September 16-Rain

It’s mid September here in the Lowcountry, which means it’s time for the summer 4:00 showers to turn into nastier weeks of torrential downpours. The little storm cloud with lightning symbols are the only thing you see on the ten day forecast, and a day with only a 40% chance of rain is going to be the driest. The good news that comes with this are some slightly cooler temperatures, especially in the evening. It’s also getting dark earlier, which means I can run slightly earlier and still feel like I’m hiding.

This afternoon it stormed, which is to be expected, and that tapered into a moderate rain. I had visions of Fudo Myo-o and Alecto engaged in a serious chess match, the Monk meditating, and St. Sebastian sitting in my armchair reading a book. Still, I decided that I needed to go out and run. Without them. I imagined getting a raised eyebrow from Sebastian almost like a question, but waving him off as I grabbed my old running shoes, put my phone in a Ziplock baggie and headed out.

The rain itself was fairly light but steady, and actually felt cold. I found myself walking faster than usual for my warm up, and breaking into a jog at the two minute mark. I also found myself wondering if I really think this running thing is a good idea. I know running is hard on my joints. I have a history of knee issues and at no time in my life has anyone said to me, “You know, running, now that would be a great exercise for you.” In fact, the opposite has more often been the case. Well-meaning friends who encourage me to take care of my aging body in other ways. The orthopedist 7 years and thirty pounds ago who told me I was too heavy to run back then, and what business did I have thinking I could play rugby anyway? Even a certain part of my own psyche wonders if I’m cut out for running. Why did I think this was a good idea?

For all kinds of reasons. Some of my favorite middle-age heroines in books make running part of their routine. My belief that being able to run a 5k is something that a fit person is capable of, and I’m ready to be fit again. Thinking about the women close to me who have beat breast cancer. If they can do that, then I can run the Komen 5K in their honor. And now The Zombie Run with one of my closest friends. We’re going to take it on together shrugging off the lethargy of our jobs, our lives, and our diets, and trading it in for a small taste of the rush we used to get skating through the streets of Charleston late at night.

My shins hurt, the right one more than the left one. My ankles are bothering me. My knee is behaving, for now. Another dear friend, a PTA (who probably also thinks that just about anything other than running would be a good idea, but knows me to be stubborn and chooses her battles with me wisely) has suggested this stuff called KT-Tape for my shins. It may be magic, I’m not sure, but it does seem to be helping some. After a while, they don’t hurt so much. This is the time the side stich starts.

My feet got soaked within the first 5 minutes. Puddles will do that to you. It was still warm enough outside for me to be sweating, and I could taste the difference between my own sweat running down my face and the raindrops that landed and followed the same path. I’ve gained the confidence, at least when no one can see me, of running in just my compression shorts and a t-shirt. By now, my whole body is soaked, and I can feel the synthetic fabric of my shirt clinging to me. That’s when I came to an interesting realization. My shirt fits better. My body is starting to morph back into the shape that I want it to be. I started thinking about what I’ll look like when that does happen, and thinking about what I’ll have to do to get there.

Suddenly I feel stronger. My free-form run involves more running and less walking. The atmosphere is misty, the only light that of streetlights and porch lights casting odd shadows on the path. The greenway itself is a narrow strip now flanked by ditches overflowing with water. I could have kayaked large chunks of my trail tonight. In the light I catch sight of my breath as I exhale. I find it odd that I can see my breath in September, but think about what I’m casting out with the carbon dioxide. I’m casting out the seeds of my own doubt, my damaging negativity, the tendency to define myself based on my past poor choices. The rain seeping into my pores becomes transformation, possibility, and positivity. My shirt is clinging in the right places.

The last time I checked my time I was moving at a 17.36/ mile pace over three miles. Tonight, 15.43/ mile over 3.38 miles. Bring on the rain.

September 4- The Late Night Runner Has a Posse

So I loaded up my posse in the truck tonight and headed out to North Charleston’s Riverfront Park. Built on a section of the old Charleston Navy Base this park is a not entirely hidden gem of North Chuck. This was my third time running this park. After all, there are only so many times in a row I can traverse the Greenway.

