Running...sort of..

Despite the fact that I'm a Yoga instructor for my work, I am not an athlete. If anything, I'm the anti-athlete. I lack the basic coordination to put one foot in front of the other in the most routine of manners. I fall easily, usually tripping over objects invisible to everyone but me. On my first date with my husband, I even tripped down a flight of stairs. I'm positive he had no idea the level of klutziness he was getting himself into for the rest of his life. Yoga has been an incredible blessing for me, not only because it has given me a sense of where my heart is, and what it can accomplish, but also a deep appreciation of body awareness. I still have a hard time navigating terrain that's anything more challenging than a manicured path, but at least I'm aware of body positioning in a way I'd never experienced previously.

However, after my serious illness in October 2007, in which both of my lungs collapsed and my heart filled with fluid, I found I had to explore new ways to improve my lung strength. My yoga practice was instrumental in my recovery, and I'm profoundly grateful for that. Still, I needed to regain lung capacity that I'd lost. Walking was not strenuous enough, and so, for the first time in my life, I've begun running. I have to admit that it's been an illuminating experience for me. In the past, I'd watch runners jog by and think, "Aren't they amazing?". This was usually followed by the sentiment of "Thank goodness that's not me", as I'd think about a glass of Pinot Grigio and a big piece of sourdough bread. I had never been a runner and never wanted to be a runner. But, in order to regain my ability to breathe properly I had to become that which I'd disparaged.

I've learned two things about running: 1) That it's not an easy as it looks, and 2) That it's not as hard as it looks. These opposing sentiments probably make complete sense to an experienced runner. When I began running, I started off running, unintentionally, just like Phoebe, from "Friends", in that infamous episode in which she runs just like a wild five year old on a playground. I'll never forget her words of “I run like I did when I was a kid because that’s the only way it’s fun. Didn’t you ever run so fast that you thought your legs were going to fall off?”. While it wasn't pretty, it was the only way to get me moving, initially. I had to let go of all preconceived notions I'd had about what runners looked like, or I'd never begin my laps around the track. I had to let go of thinking of running as hard work, and just begin to think of it as 'fun' in a kindergarten sort of way. My teenage daughter made running playlists for me and I would sing along to the Black Eyed Peas while running with wild abandon. My lungs ached almost immediately. Yet, the joy of moving and being ridiculous, singing "My Humps", as I jogged, helped me to get over me self-consciousness, as well as my initial, painful lung expansion.

After weeks of this, my husband, a long time runner, became concerned about my pulling muscles....and I'm sure, about what the rest of our town probably thought of my 'style'. He helped me correct my running step, stride by stride. I learned to run heel-toe, rather than on top of my toes the whole time. This helped me to run further, and also got rid of those pesky shin splints. I had to learn the scientific mechanics of running properly. This was much harder than I'd anticipated for a motion that should be 'natural'. I broke down every centimeter of movement to maximize my stride, to minimize injury and to continue to grow in my goal of increasing lung capacity. I began timing myself to push further. After all, if I can run for longer periods, then I can strengthen my lungs further. I learned to self-analyze my running motion and to be aware of each step.

At this point, my old hostility towards running returned. I began to resent it. It seemed to be too harsh, too analytical and too limiting. I began feeling envious of those runners who seemed so effortless and, yet powerful, with every stride. I had evil daydreams of tripping the perfect, sweatless runners as they passed me. I realized that once my critical nature set in, it was only a matter of time before I quit altogether. So, I've found a happy medium. I still sing hip hop songs to myself (most of the time) when I run, but I am not quite as worried about how far I go or how long. As long as I feel my lungs working, and my legs cooperating, I realized that I was doing just fine. I began to take time to just be in the moment and let go of the 'hard' part, while still taking a bit more seriously the 'easy part'.

What is it in your own life that represents something you would rather not do? Is there a challenge you are facing that could be made better by starting something new? If so, think about beginning as simply as possible. You don't need to be perfect: at cooking, at learning a computer skill or at starting a new activity. Keep all of your focus exclusively on enjoying the chaos of beginnings. Treat your new project as a kindergartner would: with reckless abandon and joy. If you make a mess? Who cares? Just get into your new adventure with the spirit of childhood to motivate you forward.

Once you have become comfortable in your new "place", there will always be time to add in finishing skills, if you choose. You can learn to tweak your new project and improve it slowly. But, trying to begin 'perfectly' in almost medium is a set up for failure. You need to ignite the fun before you can fine tune the mechanics.

And, if your neighbors stare? Let them. Give them something to think about when they're busy *not* starting a new endeavor. And smile!