Forward, forward, forward

Don’t look back, I was often told when I was running competitively.

It was so easy to do– to look back and see how far (or near!) the next runner was behind me. Would I need to work harder to keep her at bay? Did I have the mental energy to keep up the pace, or even pick up the pace, so she didn’t pass me?

But looking back, even for a brief moment, took up not just physical energy, but time. It was that effort of the head movement that also lead to a partial body movement that slowed the running down and let that person get closer to me.

So they said not to look back.

Isn’t that true about life though, too?

Don’t look back or it will slow you down. Keep your eyes on the prize. Keep your eyes on your goals, your dreams, whatever it is that keeps you moving forward.

I was thinking about this as I was out running the other morning, finding myself looking back for no reason. I don’t know why I thought anyone was behind me (although when I run Ash, he looks back all the time, especially when we turn onto certain roads, for reasons I don’t understand). But as I did it, I thought about the effort it took to look back and the bit of time it cost me. For what?

I have always thought of the line from the Manfred Mann song, “Don’t look back/You’ve been there.”

After a year of what felt like standing in place, I’ve been trying to move forward so why would I look back? I do believe in occasional reflection of the past, after all, it’s that which reminds us of how far we have come. It might be that sometimes we need to stop for a moment, collect our thoughts, and take a quick look back to see where we have been to see how far we’ve come, but we don’t and shouldn’t do that all time.

Remember, will keep us from getting where we want to be.

Moving Your Blues Away

I have often said that running kept me moving forward in my life, that it has helped me through many very difficult and challenging times. And then getting dogs and having to walk/run them, has kept me going, knowing that even when life is difficult, they should have their time out and about (plus it’s less poop to pick up in the backyard).

Some years ago, a friend told me about a book called Walking Your Blues Away and often that title resonates in my head as run, walk, and even swim. While each of these movements provides me with something different– walking would be the one that doesn’t help me feel as physically strong, but sometimes it’s just about being out. Running is obviously the one most important to me, but as I get older, my legs and feet are enjoying swimming more because it’s less stress on them. And swimming provides what I call a “mental health break” midday as I leave my morning work behind and get set for an afternoon of, hopefully creating at the sewing machine.

I can think of a number of reasons why movement, especially being outside, is important. When I take Lilly out around 4:50 in the morning, it’s completely dark and by the time I run her, run Ash, and do my run, the outline of the Sandia Mountains has appeared and the sun is starting to show up for the day. A new day is coming and the slate has been wiped clean from the previous day.

Swimming helps me to let go of any anxiety I might have developed in the morning and remember that there are other things that are important and what’s not worth the worry.

There is something about movement, about letting my mind wander, that helps me focus again and brings me new ideas. It also makes me realize when I’m letting the same thought (an annoyance) permeate my mind when I should be allowing new, inspiring and creative thoughts in.

Even though we’re social distancing, there’s no reason to go outside and take that walk. It’s a weird time to say the least and at least when we keep moving, we keep hope alive inside us. And you never know what great ideas might form as you move those blues far far away.

The Hobbler

No one ever could have predicted that I would become a runner. While I was all legs growing up, I wasn't fast (and in those days it was more important to be fast than to have any endurance) and I was always picked near the end for any sort of team game.

But by high school, running took over my life and during my freshman year I paid a price for it with a stress fracture in my right foot. It was a challenging time of my life for many reasons but I bring this up because in January I once again hurt my knee and something from thirty years ago kept coming back to me. 

A year and a half ago, Lilly and I had an accident on the landing of the stairwell in the house. She was flying down the stairs, I was heading up the stairs and we collided– her head to my knee. While nothing hurt immediately the next day I couldn't run. And I didn't run for about two months.  But somehow I survived and all was well. 

Until January. 

I have no idea what happened but somehow I hurt my knee again, this time with no collision. My Chinese doctor cupped it and said it appear to be an old injury because there was no energy to pull out of it. 

Back to walking I went.

This was where my fifteen year old memory returned. With the foot injury, I wasn't walking really well (which led to a compensation injury in my hip) and I remember someone saying to me, "You shouldn't be running if you can't walk."

And it was my friend Art who told me of some advice he found in a magazine a long time ago: that if we aren't professional athletes, we'll have a lot more days of exercising ahead of us. Because of that, we should take the time to let ourselves heal.

So I did. I walked and iced and walked and iced. Finally I wasn't hobbling around anymore, back to walking like my normal self. I started to run a bit. And slowly but surely I'm amping it back up.

I often talk about how one of my biggest challenges is realizing that the world won't end tomorrow, that there will be enough time to do everything. And the same goes for running– I worry that one day I won't be able to run anymore so it's like I want to get as much in now as I can.

