You Up For Something New?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

That was the text that came to my phone at 3:30 this afternoon. Of course, there’s only one appropriate response:

“Sure.”

The text came from a friend of mine that I frequently refer to as my “sprinting buddy.” We first met at the gym a couple of years ago. He was in the early stages of trying to regain his fitness after a knee surgery that ended with a staph infection and landed him in the hospital. When we met, he had been cleared by the physical therapist to lift weights again but his leg was still weak and shaky. I admired his spirit from our first meeting. He wasn’t moaning about the years he lost fighting for his leg. He didn’t complain about the loss of fitness he once had. Instead, he talked about his dream to play tennis again and, even more, to sprint again.

Our casual gym discussion eventually turned into a weekly “leg day” workout. I delighted in coming up with exercises that would challenge him and his strengthening leg. He never complained (only would text me the next day to let me know if his legs were sore or not). Although, I did sense a wary look when I pulled out the Bosu Ball or the kettlebell:)  We did squats and lunges. We balanced and jumped. And his leg grew stronger while we shared giggles over the customs associated with our mutual Norwegian roots.

Throughout that time, he still dreamed of sprinting, something he enjoyed and excelled at in high school when he was on the track team. His first tries that year fell flat. He just wasn’t ready.

At the end of that school year, I switched jobs and gyms. We lost touch for a few months. Then, I got a text asking if I wanted to meet up to run sprints. I was thrilled. We met at a nearby park where I watched as he wrapped his knee in a couple of layers of protective gear and jogged a couple of test laps. The mind was ready to run, but the body still needed convincing.

The look on his face while running that day was amazing as he ran the dream that had kept him going through the ordeal with his knee. The joy was contagious. I found myself pushing myself harder and having more fun than I ever had before while sprinting.

We continue to meet up to run sprints whenever we can. He has since well surpassed me (I think there may be some cheetah mixed in with that Scandinavian blood). Every time we run, it leaves me feeling so refreshed and relaxed, even through the wheezes as I struggle for air.

The parallels between our recoveries these past couple years have been interesting. He was cleared by his physical therapist about the same time I was cleared by my psychiatrist. We were no longer “sick” yet we had quite a ways to go before we were fully operational at the levels we were accustomed to. We both tried to push the healing process along on our own timelines only to be reminded that it wasn’t within our control. And finally, we both came through the other side stronger and more grateful than ever before.

So, what was with the something different? Normally, we run 100 yard sprints. He had worked his way to 200 yarders while I was training and recovering from the marathon (sneaky!). Today was my first stab at them. And, I gotta say, they were pretty awesome.

I love the feeling of running while giving 100%. I love the satisfied exhaustion I feel after sprinting. I love having friends in my life that are an inspiration. But most of all, I love to see people accomplish their goals and delight in the fruition of a dream.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish catching my breath:)

 

Taming the Monkey Mind: My Monkey’s Alive

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Monkey channel surfing

Do you ever have one of those days where you just feel a little more alive than usual? Everything just seems a little bit clearer. The breath a little lighter? The focus just a little clearer?

I’ve had one of those days today. It’s just a normal Saturday for me – writing, laundry, meditation, gym and a run, and the weekly trip to the grocery store. Usually, I pass through these activities with barely a thought. I get each one done to move on to the next. By the way, that mentality is the absolute anthesis of meditation. There’s a reason I call myself stilllearning2b:)

Today has been just a little bit different. Perhaps it’s related to the clear, sunny skies after being blanketed by rain for the past week. Maybe I’m feeling the freedom of a Monday off work. Or, possibly my mood was lifted by finally replacing my old, partially working headphones with a new, working pair. It turns out that music sounds much better when you can hear it in both ears. The difference between the old headphones, which haven’t worked right for over a year, and the new was so strong that I actually startled when I pushed “play.” I had grown so accustomed to the static and one-sided sound that the clarity coming through felt bigger than life.

That’s kind of how my whole day has felt. I feel like I’ve fully experienced each action today, from the run along the river to selecting apples at the store. I haven’t felt pressure to get it done or to rush on to the next thing. I haven’t grumbled about having to do chores or run errands.

When I started my meditation challenge, I looked at meditation as a separate part of my day. A time set aside to be mindful. I would get it done and then move on to the next item on the list. I’m finally starting to incorporate mindfulness in each moment, which of course is the ultimate goal.

I need to remember this feeling. I need to remember that monkey mind is alive, not just in those moments when I turn inward and focus on the breath, but all of the time. I need to remember that when I am fully present in each moment, I can find joy even in the mundane. I need to remember that I choose to feel rushed and that I can also choose to feel at peace. I also need to remember not to wait so long to replace my broken headphones next time!

