks and build that temple.
When you become stuck in a rut
of apathy, your life stagnates,
leading to setbacks.
~Daisaku Ikeda
In My Dear Friends in America, Daisaku Ikeda wrote:
“You are the playwright of your own victory. You are also the play’s hero. Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage, / And all the men and women merely players” (As You like It, act II, scene vii, line 139).
Buddhism teaches us that the individual writes and performs the script for his or her own life. Neither chance nor a divine being writes the script for us. We write it, and we are the actors who play it.
Despite the fact that we can take responsibility for our lives and plot out the life we’d like to live, there’s no getting around the fact that some things are simply out of our control. Even in a real stage play, props fail, actors forget their lines, and any number of things happen that could disrupt the beauty of a carefully crafted script.
Then what?
It’s a cliché to say attitude is everything, but it certainly does count for quite a bit.
When acting out the drama of your life, sometimes you have to improvise until the story gets back on track.
Today’s run surprised me. It had been over a week since my last 4-mile run. Generally speaking, a couple of rest days are good for me. But too many means I start to lose a level of fitness.
It’s not to say I forewent exercise completely. In addition to rest days, I had a couple of bouts of weather-induced indoor aerobics. I also threw two short runs in the mix. In a hotel and pressed for time two mornings in a row, the treadmill beckoned. I’ve mentioned more than once how much I enjoy outdoor running and dislike treadmills, but there was no safe place to run nearby. It was the ‘mill or nothing.
No Bueno
Let’s get right to it and say both of those runs sucked. I never felt as though I could get a good breathing rhythm. I never locked into an ideal stride. I just wasn’t comfortable. Both days, two miles of running felt like five or six miles worth of work.
The past couple of mornings, I looked forward to getting back outside. Yesterday, was a disappointment. Mild fall temps were on my side, but the pouring rain was not. I decided to get on with the remainder of my day, foregoing exercise altogether.
The Greenway this morning.
Doubting Thomasina
Today, it was cooler than ideal, but clear, and I was determined to go get my miles. But get this: I was worried. Because my recent runs were short and difficult, I wondered if I had what it took to eek out my mileage. Some Saturdays I toy with the idea of a “long run” (five miles or more), but today my standard four felt like a stretch.
I wondered just how long it would take me to finish. How would I feel at the halfway point? Would I have to walk it out for large stretches of the trail? Would I just stop at a mile and turn around? The questions loomed. This level of uncertainty about a run is unusual for me, but there it was. I stalled a bit, and went out anyway.
When I got to the Greenway, I could tell immediately the run was going to go well after all. I easily hit my warm up pace and found a comfortable stride within the first 1/2 mile. It felt nice to open up and push the tempo. Being outdoors again was glorious, despite the cool air. Despite the damp leaves clinging to the trail.
I felt great, like the in shape runner I am.
Getting up to Snuff
I’ve run intervals a few times this year. Before now, I’d never tried them out. It’s true they help with speed, and I’ve come to realize they build my confidence as well. I know I’m reasonably fast for super short distances – I was a sprinter in my day. A few years at 3+ miles per run, I’ve now built some endurance, but often I’m scared to push my pace. I simply don’t want to peter out.
But intervals are designed for you to push, then rest. And really, I’m not racing anyone. I’m building my own fitness. Who cares if I need to rest at various points during my run anyway, intervals or not? And just because I got comfortable holding a steady pace at four miles, didn’t mean I needed to remain comfortable. That can easily lead to stagnation. And to some degree, it had.
Movie Lessons
In recent runs, I’ve found myself thinking about all of this while also mulling a scene from Gattaca (spoiler alert). In it, brothers Anton and Vincent are swimming. Ever since they were children, they tested each other to see who had the endurance to swim the farthest in open waters. Anton always won.
An older wiser Vincent finally stopped living down to everyone else’s expectations, and resolved to give life his all. In a confrontation between the two, they decide to swim one last time. Right when Vincent would’ve cried mercy, he didn’t. This time, Anton was the one who tapped out. He screamed at Vincent demanding to know how he was accomplishing this. How was he pushing beyond well-established boundaries? Said Vincent,
I never saved anything for the swim back.
Vincent gave it his all. He held nothing back. He learned to overcome his limiting beliefs about himself. In the end, he was victorious.
