Save for the marathon bombing, my missing bike and being mugged on the street, yesterday wasn't all bad. In fact I am pretty sure I hit a point of pure elation and full heartedness only hours prior. Never have I experience such opposite emotional extremes in the same day.
At ten in the morning I set out for a thirty minute run only to find myself stumbling back to my front door exhausted and hungrier than I have ever been two hours later. My first half marathon. Ever.
You see, I have been reading this book called Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. I am only three quarters of the way through and not only has it altered my perspective on running it has changed the way I see the world. As cheesy as it sounds to have a life changing revelation from just one book it is not the first one I have had (Breakfast of Champions, Conversations with God, Jitterbug Perfume to name a few) Some things just click ya know? Like the idea of becoming a better person in order to become a better runner. Can we not just replace the word runner with a million other occupations or hobbies? Or the idea that our bodies are our own natural healers. Every piece designed the way it was supposed to be if only we gave it enough encouragement to act on its own accord.
Without going into too much detail of what the book is actually about (I encourage you to find out for yourself), I can say that I have changed my stride (literally) as well as my mindset while running. Resulting in both physical comfort and emotional contentment. Up until now, I repeated the mantra running is bad for you over and over in my head. Yet, I found running easier than saddling up to my road bike which would entail more street navigation than the breaking of a sweat. With running, I could have a simple route picked out that required very little turn by turn navigation yet still cover plenty of ground. So I set out with a map in my head and a heaviness in my heart. My thoughts were taken to the tragedy in Boston.
Now everyone will forever be afraid of massive gatherings. No one is going to run marathons anymore and everyone will live in fear. These attackers are ruining everything! I was dwelling on the downturn of society when my eyes perked up at the site of the River Dodder below me. Sprawling out to the right and left the river was sparkling in the sunshine (yes, sunshine) rushing below lush green trees which were bursting with the life of birds and squirrels. Ok, so my perception may have been slightly exaggerated by Laura Mvula's Green Garden playing in my right ear. That and the endorphins. I love me some endorphins!
On a whim, I decided to change my route. Following the river west, I soon found myself soaking in the sound of the birds and the rushing water. Passing dogs and their owners, a man and his kid feeding white bread to the swans and more and more green as I bounded through Bushy Park. I completely forgot what day it was, where I had come from or where I was going. I felt alive and totally present in the moment, forgetting the map in my head and the heaviness in my heart. Nothing else matter but what I would discover here and now on this run.
I came out on the other side of the park questioning my decision to head home after only forty minutes of running (my usual stint). So, I kept running. It took everything in me not to pull out my phone and find that little blue dot that I so often identify with in a new city. Instead I took noticed of the buses passing by and recalled which ones came from city center. It was about the time I passed the road back to my house that things really began to change.
I first noticed the transformation when I realised I was no longer thinking about how scary the world is. I began to feel empowered by the idea of showing up to the Boston marathon in the following years to spite the attackers and honor the victims. I visualised a entire community with this same mindset. A strong fearless group of people set out to fight fear and hate with love and compassion. The kind of common mentality I would expect to find amongst fellow runners. They strive for perfection and push through exhaustion and fear to come out ahead in the end. Right?
And then it hit me, today I will run for Boston. I will run until I can't run anymore because it is the only thing I can do at this moment to honour the lives lost and disrupted. Perhaps it was my new sense of patriotism that I found upon moving to Ireland, but I felt as though I had to do something. And what makes more sense than running? We can't stop running because some lunatics insist on making this their world. We need to keep running.
I immediately began over glorifying my intention into a city-wide awareness beginning with my decision to step outside to go out for a run. Picture Forrest Gump with his entourage of followers running across the United States for no reason in particular. Only I had a reason, the Boston Marathon victims. Instead of a happy face on the front of my shirt, there would be a white piece of paper with the words Running for Boston written on it in black sharpie. The sharpie and paper, of course, would be offered to me by the cafe I stopped in for a drink of water after they asked me how long I have been running for today.
