Getting Back Into a Rhythm

The thing with running, for me anyhow, is that it doesn't lie. Ever. It accepts me as I am, wherever I am, and allows me to look into the mirror and clearly see my mind, body, and spirit. Looking past the sweat and the rosy cheeks, I see what I'm made of and where I've been. And there's no hiding from what I see, because it'll tell me exactly what I need to do.

Running knows when I haven't slept enough, when I've spent too much time in the car or on a plane, when I've been stressed, and when I've made too many meals of ice cream and cookies. Running knows when I'm tired, when I have something on my mind, and when my physical and emotional energy is low. It knows when I'm charged up and energized, when I've slept enough and eaten well, when I've taken care of myself. I know I will get out of running what I put into it...there are no corners to be cut and no quick fixes. Ultimately, what I do is reflected in the moments spent pounding the pavement (or trails).

~

For the past two weeks I was on vacation in Italy, where I lived from 2001 - 2003. Going back was a nostalgic journey. My first day in Carpi I ventured out for a run and felt like I'd never left, even though I've been home for almost six years. Running along the quiet, pancake-flat roads outside the center of town, I remembered all of those mornings when I did the very same thing. It's different to go back as a visitor, knowing that I'll only run a handful of times before leaving and returning to my own neighborhood, my own home, and my own familiar sidewalks. I inhaled the fresh air and looked up at the massive sky - for some reason it looks bigger there. I ran along dirt roads, past farmhouses and fields and gardens. Getting out there felt good - it allowed my spirit to expand and my body to relax after a few stressful weeks and a long trip. Even as it rained and I got soaked, I felt renewed, as if the rain was washing away all that crap I carried around with me. Running somehow allows the spirit and energy to expand into whatever space it's given, and in Italy I was given a lot.

Finally Spring

Spring is here at last, after a long, long winter. When I went out for a run this morning I realized what a metaphor that is for my life right now. It's so obvious it's almost cliche.

My running buddy never showed up this morning, and in a way I was grateful because it allowed me the solitude of running alone. There's been so much on my mind the past few weeks and months that the prospect of making small talk before 6 a.m. wasn't all that attractive, and being released from this obligation gave me a sense of relief.

The sun was rising - glowing, burning orange - and the sky was clearing as I headed up Washington Street towards Brighton Center. It felt so incredibly good to be running outside in the fresh air, still damp from yesterday's rain. I settled into my rhythm quickly and let myself get absorbed by my music and the sounds of my neighborhood waking up.

I ran up Chestnut Hill Ave. and around Comm. Ave, letting sidestreets pull me in and allowing myself to discover or rediscover places I've overlooked. I eventually returned to my favorite run up Comm. Ave and past BC, but this time it was different. Although I've been running this route for a few years, this morning was the first time I had that distinct feeling of belonging to it as much as it belongs to me. Running by STM was almost a little emotional, and I was reminded that this is the place that is about to change the direction of my life. This is the place where I will spend many days and possibly many nights, and the place where my new career will be shaped, directed, and made real. My life is changing. It has taken me over ten years to make this decision and to make it happen, but now it's finally happening. Although I'm still somewhat in a state of disbelief, the journey I am about to begin just feels right. It's been a long time since anything felt that way.

I continued past BC and ran up one of my favorite sidestreets, a nice, big tree-lined hill with beautiful homes and an impressive view of Boston. It felt good to push myself, and it felt even better to crunch over the wet gravel and pine needles at the very end of the hill, where the dead-end street tapers off into conservation land. I ran briefly into the woods, inhaling the clean air and feeling perfectly peaceful, strong, and refreshed.

As Spring has made its much-awaited arrival to Boston, it has finally come to my life, too. As signs of life become visible in our natural surroundings, they are appearing in my heart and mind as well. I have been dormant and, in several respects, hopeless, for a long time. Getting admitted to STM has reawakened my hopes. Good things happen, life moves forward, positive changes will come if we are patient. I try to remind myself that this applies to all aspects of my life, as I'm still waiting on another decision, but for now...one thing at a time.

