When I think of January, I think of a goal setting, resolution showcasing 31 days when we allow ourselves to believe that anything is possible again. And just as I re-set my 2000+ miles in 2014 resolution, this beautiful powerhouse of a month turned on me like a petulant child deprived of an afternoon snack. Yet still I pushed through the boredom of a treadmill, the crowds at the gym, washing my one face mask almost daily, shopping for "winter" running socks for the first time since 2010, and falling: up steps, down steps, going around turns, running down the middle of a street, stopping short and sprinting in.
There were new community yoga classes that began and ended in the dark with new people and a cold studio, old yoga favorites that kicked my ass, excruciating gym workouts, spin classes that left me punished and soaked, and of course the frigid runs fueled by the kind of adrenalin that only hits when you're questioning your own decision making or, of course, safety. There was too much wine and a few too many brownies and altogether too many mornings where "I don't wanna" replaced "I can do this." There was horrible music at the gym, crowds, COLD showers, and the swift end of my other resolution to stop picking my thumbs once and for all.
But there was also success in crow pose at 6:15AM in the new studio; multiple nights when 9 hours of sleep floated in like a beautiful, quiet butterfly; time to spend however I chose; no schedules; no guilt for lack of miles or exertion; no need to force anything that didn't feel right; powerfully scary runs in ice with small waves to other crazy runners; successful layering and brilliant smiles across the snow at sleds and geese; rocks thrown from bridges at the frozen Schuylkill River; and a new found appreciation for the super un-fancy, bare bones bench press.
And in the middle of the January freeze when I was beginning to question whether I truly hated training, there was a letter from my Middle School field hockey coach that reminded me of days when all I needed was an open field and room to run. She was the picture of an athlete and keeper of kindness. She was the purveyor of "warm fuzzies" [imagine actually telling someone on your team or in your life what makes them great in any given moment] and spirit pin slogans. She began every practice, quietly presiding over a heap of 6th - 8th grade girls, with a quote that never failed to make me see farther and bigger for myself. She was the one that showed me the power in positivity and the genuine connection between faith and results. And, as of this letter, she thinks I'm living my best life. Such reminders of the power in each of us to make appropriate choices, listening to the chorus of our hearts, minds and bodies, is what an athlete builds her foundation upon.
January ended with a 10 miler that built confidence and tore down the walls of doubt I'd been building over the last few weeks. I went in nervous, overdressed and unsteady. There were the hills in UPenn, the traffic out on 76 by the zoo, the icy way back down to the loop and, by the time I hit Kelly Drive, nothing standing in my way. I came away from that run stripped down, raw and ready to fight again. The resolutions of January, I've found, can knock us down and hurt our pride or can force us to see behind our walls and draw up, ready to pounce. Our failures, like our successes, force us to feel. And feeling forces us to keep going. And if we do keep going over the miles and miles, then we are, indeed, living our best life.
But there was also success in crow pose at 6:15AM in the new studio; multiple nights when 9 hours of sleep floated in like a beautiful, quiet butterfly; time to spend however I chose; no schedules; no guilt for lack of miles or exertion; no need to force anything that didn't feel right; powerfully scary runs in ice with small waves to other crazy runners; successful layering and brilliant smiles across the snow at sleds and geese; rocks thrown from bridges at the frozen Schuylkill River; and a new found appreciation for the super un-fancy, bare bones bench press.
And in the middle of the January freeze when I was beginning to question whether I truly hated training, there was a letter from my Middle School field hockey coach that reminded me of days when all I needed was an open field and room to run. She was the picture of an athlete and keeper of kindness. She was the purveyor of "warm fuzzies" [imagine actually telling someone on your team or in your life what makes them great in any given moment] and spirit pin slogans. She began every practice, quietly presiding over a heap of 6th - 8th grade girls, with a quote that never failed to make me see farther and bigger for myself. She was the one that showed me the power in positivity and the genuine connection between faith and results. And, as of this letter, she thinks I'm living my best life. Such reminders of the power in each of us to make appropriate choices, listening to the chorus of our hearts, minds and bodies, is what an athlete builds her foundation upon.
January ended with a 10 miler that built confidence and tore down the walls of doubt I'd been building over the last few weeks. I went in nervous, overdressed and unsteady. There were the hills in UPenn, the traffic out on 76 by the zoo, the icy way back down to the loop and, by the time I hit Kelly Drive, nothing standing in my way. I came away from that run stripped down, raw and ready to fight again. The resolutions of January, I've found, can knock us down and hurt our pride or can force us to see behind our walls and draw up, ready to pounce. Our failures, like our successes, force us to feel. And feeling forces us to keep going. And if we do keep going over the miles and miles, then we are, indeed, living our best life.
To see the world, things dangerous to come,
to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other and to feel.
That is the purpose of life.
- The Life Motto -
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