Running for Risa

Please indulge me as I explore a very long tangent before arriving at the actual point of this post:
I've felt very strongly for some time that there's more to running than topping PRs and watching the pavement race by. And the more I think about it, the more it seems that anyone who spends a significant amount of time running must have also come to a similar conclusion. Running, I believe, is one of the greatest possible exercises in autonomy available to a person. Sprinting, jogging, Nike-clad or barefoot, one may choose, at any place and any time, to run.

Sometimes, I've found the sensation of running to be almost indistinguishable from dancing -just free and creative movement through open space. Running often has emotional significance similar to the release or expression of dance. Some days I run to relax and unwind, other days I run to cope with whatever life throws at me. Running helps me to stay centered, and I often do my best thinking while running. I also do some of my best thinking in the shower. But that is neither here, nor there. Still, I'm often struck by the simple freedom inherent in the action of running.

Some months ago, after an unfortunate incident at mile 2 of my evening run (involving me accidentally and simultaneously jerking both ear buds out of my head, at which point they flew to meet the pavement and exploded), I was left to finish the next 3 in semi-silence. I believe it was a Tuesday night. And, as it was rather late on a week night, and the air hadn't yet warmed up enough to coax the citizens of Provo out-of-doors for evening entertainment, I found myself rather alone on my route around town. What a lovely run it was! I have long been in the habit of plugging in before embarking on a run. But on this night, having found myself in this unusually music-less situation, I decided to embrace the opportunity. For half an hour or so, the only sounds accompanying me down the empty sidewalks were my footfalls, my breathing, and my thoughts. It was surprisingly and gloriously therapeutic.

Since that night, several runs have called for unplugging. Since I have a silly habit of chasing rainstorms, there have been many runs executed in torrential downpour -not the best place for an iPod. It stayed at home; the rain was my rhythm. Other times, there has been too much emotion coursing through my body to bother with putting my hair up or wearing the proper shoes, let alone donning headphones. Sometimes you simply need to run your heart out until your lungs are bursting, and your heart is pounding, and every muscle is aching. Moments like these are best lived without headphones.

I went through a period of a few months recently where running wasn't an option most days. It was a strange feeling. There was something surreal about not having the capacity to take off running whenever I fancied. As I mentioned before, one of the greatest things about running is the option to run when you could otherwise choose to skip or spin in circles or simply stand still. They all have their time and place (If you can skip for 3 miles, I will personally treat you to a steak dinner), but the novelty lies in the power to choose.

As of late, running and I have been rebuilding our relationship. The feeling of gratification is immense, and I have a new respect for the patience and contentment of people who have lost the capacity to move freely. I'm slowly working my way back into the groove. It feels good to run again. So, maybe an old man beat me down Oak street last week. But maybe I beat him up the hill on 170th... Maybe I'm not on top of my game yet, but I'm definitely a force to be reckoned with -if you're a senior citizen.

This finally brings us to my original point, which I didn't bother to mention, originally.

The first thought that went through my head upon waking this morning was, 'I'd like to run a half marathon today'. Six months ago, I Ran for Risa. And today, on her birthday, I wanted to do the same.
That first thought was quickly bulldozed by all kinds of rational thoughts like, 'That's a terrible idea. You haven't trained at all', 'Just because you had a good run yesterday, doesn't make you awesome', and 'But what about YOGA?! (Which, by the way, does make me awesome)'. I wrestled for a while between the options of participating in yogi coolness or running to my death, and at some point went outside to check the weather. I heard the door latch behind me. Locked outside --car keys inside. I checked my iPod, which I had luckily thought to bring with me, but it was completely out of juice. So I stashed the good 'ol 'Pod in the mail box, stopped thinking, and took off running.

Mile 1- I'm not really sure if I'm actually able or willing to go though with my original goal. The thought is daunting, but almost too attractive to resist. I don't let myself think about it too much. I just run.

Mile 2- I sing 'Happy Birthday' to Risa a few times and excitedly make some final decisions about the cake I'll be baking later today.

Mile 3- I could do this forever.

Mile 4- I wave with a cheerful "'morning!" to all the people walking their dogs and waiting at bus stops. Some people wave back and some don't. But I'm feeling pretty cool in my Running for Risa shirt, and I'm just trying to spread the love.

Mile 5- My feet hurt a bit, which isn't surprising, since I haven't run this far but twice in the last few months. What does surprise me is how much energy I still have.

Mile 6- Last chance to chicken out and make it a 10K. I see the turn-off for my street approach and then pass me by, and I just keep running.

Mile 7- At this point, and about every half mile up to this point, a different man knocks on the side of his landscaping truck and shouts something at me en español, which I can only assume is kind and encouraging. I smile and wave and keep running.

Mile 8- My feet hurt a lot now. Again, I understand. They haven't seen this kind of mileage since I ran the last Half. I push it from my mind and keep running.

Mile 9- Oh crap! I forgot about dowels and a cake board! More cake planning...

Mile 10- It's raining now, and it feels good. I think about how silly the pain in my feet is. If Risa fought cancer for a year, all the while smiling, then certainly I can run a few miles. Suddenly, my run feels like a cake walk. My pain is insignificant in comparison, so I keep running.

Mile 11- The feet are in agony and my lungs are starting to sting from the cool air. But the wind picks up and so does my pace. I keep running.

Mile 12- Thank heaven Hwy 10 has sidewalks. I shuffle along. My feet succeed in distracting me from anything else that might hurt, which keeps my energy high and my legs pumping.

Mile 13- My pace has slowed to what feels like an enthusiastic march. I sing 'Happy Birthday' a few more times, as my arches tear in half.

To be completely honest, that was terribly unwise and probably one of the least-thought-out things I've ever done. But I don't regret it for a second. Spontaneity is the spice of running, right? After lots of ice, followed by a scalding bubble bath and some ibuprofen, I'm feeling chipper and ready to start baking a big, orange birthday cake.