Forward: Written on 12/29/13 on the road home from Albuquerque Christmas Break. Posted now after reflecting on it and finally finding time to publish.
Yesterday morning marked my longest run in years. My self-created half-marathon training plan called for a 90 minute distance run. Not fast, yet not easy. No matter what pace you are moving, pounding your legs in repetitive motion for an hour and a half is hard. Simple as that. On our final day in Albuquerque, I ran to the mountains. Just me, my legs and my thoughts alone out there in the late morning sun.
I don't run with music. In fact, I have only run with headphones one time ever in 14 or so years of running. For Christmas 2001, my parents gave me a handheld portable cassette player designed for running complete with a bicep attachment and headphones. (This still sits in our TV console at this minute.) Excitedly, I dressed for a 5 degree blistery Chicago winter run with my new sound device. Within minutes I knew running with music was not for me. I hated it. Suddenly something so peaceful became so noisy. I felt surrounded by chaos, a cacophony following each stride.
I love running for its reflective possibilities. I love to be out there alone, with my thoughts or with a good friend enjoying meaningful conversations on life and living it to its fullest, being in the moment, appreciating nature and all its beauty. I write while running. I always have. I remember utilizing long runs in high school to complete full essays, book reviews and afterwards dashing straight to our shared family computer to type the words in my head before they were forever lost. I still write while running. Running is my quiet time, my meditation. Music ruins that for me.
While running to the mountains yesterday I had a lot of mediation time. Long runs are particularly good for that. I thought mostly of love and running and challenges and how the three come together. Distance running, much like love, takes work. To the outsider, each may appear effortless. I spotted only a handful of runners out on the Albuquerque streets during my 90 minutes but every single one looked to be a smooth, seasoned and serious runner. I marveled at how "easy" running looked for them. I was sure some shared my thoughts - mistaking my running as effortless as well. But that's the thing about distance running -- it is never effortless. It's work. It's hard. Yes, moments out there were easy, moments where I felt like a machine, legs churning, muscles flexing and carrying me along those empty sunny roads. Between those moments came challenges - mental reminders to keep on going, lift those quads, land on the forefeet, keep the neck still, relax the arms and legs please don't fail me now.
Love is like that, too. To the outsider, marriages and relationships all too often appear effortless. People put up facades and we hope our friends are truly as happy as they seem. Many are, but that still does not mean that relationships are easy. My husband is my best friend and I am blessed by our mutual love and respect and understanding for each other. Despite all of this, we would be lying if we said love always came easy. There are hard days, there are challenges, distractions, kids. As a mother, I give so much of myself to my kids that at times I feel like there is nothing left at the end of the day. Like a sponge I am squeezed out and hung to dry each night after bath time, only to be used again to wipe faces clean in the morning. There is nothing left to share with my husband, or myself. There are moments when it all feels like work, when we make mental checks and reminders to be kind, be patient, heart and mind please don't fail me now.
Just like in distance running, we keep on going. We climb the mountains. We work hard, we reflect, we think positive thoughts and we find happiness. We find love.
Yesterday morning marked my longest run in years. My self-created half-marathon training plan called for a 90 minute distance run. Not fast, yet not easy. No matter what pace you are moving, pounding your legs in repetitive motion for an hour and a half is hard. Simple as that. On our final day in Albuquerque, I ran to the mountains. Just me, my legs and my thoughts alone out there in the late morning sun.
I don't run with music. In fact, I have only run with headphones one time ever in 14 or so years of running. For Christmas 2001, my parents gave me a handheld portable cassette player designed for running complete with a bicep attachment and headphones. (This still sits in our TV console at this minute.) Excitedly, I dressed for a 5 degree blistery Chicago winter run with my new sound device. Within minutes I knew running with music was not for me. I hated it. Suddenly something so peaceful became so noisy. I felt surrounded by chaos, a cacophony following each stride.
I love running for its reflective possibilities. I love to be out there alone, with my thoughts or with a good friend enjoying meaningful conversations on life and living it to its fullest, being in the moment, appreciating nature and all its beauty. I write while running. I always have. I remember utilizing long runs in high school to complete full essays, book reviews and afterwards dashing straight to our shared family computer to type the words in my head before they were forever lost. I still write while running. Running is my quiet time, my meditation. Music ruins that for me.
While running to the mountains yesterday I had a lot of mediation time. Long runs are particularly good for that. I thought mostly of love and running and challenges and how the three come together. Distance running, much like love, takes work. To the outsider, each may appear effortless. I spotted only a handful of runners out on the Albuquerque streets during my 90 minutes but every single one looked to be a smooth, seasoned and serious runner. I marveled at how "easy" running looked for them. I was sure some shared my thoughts - mistaking my running as effortless as well. But that's the thing about distance running -- it is never effortless. It's work. It's hard. Yes, moments out there were easy, moments where I felt like a machine, legs churning, muscles flexing and carrying me along those empty sunny roads. Between those moments came challenges - mental reminders to keep on going, lift those quads, land on the forefeet, keep the neck still, relax the arms and legs please don't fail me now.
Love is like that, too. To the outsider, marriages and relationships all too often appear effortless. People put up facades and we hope our friends are truly as happy as they seem. Many are, but that still does not mean that relationships are easy. My husband is my best friend and I am blessed by our mutual love and respect and understanding for each other. Despite all of this, we would be lying if we said love always came easy. There are hard days, there are challenges, distractions, kids. As a mother, I give so much of myself to my kids that at times I feel like there is nothing left at the end of the day. Like a sponge I am squeezed out and hung to dry each night after bath time, only to be used again to wipe faces clean in the morning. There is nothing left to share with my husband, or myself. There are moments when it all feels like work, when we make mental checks and reminders to be kind, be patient, heart and mind please don't fail me now.
Just like in distance running, we keep on going. We climb the mountains. We work hard, we reflect, we think positive thoughts and we find happiness. We find love.
A few pictures from our final day in Albuquerque and the drive home:
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| Playing in the backseat at a roadside truck stop. |
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| Sleeping Cesia, my angel. |
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| Energized and happy after a 20 minute cat-nap, just 50 miles outside of Los Angeles. Home, sweet home. |
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