Sometimes you have to walk.

Earlier this week I went on the first run I’ve taken in over a month.  Travel and illness got in the way for a while, so I was itching to get out there, and it was wonderful.  Well, mostly—my hips actually felt like the Tin Man’s, but that didn’t damage the overall effect.  I got to thinking as I started out, hm, I wonder if my body is up to this?  Maybe I’ll have to walk a stretch to complete my mileage.  Then I thought—walk?!  That wouldn’t have even occurred to me 6 months ago!  Training for Steamboat obviously altered my perception of what a successful training session is. 

The thing is, sometimes you have to push through pain.  We’ve all learned that at some point in life—the all-nighter before finals, the last minute mania before a trip, the trip to the drugstore for hairdye to cover the accidental fuchsia streaks, I don’t know, giving birth—we have to ignore the signals our bodies send us and we get it done.  Call it mental toughness, grit, determination, try—American culture celebrates that quality in our statesmen and sports stars and everyday folk.  So as a woman (student, artist, athlete) who wholeheartedly embraced the ‘go big or go home’ attitude from an early age, the much more difficult lesson has been learning when I do need to listen.  When I need to feel pain for what it is, a warning, and heed that, even if it means failing.  I missed what would have been my first marathon because I overtrained—I ran through pain that I thought was minor and turned it into an injury.  I even remember what I was thinking as it happened—I felt a sudden stab in my foot and told myself don’t be soft, don’t quit, keep running.  Next thing I knew, I was on my butt for a week and had to postpone my marathon debut for 6 months.  Consequently I’ve had a few opportunities to acknowledge real pain, take the time I needed to deal with it, and I’m happy to say I’ve had some really nice successes in my racing. 

I’m grateful for those lessons during training because they prepared me for the look of horror on people’s faces when I told them I was going to run 50 miles.  “Do you run the whole thing?” became my favorite question to answer.  No, I’d tell them, the people who win might, but I sure as hell will be hiking.  Because it’s the Rockies!  Because it’s 50 freaking miles!  And because sometimes, no matter the distance, or how strong a runner you are, you have to walk. 

The arena of my life where I’m having trouble applying this is my career.  It seems crazy to even refer to my mottled work history as a career, but anyway, I’ve noticed that I have an almost clockwork annual panic about what I’m doing, where I’m going, etc.  Not that all the freaking out and half-filled-out grad school applications ever get me anywhere.  Generally I get exhausted, alienate a few friends and then wake up with a life-mission-hangover.  I set about repairing the damage and determine that I shouldn’t screw with a really really good thing.  So I’m hoping that writing it out like this will settle the idea in my head that slowing down can be good, in all things.  It’s still progress, after all.