Boston Tune Up 15K, Upton, MA 1:28:27

I couldn't sleep last night for a variety of reasons - up til all hours reading and trying to watch a movie, slept for what felt like ten minutes, then up again at 3 a.m. checking email. I have a lot on my mind these days...too many decisions that fall into what one might call the "adult life choices" category. One decision I don't want to make - I wish it weren't even an option - and the other will eventually feel exciting, but for now just feels a little stressful.

Despite the lack of sleep, I needed to run today. I needed to be with my friends and on my own, finding my rhythm on the pavement, mile after mile. I needed to not simply run, but for a little while, run away. Sometimes escaping is an option, even if for only a short while.

My friends came over before 8 a.m. and we had some coffee before piling into the car and hitting the Pike West. My worries eased as we chattered away the whole car ride out to Upton. I was about to run a race and I was with My People. Everything would be fine.

The race was hilly. Made Heartbreak Hill look like a speed bump. I started out faster than I probably should have (it was an incredible fast-paced field overall) and had several people pass me, but as I settled into my groove and listened to my music, I felt all right. Nothing ached, nothing hurt. I turned over thoughts in my mind and tried to problem-solve. What should I say? What should I do? As I thought over my options, none of them seemed easy and I felt a little sad that life gets this complicated as an adult. Maybe this is why I enjoy hanging out with my nephew so much - the biggest decision is fruit-a-bu snacks or Goldfish.

I kept running and let my mind wander and drift. We pounded over hills, past farms, and down quiet streets. The sky was cloudy and grey, and it was chilly. The miles passed one by one, and soon I was past the halfway point. One mile at a time, I told myself.

I finished soon enough, and it felt great. I was happy with my time, but more than that, just happy.

Sunday, 8 March 2009

First spring-like day of the year. Ran in shorts. Six miles, letting my mind wander as I avoided potholes, mud puddles, and heaps of melting snow.

What is balance? I've been thinking about this for approximately the past 8 months, since my proposal for a session on work-life balance got accepted for an upcoming conference. Apparently there was some interest in my idea - they asked me to present twice. Given that I submitted the proposal ten minutes before the final deadline and didn't really think it would get chosen, I was stunned to learn they wanted me to present it twice. There seems to be some interest in this work-life balance thing...

It got me to thinking about the concept of balance more than ever before. I started asking friends and colleagues and strangers about it. Overwhelmingly, the response I got when I asked people what they do to maintain balance was, "don't ask me, I'm the worst person to ask about that." No one seemed to have a solution or an answer or even a suggestion. Very few people even felt like they could ever attain a balance.

I thought I knew what I was doing when I submitted my proposal. I had this great presentation in mind and I could just visualize myself at the front of the room, encouraging everyone to take a deep breath and think about how to prepare for and decompress from a stressful day of meetings. I imagined myself making suggestions for managing a busy travel schedule. Then the economy tanked and my job changed dramatically. I worked more and felt satisfied less. My social life suffered. I noticed new grey hairs. Who am I to present a session on work-life balance?

Two days ago when I was driving home from work way later than I would have liked, I had this realization. Is there such a thing as work-life balance? Can we ever feel fully satisfied in every aspect of our lives, or will something always be lacking? Is it possible to feel completely fulfilled both personally and professionally, or does one of those succeed at the expense of the other? I thought about how fulfilled I felt in my own personal life, and how frustrated I felt professionally. And I'm starting to think that work-life balance might just be the acceptance of imbalance.

Coffee + Run + Yoga on the Beach = ahhhhh

I woke up to the smell of strong coffee and the sound of....nothing. The quiet enveloped me as morning sun shined through the skylights. Coffee, quiet, sleeping past 6 a.m.....I must be in Maine.

After a few cups of coffee and a slice of toast, I forced myself to do a little reading for class (this week's book is nowhere near as compelling as last week's) before heading out for a run. I'd put on my running clothes as soon as I woke up, so there'd be no bailing out on this one.