I should have known something was up with my imaginary friends when Fudo Myo-o offered to ride in the back, as did Alecto- who normally prefers roof rack skiing. OK, I can handle a peaceful drive with St. Sebastian and the Monk in the cab with me. We parked the truck a bit away from the park itself near Storehouse Row. The whole place has the feel of a decrepit dystopia. The promised economic development of the area has been spotty at best, but this will lead to some really great run sites as my endurance improves. I started to stretch and open the evening’s run program on my phone. That’s when I saw Fudo Myo-o and Alecto unloading my mountain bike from the truck. I hesitated to even ask, but how could I not?

                “So, what’s the story with the bike?”

                “Alecto thought it might make you run faster if you had something to chase.” Alecto nodded agreeably. When the fury of constant anger is agreeable…

                “You’ve added a rear fender to my bike. Why?”

                “I need a place to sit.”

                “So let me get this straight, you’re going to ride on the back fender and hang on to Alecto while she pedals, and I’m going to chase after you?” I don’t remember this being in any write up of my training schedule.

                “Nope. I’m going to be sitting turned around backwards facing you. I won’t fall off. I’m the Immovable One.”

                “And this will motivate me how? Are you planning to dangle a carrot from a stick?”

                “A carrot wouldn’t motivate you.” He was right about that.

                “Unless there was a vat of Ranch dressing to dip it in.” Alecto added, swapping high-fives with Fudo Myo-o. Great. The Fury is displaying a sense of humor. St. Sebastian said nothing and gave his calm martyr look, the Monk just looked serene. “OK, let’s get this show on the road.”

                I let the biking duo take the lead. At first, they contented themselves with riding circles around me while I did what should have been a five minute warm up walk. At about two minutes Fudo Myo-o whips out a bullhorn (who knows what else he has hidden in that cloak) and booms, “This is FM radio; the FM standing for Fudo Myo-o of course…” I won’t repeat was I was thinking at this point, as it was not terribly polite. “Let’s get started with our running segment with this cheerful upbeat music!”

                “I’m supposed to walk for five minutes first.”

                “Alecto, what is that word that rhymes with ‘walk’?”

                “Is it WUS, F.M.?”

                “Yep, that was the word I was thinking of, now let’s get running!”

So I did what seemed to be the easiest thing at the time, and I started jogging. I was not going into an all out sprint at this point and I ran for a good two minutes. I know this doesn’t seem like much, but for me three minutes at a stretch is about my limit at this point. FM noticed me lagging.

                “That’s OK, go ahead and catch your breath for a minute, and we’ll start running again. I figure you can hear me better while you’re walking, so I’ll take this time to share a word from our sponsors.”

We have sponsors?

                “Oh wait, that’s right, we don’t have any sponsors because no one would want to sponsor anyone who MOVES THIS SLOW.”

                Who gave this guy a bull horn? After about a minute I started jogging again. At least he was playing some decent music which ironically, is from the same playlist that I used when I first started running. Back then I found it more than mildly annoying. Tonight I found it oddly motivating. What gives? After a little over two minutes I slowed back down to a walk. I kept a brisk pace until it was time for the first set of knee lifts, which precede each round of interval training which tonight was a minute jogging followed by a minute walking. I got through the first few sets with no issue, except for the “cheering section” in front of me.

I tried to tune out the running commentary and instead focused on the music, which I was actually enjoying. There are lots of different surfaces to run over- boardwalks, concrete, hard pack trails, rubberized pathways, and thick lush turf. There are also various architectural elements and statues to enjoy, as well as varied lighting which has a tendency to alter the way things appear. I particularly enjoy the contrast of the concrete and steel with the Live oaks dripping Spanish Moss. I was trying to think about relevant metaphors when I was ripped out of my pleasant reverie by, “Move it 42! It’s time for the running portion of this run. I’m calling you your age instead of your weight which is much longer to say and is 4.71 times as much…”

 And here I was thinking I was doing well for having broken 200 pounds. Shows you what I know. But, it was time for the running portion. That involves thirty seconds of fast running (for me at least) followed by a minute of walking. I took off after the furiously pedaling Alecto. I really put a lot into that segment, not knowing how I was going to fare with the fifteen minute “free form run” that follows.  The idea is to run as much of that segment as you can. Even during my last walk my legs felt heavy, I had a cramp in my ribs, I was out of breath, and could tell it was definitely time to replace my shoes. Even though I was being circled by a Buddhist deity and a Fury on a bicycle humming the Jaws theme and coming ever closer to running into me I kept walking. I decided I would walk the first four minutes, and then see what I could accomplish. As I shifted into a jog the Monk came up next to me.

