It's Not the Race.....

     As I was slogging it out on the treadmill this morning before work, I was thinking that perhaps I need a new mantra for my daily run.  That somehow, "I hate running," wasn't motivating me quite enough. And yet there I was, panting my way through the mile-marker chanting in my head to the rhythm of my steps, "I hate running...(inhale)..I hate running." It's not exactly the positive affirmation that I would recommend to my yoga students. "As you inhale think of something positive, like how much sitting in cross-legged pose hurts your ass."
     What is it that I don't like about running?  Oh, there's the fact that I'm not very good at it.  If I run a 10-minute mile it's a particularly speedy day.  Even in my younger years my coaches would all marvel as to how a young, fit girl with legs as long as mine could possibly be one of the slowest on the team.  I remember fondly how coach Renz would yell to me, "Hey Sara!  Move it Gruba Dupa."  That would be my Irish/Italian coach calling me a, "fat ass" in Polish to motivate me to hurry up around the track. A veritable ethnic melange of positive reinforcement. Never worked by the way. Fortunately for me I could hit a ball hard enough that I didn't have to be a fast runner.  I played first base so no big charges were necessary and in volleyball there is a relatively small area that I had to cover.  Thanks to that he tolerated me.
     I also experience exercise-induced panic attacks.  Oh, you didn't know there was such a thing?  ME NEITHER.  That is, until spending various moments of my life with my head between my knees on bathroom floors in the middle of a spin class trying to make my ears stop ringing and my heart from bursting through my chest wall.  After a trip to the hospital and a battery of tests from a cardiologist the diagnosis was, "Exercise-induced panic attacks."  Come again?  I exercise to HELP relieve the stress in my life.  I was so offended at first.  I felt like the Dr. looked at my history and basically said, "Well, you have 5 kids...a mortgage...a job...what did you actually THINK was going to happen?"  But wait, I am a YOGA INSTRUCTOR, I can't possibly have stress right? "Well Mrs. Van Goor after a while the body can only take so much." Fantastic, can you please tell my body that things aren't slowing down anytime soon so it needs to pull itself together and get on board here?
     The previous two reasons aside and the little matter of the fact that I hate to sweat, I still find myself running.  Why?  Why would I put myself through this?  Why engage in an activity that a:  I'm not very good at.  b:  I don't enjoy.  c:  Could cause me to pass out in an act of public humiliation that runs through my head way too often.  It's a little something that I like to call "Faking it, till I make it."  I didn't make up the corny little slogan obviously, but it speaks volumes to me.  You see, I am not naturally inclined to do things that are good for me.  Sometimes my best thinking got me into situations in my life where I would have been much better off avoiding altogether. I run, because I know it's good for me.  And I know that there are a bunch of reasons as to why running ISN'T actually that great for me.  I used to quote them smugly to my running friends as to why I didn't run.  There's the high impact on the joints, particularly the knees.  The risk of an enlarged heart.  Foot issues and muscle wear.  The fact of the matter is that running has become a big part of how I take care of myself...in spite of myself.
     I figure if I keep running, eventually I MIGHT learn to love it...OK like it.  I mean I know it's been almost 3 years but it will grow on me right?  Well regardless, the act of running has had a profound positive effect on me.  The most obvious and tangible has to be my weight.  Thanks to that bout of panic attacks that I previously mentioned, I went on some anti-anxiety medication a few years ago.  I gained 40 lbs because of it.  No matter how much exercise I did or how much I watched what I ate the weight just kept on piling on.  I was taking pills because of the lack of control I had over my body's response to stress and was causing myself stress because of the lack of control I had over my body's response to the medication....you see the vicious cycle here?  I decided that I was going to try a different route to deal with this new friend of mine known as debilitating anxiety.  I looked it right in the face and said, "Screw you."  OK, so it wasn't so big and brave as that.  I was terrified.  The first time I went for a run I think I made it about 100' before my heart rate went up and darkness started to close in on me. I walked the rest of the way shaking in my trainers, but I went back.  Again and again I would lace up those shoes and head out.  Sometimes just the thought of running would cause a panic attack to come on but I would say a prayer and make myself a promise, "Just a quarter mile...just a half mile...just a mile."  Then the promises became, "Just one more mile."  It took a full year but I lost all of that weight and more.
     I began to see a change in how I tackled situations in life.  I had previously sunk into a sort of pattern of procrastination that really wasn't who I was.  Pushing myself with mile markers on the track helped me to motivate myself to achieve other goals in my life.  I started to find a better balance between work and motherhood. I saw my career start to grow.  My self-esteem began to get better as I changed my goals from being the idealistic pictures that I daydreamed about to being small, slow steps that I could actually achieve.  I just felt better.  That's not to say that I don't still feel panic attacks coming on.  Sometimes it's so bad that I have to stop what I'm doing and pray that I make it to my car or a bench before keeling over in public.  Most of the time though, I recognize it for what it is and I have learned to squash it right under my track shoes.
     There are so many times in my life where I have to "fake it till I make it."  Where I do what I know is good for me in spite of what I really would prefer to be doing.  I have forced myself to become a morning person, waking up before 6am even though my internal clock rises at about 10.  My days are easier if I give myself more time to start them off right.  There are also many times where I have to force myself to exude an energy and happiness that I am just...not....feeling.  Whether it's at work or with my kids, sometimes I just have to slap on a grin and put on my best show.  Granted, there are times where I wear it all out there, right on my sleeve and I think that's good and healthy too, but sometimes plastering that fake smile on and making the heart-shaped cookies when I really just want to close my bedroom door and ignore everyone, I find myself actually feeling the joy that I was pretending just a moment ago to have. Maybe some day this rule will apply to the times I eat that kale salad instead of the sub sandwich I really want...maybe I'll actually REALLY enjoy it so much more than I would have enjoyed that sub...although somehow I doubt it.  And maybe one day I will put my fears aside and enter a race, not worrying so much about fainting from fear in front of anyone or the fact that I will probably be running alongside the elderly..or behind them. Maybe one day I will have the guts to take some bigger risks that so far I haven't had the courage to do. For now, I will continue to lace up my Nikes and wog (that's half walk/half jog BTW) my way to the next mile, not because I enjoy it, but because I know it's good for me.  I can only imagine where the journey will take me.