I have the coach. I have the PT. I have three new pair of colorful Hoka One One Rincon lined up and set to go. I have a hotel room booked and will arrange a sick day. Now the training begins. The marathon is not just a race; it is a way of life for four months. I have not run 26.2 miles since November 2019, and I believe my longest long run has hovered around 15 miles (Vegan Power 25k Virtual). In a previous post I wrote about asking for help, a huge step for me as I never want to admit that I even need help. Self -sufficiency has been a point of pride for many years. After all, I am the woman who went years without calling in sick, going to the dentist, and have self diagnosed more running injuries than I would like to admit. Yet here I am with the coach, and the PT. Asking for help.
The goal this year is to run relatively pain free. Yes it will hurt, it is a 26 mile race, but I would like it to hurt the way it is supposed to (tired and sore muscles) and not because of my litany of running- related overuse injuries that have been following me for the past ten years. So I am cross training, strength training, eating strictly vegan food, sleeping, and the hardest of all, icing. And you know what? The injuries are subsiding because I am...wait for it...gasp...taking it easy. My coach recommended that I run not for distance but for time on feet, adding 15 minutes per week to my long run and possibly topping off at 15 miles. This will be marathon # 11 for me and my body knows what to do. Well, my tendons are a bit behind, but my muscles can run the distance. So now it is about taking it easy, listening to my body, getting rest and fueling my body with nutrients.
In the next few weeks I am hoping to get my GoPro up and running, to test it out so that on that morning this November when I line up at the Verranzzano - Narrows Bridge, I can record the experience and post it here. For now though I will put my feet in a bath of ice, ignore the discomfort, and know that my body will thank me for it.
I have done it before and I will do it again. The New York City Marathon. It was not my first marathon, that was Hartford in 2009, but in February 2017 I decided on a whim to put my name into the lottery for an entry. Had I run longer than 13.1 miles since 2009? Hell no! What was I thinking? I was thinking that there was no way that I would be one of the 11% whose name would be drawn for the run through the five boroughs in New York City. Flash forward to November of that year and I was slogging through the rain after successfully making it to the starting line on Staten Island. Yes I finished and might not have been able to walk for a few days, but the following February I put my name in again. 2018. Yes. 2019. Team TCS Teacher contest winner. 2020. Covid. 2021. Deferral from 2020.
It is time to start training. I am beginning to build a base of fitness despite a history of running related injuries from a calf strain to Achilles and Posterior tibial tendonosis, to the newest addition to the familiy: calcaneal bursitis on both heels. I am keeping a physical therapis in business and have a share of the compression sock market. But there is a difference this year. Oh, I know I can do it, but this year I am asking for help. I have a running coach making me a training plan. I have a physical therapist making sure I stay straight to stave off injuries, and I am working with a strength and conditioning coach. I have my nutrition under control because of work with a plant based nutritionist, and I am taking time to, gasp, rest. I would love to continue to writing about this journey within the confines of this blog, to share images and maybe even video if I take the plunge and purchase that GoPro in my Amazon shopping cart. I would like to be held accountable for taking care of my body so that this year maybe I can run this amazing race with minimum pain. here we go.
As a writer I should be comfortable with the idea of rejection. Yet somehow it always catches me, picks me up, and slams me on the floor. I lose my breath for a minute, or hour, before regaining consciousness. It is not the rejection per say, but the narrative that I create surrounding that rejection. I cannot simply accept the rejection as is, a statement that I would not fit into the environment in which I believed I would fit. I instead create the backstory, it is not only the employer, the publication, or the friend rejecting me, it is the greater community at large which does not feel as if I am worthy. I become the martyr in my own play, hated by all and on the path to ruin and homelessness. This narrative creation within my egomaniacal conscious mind can be harnessed for good as well as evil however. That backstory in which I recently indulged can be used as fodder for a short story. I can watch myself cycle through the stages of grief and rejection, of wallowing in self-pity and then meditate, have a smoothie, and sit down to write. I can cultivate gratitude for my amazing life, as it is at this very moment (minus the deer flies and humidity) and sit down to write a post. A close friend of mine says that "rejection is God's protection," and I wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment (when I am not in the midst of being rejected). I have been ignoring that small voice inside that is telling me to write, to rest, to explore creativity, to pray, to hang upside down and then nap. I am attempting to fit my square pegged self into a round hole and wonder why I get stuck. So dear reader (or mom), I come to you rejected. But also relieved that the narrative did not play out, and that I can now head to Amazon.com and purchase a Gopro because I have an idea which is filling me with giddy anticipation. More on that soon!
It is finally summer break. The hardest teaching year so far is behind me and I have saved up enough money to make it through the summer without working. I need this break to rest, to stay home, and to work on creating new curriculum for next year. I am setting a goal for myself to take at least an hour a day to write, be it in my journal, right here in the blog, or on my creative nonfiction piece that one day will become a book. But for now I need to carve out this time in my day and focus on the practice of creating. If one were to scroll through previous blog posts one might see that I have set this goal before. I have it in my habit tracker, and each night I go to sleep without checking off the box next to "journal." Even though I could merely write a few sentences to be able to check off the box, I still manage to ignore the deep need to write. Why?
"I don't know where I'm going, / but I sure know where I've been / hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday, / an' I've made up my mind. I ain't wasting no more time" (David Coverdale / Bernie Marsden).