Other adventures of my monkey mind:

Taking the Monkey to the Gym

Shaving the Monkey

My Monkey’s Flinging Poo

Experimenting on the Monkey

Embracing the Monkey

My Favorite Gifts

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Christmas is a season with conflicted values – spiritual butting up against the material. Many of us (and I’m including myself) struggle with trying to find the balance between the commercial and the intent. Perhaps we can find a place where both can reside.

I looked back at my favorite gifts that I have received over the past few years. Some have monetary value. Some do not. All have meaning and have enriched my life well beyond the space under the tree.

Kitchen Floor

Gift: Kitchen Floor

Giver: Sarah

Significance: When I was hit with the tsunami divorce, my friend Sarah immediately offered me safe harbor in her home for a year. I gratefully accepted, renting the guest bedroom and a corner of the bonus room. Her home, with her husband and new baby, was a very special place. It was filled with the sounds of life and it was a space where I felt safe and protected. During that year, we spent untold hours in the kitchen, me on the floor (often with the baby) while Sarah was cooking (an art I had not yet mastered). Those kitchen sessions were filled with conversations about everything and nothing. We laughed and cried, often at the same time. That floor was the gift of listening.

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Gift: Running clothes

Giver: My ex (before he was the ex)

Significance:  I didn’t start running until I turned 30. It quickly became a passion of mine and my mileage began to creep up. At that time, I had been used to working out in our home gym. I didn’t own much in the way of exercise clothing, yet I was too cheap to invest in any, especially items that could handle the Georgia heat. My ex surprised me with three pairs of Underarmor running shorts and a few tech fabric shirts. Those items allowed me to run more comfortably and on a more frequent basis. I still wear them all the time. Those clothes are the gift that remind me that, at one time, my ex cared.

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Gift: Bamboo cutting board

Giver: Carissa, a friend

Significance: This was given to me at the time I was moving from Sarah’s house into my own apartment. In my previous life, I never did much cooking. It seemed like a waste of time to me. Carissa and Sarah both showed me the healing power of food and the pleasure that can be found through preparing a nourishing meal for myself and others. I am still no hostess, but I now prepare meals on a frequent basis and share my food and knowledge with others. This was a gift of nourishment.

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Gift: Action Potential Wellness sign

Giver: my dad

Significance: Change spurs more change. After I survived the tsunami, I decided I wanted to move into wellness coaching. I spent a year doing the certifications and other preparation. Finally, it was time to decide on a name and a logo. I emailed the JPEG to my dad and, much to surprise and delight, he had it made into a fabric banner. This sign has practical uses but, more than anything, it was a message that my dad believed in me.

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Gift: handwritten cards

Giver: students (current and former)

Significance: I was a horrible math student (although I excelled at school overall and I had terrible experiences with math teachers. I was drawn to math education so that I could help students like me – bright, but had trouble communicating with algebra. Every year of the 11 I’ve taught, I receive Christmas cards (sometimes hastily written on torn out notebook paper)  from my students. Many express how they finally like math. How they understand more than ever before. And how they have confidence in themselves to push past difficulties. Every year I cry. Those cards are the gift that tells me I matter.

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Gift: iPod

Giver: Kay, a family friend

Significance: Kay is sort of like an aunt to me. She is friends with my mom and used to join us for holidays and outings. She was my designated “watcher” when I was in high school and my mom was out of town. She has been in my life since childhood and has had a significant impact on me. After the divorce, I received an iPod from Kay along with a Nike iFit sensor. She had “go Lisa go. here’s to new beginnings” engraved on the back. That iPod has been my constant companion and has traveled with me as I’ve run countless miles. It was a gift of moving forward.

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Gift: GPS

Giver: Kay again:)

Significance: Kay was upgrading her GPS and passed the previous one down to me. Before the divorce, I would borrow my husband’s when I needed one (For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta roads, a GPS is very useful here. Traffic is terrible, everything is named Peachtree, and the city is so spread out that it is impossible to be familiar with it all.) The GPS gave me the freedom to travel to new areas to meet friends or dates (!) without fear of getting lost or getting into a wreck while trying to read a map. It was a gift of freedom.

Patio

Gift: Patios

Giver: my mom

Significance: I traveled to San Antonio to visit my mom during the second spring break after the divorce. We both craved some mother-daughter time that was not centered around lawyers and tears. We embarked upon a week-long patio tour of San Antonio, eating and drinking our way across the outdoor eateries of the city. We talked, we giggled, we enjoyed the creative concoctions of Texas mix masters. We joked about creating an app that ranked patios based upon ambiance, menu, and libations. We still haven’t gotten around to it. I think we need to test more first… 🙂 Those patios were a gift of family.