The interesting thing about running is that almost every time I head out, I feel like I'm doing it for the first time. I have that stupid hesitation of, "what if I can't even run a mile?", followed by settling into a familiar rhythm, followed by that good old feeling of exhiliration and a racing heart. It baffles me that I've been doing this for 13 years and it still so often feels new to me.

It was pretty cold this morning and my fingers were numb. The wind drew tears from my eyes and my nose felt frozen. I ran down Long Sands Road, now almost desolate and devoid of beach goers and surfers but for a few hearty, down-jacketed walkers braving the icy shoreline. Last time I ran along this stretch it was August, sunny, and hot. The beach was packed with surfers and families and leather-colored retirees who'd been there since May. You could barely cross the street, let alone find a spot on the sand. Today, in sharp contrast, you could have sat in the middle of the street, undisturbed for hours. The beach was barren, grey and quiet. The overwhelming feeling was one of solitude.

As I kept running I thought about the good fortune we have in New England, in that we are able to experience seasons. They give us structure and a demarcation of time, a cyclical sense of life moving forward, but coming back to those same familiar points each year. And it's not just a matter of putting up or taking down Christmas decorations or shoveling snow; it's the sensuous experience of smelling the salty summer air or crisp autumn wind, hearing rustling leaves or ice crunching beneath our feet, tasting the first ice cream of summer or the first hot chocolate of winter, and feeling scratchy woolen sweaters, stretchy bathing suits, rubbery flip-flops, or cozy scarves and mittens. The whole body and mind experience the changes in season, and we don't have the chance to become complacent with one before we're awaiting the next.

Back on the beach after running five miles and several hills, I had warmed up significantly. There were a few people walking along the sand, and an almost silent comeraderie among us as we inhaled the refreshing cold air and savored the serene horizon of the Atlantic. My mind felt clear and peaceful, my body felt energized and strong, and my spirit felt renewed. Moreover, these feelings occured synergistically, and I was acutely aware of the harmony of mind, body and spirit. To me, this is the closest thing to Heaven on Earth.

On Meditation, Friendship, & Reflection

It's been almost a full month since my last "real" run. Struggling through a few miles on the treadmill each morning has become my pathetic routine, and I barely remember a time when I woke up, piled on several layers of fleece, and actually ran for an hour or more along the dark, icy, snowy streets of Boston. But as I finished off a fun Saturday night with friends and headed home to bed last night, I knew I'd be running the today.

This morning - a clear, wintry Sunday morning - brought spring-like weather and dressing for an outdoor run felt completely natural to me, like I hadn't missed a day. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, it was like being in the embrace of a long-lost friend. That feeling never goes away.

So much to think about as I headed towards the hills of Newton and enjoyed the sunshine glaring off the melting snow. This process of "discernment" through which I am traveling is at times exciting and at most other times exhausting, overwhelming, and totally confusing. Guess what I have figured out so far? I don't know what I want to be when I grow up!

In the Christian sense, Discernment (with a capital "D") is a term used to describe the process of finding God's will for one's life, in particular, married or single life, religious or secular life. In the broader sense, it is the act of seeking insight and understanding, and, I might add, purpose. This seems to me like something anyone can do, whether they are spiritually inclined or not, whether they believe in God and God's will or not. For me, the process of discernment has been a journey of discovery and a time of trying to figure out what it is I am "called" to do or "meant" to do. What is it that is in my heart to do? What kind of work or life will bring me happiness and satisfaction and joy? I don't mean ease, I mean profound joy.

It is said that sometimes not getting an answer is your answer, and much of my journey has felt like that. As I try to listen to what I'm being called to do, I get frustrated and impatient that there are not clearer signs. Is it to much to ask for a billboard along the Mass Pike that will tell me my purpose in life? ;) I'm finding it a challenge to listen - to God, to the universe, to my heart - and I'm working on that. How do I know what to listen for? How do I know when I'm being "spoken to"?

