This used to be so easy

If not exactly easy, it must have been at least doable, or I wouldn’t have lasted two of the 20-plus weeks of half-marathon training I sweated through last summer.

I’m talking about running.

I’m aware that my memory is as susceptible to clouds as an average spring day. Sometimes scenarios are not exactly as I remember. It’s some sort of protective mechanism the mind has over the body’s will, like the selective memory a mother has about the physical pain of childbirth, the sleepless nights of a child’s first few years, and the “what was I thinking” reality of life with a two-year old.

And all hail! This mind/body disconnect has practically insured the survival of our species.

My brain plays a certain loop which contains multiple falsehoods. My fantasy memory every time I think about running: me, moving swiftly and effortlessly with friends on a warm, humidity-free morning. Dewdrops twinkle playfully on perfectly manicured lawns. Not a bug in sight. The air is broken only by the calling of birds and the easy laughter…yes, laughter…I share with my running partners. Oh, I should add that I’m at my ideal weight and look absolutely breathtaking in my running skirt.

Film misfeeds and catches in the projector [here]. Lightbulb burns hole in film [here].

“So, how was your run this morning, honey?” I conveniently forget the many emails and texts I send to my husband about the sheer difficulty of running and what makes me think I’m a runner and how dare I even try, blah blah blah. (He is, as ever, patient and soothing. “Running is hard. It just is,” he says.)

If running were as fun and effortless as my memory suggests, who wouldn’t want to do it?

Whatever the cause of my selective memory, I opt to remain blissfully, hopefully single-minded about running.

I’m proud that my optimistic nature keeps me engaged in a hobby that is good for my heart, bones, blood, skin, legs, toenails… (Well, maybe not toenails.) When I think about running, especially running in the spring and summer months, I smile, rather than cringe.

That fantasy loop? I’m pressing play. Again and again and again.

Run Easy sign on Flickr by Running Engelhardt

that worry? i'm saving it for later.

I’m an early morning runner. This time of year that means the beginning of my runs are sometimes in the dar, but that’s when I have the most energy. Just before I leave, I stand near the back door to my house, at a tiny set of stairs that leads to the larger first-to-second floor staircase. It’s a small spot, and the wood stairs form a perfect place to stretch my leg muscles before I go out the door.

I turn my head to the left and look at our family calendar on the wall. It’s just at eye level and as I stretch, I occupy my brain by looking at it. Immediately I see the plot of my life for the month. If I look closely, I can see myself scurrying around in my busy daily life – all according to what’s written in the calendar. The craziness of each day is written in each box of each month.

Overwhelming.

I’m still stretching, preparing to run for 45 or 60 minutes or more, but here I stand, perfectly still, letting my muscles ease into the stretch. I’m standing more still than I will be all day, just for a few quiet moments.

Other times, when I look at the calendar, I start to hyperventilate slightly. I freak out about how much I have to do each day and curse my foolishness for this project I’m involved in or that committee I’ve agreed to form, AGAIN. But when I stretch my legs and stare at my calendar, I don’t freak out. I don’t feel my heart beat faster with the dread of all I have to do. I just stare, passively, calmly, as if the calendar mapped out someone else’s life.

I know all of that frenzy will be there no matter what, day after day. That will never change. But that worry is all for later. Because now I have something important to do. Something for myself, for my health, for my mind and, ultimately, for my family. I have to run.

For now, that’s all I need to do. I don’t need to plan a meeting or make a meal or fold laundry. I only have to run.

All the rest can wait.

And if having that feeling three or four times a week isn’t motivation enough to run, I really don’t know what is.

in the long run, torture is actually good for us

In his memoir “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” novelist Haruki Murakami casually reveals that his body is the type which responds positively to lots of food and little exercise.In his case positive means higher numbers on the bathroom scale.

I know what you are thinking: gee, that sounds familiar.

Murakami continues by saying his wife is just the opposite. She eats -- no matter what or how much -- and she stays slim. Yeah, we all know one of those. I saw her in the gym, just the other day. (And for the record, she wasn’t exercising. Just picking up the boyfriend.)

But back to my point: Murakami lives his life, writes his books, eats as mindfully of his belly as he can…and he runs six miles a day.

Poor guy, we sniff, mentally photoshopping our own scowling faces onto his body. Here he is, sweating and toiling on the road each day while his wife eats bon bons and frets because her size twos are too big to belt.

Life is so unfair.

How is it that some body types actually boost metabolism by consuming MORE calories? We know where this is going, and quick: Murakami will no doubt finish out the pages reeling off a zillion examples of the injustices which taunt the endomorph. Huh. I could have written this chapter myself.

Murakami says those “lucky ones” who don’t gain weight easily don’t need to exercise in order to stay slim. “There can’t be many of them who would go out of their way to take these troublesome measures when they don’t need to,” he says. True enough.

Yet the next paragraph is as refreshing as a low-calorie mint-and-melon smoothie. (Fellow endomorphs, listen up.) Those skinny people who don’t exercise? Their physical strength deteriorates as they age. And, because they have no reason to exercise to shave off pounds, they aren’t doing squat to counteract it!

We softies and roundies, on the other hand, have been exercising all along, fighting the bulge … and keeping ourselves young in the process. Fifty years from now, we endomorphs will be as spry as spring chickens, our joints well lubricated from decades of effort and sweat. And, hopefully, our minds will be sharp and nimble, too.

What seems so very unjust right now will be oh, so sweet in those octogenarian years. Just you wait.

We’ll just have to remember to be kind to those “skinny folks” we fantasized about taking down all those years ago. Yeah, sure we will.

when motivation wanes

Most of the time, running is just part of my life. Like eating, sleeping and working, running is part of the fabric of my days -- a habit that I neither question nor consider optional.

On those days, I'll never grow tired of running because the excitement I feel is like a fuel -- a supercharger. Other people use caffeine; I use running. (And then there are those who use both, but that's a different post.)

Most of the time, this is fine. More than fine; just how it's supposed to be.

But then there are those days when running begins to feel like a blip, a wrinkle smack in the middle of the smoothness of the day. I do it, of course, but I don't relish it or get excited about an upcoming run.

Then, running becomes (dare I say it?) a chore.

The supercharger needs some maintenance. Sometimes I know it's so minor, I just ride it out, like a minor scratch on the shiny fender. No one else will notice it, so why should I?

But when it hits me bad, I turn to America's favorite pass time: retail therapy. (There! I've admitted it and I'm happy to say that it feels good to get that out in the open.)

A sassy new running skirt, a pair of socks, even a headband can motivate me in the most predictable way. Strap on something new, and I've got to take it for a test run. Literally.

When I feel less like spending a chunk of money, and when a morning run is looming from an 8 p.m.-the-night-before perspective, I flip on my laptop and navigate to my iTunes library. With a 15 year old in the house, I can always count on some new music to be available and willing to join one of my running playlists.

If not, I spend three or four bucks on a few 99-cent songs, synch my iPod, and tuck it away until the morning.

If I think very hard about my need to buy something to motivate me to do what I'm supposed to be doing in the first place (taking care of my body), I realize I need a deeper attitude adjustment. I need to remember why I started running in the first place: to be healthy enough to be alive to see my children--and their children--grow up.

Too bad my life (and I suspect yours, too) is so full of conveniences (like cars) and unhealthy body-influences (like potato chips) that I even have to worry about counteracting all the harm I do each day just by living in the modern world.

And so I run. And I do plan to be alive to see my grandchildren grown, if it takes all the running skirts and iTunes in the world to get me there.

That's just how it's supposed to be.