Still running.
We've slipped into Farley's mode around here... time has slowed down and slipped by all that the same time as our routine of not-doing-much has clicked along.
Morning run, shower, coffee and cereal on the porch. Play with children. Dress children (maybe). Go out in a boat. Go out on the water. Go on some simple errand. Eat. Read. Sit. Drink coffee. Check Facebook. Go out in a boat. Go out on the water. Dress children. Play with children. Snack. Sit. Talk. Play with children. Eat. Sit. Talk. Eat dessert....
Life is good. And with all the eating and sitting that are going on around here, it is a good thing that my days start with a run.
I am feeling good with the running. I've done 4+miles on about half of my days here. Not too shabby. This morning it was still and swampy out and my 3 mile plod dragged along. But other days, when the air is clear with a lake breeze... I've almost enjoyed myself.
I may be a runner yet.
I've been doing a cycle of 4 days on and 1 day off, with the day off to include "active rest". Farley's obliges with swims and canoes and kayaks to fit that bill...
We are here for only 4 more days, which is shocking and sudden and almost devastating when I think about it... even though there is a little part of me that is ready to go home, this time of stillness and being and lake water has just flown by too fast.
Also, Nat heads off to Winnipeg for 6 days once we return home. And on top of my many worries about those days of "single parenting" is the question of how I'm going to continue my running-- not just at home and back to the grind of house-and-life-- but no way to dash off on my own in the early hours while someone else gets the children up.
There's always the gym, I suppose. And the kindness of strangers. Anyone want to come watch my children while I run???
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
July 6: Running
Closing in on a year of Thirty Days... I've decided to come full circle and focus on running every day for the month of July. Looking back over this year of mini-resolutions, I am glad I've done it. Even if most of my thirty days ended up being more like fifteen. Even if I, apparently, completely omitted June. The most successful months seemed to be those which did not require me to add any new activities to my day, but rather just increase my mindfulness. I will bear that in mind as I head into year two...
Running definitely adds an activity to my day. But the days in July are accommodating. It is the one month of the year where time ceases to matter, where I don't set my alarm clock once. Especially here, at the lake, where the Camelot climate forgives me for oversleeping, with lake breezes and gentle temperatures late into the morning.
Running also increases mindfulness. Wonderfully.
Arriving at the lake can be overwhelming. All this beauty, commanding me to enjoy it. All this family, all these friends, ready with smiles and hugs and questions, commanding me to be social. All the pressure! It takes me a while to ease into vacation, but Farley's wants me to hurry. I catch myself resenting it. A green cloud of envy rises up as I look at all the other people who seem to be so very good at relaxing (they've just been here longer), whose children are so much better behaved (they're not, really), who must certainly be better people than me. I catch myself sinking into negativity. I am so good at negativity. Sometimes I have a hard time shaking my embarrassing discontent with my (blessed) life.
And so, this morning-- a run up Hardy road. Nothing like a nearly vertical hill up a brilliantly sunny country road to clear that green cloud away. Lactic acid burning in my legs, lungs pumping and puffing out carbon dioxide along with any shreds of pessimism or doubt, breathing in light and life and profound gratefulness.
Leveling out onto flat ground at the crest of the hill, I feel a sense of invincibility, and I am so grateful. The sheaves of wildflowers that grace the side of this road have been cut down already this year, but a few brave stragglers remain and sing out of the tenacity of life. Heat radiates from the asphalt. And I am grateful. Grateful that I have legs to run and air to breathe and a body that can sweat and ache and move; grateful for the green fields, for the glimpse of lake over that rise, for the baby swing in the apple tree, for the breeze and the heat of the sun on the side of my face; for all of it, for this achingly beautiful world spread out before me.
The beauty of the Hardy Road run is that, just as the profoundly grateful mood begins to morph into simply hot and tired, the route turns and heads into the most blissful downhill. The road twists through the woods, shady and dense with the smell of forest floor. And I am grateful for the cool air and the pounding of the hill in my knees and the fact that I can run right in the middle of this quiet, quiet road to distance myself from the crops of poison ivy growing on the shoulder.
This road drops you off about a mile from home, back on route 90... and my gratefulness shifts, to the fact that I am almost there, that I have landmarks to check off the distance as I go, that semi-truck downdrafts might happen at any moment and bring me a blessed moment of cool, that I've made it this far without walking. Steady feet and even breath and I feel like I might just make these Thirty Days happen.
Tonight, my knees are sore. And my pants aren't any looser yet. But I am holding on to that sense of the possible, and letting it color my view of my children, the cottage, the day. And my breathing is deeper and it's all just a bit brighter and I am looking forward to running in the morning.
Running definitely adds an activity to my day. But the days in July are accommodating. It is the one month of the year where time ceases to matter, where I don't set my alarm clock once. Especially here, at the lake, where the Camelot climate forgives me for oversleeping, with lake breezes and gentle temperatures late into the morning.
Running also increases mindfulness. Wonderfully.
Arriving at the lake can be overwhelming. All this beauty, commanding me to enjoy it. All this family, all these friends, ready with smiles and hugs and questions, commanding me to be social. All the pressure! It takes me a while to ease into vacation, but Farley's wants me to hurry. I catch myself resenting it. A green cloud of envy rises up as I look at all the other people who seem to be so very good at relaxing (they've just been here longer), whose children are so much better behaved (they're not, really), who must certainly be better people than me. I catch myself sinking into negativity. I am so good at negativity. Sometimes I have a hard time shaking my embarrassing discontent with my (blessed) life.
And so, this morning-- a run up Hardy road. Nothing like a nearly vertical hill up a brilliantly sunny country road to clear that green cloud away. Lactic acid burning in my legs, lungs pumping and puffing out carbon dioxide along with any shreds of pessimism or doubt, breathing in light and life and profound gratefulness.
Leveling out onto flat ground at the crest of the hill, I feel a sense of invincibility, and I am so grateful. The sheaves of wildflowers that grace the side of this road have been cut down already this year, but a few brave stragglers remain and sing out of the tenacity of life. Heat radiates from the asphalt. And I am grateful. Grateful that I have legs to run and air to breathe and a body that can sweat and ache and move; grateful for the green fields, for the glimpse of lake over that rise, for the baby swing in the apple tree, for the breeze and the heat of the sun on the side of my face; for all of it, for this achingly beautiful world spread out before me.
The beauty of the Hardy Road run is that, just as the profoundly grateful mood begins to morph into simply hot and tired, the route turns and heads into the most blissful downhill. The road twists through the woods, shady and dense with the smell of forest floor. And I am grateful for the cool air and the pounding of the hill in my knees and the fact that I can run right in the middle of this quiet, quiet road to distance myself from the crops of poison ivy growing on the shoulder.
This road drops you off about a mile from home, back on route 90... and my gratefulness shifts, to the fact that I am almost there, that I have landmarks to check off the distance as I go, that semi-truck downdrafts might happen at any moment and bring me a blessed moment of cool, that I've made it this far without walking. Steady feet and even breath and I feel like I might just make these Thirty Days happen.
Tonight, my knees are sore. And my pants aren't any looser yet. But I am holding on to that sense of the possible, and letting it color my view of my children, the cottage, the day. And my breathing is deeper and it's all just a bit brighter and I am looking forward to running in the morning.
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