Sankalpa: A New Year's Resolution Run

I have been using sankalpa's for awhile and have found them to be immensely powerful and beneficial. Sankalpa's are frequently used before yoga practises, yoga nidras and meditations but I have been using a sankalpa before every run since the very beginning. I have been trying to differentiate between goals and sankalpas. The only way I can explain it is that sankalpas work energetically, which makes it hard to pin down into a succinct scientific explanation. I would much rather someone experience a sankalpa than explain it to them!

Looking online for an “official” definition of sankalpas has proven difficult. One site says says sankalpas are “a controlled, self willed thought, conception or intention,” but this definition seems hollow and rather aggressive, conflicting with my personal experience of sankalpas. Most simply put sankalpa means “resolve”. Which makes them perfect for New Year's Resolutions.

Having been on the move travelling a lot, it has been especially hard to keep up my daily runs for the Marcothon (this will be a future post). My body is craving to stay in one place and be still. Rather than meditating at the end of my run I have begun meditating at the beginning to help ground and centre me. At this stage I will often assume a mudra and mentally say my sankalpa. Sometimes it is the same one, or perhaps I need to focus on something in particular. But I always have one.

Sankalpas are very personal so I have never come across any steadfast “rules” when using them. But from my own practise I can share a few suggestions. Firstly, make sure that you are ready for your sankalpa to happen. Timing is indeed everything and this rings especially true for sankalpas. I few times my sankalpas have “resolved” when I was not ready and feel now it was a wasted opportunity. The old saying “be careful what you wish for” applies particularly here. I also do not choose to use them for mundane daily annoyances. I keep meditating to suss them out in my head. Sankalpas to me are sacred. I keep them short, positive and in the present tense. Say it as if whatever you wish to resolve is already resolving. This is the power of a sankalpa, by putting it out to the universe it has already begun. Happy Sankalpas!

The Merry Christmas Run: Spreading goodwill and cheer on the run.

I purposefully avoid looking any “real runners” in the eye, so scared I am of being exposed as a fraud. Running in the Canadian countryside, this is rarely a problem as mostly it is wildlife I encounter. But now I am in urban Australia and surprisingly scornful stares have been relatively few. Actually runners generally are scarce. This is as a surprise. Where are they all? Surely not using the weather as an excuse. It takes me awhile to find some runners. Originally I was pounding the streets of suburbia, but once I had some wheels and could venture further afield I found some. On the beach, the esplanade that runs alongside the Swan River and in the ample Kings Park bushland. It makes sense with such scenery at your doorsteps you feel obliged to make the most of it. However the running scene is slightly disappointing, compared to the jubilation of down town Halifax in Nova Scotia. Cycling appears to be more popular than running here in Perth, Australia.

By far my favourite meditation is Metta Bhvana and I have been eager to incorporate this into my run, for sometime. If there is a particular friend who I wish I could be there for, and am unable, I try to generate as much love and positive energy as I can muster and visually direct this towards their heart. A form of prayer, but it is more about giving than asking. The most important part is to direct some of this love into loving yourself first. Everything I can give the world is better if I begin from a place of strength and love.

I came across another runner who had a similar idea and called it the “Mother Teresa” run. I have “tweaked” it to suit what I am comfortable with. It is very simple. Every time I approach someone along my running path, I try to make eye contact with them. Acknowledge them in some way; a nod of my head, a wave a “hello”. I then say (in my head!) “May you be well. May you be happy. May you be free to grow old and wise.” I use a lot of visualisation but I really love the theory behind this run but the reality is somewhat different. I cannot overcome shyness in looking the few runners I encounter in the eye. Luckily they seem to be too engrossed in talking into their mobile phones to notice. I start feeling like my children, who when food shopping yell “Merry Christmas” to strangers shopping only to get ignored. This, however, does not impede on their enthusiasm and I am inspired by their determination. Funnily, it is the dogs that seem to respond to my good intentions more than the runners. I like to think they are more sensitive but a multitude of reasons can be read into their response.

Even if there are no plans to run during the festivities, the Merry Christmas Run is not limited to the holiday season. When I finish this type of run I always feel really wonderful. Which has always been the irony behind giving anything that it is the giver that receives the most. I include, you in this too because in your busy life you have taken the time to read my ramblings and often share with me your thoughts on running and everything else between the starting and finishing line. I feel truly blessed and appreciate all your support, kindness, advice and feedback. My hope is that love, peace, faith and joy is in in all your hearts this Christmas. And to be found in all our runs in the New Year.

Air Feet: Run as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.

Every family has it. Quirkiness we endure and overlook until it is entrenched in our lives as normal behaviour. My one and only running partner, my sister “The Gazelle,” despite being half my size can be heard stomping from the other end of the house. The first time I heard her come down the stairs I assumed the kids were sledding down the staircase. The second time I sincerely thought an earthquake had hit the Canadian Maritimes. The third time I just shook my head in a scientific manner at how someone so tiny can make such a racket. I, in comparison, have the footsteps of an anorexic ballerina. Stealth moves practised after years of tiptoeing (and at times rambo rolling) away from sleeping babies. I would like to think that it is all this mindfulness training coming into being but chances are it is more the former.

“When we walk like (we are running), we print anxiety and sorrow on the earth. We have to walk in a way that we only print peace and serenity on the earth... Be aware of the contact between your feet and the earth. Walk as if you are kissing the earth with your feet.” Thich Nhat Hahn

I do not believe that Thich has anything against running. I interpret his quote as meaning, when we manifest our thoughts into the physical world we should do so with with good intent and mindfulness. Love with every step. I cannot find the direct quote but I remember reading one of Thich books and he suggested to imagine a lotus blooming from every footprint you leave behind.

Lately I have been doing a lot of investigating into this “barefoot running” and I cannot help but see connections between this line of thinking and mindfulness. I have deduced that it does not matter if you run with fancy shoes, crap shoes or no shoes, it is how you run that is important. It just so happens to be easier (not to mention cheaper and more enjoyable) in your barefoot because you are more connected to the earth in terms of balance and grip. My Mum recently reminded me that I never wanted to wear shoes as a child, I said I only wanted my “air feet”, my version of bare feet. All three of my children were walking by 10 months old. I just could not bring myself to put them in stiff, heavy board like overpriced shoes that are “recommended” for babies.

It is with this in mind I take my first barefoot running endeavour to the beach. Originally my plan was, in Canada, to start running once a week uphill on the treadmill (it is impossible to run uphill incorrectly) until my muscles and ligaments could make the transition away from shoes injury free. Now, in Australia, running barefoot is easier but I still want to take it slowly. My feet have been propped up for over thirty years, I do not want them to go in shock. The truth is, since I have started running, I have encountered some problems which, it has been suggested, only surgery can fix. I refuse to believe this having taken many alternative routes in other situations and avoided surgery successfully.

It's a bit like running into a fork in the road and having to choose what direction. You can run with your shock absorbing, ventilated, self-breathing, lite, orthopaedic trainers with expensive insoles. And then replace them every year. Or with a bit of effort, mindfulness and training run barefoot. My first experimental run on the beach is at first liberating. The run is more “springy” and focusing on technique is distracting. My endurance is better. I imagine am running in the manner of an Ethiopian Marathon Sand Goddess. I am inspired. And the next morning in absolute excruciating agony.

It took two solid days for me to walk without it feeling like I was stepping on a taser. Once upon a time I could run in my air feet but since then I have underestimated the damage I have created by stuffing my feet into shoes and now my body is making me pay. But I am determined to get my air feet back, one run a week. One day I will be kissing the earth with my feet.

Home is where the next run is.

It is the first day of Marcothon, a daily commitment to run 5 kilometres (or for 25 minutes) everyday in December, including Christmas Day. From my nice cosy, predictable, routine in Canada this seemed like a good way to take my run to the next level but now I am being seduced by the most attractive excuses. I have not been healthy enough to run for two weeks, acute sinusitis continues to plague me when I run. I have had, at best, 12 hours worth of accumulative naps in a 5 day period after travelling 36 hours with a preschooler, a toddler and a baby. Jet lag has turned the marrow in my bones to cement but what suffocates any of my good intentions is the 38 degree heat. Any attempts to let myself off the hook are squashed by a fellow Marcothoner, “You were the one who got us into all of this nonsense in the first place!” she told me. Friends who hold you accountable are both a blessing and a curse. I put on my running shoes.

Suburban Australia is as different from the Canadian countryside as you can get in the Western world. The basics are there but slightly skewed. A two dollar coin is the size of a penny, cheese is not orange, and yes water drains clockwise. There are roads and cars, but they drive on the opposite side of the road. It is the tiny changes that screw with your head the most because you think you know what is going on but then you nearly get side swiped by a car.

