So, I recently started running... again. Over the years, I've picked it up here and there for short spans, mostly in an effort to lose weight -- with the one exception of wayyyyy back in the late 90s when I was working out like a fiend and running 10K several times a week as a way balancing heavy weight sessions. Back then, I saw every workout as a challenge, attacking the gym or the road like a crazy lady. These days, I'm much more sedate, and am lucky to get 5K in at a stretch.
The step of signing up at the gym was an easy one. Here you go, here's my money. The next step was tougher: facing the equipment. For someone who used to spend hours a day at the gym, I had developed a love/hate relationship with the machinery there, and it all felt a bit like standing in the midst of a group of mean girls. Smiling or neutral on the outside, eager to dismember me on the inside. I think this is the main reason why I have had such a hard time committing to a regular fitness plan. Back in my gym rat years, I was so into it, so focused, that giving it anything less than my all seemed... wussy. It became an all-or-nothing scenario, and so I let the passion die completely rather than have a tepid love affair.
Anyway, so here I was, sticking my toe onto the treadmill. It was bloody, bloody cold outside and there was no way I was going to brave the insane weather, and something inside me wanted to run so I had no choice but to befriend the treadmill. I walked for about 5 minutes to warm up, and then noticed the girl next to me was running. Hmmf. Who did she think she was? Running. And at 6.5 km/hr.
I jacked up my speed and broke into a run.
It felt great! I was cruising along, bouncing on the soles of my new running shoes, and keeping pace with the lovely gazelle next to me (who was about 10 years younger, I might add). The peppy 90s music on my iPod switched to a wild techno beat, making me pump my legs even harder. I felt completely empowered, strong and invincible....
For about 45 seconds.
A cramp flared in my left hip at the same time my heart shouted at me to stop. As gracefully as possible, I jabbed at the speed button many times until I came back down to a walking pace. As I gulped air and water simultaneously, the girl next to me hit the button to increase her pace, leaving me in the proverbial dust.
Amazingly, I went back to the gym after that. And again and again. But my workouts were a bit unpredictable -- sometimes great, sometimes not so great. It was frustrating to go there and not know just what to expect. I tried working some weights into my routine, but my body wanted to run. In my heart, I felt a need for the release of running -- to feel my legs move in that hypnotic rhythm, my breath coming in that barely discernible push that happens when you're truly in a groove and feel like you could run forever. I was drawn to the treadmill, and yet, I was starting to dread it because I didn't know if I could keep the pace, run the 5K.... out-do the people running around me.
And then, something happened that changed everything.
I went to the gym and, feeling a bit tired, set the speed low enough to run but some people would have considered it a fast walk, and I started running. I told myself I would run for 30 minutes. It didn't need to be the full 5 km, or the full hour, which is how I was measuring myself before.
I ran, and ran, and ran. I could have run for hours. At least, that's how it felt. In reality, I ran for an hour, and was so comfortable with the pace that I could waste breath lip-syncing to the songs on my iPod (I got a few odd stares when I started mouthing the words to Good Vibrations, I can tell you).
Was it a challenging workout that pushed me to my limits? No. Did it take me to the next step in my cardio level? No. Did it give me a good workout, make me sweat, and make me feel like a million bucks? Oh, yes. You betcha.
Close to the end of the workout, I asked myself, "Should I keep going?" (I honestly felt like I could have run for hours). My husband had the kids, there was no need to rush home. I could stay there and have an amazing run. What if I pushed the 5K to 10K?
Instead, I stopped the treadmill and stepped off. I wasn't breathing hard, my legs weren't burning, but I was done.
Why? Because it occurred to me that yes, taking that step to make fitness part of your life is important, but knowing when to stop -- when to respect your personal boundaries and sense of balance -- is just as important. For someone like me (all or nothing, competitive, etc.), this could be the key. So what if I'm a slow runner? I'm still there, putting in the time, pumping my legs, challenging my heart. Taking time to give myself what I need to stay balanced and energized.
And isn't that so often what we do in our lives -- forget the balance, and the kindness to ourselves? We get so caught up in juggling everything, including fitness, that we attack each activity like an enemy that has to be conquered. And if for some reason we feel we don't conquer it -- that we fail -- then we beat ourselves up over it, and even abandon it because of the guilt. Well, no more.
I'm really looking forward to my next run now. And to the mean-girl-treadmills at the gym: I'm not afraid of you anymore. Do your worst.
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