The Girl Who Did Not Run

Restlessness had set in. There was a restlessness in thought and in body; a feeling of being compelled to move despite being exhausted. What began emotionally soon became intellectual as my thoughts raced to the next topic to avoid getting trapped in emotion that I couldn't identify or understand. The urge to study became too erratic to be of any use; my thoughts morphing too quickly to take hold in the white-capped rapids of my stream of consciousness.

To find peace I determined that I should focus more on my quiet time; my mantra meditation. It is always a healthy struggle to tame my monkey mind but the urge to move was an added challenge that lately left me feeling more frustrated as well as unsatisfied. I didn't want to think anymore so I channeled that current to my legs and I ran.

I walked. I hiked. I ran. For two weeks now, I've continued to push my body to its limits to feel nothing but the burning of now. It seems only the jarring of my feet hitting the ground keeps my attention and lets me relax. The only issue to face is my next breath. The only problem to solve is finding the optimal point between relaxation and control of my foot fall; remembering that my right foot tends to turn in before impact. My inner dialogue is caught up in coaching the flesh suit to shape up. Keep those feet parallel. Don't roll those steps- land in the middle. Chin down. Chest lifted. Let the Abs do the work to pull the knees up higher... There in that space, I'm feeling my life truly in the moment. I am free. I am alive.

Pain in my knees in Jr. High ended any self-image of athleticism. In the eighth grade, I was officially sidelined with doctors' notes. My heart rate was too high. My knees were perpetually in braces. The tall, lanky boys' coach called me lazy and a fake likely hoping to spur me to movement. In truth, I wanted to be moving. I only felt lucky or relieved to be counted out on team sports days or the mile test. An orthopedist declared Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and I started to wrap my brain around the identity of one who did not run.

Low impact activity was allowed though, and I prided myself on having strength even without speed. So, I spent my high school P.E. credits in weight-lifting. Although chronically aching, I reveled in the force of my stocky legs. Heavy weights on the hip-sled made me feel powerful. In the off days we did cardio. Despite those doctors' notes and my protests of stiffness due to the early class time, Coach Willis made me walk anyway. I did run a little too- even if it was only for a minute at a time. I'm so grateful to him. I started to lose the cripple identity I was trying on but I still didn't see myself as anything other than slightly-abled rather than disabled.

Over the years, the lack of deterioration in my joints led the powers that be to decide that I might not have Arthritis after all. With the other symptoms I had developed it was more likely to be Fibromyalgia. Could be that I'd had it all along as very little is understood about this syndrome. All I knew was that oftentimes the discomfort was only lessened or made tolerable by moving and I watched my mother, having the same condition, choose inactivity and lose her independence.

Fast forward 20 years and I find myself a dancer, a novice yogini, and becoming a... runner? I made the realization last night as I pushed my way to a total of 2.1 miles of running out of the 2.8 mile trail I now frequent. I still run in intervals but I can sometimes go up to 4/10 mi. at a time. Last night for the first time I found that perfect place where my breath, my gait, the planets were all aligned and discomfort melted away. I felt like I could run forever. It was only for a brief moment; that perfect focus easily lost with the slightest distraction like my fledging days in meditation. I did experience it though, and I thought... "I am a runner. Will wonders never cease?"