May 8, 2006

Running

In the first quarter of the run I look forward to it getting easier. Legs ache, knees throb, and my breath fades. A breath every fourteen steps becomes a breath every eight. When I warm up, I think, this will be easier.

Pollen from off the creekside grasses stings my eyes. The second fourth is the time of despair. The second wind is not coming. I fear my muscles will never thaw, the cramps and splints will just keep gaining. This is the time when in years past I would stop, defeated, my momentum a pallid joke.

I reach the halfway point and turn.

That turning is solace, and I corner on the gravel. The moon casts pale shadows beneath the acacias. My fears coalesce: this is not going to get any easier. I am halfway, and all to which I have to look forward is more of the same, and in fact a slow, a gradual decline in capability. But what is there to do but keep going? I am breathing every six steps still, and by the time I reach the bridge that will be four. This is not going to get any easier.

And again it comes to me: It doesn’t need to get any easier. This is what there is, and it will do to get me there. Each night my pace up that last hill is stronger, though it never feels any better. And again: It doesn’t need to feel any better.

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I like your poems ,it is very interesting.

When I started to run, I motivated myself the same way:  Go out and back, and if you feel bad on the way home then the answer is, “I gotta get home somehow, might as well keep running.” But if you keep running, you may reach the magical point where all of a sudden it does feel better and you can keep going and going.  I still recall the day that happened for me.

The Bloomsday run yesterday was pretty nice for those like me who enjoyed the coolness of an overcast grey day.  I felt bad for the Kenyans who seem to love running in the heat, though the story was that the men’s and women’s winners ran the entire 12k without once taking any beverage, nearly breaking both records.  It was funny to be standing in the third to last pack of 5000, watching a big screen vid screen seeing these two complete the course, before we had even begun 40 minutes later.  A great day it was for the rest of us nearly 50,000 though, as the rains never came and the crowds gathered along the route to make it seem more party than grueling footslap. 

I, like you need that first mile or so to loosen up which is all flat; then a long steep down hill and a really long up hill seems to make the course a whole lot longer than one would hope.  I keep saying that one of these years i will really get back in shape; but twenty years of saying that hasn’t done anything to do it.  mmmm thus my props go out to you.

I reached a halfway point several years ago when I realised that my life was more regrets than not.

My decision then as now is: to be at peace with what is, since I have finally realised the impossibility of being with what is not.

It finally feels better.

Dude, why are are suffocating yourself? One inhale/exhale over fourteen strides? You’re going to turn blue and pass out.

Inhale over two strides, exhale over two strides. If you get stitches, switch the start of inhale/exhale to the other foot.

And trying running with someone else, no reason to suffer alone.

Like Andrew, I think regular breathing while running is good.  Unlike Andrew, I think running alone is fantastic.  After all, your pace is your pace, not anyone else’s.  And the internal struggle with feeling good, or not, or feeling good about not feeling good, is something I find an essential part of my running experiences.  Generally, lately, it’s been more feeling good than not.  Maybe because I’m running on dirt and gravel now instead of asphalt - but I have hills now on the north shore of the Thermalito Diversion Pool, while the Sacramento River Trail where I ran in Redding was mostly flat.  An almost year-long hiatus in running, at the advanced age of 47, for whatever reason, still left me with some systemic memory, and it’s been pretty easy to get back into the groove. Since I’m planning on the Bay to Breakers in a week and a half, I’ve been adding to the distance in half mile increments each time, and should be up to four miles this evening.  I hope to be up to six by next Friday before the event, which is the most I’ve ever been able to do on a regular basis.  The 12K (7.5 miles) of the race has never been a problem, but it’s very different running in a pack, where you can pick someone to pace off of at any point in the race, and the freaky craziness of the only-in-SF party, the encouragement of the spectators, and the four miles downhill to the Pacific from the top of Hayes Street hill make it more of a breeze than not.  But, I get the most out of my solitary runs with usually just a few cows and their offerings for company.

You guys shouldn’t worry. I love oxygen and never deprive myself of it unnecessarily.

I control my breathing while running to keep myself from over-exerting. I’ve read in so many places — and been told by coaches and trainers besides — that if you’re unable to carry on a normal conversation, you’re working too hard. Siince I have no idea what a normal conversation is, being a Clarke, I count breaths instead. I never get close to light-headed. (Shut up, Clarkes.)

And running alone is what I prefer, it being the perfect metaphor for something or other.

The ‘carry on a normal conversation’ rule applies only to a certain level of workout, LSD (no, long slow distance) that’s best for burning calories. Of course you can run faster but then you are trying to work on something else.

Another rule of thumb that I have found to be reliable is “don’t increase your weekly mileage by more the 10%.” Doing so increases your chance of physical or mental burnout.

the life is very wonderful in my eyes ,I wish
I was there ,running after you ,write something
in the sand ,at the top of monutains ,beside the seas ... keep on writing ,Michelle (xueni)in Europe

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