Start by doing what is necessary. Then do what's possible. And suddenly you're doing the impossible. ~Saint Frances of Assisi
Six months ago today, I lay sideways across my bed writing this post. I was eleven hours into a stress fracture diagnosis and trying to figure out how I was going to navigate my way onward without completely losing my shit. That moment - the one in which my running came to a screeching halt - flashed through my head as I laced up my shoes this morning. Each step into that chilly, moonlit run tracked new memories, as though these miles weren’t necessarily about moving forward in space to hit a training goal, rather, they were there to remind me that how far I’ve already gone matters far more than how far I’m going. It took just over an hour of my thoughts bounding down the timeline to the rhythm of my own footsteps for me to realize this. In no particular order, since September 30, 2016, I’ve:
Fallen down in the most literal sense, but gotten back up. More than once.
Fallen down metaphorically, but gotten back up. Again, more than once.
Found new strength and admitted weakness.
Forgiven and asked for forgiveness.
Learned to handstand in a boot. More on that here.
Learned that my dominant side is more dominant than I thought - a downright asshole sometimes.
Joined a kickass running team before I could even walk sans limp. Proper order, be damned.
Entered a race lottery and hoped I didn’t get in because I….
Discovered a new race and stalked the website for registration to open. I’m still doing that, by the way.
Written more in a 180 day span than I ever have in that short a time period, but published far less than I thought I would.
Learned to slow my body. Okay, it was a forced lesson, but it was a lesson learned, nonetheless.
Didn’t learn to slow my mind. I’m mostly okay with that.
Learned to properly pool run. I still hate it. I’m totally okay with that.
Realized that I actually can be purposeful about getting the proper amount of micronutrients. I’m pretty proud of this one.
Realized that I absolutely cannot use smoothies as running fuel. I’m more than a bit disappointed about this one.
Gained classes. Gained students. Gained friends.
Let go of classes. Let go of students. Let go of friends.
Accidentally bathed a student in IPA during a Beer Yoga class. You can read that story here.
Taught yoga to 300 people at a TedEX event and managed to not say one curse word. NOT ONE.
Had a meltdown or four in front of my best friend and learned that that’s okay to do.
Had about a million belly laughs with him. I like those better.
Started a book challenge. Read 1984 in said book challenge. Immediately wished I hadn’t.
Built things. Literally.
Broke things. Literally.
Very nearly learned how to use Snapchat. I maintain that it’s a ridiculous platform.
(Re)discovered just how hard it is to come back to running after a hiatus.
Cursed my heart, lungs, and legs for refusing to sync.
Promptly thanked them for, once again, allowing me to put one foot in front of the other again, despite their refusal to work together, because karma.
In the past week, I’ve run 44 miles. They’ve been on the streets of downtown and through the wooded trails nearby. They’ve been painfully slow and cracked-out fast. They’ve been wow-this-feels-easy and fuck-me-this-is-stupid-hard, but that’s how running is for me. It’s all the things that pacify my need for unpredictability and take sameness out of the equation. It’s all the things that tiptoe just along the edges of balance without ever actually reaching that sort of tidiness, and that’s precisely what I need it to be. It's the necessary thing that makes the seemingly impossible possible.
This is a story about risk. Actually, it’s not even a story, really,…
Six months ago today, I lay sideways across my bed writing this
It was warmish out at 6:50 in the morning as several hundred of us…
The other night, I taught the Beer Yoga class at This Land Yoga. For…
“Take this fucking boot.” Those were the first words I spoke to…