My body and mind switched allegiances to the Northern Hemisphere years ago but the heart is remembering and the run is reacquainting. The slender curve of a gum leaf, the comical genius that is the Pink Galah, the smell of heat cooking itself. Sweat does not even have the chance to lounge on my skin as the air is so thirsty it evaporates immediately. I am marvelling in distractions and have run 18 minutes straight. I probably could keep going but just because I can doesn't mean I should. I walk the rest of the way as I want to run again tomorrow. Although I have been running for a couple of months I have not run daily yet and I am mindful of injury. And heat stroke.

I use to have very little empathy for people who could not cope with the heat. I don't know if it is an age thing or the fact that this time last week I was making snow angels but the heat has crippled me. The next day I am concerned enough to change my running direction to go past the hospital just in case. Back from an early morning run day 5 and I decide to not run again till tomorrow afternoon just to give my body some time to adjust to a multitude of nonsenses yet sticking to the rules.

Running in another direction

The problem with clichés is that they contain an annoyingly accurate element of truth. Due to this blog I now have documented evidence. In a previous entry I mentioned how much more convenient it would have been to start my running journey in Australia. Now, it appears, life is suddenly taking me there kicking and screaming for two months. I think the appropriate cliché here is “be careful what you wish for.” My thermal running gear is pointing at me laughing hysterically in the corner. From potential -40 Celsius to potential +40 Celsius.

I have outgrown my 3km running goal about two months ago but continue to rerun it's glory on a daily basis. I need a running partner to hold my hand but none can be summoned despite best efforts. I suspect a change of scenery may distract me into accidentally running 5km, I know full well I am capable of doing on a regular basis. I hate golf. Why ruin a good walk, I say? However, I live next door to a spectacular ocean front golf course, which I barely give a second glance too. Upon further closer inspection makes awfully good running trails.

The golf course is a success for me once you remove the golf and add the running. 5Km is a breeze and my mind stretches to endless loops of a possible 7km before Christmas. Then I get sick. I have been running with a minor upper respiratory infection for nearly a month with no ill effects, but it has developed into rather acute sinusitis, that antibiotics can offer no relief. I have not run for 6 days, the longest I have gone in 4 months. I do not even have the desire nor the energy nor the motivation needed to run. This does not concern me as it once might have. I know it is momentary and shall pass.

My energy is occupied and distracted with other challenges. Can I fit a run in a Dubai stopover? Do they make wicking burkas? What do you do on a 12 hour flight when your ear drums burst pouring blood? Will that affect my balance and therefore running ability? Exactly at what point does medicating become drugging 2 toddlers and a baby on a 36 hour plane journey?

I am only packing one pair of shoes; my running shoes but considering I will be running on the beach mostly, even they are dispensable. Running is immune to time differences, currency exchanges and even to climate. The beauty of running is that it can go with you anywhere. Even now when I cannot run at all, I run in my head.

Sometimes goals change with your clothes.

“You're going running in THAT?” my Dad asked me before a run. The man who often gets mistaken as a homeless bum at the mall, that does not own a shirt without holes in it and who you know is “dressing up” if he is wearing pyjama bottoms at the dinner table. Had anyone else made a fashion critique I may not have paid any attention. But I take a quick survey and agree I may look a tad peculiar. A hybrid of a thug and a Shepard. In pink. The Gulf Shore road in Nova Scotia is probably as far away from a fashion runway as you can get but nonetheless I had to hit the shops. I only have one pair of running shorts (not counting the aforementioned underwear) and the weather informants I overhear are warning cold.

How smug I was to walk into the “running” section. But nothing brings me smack down on my fat bottom quicker than shopping. I have spent so much time running inside my head that I am a bit shocked that the body hasn't caught up. I haven't lost any weight. I fear it is karma for the mere 100gram weight loss I mocked last month. Right now 100 grams would be something! At this rate I will lose one kilogram per year. But people had said “muscle weighs more than fat” and it is all about “toning”and I wanted to believe them; so I did. I should have known better. The same “friends” that tell you that the second labour is quicker than the first, among other myths. And then the final blow. I cannot fit into any of the running clothes. Does this mean I am STILL not a runner? I become enraged. Whose to tell me I am not a runner? I'll show them! And fork over a small fortune.

