Guilt-driven movement worked for me

            I did not want to run today.  I had a long, tiring day.  I could feel the beginnings of a headache.  I kept nodding off in the passenger seat of my carpool ride on the highway.  And I was cold.  Winter has hit Seattle, and although temperatures may not ever get as extreme as they did in New York, the cold here is different.  It seeps into your bones and stays there.  My classroom is freezing and by the time I get in the car at the end of the day, I’m so cold I blast the heat the whole 40 minute drive home.  But the cold stays inside me, and the moment I turn the heat off I’m shivering again.  So the thought of putting on not-so-warm running clothes and plunging into the cold was not pleasant.  I also found out that I’ll be able to fit more runs in this week than I thought, so I didn’t necessarily need to run today.  I had every reason not to run. 

But then I got home, opened my door, and was greeted immediately by a bundle of energy and excitement.  I couldn’t look into those golden eyes and tell her, “Sorry, no exercise today…I just don’t feel like it.”  The guilt when I see Lucy weighs on me on these types of days.  Knowing that she has slept all day and most likely spent the last hour waiting by the door, I just can’t face the guilt of not taking her out for a run.  So I sucked it up, put on my running clothes, dove out into the cold, and went for a 5 mile run.  And it felt great.  It was just what I needed to turn my day around.

When I moved out to Queens at the beginning of my second year of teaching, I had every reason to want to crawl into a hole and stay there.  I was on the outskirts of a city that I didn’t even want to be a part of anyways.  My college friends had all jumped ship for better things long ago.  I was slowly losing touch my dog park friends—apparently when you leave the dog park, you just aren’t a part of it anymore.  I had 2 steadfast friends who I saw on occasion, but not frequently enough.  In addition to this, I can’t describe my 1^st grade class that year as anything less than hellish.  I had students screaming, throwing things, destroying my classroom, treating each other like a piece of garbage on the sidewalk.  And I had NO support from my administration.  Teaching that year is what I now call “teaching boot-camp.”  I knew there was something better out there, and my only consolation was the thought that if I could teach through this, I could teach anywhere.

I could have curled up into a ball, drowning in the depression I felt slowly creeping up on me, but on this sentimental journey through time, we are at the point where something inside me shifted.  It may have been gradual, or it may have been a sudden movement, but at this instant in time, I wanted something different.  I wanted something different for me, and something better for Lucy.  I had spent 5 years holed up in the giant gray walls of New York City and was suddenly missing all things green.  I wanted to get out of the city.  I wanted to breathe clean air.  It depressed me to watch my students, who typically had not ever left the 2-block vicinity of their home.  They had all of NYC at their hands for a $2 subway ride, but they had never seen it.  Most of their parents had never seen it either.  They had grown up on those same 2 blocks.  And these children would most likely repeat this pattern.  Although it was not so extreme, to an extent I felt like them.  I was trapped in the confines of one of the largest cities in the US and I wanted out. 

            I attribute this shift in large part to Lucy.  Lucifer had caused a pretty abrupt departure from the dog park, but that didn’t mean that Lucy’s abundance of energy had subsided.  I was still constantly chasing her around the apartment trying to save every spare sock and pair of underwear.  Every day I came home to the same bundle of energy I came home to today, although the energy seemed more concentrated and ready to explode back then.  We started with long walks.  Since Emily and I got home around the same time, we’d take Jackson and Lucy together for hour to 2 hour long walks after work.  We explored our new neighborhood, trying hard not to turn the wrong corner or walk too far into a part of the city we shouldn’t be. 

Pre-running days = me 20 lbs heavier than today

These long walks were invigorating, but they weren’t enough.  I wanted to get out of the city…be somewhere different.  So then we started with hiking.  Emily, who grew up with a very active runner/hiker for a father, was just as anxious as me to escape our concrete jail.  By this time, I had bought a car, as it was easier to maneuver around Queens with one and parking was free and easy.  We took full advantage of this luxury.  That fall we took several hour to 2 hour long drives outside of the city up into the beauty of Upstate NY.  Our mini pack of me, Lucy, Emily, and Jackson let our feet hit rock that actually belonged there.  For once, I could climb up above everything and see for miles and miles beyond the mere square of space I was standing on (without paying an exorbitant amount of money to be elevated to the top of the Empire State Building).  It was a freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time.  The air made me feel alive again. 

Lucy loving it, and Jackson trying to :)

And Lucy…Lucy was in her element on these hikes.  For the entirety of her short life, she’d been scratching her nails on the concrete sidewalks that are New York City.  Now she could dig them into the dirt.  She learned exactly how far her 27 ft flexi-leash could go, and would dash ahead until just before the point where the leash would stop and yank her roughly backwards.  She was a mountain goat, scaling rocks.  She was a fish in the water and would swim endlessly in any stream or lake we encountered.  She would actually dive into the water, trying to catch whatever floated below.  I’d never seen a dog stick her whole head underwater like that, blowing bubbles through her nose.  And I’d never seen the Hound in her come out so strongly.  She smelled everything.  When we took out and back trails, she would know every turn on the way back home, sniffing each bend, pointing us in the right direction.  I’d never seen her so on top of the world.  This kind of energy was different from her dog park running in circles.  She belonged in this wilderness.  Jackson chased along behind her, trying his best to keep up.

A dog where she belongs...

As great as these hikes and long walks were, time and weather became an issue.  When fall turned into winter, hiking couldn’t happen anymore.  And when winter temperatures hit well below freezing, it became a time consuming process bundling up in multiple pairs of pants, many layers of shirts, and the thickest gloves, scarves, and hats I could find.  I felt like a penguin walking down the street sometimes.  And of course, the cold only gave Lucy more energy that needed to be burned off.  Sometimes I would come home late from work and let lack of time and energy win out over guilt.  I couldn’t help thinking that there must be a quicker way to get rid of this puppy energy, instead of 90 minute walks.  I had even stopped cooking, because walking took precedence over every spare moment I had.

            And then one day, as the world was slowly defrosting from that ridiculously cold winter, it occurred to me.  Running.  Wouldn’t running expel the same amount of energy in a much shorter amount of time?  I don’t know how the idea sprang into my head.  I didn’t know any runners.  I had never been a runner myself.  I had no idea how to even start running.  But suddenly, I wanted to run.