Holding Back
Often, I hold back when running. I get comfortable with a certain pace. Knowing I can push it, but will have to recover later, I don’t take chances. Steady state. But with the introduction of intervals, I saw my fitness increasing, and it became easier for me to see what would happen if I push it. I’d go faster! And yes, I may have to rest a bit, but I’d go faster for longer the next time.
So today, out on the open path, no music, no pressure, just me, I ran. And when it felt good, I ran faster. And when I thought I’d been running a good distance at a good pace, I checked in. Do I really need to rest right now, or am I holding back? And I’d rest or run accordingly.
It was a great run. Much faster than usual the first two miles, and faster in stretches toward the end. I ran my fastest overall pace for this distance.
I surprised myself. I didn’t hold back. The race was only with myself, and I won.
I wrote about prioritizing fitness for National Women’s Health & Fitness Day earlier this month. One commenter, fellow FAMUan Peter McKay, suggested I do some posts focused on strength training. It’s something I’ve done off and on over the years. More on as of late.
I’m not the kind of person who enjoys going to the gym use the machines or free weights, but I found a total body barbell-based program that includeds choreographed reps with upbeat music. I believe there are way too many fitness options to force yourself into doing exercises you don’t like. The program I found was a perfect fit for me.
I’m not an exercise scientist, nor a fitness trainer. I am, however, a few months away from 40 and in pretty decent shape. I lift (in addition to running and dancing) because I like the results.
Here are 8 reasons I lift weights:
New acquaintances compliment my arms. They’re not chiseled, but they aretoned. I like them.
I feel myself get stronger each session. Who doesn’t love progress?
My energy is high all day long.
Some say I look like a dancer. My core is stronger and my posture is more erect.
I have more power during my runs.
Thanks to squats, my donk looks nice in jeans.
I imagine myself to be a warrior goddess when I clean and press.
I’m a self-described athlete. I ran and biked like most kids in my neighborhood growing up. I was a gymnast in elementary school. A cheerleader in middle school. I danced (band auxiliary) and sprinted (varsity track) in high school.
I engaged in fewer structured activities in college, although I danced (partied) several hours a week which definitely counts for something. After college I had an on again, off again love affair with local gyms. I stocked up on exercise DVDs for the off again moments. Even as an elementary school teacher, I woke up early enough to exercise, chant, drive 30 minutes and still get to work by 7 a.m. I prioritized prayer, sleep, laughter, water and movement. They kept me in good spirits and good health.
When I became a full time doctoral student in 2007, things changed. I found myself a recluse when class wasn’t in session. All the time I read and wrote papers, thought about theory, drank coffee and ate McDonald’s. Seriously. All the time.
Me: May 28, 2012 after exercising at home.
A few months in, the side effects from that “food” and the disgust from Super Size Me, spurred me to choose healthier meals.
(Sidebar: I didn’t eat fast food for a year after that, and with the exception of two iced coffees in 2007, I’ve never consumed McDonald’s again). I was no longer exercising, because who had the time? But I knew my body was ready to move again.
Despite my desire to exercise, it was a struggle at first. I had to force myself to stop reading or writing to go for a walk or a short run. I argued with myself – one more page, or one more paragraph. Then another. I’d panic as I watched the setting sun, realizing it was now or never. I’d throw on some fitness gear and get moving.
That happened many times, until:
I realized I always felt better after exercise, and
I scheduled it. I made it non-negotiable.
The very first time I put an exercise appointment on my calendar, my dissertation advisor wanted a meeting. I had to break it to her, “No, I’m not available at that time. I’m exercising then.” She, a woman very much into self-care, supported me and offered several other times even with her busy schedule. I understood then, to the degree I was serious about taking care of myself, I could figure out the rest.
And so I set my exercise schedule daily. I incorporated strength training, swim lessons, and running, all depending on my class and homework schedule. I treated exercise like any other important appointment. I was definitely going to attend, so I had to plan the rest of my day around it.
Over time it has become less of an appointment and more of a way of life. Sometimes this means running on treadmills when I’d rather be outside. Sometimes it means a 15-minute high intensity interval workout instead an hour of strength or cardio. Sometimes it means evening workouts although I definitely prefer sunrise exercise.
The point is, I’ve made it a part of my regular routine. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it.