                “Run in the grass.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “Run in the grass, especially where the sprinklers have been on. Just run back and forth in the grass for a while.”

So I did. And soon, it was just the Monk, St. S, and I jogging along peacefully. Still, my legs felt so heavy. I was starting to look down. Then the monk spoke to me again. This was the most I had ever heard him say. “When you run keep your eyes focused about 100 feet ahead, keep your head level, your shoulders relaxed, and your back straight.”

Sebastian chimed in, “I’ll let you in on a tip. How I got through the firing squad that should have killed me was by acknowledging the pain. That, and faith. I actually focused on how it felt, and then allowed my mind to release that. I was in tune with everything around me, my body, the environment, God- I know that one’s a little tough for you, but you can roll with the other two, right? What you are feeling is temporary. It will pass.”

So we ran and walked through the grass, but I was able to do more. All the while the cycling duo was on the more durable surfaces balancing on handlebars and trying silly stunts. It was quite amusing, actually. With five minutes of my workout to go I started back to the truck, and I jogged the last three of those. Yep, at the end of the workout. Three minutes. Go me.

Once I stopped I checked the timer and GPS. 50 minutes, three miles. Three miles! That’s almost a 5K! I’m glad there was no one around to see me jumping up and down. Sure, it’s about a 17 minute mile which I’m sure power walkers could easily cover, but it felt like a big achievement to me. Fudo Myo-o was smug. “See, our motivation technique worked.” I did not grace him with a response.

We loaded back up in the truck, and once I was in the cab with the Monk and Sebastian I thanked them both. I would eventually thank Alecto and Fudo Myo-o as well, but that would take more time. We were almost back home when I heard a pounding from the back, and a chant of, “Fourth Meal, Fourth Meal, Fourth Meal!” I was admittedly feeling a little peckish, and quite thirsty, so I promptly undid all the good I had just done by a trip through the Taco Bell drive through.

Hey, progress, not perfection, right?

A special “Thank you” to my friend Diane.  See, you didn’t even need the bull horn and bicycle, and we can still laugh about it.

 

August 27- A Saint, a Monk, and an out of shape blogger go walking down a moonlit path…Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

After last week’s anger-laden post you would have expected me (ok I would have expected me- after all, I don’t know what your expectations are) to hit the ground running Thursday morning in the gym and get back into the swing of things right and healthy and true. That would make for a highly motivational post. Guess what? This is not going to be that post.

Last Thursday I had weight training courtesy of The Universe. “Doing OK with the weight you have?” says The Universe. “Nope, you’re not lifting enough.” THUD “Have some more.”

So, instead of the gym, I opted for the same self-defeating behaviors that got me on last Wednesday’s rant in the first place. Not my finest moments. But you don’t read my blog for my own self-pity. So instead, I’ll tell you about my walk tonight.

You noticed I used the word “walk” because that is exactly what it was. It ended up being 4.64 miles of nothing but a walk in the moonlight at none too great a speed, but it was more than I was capable of doing the day before so we will put it in the “dubious improvement” category. I walked tonight with the intention of clearing my mind, but apparently my mind didn’t get the memo, because it kept right on thinking.

I had two recently acquired talismans in my pocket, and in addition to the cool night air, bright stars, and typically marshy sounds and smells I thought about both of them hanging out together. They were an unusual, yet quite harmonious duo.

As a card-carrying agnostic born to Catholic parents I’ve managed to maintain a dubious skepticism about many major Christian tenants while clinging desperately to the little that has stuck in both my head and my heart. This brings me to Saints. I love the Saints. What an awesome concept to have the patron-saint-of-what-ever-cause-you-hold-dear on hand to whisper an intercession on your behalf to the Great Almighty. Think of Saints as lobbyists without the accompanying scourge of politics. Now such a lofty post obviously doesn’t come without a price, and the price for many saints is martyrdom. (Its either that or miracles or both.) But here’s the thing about Saints and what makes them special- they’re cool with the whole martyrdom thing. They’re willing to face all manner of ghastly ends and do it cheerfully because they have the faith and knowledge that what they are standing up for is true and just. As a child I didn’t get that, and thought Saints were just smug about their assured place in heaven, but now I have a different understanding.