So I keep searching, and one of the things that I have learned for sure is that it's like casting seeds to the wind. I don't know which of my ideas or connections will take root; the important thing is that I am making these connections and sewing these seeds of ideas, and looking for fertile ground that will nourish and grow my ideas.

What is this fertile ground? Right now, it is the support of my close friends and family, the people who listen to me and nudge me forward, encouraging me to take risks and listen to my instincts. It is the serendipitous conversations with strangers that leave me asking myself something and pondering it for days. It is the meaningful and fleeting connections with people I know, though maybe not well, that awaken an interest in me and push me to learn more.

And there is the dry earth, so to speak...the places where my ideas do not take root, the places where a door closes and an opportunity is lost, the moments when a relationship changes or a possibility withers and I'm aware that whatever it is I was pursuing is not going anywhere. But these moments, though painful, are equally important as those that encourage and inspire me. These moments push me to redirect my path and see what else may lie ahead, knowing that sometimes that can be done only if I let go of what lies behind.

I run 3 miles more than intended - up over Heartbreak Hill, past St. Ignatius, and down Lake Street. It feels like Spring and I'm completely recharged, knowing that what lies ahead can never really be known, and knowing that what lies behind can only be learned from.

Night Running

Night running has never really been my thing. In 13 years of running, I could count on one (gloved) hand how many times I've run after 9 a.m. There's something almost mystical about running in the early morning hours as the city wakes up, and then having the whole day ahead.

Heading home from an all-day meeting yesterday I knew snow was coming. It was 4 p.m. and the snow was rumored to start around 6. Winter twilight approached and I looked forward to a cozy night with books and movies as the snow accumulated outside my window, but even though yesterday was scheduled to be my off-day and I didn't plan to run, something made me want to head straight home, throw on my fleece and thermals, and head out for a short run. Maybe to burn off a little energy before settling into 24 hours of being snow-bound? I figured I'd do a quick run up to Brighton Center and back before it got dark.

The cold air didn't bother me as I stepped outside and, after being in a windowless meeting room all day, the fresh air and winter light felt refreshing and invigorating. The air was brisk as I trotted carefully over the icy sidewalks towards Oak Square; my breath evened out, my mind became clear, and the running reverie began.

Though the sidewalks were covered with weeks worth of frozen slush and snow, my trail shoes braced me and I was careful to guard my center of gravity. The salsa and bossa nova on my ipod seemed ironic as the frozen snow crunched beneath my feet and the cold winter air stung my fingertips. But soon enough I was warmed up, even sweating, and in a groove. Ten minutes became twenty as I ran through Brighton Center and did my little homage to Rocky and blasted up and down the steps of Brighton High School five times. The plan was to turn back at this point, but I wasn't tired. I felt invigorated and recharged and kept running. For the first time in my life, I understood why people like running at dusk. The sky grew purple as the afternoon daylight faded into dusk, and all around me city lights came on, people drove home, streetlights brightened sidewalks, and we all braced for snow.

My thoughts wandered as I reflected on the day I had just spent with people from a planning committee at church, talking about the notion of community building and outreach. We brainstormed and shared ideas and challenged each other's notions as much as our own as we reasoned over what people are seeking, how to reach out to them, and how to be present with and respectful of each person's faith, experience, and journey. As I continued running I recalled individual conversations I'd had with people throughout the day - people quite different from me in many ways - age, stage in life, background, career. But each person listened to me, and every one of them seemed to understand exactly where I was coming from and precisely where I was. As I listened to them I knew that a common thread tied us together, and it was a bond far greater than working together or being the same age. It was enormously comforting to be surrounded by people who 'speak my language', for lack of a better expression.

The more I thought about it, the more I was moved by not just the realization but the profound experience that no matter where we are on the spectrum of faith, career, family, and life, we are all really in this together. We all feel this searching and seeking and yearning to be part of something and to be understood, and when that searching and seeking and yearning is heard or validated or celebrated, it is more powerful than anything.