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Gift: Jeans

Giver: Christian, a friend

Significance: Okay, first, these are not just any jeans. These are two pairs of tight, ripped, sexy jeans. After the divorce, I felt anything but sexy. My weight had dropped to dangerous levels and I barely registered that I had a body at all. Christian and I met in a Starbucks the morning after my first ever race. We hit it off and spent the next 12 hours together. A couple of weeks later, he surprised me with the jeans. They fit. Oh, did they fit. I felt like a woman again for the first time in months. It was a gift of sexy and inner confidence.

Image representing MacBook Air as depicted in ...

Gift: computer

Giver: me

Significance: Until a year ago, I had been using a hand-me-down computer from my ex. It was littered with his programs, much of which was protected by passwords I did not know or needed dongles I did not have. I hated seeing his name appear on registrations and stumbling across old pictures and audio files. I put up with it because I did not have the money for a new machine. Things became critical last year when I was unable to update any of the programs or the operating system any longer due to the machine’s advanced age (2005, I think). I used some of the money refunded to me by the IRS for innocent spouse relief to purchase an 11″ Macbook Air. I love this thing. It is small enough to fit in my purse so that I can work in the park or in a coffee shop, yet it is fully functional. This machine has made my writing of the past year possible. It was a gift of voice.

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Gift: Hand carved picture frame

Giver: Brock

Significance: Brock and I stayed in a cabin in the North Georgia mountains during our first Thanksgiving together (this was the inspiration for our camping tradition).  That fall was when we really were becoming a couple. We were beginning to open up more and we were beginning to believe in a future together. In fact, that trip is when we became a team. Brock was on a mission that trip to find and cut a perfect walking stick. During our day long hikes, he was constantly stopping to slash down dead tree limbs to test them for viability. I think he went through a dozen sticks before he found the one. That Christmas, I opened a box that contained a picture of us on that trip surrounded by a frame made out of that walking stick. In it, he had carved “11/24/10 Ellijay,GA.” It was a gift of love and hope for the future.

 

Learning to Breathe

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I’ve never been very good at breathing. 

My childhood was spent with perpetual croup, the seal-barking cough echoing through the house at all hours.  Eventually, I was diagnosed with asthma, my lungs plied with drugs that were supposed to encourage them to relax.  Regardless of the dosages and names of the medications, I always failed my lung function tests at the allergists.  I wasn’t used to failing tests, but I didn’t know how to study for that one.

I adapted to my lungs.  I knew when an attack was about to have me helpless in its clutches, I knew when pneumonia was setting in.  I let my lungs call the shots and we had an agreement that I would work within their constraints.

Then, one day soon after my 30th birthday, I grew tired of the bondage.  I turned the tables on my lungs and informed them I wanted to start running.  This was a laughable goal, as I had never even completed the mile running in school.  But I was determined.

I started at a local park with a .75 mile loop.  My first try was a humbling experience.  You see, I was in shape.  I lifted weights and could do cardio.  I just couldn’t run.  Within moments of beginning, my chest heaved, my breathing was rapid and gasping.  I was taking in air as though threatened, as though the next breath would never come.  I made it one full loop that first day, but I still didn’t know how to run.

Over the next few weeks, I kept at it, returning to the park 3-4 times a week.  I starting to trust my body.  Believe in my breath.  I worked to consciously slow my breathing, pulling air deep down into the unused basement of my lungs.  As I learned to breathe, I was able to increase my mileage to the point where I outgrew that park in the next two months.

My breath training extended to yoga.  I had been practicing since I was in high school, but I always focused on the positions and movements, not the airflow.  Running had brought the breath to consciousness; yoga taught me how to use the breath to calm and energize the body.

Then July came.  Disaster struck.  I lost contact with my breath, but I didn’t even realize it.  I just knew my chest felt constricted, wrapped in bindings carried in by the trauma.  I wasn’t able to run or to do yoga, getting even further out of touch with my lungs.  It finally took a third party to make the re-introduction; a therapist at a meditation and yoga retreat that autumn after my breath left me.

I lay on the floor of her office, cradled in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  She kneeled next to me, her voice soothing and calm.  She spoke to my breath, encouraging it to return, assuring it that I was ready to make its acquaintance once again.  She spoke to me, telling me to trust my breath, to allow it deep into my lungs.

My chest began to rise, the bindings loosening.  As the oxygen flowed in, I felt grounded.  Whole.  Reconnected.

My breath and I still have a complicated relationship.  I frequently don’t find it until a couple miles into a run or 10 minutes into a yoga practice.  I still have to encourage it, willing it back into my body, especially when I find myself gripped my stress.  It may at times be a tumultuous relationship, but I have no intention of loosing connection with my breath again.