However, I have to slow down and remind myself. All is well. I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And once I do that, I can relax. Which probably also helps me heal quicker, too.

Taking My Steps

My alarm goes off at 4:25 during the week and I'm generally up by 4:40. Contrary to popular belief, I don't hop out of bed. Roll is probably a better word. While part of the reason is related to my dogs, I also do it because there is something about the silence of the morning before most people are up (I have found a surprising amount of people up at that time, particularly in their cars, although I have yet to figure out where they are all going). I am not a fan of darkness but there's something to be said for the time before the sun starts its ascent over the Sandia Mountains when all is still dark, yet there is a new day, a new opportunity at life, coming.

A Navajo man once told me that they run in the dawn hours because they believe they should greet the day by "taking our steps." When I learned this, it started to make sense why– as much as I hated to drag myself out of bed at 4:40– I always feel so good- ready to face the day– by the time I'm done running and run-walking the dogs. 

It's important to greet our day with more than a roll out of bed and into the shower or to the coffee pot. We should immerse ourselves in the world around us, the outdoors, and give ourselves a chance to reflect on what opportunities are ahead with the new day, a clean slate. After all, it's all about our perspective.

Learning to Run Again

I couldn't blame Lilly. I'm sure she didn't see me coming when she bounded down the stairs– probably because she heard the door or Hattie stir. But when she ran her head right into the inside of my right knee as I trekked up the stairs, well, as I said to Greg, "That didn't sound good." But was it Lilly's head or my knee that incurred the damage?

For a week I felt something a little weird but nothing that kept me from running, or running and walking the dogs.

Until the next week when I couldn't run at all.

I've gone through phases where I hurt, I ache. I'm getting old, I'm trying to accept that. But this, this was different. I went for acupuncture and besides the usual moxa and needles, she cupped my knee, trying to pull the pain out. Then there was the day where I stepped on uneven ground trying to pick up a zucchini and could barely walk at all.

"It looks like you're dancing," My Chinese doctor's husband said when I showed up hobbling for acupuncture an hour later.

I could barely walk, I tore into my stash of heavy duty ibuprofen so I could walk. I took two days off from walking the dogs but I couldn't stand being away from my community in the early morning hours at the park. 

I walked, I swam, I was cupped and needled to stop the pain and help the injury heal. Weeks went by and suddenly I realized I hadn't gone that long without running since I was in high school. I missed my route, seeing my friend Jennifer and giving her the morning temperature as I do every day when we pass each other.

I kept busy with work, writing, making bags, dreaming about where I'm going to take Chelle Summer.

I won't deny it, it was a big challenge for me. I begged God to let me learn whatever lesson I needed so I could go forward and get back to my routine. 

It was a severe bone bruise, easily possible from the force of a strong German Shepherd on her way down the stairs. And slowly it would heal. I worried I might never run again, and when  did run I felt as if my body were all over the place. And then I rammed my knee into the metal bleachers at a soccer game, Lilly hit her head on my knee again. It felt never ending.

But two weeks ago, slowly it really began to get back. Finally I could run-walk my nearly three-mile route. 

Patience. Patience. All is well. Everything is passing.

Taking My Steps

Some years ago, I was leading a workshop on suicide prevention at a resort outside Phoenix. We were working with a group of people– all Navajo– from the Navajo Nation. It was a multi-day workshop and on the second morning when I went for my run among the saguaro cactus, I saw one of the participants also out for run. We waved and greeted each other.

Later, when we had gathered for the second day of the workshop, he said that as Navajos they believe it's important to start the day by "taking our steps"– if possible, when the sun is rising.

I didn't realize it at the time but it's something I do every day. As the years have gone on and I've gathered more dogs into my home, my run got earlier and earlier so to allow time for them to have their walks as well.

Each morning I am out before the sun comes up and finishing with Chaco's short walk to the park by the time daylight is covering the city. 

And during that time, I see how much I appreciate not just darkness turning to light but the space of reflection that gives me. For years I have been praying on my run-walk with Chaco, giving thanks for the day before and asking for what I need in my life. 

But about a month ago I hurt my leg after an accident with Lilly, my youngest dog– as she was flying down the stairs, I was walking up then and she ran her head into my knee. I had several days where I wasn't allowed to go on a walk at all. Not taking my steps as darkness turned to light, my routine upside down, took a toll on the importance of the morning to me and the way that I start my day. 

We shouldn't just reflect on the day when it is over, but as it's beginning, giving us perspective to make the most of what's ahead of us.