We all experience joys, sorrows, satisfaction and defeat. Though we may experience these emotions in such different ways, we're human. We laugh, we smile, we cry. We all feel pain and we can all understand happiness. When we are lonely or grieving or lost - and who hasn't been? - we are not really alone. When we are searching and confused and bewildered to the point of tears, we are still not alone. Because this human experience bonds us, and there will always be someone out there who really, really hears you.

An hour later I was approaching my front door. Somehow I'd run six miles. Anything I seemed to have worried about during the week didn't matter that much anymore, and even though I was alone, I knew I was part of something.

Happy New Year

It is 13 degrees outside. Last night bestowed on us the gift of one final snowstorm to usher out 2008. The snow covered the city with a pristine, white blanket as if to cover up those things from 2008 that we'd rather forget and let us welcome 2009 with beauty and optimism, looking out on a snow-covered street still untouched and untarnished by human hand and human doing.

It seemed so appropriate to welcome the year with a run, even if it was freezing out and even if it would be a short run. No matter what, running just felt like the right way to start this year off. A little exercise, some time to reflect on the year behind and the year ahead, a little Vitamin D from the sun that was brilliantly glaring off the snow. So I put on 18 or so layers of assorted thermal and fleece clothing, dug out my warm, fuzzy gloves from the Dollar Store, and prepared myself for the blast of icy air I was about to encounter. And guess what? It wasn't that bad.

I toyed with the idea of changing up my route but decided that there was something meaningful (I don't know what...) about sticking with my traditional loop on this New Year's Day. Something comforting in this familiar drill of running up Washington St. and heading towards BC. Something reassuring about running through the streets that have given me a sense of community and neighborhood for the past five years. It proved challenging as I contended with icy sidewalks, slushy roads, and my sleepy body, but the challenge of it soon gave way to that familiar rhythm of meditative peace, healthy exhilaration, and quiet contemplation. Even if I've been away from running for a while, this is what reminds me of why I like coming back to it.

I let myself think about 2008. Traveling to Jamaica for a service trip, to Turkey for vacation with my parents, and Costa Rica with my sister and two friends. Visiting one of my best friends in West Palm Beach, one in L.A., one in NY and another in Arizona. Meeting in person one of my heroes, Fr. Greg at Homeboy Industries in L.A. Getting hooked on trail racing. Appreciating the craziness, warmth, and humor of my family. Commissioning a piece of art which now hangs in my living room. Learning to tithe. Running a half marathon with my sister. Learning to sew. Being graced and blessed by new friends. Becoming an aunt to a beautiful baby girl. Continuing on a path of personal and spiritual reflection and growth.

I approach 2009 with high hopes and an open heart. I have the feeling it will be a year of tremendous growth and change, and I know that those things do not come without challenges and sometimes, aches and pains. But as with running, we train, we take the risks and we get ourselves to the starting line, knowing that the payoff is a sense of joy and happiness that words cannot describe.

Christmas Run

Maybe one of the best gifts of the day was waking up a little later than usual, making lattes with my sister, and heading out for a Christmas morning run. Sunny, windy, cold but not freezing. A beautiful morning for a run, and even though I didn't feel like I had a lot of energy for pounding the pavement, we cranked out six miles before heading home to get ready for the rest of the day.

Running is truly a gift. It gives me health, strength, and a sense of fitness. It gives me time to think and reflect, space to breathe, and room to move. It gives me energy and tranquility and well-being both physical and mental. And all it asks of me is that I occasionally get out of bed while it's still dark out and dress like I'm heading into an Arctic zone...

Running on Christmas morning with my sister gives me a chance to reflect on where the year has taken me physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I discovered trail running and quickly got hooked. I finally found a church that I like and feel like I have a spiritual home. I ran several races with friends and met new people at church as I became involved with the pastoral council and spiritual direction. It is no coincidence that for the first time in five years (since I returned from living abroad) I feel like I have found community. I'm part of something.

There is so much that I question - about life, about faith, about running. My uncertainties used to stress me out, and sometimes they still do, but as I continue on my faith journey, and as I continue embarking on new adventures in running, I realize that no one has all the answers. No one has done it all and seen it all. The gift and the beauty in this process of discovery is that there is always something more to uncover and experience, and even the moments of confusion and struggle are ultimately periods of growth. What a gift.

