the body and the program

Recently I started to follow a “Baby Steps to 5k” program, just one that comes on my phone (which, how weird is it that your phone automatically comes with a health app that you literally cannot turn off? But compulsory health tracking is another post).

I started the program mostly because I want to make a mental challenge for myself. Physically, so far the program isn’t too challenging, mostly just a good walking workout, but not painful to my knee or anything else. But the real push here is to stick with the program. I am notorious for planning and then letting the plans slip away. It’s a constant pattern in my life. I love making spreadsheets and tracking tools, downloading apps and adding reminders to my calendar, whipping myself up into a delirious planning frenzy. Then I do the plan for two weeks, tops, and slowly abandon it.

So this program is more of a personal test to see if I can choose a plan and stick to it. It’s something I feel I can complete, on a physical level. The real test is simply to work for 10 weeks on this. I could have chosen anything–it didn’t have to be a physical goal–but this is simple because the plan is just right there in the device I carry on my person at all times.

The good news is, I’m four weeks in now and still going strong. I’m noticing that my sense of accomplishment is really growing with these workouts, something that has nothing to do with my body size or health or fitness level, but more to do with the pride of having accomplished a goal I have set for myself. I’m hoping that I can continue as the workouts get longer and take a bit more energy.

I have six more weeks to go to see. We’ll see how things are by the first week of July!

the body and slowness as success

I have a confession to make: before I was injured, I was a huge Pace Prince. Pace Prince is a term I just made up, so don’t worry if you don’t follow. What I mean is, before I was injured, I was obsessed with running faster. I was so dedicated to the principal of getting my Personal Best on every run, that I didn’t enjoy it unless I did. I didn’t even count it unless I did. Pace Prince. Obsessed with going faster.

There’s nothing wrong with setting a time goal, that’s a great target and an excellent achievement. But when it becomes the only thing you care about, as it did for me, it robs you of the joy of movement and being in the moment with your body.

My Pace Prince mentality didn’t come from nowhere, since I’m a very competitive person, and I wanted to go faster to prove to others that I was fit enough to be running. If I could pass other people–thinner people–I could prove that I belonged on the trail, in those training shoes, at the race.

But this isn’t a story about going fast, it’s about how I learned to go slow.

I suffered a serious injury. I went from pushing myself to go faster to pushing myself to rest. Being still and slow was imperative to my recovery. I spent most of my time on the couch for the first month after my injury. Even though after about 4 weeks I could technically walk (more of a hobble), my doctor told me that I needed to rely solely on my crutches for at least 2 more weeks. The Pace Prince in me threw a tantrum. I was so slow on crutches! Going across the room took four times as long as if I just hopped or hobbled over (hopping also had more comedic value!). But I turned on all my restraint and stuck to the crutches. This rest was essential because it was part of what made the difference between needing and avoiding surgery. I stuck to slow and I didn’t need surgery.

I inched forward in recovery, getting back range of motion measured in single degrees. When I wanted to explode after doing that same set of simple physical therapy exercises for the hundredth time, I reminded myself that diligent progress was more important than speed and that healing can’t be hurried no matter how much I wished it could.

Three months passed and I could walk mostly normally again. I lagged behind my friends, but they learned to wait. I focused on the motion of walking, training myself to step symmetrically instead of quickly. I walked one block, then two, then a quarter mile, then a half mile. Slow, slow, slow, slow.

Six months after my injury, my physical therapist still insists that I do my exercises with control and rest at least one minute between sets. It takes a long time to complete the ten or so things I have to do, sometimes up to two hours, but I don’t mind anymore. The restraint feels powerful. I’m in tune with what every muscle is doing in way that I never was when I was only pushing for speed. A slow squat makes me appreciate the symphony my body creates as a complex and well-trained orchestra.

These days I’ve sped up to jogging. My inner Pace Prince is silent as I stay slow and low in my stride. I focus on maintaining my comfort, managing my pain, and appreciating the movement I’ve missed for so long.

The speed I have now was grown from the seeds of slowness. This ongoing process has taught me that taking time is valuable. That quality comes from focus and practice that can sometimes only be refined at a snail’s pace. That slowness can be the greatest success.

 

the body and the jog

I’ve written a lot about my body and my thoughts. What about my body and my movement?

Recently, I got the go-ahead from my physical therapist to start trying to run again. This is a huge deal for me because 1) I really enjoy running and 2) six months ago I literally could not walk across a room. So this progress has really pumped me up.

Okay, deep breath, time for the first selfie on this blog! Here I am in my running gear:

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My first few runs have gone really well. I have been vigilant about my routine because I am terrified of re-injuring myself. I walk for 5 minutes to warm up, jog at about 5mph for 0.5 miles, and then walk for 5 minutes to cool down. Then I immediately go ice my knee. I did this all last week and it has felt great. Some supplementary ibuprofen was taken, but I’m okay with that. The knee isn’t fully healed yet, so some swelling and pain is okay as long as it goes down quickly and continues to head in a healing direction in the long run.

My cardio endurance is definitely low compared to pre-injury, but that’s to be expected. What’s great is that I can do this activity I love again, and do it with minimal fear. One day, I think I’ll be fearless again.

My physical therapist recommended that I could move up a small amount in distance if I felt comfortable, so I might try for a 0.75 mile run next. For now the joy is just pushing myself and being really in my body in a way that nothing but exercise can do for me.

Here’s to the tangible progress in life, and to enjoying what I have when I have it!