Making Progress

It’s a good thing the sun finally came out this week because it seemed to me as if Snowpocolipse 2014 was beginning to affect everyone’s ability to be rational.  Lately I’ve been surrounded by so much drama.  People being mean and people throwing pity parties.  I don’t like it.  I’ve got enough issues of my own.  Don’t invite me to your pity party, I don’t have time for that.

This time of year can be hard, regardless.  The days are shorter, the sky is gray-er, we see a lot less of the sun and it begins to affect our attitudes.  Add in the polar vortex and you’ve got the makings of disaster as it becomes increasingly more difficult to get a healthy daily dose of endorphins.

This year didn’t start off as I had hoped in terms of training.  With a blizzard, followed by a deep freeze, followed by several days of school cancellations, it made it pretty challenging for a single mom to get out on a bike or over to a pool or even out on the road for a run.  Thus, I was primarily relegated to the likes of a treadmill.  Yuck.

What is it about a treadmill that feels so torturous?  I think for me, it’s the notion that I’m running, but I’m really not going anywhere.  I’m not making any forward progress.  I’m still staring at that same sign on the wall that lists the rules of the Lake Chesterfield Clubhouse.  I’m watching Dr. Phil on the TV, I can see his mouth moving but I’m listening to Beyonce sing about being a survivor. The background music from my ipod continues to play on, but the scenery never changes.  I’m staring at the little red numbers in front of me that are ticking away the time ever so slowly. I’m expending all this energy but I just feel trapped in the same place.  Stuck at Point A.

And now, thanks to my friend Mike King, I have a bike trainer, so that my bike is securely located, stationary, in my living room.  Pedal as I may, the bike isn’t going anywhere either.  Progress?  What progress?

So, finally, this week the temperature warmed up and the kids went back to school.  I’m finally able to get outside again.  Cue Mel Gibson as William Wallace, “Freeeeeeeedoooooom!”

On Sunday, I got in a solid 6 miler before heading off to work.  It took me a while to get going, but by the second half I felt really good.  Maybe, at least in part, because I spotted a couple of girls jump on the path about a quarter mile ahead of me.  Funny that they were both wearing black tights and a pink top, just like I was.  I started chasing them down.  I wanted to catch them.  I felt my pace pick up and I started reeling them in.  At times my progress seemed almost non-existent.  They were still just as far ahead as they were when I first saw them, or so I thought, but were they really?  Maybe I was gaining some ground.  I wasn’t sure.  I put my head down and ran.  Step after step.  I pushed my pace.  And just as I crested the hill to turn right over the bridge back to my house, I looked up to see them go straight.  Only about 10 steps ahead of me.  I never technically caught them but I gained a lot of ground, even when it didn’t seem like I was.  And ultimately it wasn’t really about beating them, it was about seeing what I could do.

Yesterday, I went out for a run again. After my boxing class, I went over to Castlewood.  I knew my legs would be fatigued from kick boxing, and I knew it would be a tough with the mud and the ice still on the trail, but it was too nice a day not to at least grab a few miles while I had the chance.

It was tough.  I had to walk a little more than usual, but when I did walk, I looked up at the woods around me, where I have run so many times, usually with friends, but sometimes on my own.  I didn’t feel lost, I just enjoyed my surroundings. The sun was shining.  There were birds chirping and the melting snow was making the dripping sound.  I splashed through mud puddles and I tip-toed across icy spots.  I didn’t notice a branch that was shooting across the path and I ended up with a scrape across my shin.  I ran with reckless abandon down a hill that I had run up with the Fleet Feet training team just a week before while I listened to Mandisa sing at me that I’m an Overcomer.

Once I got back to the parking lot, after a rough 4 miles, I took off my muddy shoes and I drove home.  In my socks.

In the time between my run and work, I was standing in my kitchen eating a piece of cold, leftover pizza and drinking a Diet Coke.  I was just standing there, doing ordinary things, on an ordinary day after an average run.  And then, something hit me.  I am happy.  I am genuinely content.  For the first time ever in my life that I can remember, I am not waiting for the next big thing to happen.   Sometimes life is just ordinary.  We do laundry.  And eat cold pizza.  And go to work.  And that’s ok.

Not every day is hugely significant.  Not every race is a marathon.  You can’t climb mountains all the time, eventually you get to the top and have to head back down.  Some days nothing monumental happens.  Some days just…are.  From beginning to end, some days you just live to stay alive and you keep doing the things you normally do.  But what matters on those days is attitude.  Finding contentment and joy, even in the average, ordinary, and mundane.

If you had told me a year ago about all the progress I would make in the almost 12 months since I became Rambling Runner Girl, I’m not sure I would have believed you.  I knew I was at Point A, Ground Zero if you will, when my marriage failed miserably a couple years ago.  But I didn’t even know where Point B was.  I had no idea where I was headed or what it would look like when I got there.

Yesterday as I stood in my kitchen, I felt the need to stick a flag in the top of the mountain I climbed to get here as a monument to recognize the person I have become.  I have finally arrived.  My life has been patiently waiting for me to catch up and get to where I am now, in a state of contentment like I have never truly known before.   Our course isn’t always clear cut, sometimes we have to find it as we make our way through it.  Sometimes it gets messy, and treacherous, and demands more from us than we really believe we are capable of.  But here’s how I know I’ve arrived.  I’m not afraid of the mess.  I’m not afraid of the risk.  I’m not afraid to fall down and say Ouch and then get back up and try again. I’m not afraid of not knowing where I’m going or what effort it will require.  I’m not afraid of feeling a little stuck sometimes.  And I’m not afraid of going slow or even back-tracking.  Because those are the times that progress is really happening.   And I’m not waiting for the next big thing.  I’m just here.  And here is good place to be.

Progress.  We want to get from Point A to Point B.  Typically we want to rush through it as fast as possible.  But when we’re running in place, there is no visible point B.  Some days we see the progress happening before our very eyes, but it’s almost imperceptible.  Try as we might, it just isn’t happening fast enough.  Sometimes we wonder if it’s happening at all. Other days, the obstacles are plentiful, seemingly thwarting our progress altogether.  But we press on and eventually one day we wake up and we are rewarded for our efforts when we realize we made it.  Progress was happening all along, even in the moments that we felt like we were only spinning our wheels, because those are the times that make us stronger.

It took me a while to figure all that out, but it doesn’t really matter how long it took, the important thing is that I did.  I finally realized that life is made up of big and small alike. I got here.  But instead of Point B, I’m calling it Point A+, because I’m not done moving and who knows where I’ll go from here?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *