First
I was on the train with the "Welcome to the Blue Line" conductor again this morning, and that reminded me how long it's been since I wrote a real update. Let's begin with a quote:
Do one thing every day that scares you. -- Eleanor Roosevelt
For me, doing things the first or initial time is what I find scary. Think back to the first time you drove on the highway, or your first semester in college. Do you remember feeling all of that positive nervous energy? You had no idea what was going to happen, but you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped off the cliff.
For the past two months, I have scared the crap out of myself on an almost daily basis.
I've been training for the Illinois Marathon. Since my running watch died recently, I've been training with the Nike+ Sport Kit. The sensor isn't very accurate, but having audio feedback has been fun. Every time you hit a new milestone, a famous athlete comes on and congratulates you. Paula Radcliffe congratulated me the 'first' time I ran 8 miles. Lance Armstrong praised me the 'first' time I burned over 1,000 calories in one workout. My iPod has no way of knowing that I've actually run a marathon before, so these aren't really 'firsts' for me; these checkpoints are 'the first time since...' moments for me.
Last weekend I was scheduled to run 9 miles. Due to work (I have three jobs now), Sunday morning was the only time available. It was freezing outside -- five degrees. But I am not a hamster; I cannot run for 90 minutes on a treadmill. So I layered up in all of my warm running clothes and headed out the door. It was the first time since 2007 that I ran 9 miles; the first time since who knows when that I ran in single degree temperatures; the first time since... that I ran on ice.
I do not like ice. Ice scares me. If I never saw ice again, I would not be sad.
But I live in Chicago. If I plan on running a marathon in April, or simply leaving my house before then, I don't see any way to avoid this fear. So down the lakefront trail I went. There are a couple places where the trail is pushed out to sit on top of the seawall. It's fun to run along the edge on a warm windy day, getting drenched as the waves crash over you, watching where you step so that you don't fall in.
You can imagine what the top of a seawall looks like when it's five degrees outside -- very similar to that freezer you've been meaning to defrost. Last weekend, life was happening on that 10-foot stretch of pavement. An elderly couple was out for a morning walk, both doing their best to hold each other up. A man was struggling not to laugh as his Great Dane slipped and slid around the corner. I was resisting the urge to drop to my hands and knees and crawl. I was terrified that I was going to fall again. As I was clutching onto the wall I had to laugh at myself, because being afraid of falling is ridiculous.
I will fall again.
Maybe I'll get hurt; maybe I won't. I can't let my fear of falling stop me from trying. I can't quit. I can stay inside where it is safe, or I can drop some of the walls I've built, crawl out of my shell, and get back to the business of living life.
I remember the first summer my dad had his boat. This was before he knew how to read the depth-finder; before he knew where the channels were. I think we were grounded by an unexpected sandbar more than once that summer. But eventually he learned where the water was shallow. He learned what places were to be avoided. What landmarks to sight. He even learned enough that he was able to teach other people how to navigate the lake.
I've been getting my daily dose of fear in places other than just running. My first interview since... My first freelance writing job... My first date since... My first December working women's clothing retail (that one has been interesting)... I'm excited to see that my friends are all scared too. Having their first babies, moving to different states, finishing school, buying their first houses, ending bad relationships, starting new relationships...
I'd like to tell you that everything will be okay. None of you will fall again; none of you will run aground. But you will. We all will. Here's what I can tell you: When you do fall, your friends and family will be there to help you get back up. You'll learn where the sandbar is. I'll learn to stay off the seawall in January. Each time we get up, we'll go a little farther before falling down again.
Stay safe out there!
Do one thing every day that scares you. -- Eleanor Roosevelt
For me, doing things the first or initial time is what I find scary. Think back to the first time you drove on the highway, or your first semester in college. Do you remember feeling all of that positive nervous energy? You had no idea what was going to happen, but you closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped off the cliff.
For the past two months, I have scared the crap out of myself on an almost daily basis.
I've been training for the Illinois Marathon. Since my running watch died recently, I've been training with the Nike+ Sport Kit. The sensor isn't very accurate, but having audio feedback has been fun. Every time you hit a new milestone, a famous athlete comes on and congratulates you. Paula Radcliffe congratulated me the 'first' time I ran 8 miles. Lance Armstrong praised me the 'first' time I burned over 1,000 calories in one workout. My iPod has no way of knowing that I've actually run a marathon before, so these aren't really 'firsts' for me; these checkpoints are 'the first time since...' moments for me.
Last weekend I was scheduled to run 9 miles. Due to work (I have three jobs now), Sunday morning was the only time available. It was freezing outside -- five degrees. But I am not a hamster; I cannot run for 90 minutes on a treadmill. So I layered up in all of my warm running clothes and headed out the door. It was the first time since 2007 that I ran 9 miles; the first time since who knows when that I ran in single degree temperatures; the first time since... that I ran on ice.
I do not like ice. Ice scares me. If I never saw ice again, I would not be sad.
But I live in Chicago. If I plan on running a marathon in April, or simply leaving my house before then, I don't see any way to avoid this fear. So down the lakefront trail I went. There are a couple places where the trail is pushed out to sit on top of the seawall. It's fun to run along the edge on a warm windy day, getting drenched as the waves crash over you, watching where you step so that you don't fall in.
You can imagine what the top of a seawall looks like when it's five degrees outside -- very similar to that freezer you've been meaning to defrost. Last weekend, life was happening on that 10-foot stretch of pavement. An elderly couple was out for a morning walk, both doing their best to hold each other up. A man was struggling not to laugh as his Great Dane slipped and slid around the corner. I was resisting the urge to drop to my hands and knees and crawl. I was terrified that I was going to fall again. As I was clutching onto the wall I had to laugh at myself, because being afraid of falling is ridiculous.
I will fall again.
Maybe I'll get hurt; maybe I won't. I can't let my fear of falling stop me from trying. I can't quit. I can stay inside where it is safe, or I can drop some of the walls I've built, crawl out of my shell, and get back to the business of living life.
I remember the first summer my dad had his boat. This was before he knew how to read the depth-finder; before he knew where the channels were. I think we were grounded by an unexpected sandbar more than once that summer. But eventually he learned where the water was shallow. He learned what places were to be avoided. What landmarks to sight. He even learned enough that he was able to teach other people how to navigate the lake.
I've been getting my daily dose of fear in places other than just running. My first interview since... My first freelance writing job... My first date since... My first December working women's clothing retail (that one has been interesting)... I'm excited to see that my friends are all scared too. Having their first babies, moving to different states, finishing school, buying their first houses, ending bad relationships, starting new relationships...
I'd like to tell you that everything will be okay. None of you will fall again; none of you will run aground. But you will. We all will. Here's what I can tell you: When you do fall, your friends and family will be there to help you get back up. You'll learn where the sandbar is. I'll learn to stay off the seawall in January. Each time we get up, we'll go a little farther before falling down again.
Stay safe out there!
posted by Craig at
4:46 PM
3 Comments
