Run Free

Remember that song?  "Young hearts...run free" (you have to sing it or the effect is lost).  I particularly loved the cover version on the Romeo and Juliet Soundtrack, which I listened to over and over again during my youthful days of obsession with Leonardo DiCaprio (actually, it was more like years).  I also watched the movie repeatedly whenever I wanted to cry and my poor soulless eyes refused to cooperate (happy to report though: apparently in the past couple year or so I've develop a soul--I cried while watching the Home Depot marriage proposal on Youtube last week...and also when Luca won Master Chef, I was just so proud of the high-pitched Italian).

But I'm straying from the point with all this parentheses talk.  The point is, this week I've felt like I've been free to run.  Free to run when I want, for how long I want, and however fast I want.  And free to not run if I so choose--yet that choice seems to be the less likely one in this world of freedom.

Let me explain.  Over the past year or so, my running seems to have morphed into something different.  From training for and running San Diego last summer then jumping into Goofy then the Seattle RNR then right into the recent half Iron, my life has been about nothing but training for over a year and half.

I've been focused on schedules, run times, speed work, hills training, long runs, and pace goals.  I've been focused on "getting all my runs in" and pushing as hard as I can while doing as much as I can without injuring myself.  There have been charts, excel spreadsheets, and mileage and pace calculations.  There has been guilt over missed workouts, fears that I'm running too fast, and fears that I'm not running fast enough.

Not to say that joy hasn't found its way into any runs in the past 21 months.  It's just been a different kind of joy.  It's been the joy of hitting a pace, conquering a hill, or logging a ridiculous number of miles.  It's been the joy of getting out there and doing it.  Or the joy of getting through a run and not feeling miserable.

All of these joys are wonderful, self-affirming, and motivating.  But they aren't the same kind of joy and satisfaction I used to feel before I became race-obsessed.  Running has turned into the method by which I reach an end goal.  But that's not how it started.  And that's not how I got here.

I remember the first day I started running.  It was miserable.  It was exhausting.  I couldn't manage to run for even a minute straight, let alone a mile.  Then there was the day that Lucy refused to run.  I suddenly felt a determination to make her move like you wouldn't believe.  There was something in me, pushing me to run that had nothing to do with racing or pace or mileage.  It was a desire to do something good for myself.  And my dog.  A desire to change my life.

Over that first year, as I was finally able to run a mile, and then 2, and then 3, racing was nowhere on my radar.  I was proud of myself for simply running.  For slowly getting fitter and increasing my mileage.  Somewhere between the 12 to 18 month mark of being a runner (which I didn't think I was at the time), I started to enjoy it.  I found stress relief in it.  It actually became a necessity at the end of my work day in order for me to calm my brain and decompress.

I found joy in running, just because I was running.  That's it.  No hidden agenda.  No race to train for.  Just running.  For me and for Lucy.

Remember the days when she was a happy runner?  Not
so much anymore.

Back in those not-so-long-ago days, I ran because I wanted to.  Then I ran because I needed to.  But I never ran because I had to.  And most days when I was out there running, I loved it.

Then I started racing.  Slowly but surely I eased my way in, and in the beginning days it was great.  It was another way to keep myself going.  To take pride in my new-found love for running.  To make myself run further.  To test my limits just a little bit more every time I laced up my shoes.

There was a time when my race wall looked like this:

Seems like so long ago, but this was taken in November 2011.  Two short
years ago.

It took me 2 years to earn those 3 medals and run the few 5Ks and other random K runs that accompany them.  Today my race wall looks like this:

22 months = exponential growth, and medals quadrupled on each hook.

Each of those medals and each of those bibs represents an amazing experience, a great day, a challenging day, or a day that I pushed myself harder than I ever thought I could.  Each one is a piece of pride and joy and I don't regret a single race or any decision I made to take part in them.

But slowly, those pieces of pride and joy have seemed to suck the untainted, unhindered, simple joy of running out of my running.  Running has become something I "have" to do, because that race is looming ahead.  And yes, I do realize that I am the one that chose to sign up for the race, but often those decisions happen on a whim, or during periods of motivated excitement.  And then I am left with the fact that now I have registered for a race.  And I'm not the kind of person that is going to just not do something I've committed to because I don't "feel like it."

The past two years of racing have been amazing.  I've challenged myself in ways I never imagined I could.  I've accomplished distances, paces, and races that I wouldn't have even considered humanly possible 3 years ago.  I've learned how to mentally push through when your body is calling it quits--some days more successfully than others.  I've learned what makes me tick and keeps me going and drives me to continue.  All these things I treasure and wouldn't give up for the world.  But now I'm tired.  And frankly, I'm a little burnt out.

There it is.  I've admitted it.

I've fretted and worried about it and tried to avoid it, but there it is.

My brain is tired of fighting.  It just wants to be happy.

And now that I've happily crossed the finish line of Black Diamond, now that I've fought that fight successfully, my brain is ready for a break.  Which is just what it is getting.

Yes, I am doing 2 half marathons in the next couple months, but I'm not going to stress over them.  I also officially signed up for my next big race--the Eugene Marathon--but it's not until July.  That's a whole 9 months away.  Nine glorious months of running free.

From November to May, I am going to be coaching for TNT.  I am going to focus all my energy on helping other people fight the fight.  Helping other people run the miles, hit the paces, and feel the joy.

And when I'm not helping them, I'm going to run free.  I will run when I want to.  I will run when I need to.  But I won't run because I have to.  I'll run because it makes me happy.  Because it helps me decompress after work.  Because it allows me to untangle and release the complicated string of thoughts that roll endless around this head of mine.  I'll run because it helps me feel like me again.

I started this week.  I got home from work yesterday and ran because I missed it (only my 3rd run since the half Iron).  I pounded out 5 miles at an 8:33 average pace and smiled as I did it.  I smiled because I wasn't trying to "get the miles in."  I was running because I wanted to.  I was running because I felt great doing it.  So when I hit the turn that would get me home in 4 miles, I took the path that led to a 5 mile loop instead.  For the first time in a long time, I wanted to run longer instead of getting it over with.

In fact, it was such a great run I had to brag about it on Facebook.

Then today, running club started at my new school (a group of 36 3rd through 6th graders that are going to do the Seattle Children's Marathon in November).  I logged about 2.5 slow (for me) miles with the kids.  On the way home, I teetered back and forth between wanting to get out there and put in a few more miles and just relaxing for the rest of the evening.  I decided not to push myself, because I didn't have to.  A nice dinner and some blog-writing time sounded good, even if I felt a little tug telling me to run.  Then Erica texted to see if I wanted to run, and my immediate response was yes.  We ran another 4.6 miles through hilly Ballard at an 8:34 average pace.  And again, I felt great.  I was out there because I wanted to be.  Not because I had to be.

So, from now until Eugene training starts in May, outside of coaching runs, I'm going to run for me.  When I want to.  How long I want to.  How fast I want to.  I'm going to be selfish.  Because I miss the joy of running "just because."

In fact, I'm going to make that the final item of my "30 things to do before I'm 30" list:

29)  Rediscover the joy of running.  

This is another one on the list that you are more than welcome to join me for.  Rediscover (or discover) why you love to run.  Let's spread this joy together.  Because it's a pretty great feeling when you find it.