Hank Schlau, who makes the most wonderful saint statues and pewter medals sums up a wonderful rationale for accepting saints into our lives. He says, “…their lives illuminate some positive alternatives to accepted patterns of thought and action. That is, their stories can help illustrate the best instincts in us- lightheartedness in the face of peril, helping the downtrodden, (and) generosity offered without anticipation of acknowledgement-that can get buried in the dominant messages of all cultures.”

The other nifty thing about Saints is there are a whole bunch of them, and certainly a patron for just about any cause, malady, or profession. Which brings us to my Saint-du-jour, St. Sebastian, Patron Saint of Athletes. Sebastian was a Christian and a pacifist but joined the Roman army in 283. He was promoted to the Praetorian Guard- a very elite position while at the same time miraculously curing, converting, and baptizing other soldiers and civilians. This was a big no-no. He was eventually betrayed and sentenced to death by firing squad, which at the time involved bows and arrows. Sebastian is often depicted bound to a stake and pierced with arrows. However, he didn’t die. Nope, between his own stubbornness, his wife nursing him back to health, and some divine intervention he lived. Imagine the Emperor’s surprise when this guy who he thought was dead comes walking back up to give him a hard time about his pagan worshiping policies. In what I’ve read it even said that the Emperor briefly considered converting himself, but instead decided on again sentencing Sebastian to death and making sure his minions carried out his orders fully the second time.

So who was hanging out in my pocket with good ol’ Sebastian? An unexpected and very meaningful gift from Hank, a medal representing one of the “Marathon Monks” of Mt. Hiei. The greatest achievement for these Buddhist monks from the Tendai tradition is to complete a 1000 day spiritual pilgrimage over seven years for the sole (soul?) purpose of achieving spiritual enlightenment. Only 46 men have successfully completed this task since 1885. In each year of the challenge these men run 30-40km every day for 100 consecutive days. That’s 18 to 24 miles every day. No rest days, no fancy running togs- in fact the monks run in straw sandals, an all-white outfit, and a straw hat toting books with directions, candles, and food for offerings at temples along the way. Speaking of eating, these monks subsist on almost an entirely plant-based diet. You want protein? Got tofu. Oh, and don’t for a minute think they’re slacking when they’re not running. Nope these guys study calligraphy and meditation and help with the general running of the temple when they’re not actively running. By the time they’re approaching the seventh year of their challenge they run 84 km (52 miles) for a hundred days, then taper back to the 30-40km a day for another hundred days. The deity Fudo-Myo-o is very important to these monks, and through doing the research for this blog I’ve got to say he resonates with me a bit too.  

Fudo- Myo-o is one scary looking but extremely popular deity. His name literally translates to, “The Immovable Wisdom King.” On the website http://www.japanese-buddhism.com it is said, “He converts anger into compassion and cuts the ties of negative feelings and demons to liberate us from suffering through self-control… He also battles evil with his immovable faith and his compassion.” Hmm. After my previous weeks’ anger the thought of turning some of that into compassion has some appeal… But just some of it…

So now who do I have going running with me? I’ve got Alecto the Greek fury, I’ve got St. Sebastian, I’ve got a monk who smiles knowingly and will ignore the memo about not wearing white after Labor Day, and I’ve got his friend Fudo- Myo-o. It’s quite a cast of characters. Fortunately, they seem to get along well enough. They push me to do what I can, to make good decisions, to increase both in time and intensity, but they stay with me when I’m out of breath, when I’m cramping, when I’m craving a Dr. Pepper, when I start feeling weak. Except for Fudo- Myo-o. He just turns up the music and invites me to run a little more.

Until next run…

 

In that I am citing information that is new to me I’m going to go all term-paper on you and cite my sources. However, since this is not for a grade or any further publication instead of APA, MLA, or any other recognized sourcing you’re getting AMR’s citing:

For awesome Saint Statues and Medals (with some Monks on the side) please visit

In The Company of Saints- https://www.etsy.com/shop/InTheCompanyOfSaints?ref=l2-shopheader-name

For additional info about St. S- Saints Preserve Us by Sean Kelly and Rosemary Rogers

For additional info about the Monks of Mt. Hiei:

http://www.howtobefit.com/tendai-marathon-monks.htm

http://www.japanese-buddhism.com/fudo-myo-o.html