Three days ago I sat on a couch eating french fries and cookies and feeling like I could conquer the world. Two days ago I dragged through three impossible miles. Today the plan is to run 5 miles with my husband.
*sigh*
Big lesson for me about running today: MENTAL! Running is 100% mental! Ok, maybe the body is involved a little bit. But what a mind game. I've always known ("always" meaning since February when I started running) that your thoughts play a huge role in how you experience a run. Today my thoughts kept telling me "you don't really want to be doing this." Actually, last night was when the thoughts started. "Dani, you hurt. Dani, you don't feel well. Dani you aren't training for a race. Dani, you didn't eat carbs."
Kirk was the suggester of the 5 miles. Truth was, I did not want to run that far. But I also did not want to let him down. So I agreed to five miles.
Then, for no apparent reason, my iPod Shuffle stops. NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! I NEED that music. I can't run without music. My best guess is that after so many runs in the rain, water found its way inside. Tori continues, taunting: "Ha ha, you lost your iPod. Now you'll never make it!" I believed that.
Three miserable miles into the run, another voice took over. This voice had decided she was sick and tired of having such a miserable run (ahh, the voice of reason. Let's call her Dani). I thought back to the point of this blog, this process: "I want to pay attention to what is activated. It will tell me a lot about myself. What I do with that self awareness is another story."
My Inner Tori, the very-negative-little-bitchy-but-extremely-vulnerable-under-it-all-voice was trying to send me a message. Yes, she is very negative. Yes, she interferes with my ability and my self confidence. But she is also a pointer to self awareness. She is not the enemy. There is a reason her voice is so active right now. I don't want to hate her. I want to ask her why.
So I stop. On a dime. I find this pile of rocks and sit. In that moment, I literally do not know if I am going to just be done and walk home, or pull it together for the last two miles. I stop my run, I stop my watch, and have a heart to heart with myself.
I sat on those rocks for a long time. I paid attention to the voice that was so loud in my head. What was she wanting to say? Without judgment, and with compassion, I listened. And I was a little surprised by what she had to say: "I'm afraid."
Afraid? Yes. All that negative posturing was a mask for what was really going on inside. You see, Tori holds my fear. She's afraid that if we don't finish, we are a failure. She's afraid that if we speak our true desires (I only want to run 3 miles), that we'll be abandoned. She's afraid that because I'm not really a runner, people will think we are a fool. That this is ridiculous. That no one will like us. That we can't do it.
Whether or not these fears are founded (and most are not), they are real. They are a part of me. The more I ignore them, the more they fight to be seen, and the louder and more belligerent Tori becomes. Tori gives me insight to the fear that lives in me. She offers me the opportunity to acknowledge and take action on my fears. I am very grateful to her for that gift.
Tori calmed down. I reminded her that this marathon thing is a journey. The journey does not have to reach the destination. I reminded her that we have choice. We can choose to walk home right now. We won't be a failure. We can choose to voice to our husband our desire to run less. He won't leave us. And even if we are seen as a fool, ridiculous and unliked, the bigger issue is what we think of ourselves. We think this endeavor is pretty cool.
It is fairly easy to be present with Tori in a less critical life moment, like a run. But it is in these smaller moments that I must practice presence (which allows me to see her) and compassion (which allows me to hear her). My hope is that by practicing with the small issues, I will strengthen my ability to give my Inner Tori the same loving attention when much bigger life issues come along. Which makes the small issues not small at all.
I got up off that rock. I smiled. I finished the run (still without an iPod!). No more voices. No more hatefulness. Just a calm, challenging, enjoyable two miles back to the finish line. I walked a good deal of those two miles. And that is just fine.