Marathon Recap: I Won :)

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Injured, tired, and happy

No, not in terms of time. In fact, technically, it was the worst race I’ve ever run. I’m sure you’d have to scroll though thousands of pages to even find my finish time. But that was never what it was about. I completed the 26.2 miles while having an amazing time running (and walking) through a beautiful city on a gorgeous day with awesome people and (mostly) good music and I crossed the finish line into the arms of an unbelievable man. I’d say I won the race:)

When I got into the car (very) early yesterday morning, my boyfriend handed me several folded notes, each with a mileage indicator. I was to open the notes along my run. It was like an advent calendar of marathon motivation. Unbelievable. That gesture and those notes set the tone for the whole day.

A little crumpled and sweat stained, but they’re still beautiful to me:)

I spent the drive to the start line arranging Gu, chapstick, and the above mentioned notes. I applied Glide wherever skin met fabric and I double-checked my shoe laces. I was ready.

I had over two hours to wait at the corrals before the race. It was chilly, but bearable, and I loved the look of historic Savannah under the almost-full moon. I met a woman in her 60’s who was working on running 100 marathons (this was 94). I asked her what her favorite one had been. Number two on her list blew me away: The Great Wall of China. What an amazing experience that would be!

We finally took off. I was feeling great and enjoying the music (especially the bagpipes around mile 6!) and the amazing support from the spectators. The local people were amazing – dancing, singing, and even blessing us as we ran by. The energy was infectious. And so was the motivation. Every person there had a reason for running marathons or that race in particular. As the Rock n Roll series raises money for cancer, there were thousands of runners with signs on their backs of loved ones they had lost. Others ran for different losses. I met many recent divorcees, people who ran to celebrate their recovery, and one woman who runs a marathon a year to maintain and celebrate her 160 lb weight loss.  It was impossible to not be inspired.

Mile 7 was my game-changer. I injured my IT band almost two years doing Tough Mudder (and a 1/2 marathon the next weekend). I rehabed it and it hasn’t bothered me much in the past year or so. Until yesterday, that is. I felt the familiar pain and pull along the outside of my left leg. I spent a few miles using anything at my disposal to try to coax the fascia into loosening. I repeatedly used traffic cones to dig into the soft tissue and I even borrowed a broom from a volunteer so that I could roll my IT band with the handle. It wasn’t helping, nor was the Tylenol, ice, and wrap from the medical tent. By about mile 12, I had given up on this being the race I wanted. I realized that the leg would not get better and that my ability to run was severely hindered. Those were the tough miles. I gripped the 15 mile note from my boyfriend from mile 12 until it was time to open it. At that point, the course took us through the Savannah State campus and even around their track where the dance team and cheerleaders encouraged us on. That was great timing. As my pace slowed, I found myself amongst the running wounded and the more mature marathoners. That was okay with me. There is a spirit there in the back of the pack that felt right to me. I met a great man, Dennis, at the 24 mile marker. He was also hurting and, like me, was slowly giving up running in favor of walking. He said he would pull me across the finish line if I did the same for him. We both made it, limping and grinning.

Going into this race, I knew that it was going to be a mental game. I think it’s impossible to tackle that kind of distance and not have to dig into to your mental reserves. What surprised me; however, is that the race was very emotional. I first teared up at mile 5 at the kind words of a volunteer. From that point on, the tears hit every mile or so for just a few moments. The waterworks continued into the afternoon and evening as I recounted pieces of the race to my boyfriend and they even sit near the surface today. I’m not a crier and not prone to over-emotion, so this has been a surprise.

At the finish line. Finally!

The marathon was more symbolic of life and its struggles than I expected, as well. I went into the race expecting to run. I didn’t plan on the injury, but once it occurred, I had no choice but to accept it. I could have given up. In fact, there were times when the pain was so bad, I wanted to simply collapse where I was. But instead, I chose to continue. It wasn’t the journey I planned for, but it was a beautiful experience nonetheless. In my life, I never expected to be divorced. I didn’t plan for that injury either. But just like yesterday, I had a choice. And I chose to continue and even though it is not the life I anticipated, it is beautiful. Yup, I’d say I won:)

And, on a related note, I was happy to hear on Friday evening that mayor Bloomberg decided to cancel the New York marathon for this weekend. I understand the frustration of planning (and training, in the case of the runners) for so long and having to cancel at the last minute, but it was the right thing to do. And, as I’ve learned, marathoners understand that you can plan and prepare all you want, but that ultimately, you cannot control the outcome. I have the utmost respect for the runners who are using their pre-purchased trips to NY to assist in storm relief. You may not have run your race, but you certainly deserve a medal in my eyes.