Can one be an expert at wasting time? I may just be the poster child for the art of deflection and procrastination. I have put parental controls on Facebook for just this reason. But I know that once I create a routine around a certain habit I am good to go. Each and every morning I wake up, feed all of the critters with whom I reside, meditate, stretch, run, stretch, and head out the door to work. Every Sunday I create meals for the upcoming week. Before bed I meditate again. So it is not really a stretch to add five minutes of journaling into my day. But I don't. Because it feels good. Because the act of writing soothes my soul, calms me down, fills me with hope, and connects me to something much grander than my mind can fathom. It's just too good for me and so I do not do it. But, here I go again.
Whitesnake sings, "Like a drifter I was born to walk alone." Writing is a solitary practice, yes, but the process of sharing one's writing brings the act from a solitary experience to a communal one. I do not know who reads this, if anyone, but as I sit here with an imaginary audience I am connected. And that is where the fulfillment comes into play. I connect to the solitary experiences of others within this act of allowing words to appear on the screen. I am part of a larger community of writers, of readers, and of seekers. I feel that I am not alone. And maybe that is why I struggle to sit here and write. There is something familiar about being stuck. It is safe here by myself. Nobody can criticize me. Just for today I am going to step into the community because "I ain't wasting no more time." So here we are and here I go again. Hopefully I will be at the blank screen again tomorrow.
My goal at the beginning of 2021 was to spend time each day writing, either a short poem, a blog post, or an entry in one of the many journals strategically placed throughout my home. It is now April 11, and that goal has been thrown to the wayside amidst the stress of teaching in a pandemic, Covid outbreaks, work for classes, and my own inability to just get out of my way. I get distracted by social media, pleasure reading, training for non existent races and the daily grind of staying alive and supporting myself. Although many of my other new found habits have been incorporated into my day (meditation, pranayama, stretching, strength training, and cooking actual food for my body) I have yet to find a space for writing. Which makes me wonder what is it that I fear if I create a writing routine? I have the space within the day if I decrease my time on Facebook and cancel my Netflix subscription, but this very act of sitting down to write is akin to opening myself up to rejection and criticism. Today I sat down to write a marketing plan for a book project I am working on and I realized that I have not been focusing on my writing lately. I have been grading my students' essays but I have not sat down to look at and create my own. Because really, the more I practice writing the better I will hopefully get at it. But I cannot get better if I do not write. So here we are, sitting on the porch on a cloudy April day, finishing up a class project for yet another degree, and practicing this (hopefully soon) daily habit of placing fingers to keyboard. It takes mere moments to invest in myself. I wonder why I do not do this more?
How long has it been since I have written a post? The last few years have been filled with writing, with running, with teaching, and with learning. I completed a thesis about female writers and the power of phallocentric language. I began working on a master's degree in creative writing and have been writing chapters of a memoir. But I have been neglecting this blog, which has, in the past afforded me the ability to explore different topics without the worry of a decent grade or spot of income. Writing for pure pleasure needs to become a full fledged habit, a habit which affords its own entry into my calendar.
I have been fairly successful recently in establishing some new healthy habits. This journey began with an appointment with a plant-based nutritionist and running coach Kayla Slater. Each week we create new goals and I track them on my Habits app. I have found a successful approach is that of addition rather than subtraction. What I mean is that my first goal was to add in 5 or 10 minutes of meditation every day rather than stopping the consumption of sugar. I would track this goal to hold myself accountable each day. Each time I successfully completed my new task I would check off the box on the app, which is a strangely satisfying ritual. I have been adding tiny new habits to the application and now have a nice morning routine which includes a ten minute meditation on Headspace, PT exercises while brushing my teeth, and a five minute warm up class on Peloton, before heading out the door to run with my dog Luna.
Friends have always told me about the positive impact that meditation has had in their lives. A Covid 19 shutdown afforded me the luxury of a bit of extra time, time usually spent commuting, for the addition of a few new rituals and routine. Thus a daily mediation emerged from the depths of laziness and despair. I can now safely say that I should have listened to my friends earlier. As someone who tends to hold obsessive compulsions and tendencies, meditation was a way to take an edge off and provide my brain with some much needed rest. Not that I do not plan out my lessons in the middle of a body scan or rehearse my big "storming out of the building" scene. But there are moments of respite. I am grateful today for the new habits that I have incorporated into my busy life and career and family obligations. My list is now much longer than it was in April, but I feel a sense of pride when I tick the boxes on the app and now, click publish on this post. Thank you for sharing a few moments of your time with me. My goal today is to spend a few minutes each day writing, whether it be a poem, a jingle for Dr. Pepper, or a paper on the plallocentricity of language. .
Once every few weeks I play a poetry game with my creative writing class. I have a bin of words taken from various poetry books, random words that I like; dust, bamboo, spotless, sherbet...we each choose a word out of the box and use that word in a line of poetry. After the line is written we pass the word to the person next to us. My the time we have chosen four or five stanzas worth of words we have poems, using the same words. The poems are all completely different and fun to read out loud. Here is one of the first I wrote with my class.
Branches canopied over the deep forest floor -
a tent breaking the horizon into shards
of glass. The roots, selfless in
their hold, spring into amber twilight.
Imperfect buds wrap tightly,
ready to open purposefully when
clumsy Spring makes her appearance -
daffodils mirrored in muddy waters
while bullfrog bellies bloat.
Centuries of mating songs echoing
in dark damp earth. Nothing
prepares you for the closeted song -
females - choosy in their search for love
find solace in raspberry bushes
and the canopy of vines.
Can you figure out which words I was forced to use?
