While tonight's 4-miler ended up being a 2-miler (awww... the terrible two's!) I walked, errr limped away with a thought in my head.
Maybe I have this whole idea of my transformation into a better runner all wrong... maybe I am not trying to kill the weakness inside me afterall. Maybe, oh just maybe there is a fast runnergirl inside me that is trying to get out, and the weakness is my shell. Maybe she is protecting herself with my slowness, and then peeking out at rare and often suprising times.
If this is the case, then I realized one thing tonight. Her preferred method of escape, I feel, is by ripping a part my muscles one fiber at a time. At least that is how it has been going for the past few quicker runs.
You see my friends, an odd thing happened on my run. I have been sick for the past few days, so I figured that I would do a nice and slow mile warm up, followed by 2 miles of speedwork (alternating quarter miles of "all out" and recovery), followed by a mile slow and steady for cool down. I figured that this would be great comeback from illness.
Apparently the speed demon inside me (her name is speedracer, by the way) wanted to come out and play.
Mile 1....wait for it... wait for it..... mile 1 rang in at 9:45.
You heard me. And I did not try to go for it... it just, well it just sort of happened.
Speedracer got game. The side effect of her attempts at making herself be known... at making me notice that she is there... is the sheer agony I was in as my shins froze up completely.
I couldn't lift my left foot.... I was dead in the water 1 mile out. *shurgs* so much for nice and slow. A 1-mile TT isn't a bad replacement, eh?
Speedracer's idea of making her slow escape from my slow self appears to be that of tearing out my muscles one by one. She like to start with the shin. She is sort of mean that way. Biatch.
So 4 became 2 -1 running, 1 walking in agony back to my car.
I think that the scariest part of this is that my body is not listening to my brain. I feel like sometimes my brain is the parent and the body is the child. My brain says slow down, my body speeds up. My brain says take it easy, my body laces up for a race. My brain says let's just stay at home and eat soup, my body goes out for an hour and a half master's swim class.
But sometimes my brain is overprotective. My body is home to speedracer, and she wants some freedom. Said brain is not allowing it so she is rebelling. How counter productive!
So I will let her come out to play, but only in moderation and when it is appropriate - like say at the END of a run. Because seriously... my legs are killing me! I need to keep her on a leash for now. Maybe allowing her some freedom to roam about at times is the ticket I need.
*bites nails* I just hope that she does not ask to borrow the car!
I will leave you all tonight on a serious note. I have a little bit of prose from a wonderful writer named Oriah Mountain Dreamer that has been a powerful reminder to be true to myself.
I came across it scribbled onto a piece of paper that I had saved from a friend's funeral from long ago- I am glad that I found this again.
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.