Costa Rica - Christine, Ben, Jess, and Alyssa's Great Vacation Adventure

Monday, 15 December 2008

Left Boston at 3 a.m., parked at Logan, and proceeded to wait in the longest line ever, with each passenger checking at least five refrigerator-sized suitcases and carrying on several purses, backpacks, laptops, cosmetic cases, and small, wailing children.

After a stopover in Miami we finally arrived in San Jose and were greeted by our rental car agency. Processing and signing the papers took about as long as writing a novel, but at last we got the keys to our 4x4, loaded our backpacks into the trunk, and hit the road. By “hit the road”, I mean “drove straight to our hotel in a dark and slightly questionable neighborhood, checked in, and passed out.”

Tuesday, 16 December 2008

Either because of the time change or vacation-induced excitement, Christine and I were both up long before 7 a.m. and dressed for a run soon after. The sky was bright, clear, and blue. We tried to head away from the main drag but somehow kept finding ourselves deeper and deeper within the highly-trafficked rush-hour crush of people, cars, and bicycles. We walked and talked, catching up on recent weeks, work, and life in general. When we were finally able to run for a few blocks, we broke out into a jog that earned us more than a few stares and buenos dias’.

San Jose seemed a little grungy and not particularly charming - lots of potholes, rubbish, and buildings that look as if they were made out of matchboxes and scotch tape. We enjoyed people-watching and peeking into store fronts, but the gritty, torn up sidewalks were barely a match even for trail shoes, and the car exhaust seemed to stick to my skin. But after many hours of travel, even a grimy run felt good; just getting out in the sunshine and working up a sweat felt refreshing.

We ate breakfast on the terrace by the hotel pool and after fueling up on cafe con leche, plantains, fruit, and beans and rice we hit the road for Lake Arenal and the thermal baths that awaited. After a day of driving and a little delayed jet-lag, we soaked away our aches in the Ecotermales and slept like corpses at our volcano-side lodge.

Wednesday, 17 December 2008

We tried to run, but even our best efforts were no match for the sidewalk-less road where cars, trucks, buses, and mopeds threatened to send us flying into a roadside ditch. After a few minutes of hoping we'd somehow stumble across a sidewalk or run-able side road, we abandoned the mission in favor of walking back to the lodge for breakfast. Though I was really hoping to start the day with a few miles on the roads, coffee, yoga, and a little meditation by the pool were not a bad second choice. As I've been told, sometimes the best run is the one you don't take.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday...

I could write more about the zipline through the rainforest, the hot springs, the beach, or the Christmas procession that went on for four hours. I could write about the cafe con leche strong and sweet enough to lull me into a gently caffeinated state of bliss each morning; the fresh papaya, guanabana, maracuya, and bananas that tasted like they were just picked moments ago, and the caramelly, sweet dulce de leche I ate straight from the package, much to the amusement and disgust of my travel companions. I could write about the lush hills and mountains we drove through, the skinny cows and horses by the side of the road, and the kids - free of helmets and any cares in the world - skitting through the streets on mopeds that had to date back to the Reagan administration. I could write about the cheesy, lovey-dovey Latin ballads that seemed to blare from every speaker in the country; the warmth and friendliness of a people who seem to encounter pale, linguistically-challenged tourists on a daily basis and are only too happy to merrily point them in the right direction with a sunny smile; the hour we spent gleefully and curiously meandering the aisles of the grocery store, stocking up on local snacks for the car ride back to San Jose. I could write about spending an entire day in my bathing suit, reading by the pool, walking on the beach, having fruity drinks for lunch, and laughing with my sister and friends. I could write about any number of these things, and they might be interesting or even entertaining, but in the end, one can just as easily pick up a guide book and marvel at the pictures. One can just as easily experience their own Costa Rica, either from near or from a far. Because in the end, you do not take a trip. A trip takes you.