114: Keep on keeping on

Mortality is on my mind. Cheerful, I know. My grandma was 91 when she died not quite two weeks ago. When someone dies unexpectedly, or too young, or tragically, there is a sense of shock that protects us from connecting the passage to ourselves. We think: that might happen to us, but it is unlikely; please, let us be spared--it is a reasonable hope. And we vow to live our lives more fully, every day, to waste no time. But when someone dies at a ripe old age, having lived a full life, and perhaps having suffered years of decline (as my grandma did), there can be no shock, exactly. Instead, we are faced with something quite different. We are faced with the march of time, and we must look around and recognize: we are all marching. Barring the unexpected, too young, tragic death, we will grow old and we, too, will die. There is no avoiding it. There is no prayer nor magical thinking we can invent that will spare us.

I woke during the night last week, after the funeral, with a vivid image in my mind that haunted me: I saw my own lifespan as if it were displayed on a vast conveyor belt that was turning, and behind me were generations of lifespans, gone and forgotten, and ahead was the same. And I saw that my own lifespan was as finite and forgettable as any of these billions of others. There is little comfort to be found in such a vision. We are not equipped to consider life that does not include ourselves. Even when we think about history, we are inclined to make connections, to put events into contexts relevant to our own; we put ourselves into stories; we imagine how we would respond; and we are amazed, in some way, that people of the past experienced living as we do.

And so, I am of sombre mind. It does not suit me, and I would prefer greatly to be of cheerful, energetic, purposeful mind. But instead, I sit with these thoughts. I sit with a present hauntedness of what it means to be mortal. My children are growing and changing apace. My body will change, too. I cannot prevent it from getting older, and, eventually, weaker.

Is this what I'm fighting against, as I go to yoga classes and wake early to run? Am I fighting to keep the body that I have, for as long as possible? Am I fighting against my own mortality?

That sounds suspect. I hope, most emphatically, that this is not what I am doing. That it is not a fight, or a battle, but a daily reminder that I am here, now, that this is my body, now, that I am honouring this living, breathing self, now. That everything I do is an expression of gratitude for the time given to me. Because when all is said and done, all will be said and done. If I have one hope, it is that I say and do with thanks.

107: November Rain

Just wanted to say, after last post's poetical waxing about running in the great outdoors, that sometimes the great outdoors can be really inhospitable. It poured rain all night, but stopped just before 6am, when I met my friend for our weekly run. We were really glad that it wasn't raining, but it was blowing hard, and very chilly. This is my least favourite time of year, and my least favourite month.

I was plenty warm, however, with the addition of a shell on top of my layers of running gear. It did feel like a tougher run than usual, perhaps due to the wind, or perhaps due to a general feeling of under-nourishment. We never eat as well when we travel. And we're spoiled by a homemade, local produce-based diet here at home. The food we eat at home is so very good for us: whole grains, lots of fibre, and the freshness that can't be faked of food that is grown close to home. I always return from travel feeling hungry, even if I've eaten regular meals (which this trip, I did not have the luxury of doing).

I had the same under-nourished sensation at yoga class last night, but I'd forgotten to eat a banana with peanut butter (okay, the banana is not local!) before heading over, and I was just plain hungry by the end of class. This week, I am also writing extra, so my husband is in charge of food, and he doesn't cook like me, not having had all the practice I've had. I should let him practice more often, I suppose. But I'm partial to my own cooking.

Day 106: Treadmill

I've been pleased with the past few weeks' work, exercise-wise. Having committed to exercising four times a week, I've been accomplishing that, though not managing more. Last week, I went to three hot yoga classes and ran only once, but that was what worked, so that's what I did. Running in daylight is difficult to achieve right now at our latitude, as the days shrink. I do run once a week with a friend, before dawn, but if I get up early to exercise by myself, I'm headed to the yoga studio. I'm convinced the cardio work there, in the heat, is equal to the cardio work of a good run, because my fitness level has never been greater.

Yesterday, we were in another country for a funeral, and I was desperate to exercise, having not done anything for several days (and spending time driving, standing with family in over-heated rooms, nibbling cold foods). So I got up early and ran on the treadmill in the hotel's exercise room. I was the only guest there, and I am not familiar with treadmill running, but found it relatively easy to adjust to. Every two "laps" (a blinking icon would progress around a "track" for my viewing pleasure), I would crank the speed by 0.2 mph, till I was going at a reasonable clip: all the way to 6.2 mph. I ran 50-odd minutes, covered 4.5 miles, and enjoyed the work-out. I think it takes less mental energy to run on a treadmill--when I'm running outside, I'm thinking constantly about traffic, or my footing, because I often run in grass. But it's also much less pleasant. The experience of the outdoors is a big part of my running pleasure.

Home again, today, and trying to decide whether I can commit to this afternoon's planned yoga class, or whether I feel too tired to go. (Go, go!). On the whole, the trip did not drain me like previous marathon trips have. I suspect this has something to do with my increased physical fitness. Maybe there is a real connection between physical fitness and mental fitness; though I don't think the two necessarily go together. But for me, being able to trust that my body can get through long days without breaking down gives me confidence that my mind can do the same.

Day 92: Run Mama, Yoga Mama

I should change the title of this blog, at least temporarily. I am not biking, at all, and I am not swimming, at all. Well, I do hop in the pool once a week in my bathing suit to take my two-year-old to swim lessons. But that doesn't come close to counting.

Nevertheless, last week was an excellent week, by any measure. I met my weekly goal: I ran twice and went to two hard hot yoga classes. I missed a third optional run on the weekend due to scheduling difficulties (and will miss this weekend too, due to same). But I saw and felt changes in my body after four consecutive days of exercise: my pants were too big, my belt needs two new notches. Weird. I don't think of myself as needing to lose weight in any way, and I don't think I'm actually losing weight; instead, I'm replacing a bit of fat with more muscle. Yesterday, in yoga class, I was fascinated by my reflection in the mirror (hello, Narcissus), and by the muscular changes apparent in my body.

I am not sure that's a good thing. Or a bad thing, exactly. I hope that I'll love and appreciate my body at every age and every size and every fitness level. But it is satisfying to see the work pay off in appreciable changes to my body. Even though I strongly believe what's on the inside is far more important.

There are changes there, too.

I've been more patient with myself during difficult work-outs. I remember to celebrate what I'm able to do, and to trust my body to tell me what it can and cannot do. When I ran on Monday, I was tired and hungry, and I did not feel great; but I also kept telling myself that I could do it, and that it was okay to run a little more slowly. I also enjoyed thinking about all the food I should have eaten (including my favourite night cheese!), and which would have made the run so much better. It was a good reminder that fuelling my body is critical.

The missing piece right now is sleep. I'm not getting enough. Yesterday, during yoga class, I was near dreamland every time we lay down, even during the brief rests. It's good to be incredibly and instantly relaxed during rest periods; it's not great to find one's mind drifting toward dream the instant the eyes are closed. I went to bed earlier last night, but negated the effect by rising at 5:40am for a run with a friend. Still, I hopped out of bed feeling chirpier and more willing than usual. The run itself felt easy, and my legs and lungs felt strong.

I am sitting at my desk with a strong back and a straight spine, with no pain (thanks to the chiropractic treatments I continue to get), and with hope of indeed completing a triathlon next summer, if that's the direction I choose to go in.