So exciting was the potential of my little excursion that I would periodically giggle to myself out loud. I kept smiling because it came so naturally to do so. The more I smiled the better I felt and the better I felt the more I smiled. I had a new sense of pride in humanity. We can overcome anything.
I kept running. I had no destination in mind only places that I wanted to see that I haven't yet seen. I stopped in a pub for a glass of water and then went in search of a bike shop for some sort of goo or gummy fuel. I was over an hour in and feeling the loss of calories and energy. The first shop I found was closed. The convenience store across the street only had candy and crisps. It took me five minutes at an Italian cafe to realize I didn't have enough money for a €5 sandwich. I kept running until I finally settled on a Snickers bar from the grocery store only to discover while in the queue that I had no money at all. Shit.
Setting out again I realised that my feeling of elation took a drastic turn towards desperation and panic. Now I had to go home. But I was still at least twenty minutes away. It was these last twenty minutes that brought me back to my original perception of running; a miserable, painful suffer-fest with no end in sight. And then I remembered something I read in Born to Run about suffering. And I realised, I never suffer. Granted, that is by choice. Who likes suffering? But when have I actually experienced tragedy or life struggle that demanded more of me than I knew I had? Not often enough.
My support team was off today so I needed to dig up some of my own motivation.
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. Imagine the gratification at the end. You can do this. Push Push.
I burst through the front door with one thing in mind; nutty granola and milk. After devouring a bowl I immediately wanted to collapse. Instead, my inner guilt rose again. I have things to do today and it is almost one o'clock! After a quick shower and a bowl of pasta (yep) I run to the recycling centre, the bank and the supermarket. Yay productivity! Time for a nap...
My alarm goes off an hour and half later, I have Spanish class at 6 o'clock. Deciding whether or not to get me up and go brought me back to the idea of suffering. Challenging. Pushing yourself to be great. So often I opt out of doing this for myself. Although I know the end result will inevitably be beneficial I have never recognised the act of pushing myself out of bed to be the actual benefit. I need to remember that going beyond one's limits (or what we perceive to be our limits) is a gift I can give to myself. I will now choose to think of a challenge as Sid would*.
*"What ho, a foe?"
Out of bed I did. Spanish class I went. Bike ride I did too, but only on the way there. Pulling up my gloves and dawning my reflective wind breaker I left class and arrived at the bike stand only to find...nothing. My bike was gone. Slightly surreal. Not as surreal as having your phone yanked from your hand as you are crying to your mom about your stolen bike. I loved my bike of four years, I loved my phone less, however when the latter was taken an overwhelming sense of violation and defeat came over me. Now I was really crying. It took a friendly woman walking by who let me use her phone, a welcoming hotel and the kindness of the Garda to bring me back to myself. That, and cuppa "with plenty of sugar" (as the Garda officer so graciously recommended).
It's only a bike. It's just a phone.
It wasn't the bike or the phone though. It was the pride in humanity I had felt earlier during my run that was taken from me. The ideological belief that we are all one and joined together for the common good we are unstoppable. I sat there contemplating my attacker's motives. This is not a malicious act. No matter how much they may think they deserve the bike or the money they will get from the phone, hatred and envy are not emotions. And emotions are what drive people to do the things that they do. So, was it fear then? Fear and not love. Nope, I will not let their fear overpower my love. I will not let the lunatics take over the world. They can steal my phone, but not my confidence in humanity.
A bowl of take-away noodles and a big glass of red later I found myself in a hot bath of epson salt and eucalyptus oil. This is what I know how to do. I know how to take care of myself. I know how to take time to honour the emotional and physical challenges of the day. So if I am so good why not take more challenges more often? Maybe I have a better recovery rate than most. Why not take advantage of that ability? So life, throw it at me. I am ready.
If you have made it this far....
My bike, if by chance you see someone riding it. It's mine. Not theirs.
My somewhat spastic yet life changing running route. :-)
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I'm so sorry to hear about your bike Julie :(
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