“The only layer you need to keep warm” The label of my new running leggings says. For the first few strides I am the runner these running leggings were designed for. They are so tight that they make my legs appear two sizes smaller. A few minutes into the run I work out why: all the leg fat had been squeezed up my legs and was now an overinflated tire of blubber about to burst at the top. The label should have read “Scientifically designed to be too tight and fall down at the same time.” I had an extreme case of camel toe. I kept having to fold my stomach flab into my leggings the same way other people tuck their shirt into their trousers. At that moment I would rather look like a pink Shepard thug than expose myself to ten cars on a country road.

I have placed aside the 5 km, 10 km, half marathon and marathon goals. My new number one priority goal is to fit into my new running leggings. I paid too much for them and I can't return them, stinking of sweat while coming up with some lame excuse yet secretly aware I wore two sizes too small thermal running leggings on a 17 degree Celsius day.

Om Mani Padme Run! - Mantra Running

For half of my life I was truly blessed. I lived in Australia, a country where day to day, the weather remained seasonally predictable and each day unchanging. Of course there were the freak days where it may have rained or even hailed, and we would all marvel then get on with enjoying the sunshine. Then we moved to the UK where we discovered talking about the weather is the number one conversation topic, very occasionally bumped to number two which is how long it took to drive to work or various routes to get there. Had I known that talking about the weather is a national sport in Canada I very nearly may have not moved here (if you thought the national sport was hockey, I am sorry you have been misinformed).

For me the weather is simple; days I can run outside and days I really should not. The rest of the time I am curious exactly how cold or how deep the snow has to be before I cannot run outside. I had my first taste of this when the frost hit us hard. It was -1 Celsius and I was running in shorts and my mudra was disintegrating before my eyes. Only then did it occur to me that maybe I should actually have paid attention to all this talk about weather. Running in the cold is hard work. All my usual well honed distractions were not working. The only thing that did was mantras.

Essentially a mantra is a repeated word or phrase. It may be chanted or sung. For the most part, while running, I do it silently in my head. It is shorter than a prayer, but just as a revealing. By meditating continually on one mantra a meaning can come bursting out at any time. My favourite, and probably the most common, mantra is “om mani padme hum” which translates to “the jewel in the lotus”. The interpretation that inspires me the most is all about discovering and unleashing our innate potential. Nothing is more sacrilegious than seeing talent go to ruin. So this is the mantra I used on this cold, cold, cold run. It is hard not to digress into talking about the weather....it is in my blood.

Quickly my step began to run to the mantras beat and it morphed into “om mani padme RUN!” What ever works to get me through the run I will do. Meditating on this mantra I had this revelation: you may or may not know this scene from Absolutely Fabulous (not very Zen but stay with me) when Eddie (who has a slight pudge) says there is a skinny woman inside her screaming to get out. Well behind this beetroot face non-runner there is a REAL marathon runner sprinting to get out. She is the jewel in my lotus. Most importantly she is effortless, well clothed and very warm. Smartly she started her running journey in Australia.

I was discussing this run with a friend saying how I can “only do 5km slowly.” The sort of daft things people who are becoming runners say. “Still faster than someone laying on the couch,” she responded. Which is very true. I would rather be the slow “only-can-do-5km-runner” than a couch potato. Especially a couch potato talking about the weather.

The Meditation Coach

Back to the onions and how I know they are the secret to turning me into a runner. I was on my first retreat in Scotland and 3 months pregnant with my first, although no-one knew. I was too scared they would kick me out if they did. This wasn't some some champagne drinking, lulu lemon wearing come out with your toenails painted fuchsia retreat. It was Spiritual Bootcamp 101 for beginners comprising of 6 hours of yoga, 4 hours of meditation per day with some in complete silence. Everyone had chores and pulled their weight.

I quickly latched onto the slightly cross eyed, not quite 5 foot tall, elderly Scottish volunteer cook called Margaret who, to this day, remains one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. I was highly suspicious of the food that would be served and had come prepared with a suitcase full of provisions tucked away under my bed. I have had very little tolerance in the past of “fussy” eaters and then karma found me. I had always looked forward to the mystery of pregnancies cravings but all I had were aversions and I for 9 months reincarnated into the pickiest, fussiest most unbelievably awful eater in the world. I could not eat anything that had garlic, salt, pepper, spices, essentially flavour but most of all onions. And my husband couldn't either if he wanted to come within one metre radius of me. Then Margaret gave me my first chore; to finely dice a large bucket of onions.

I do not think I can properly convey how very much I did not want to dice those onions but I thought so highly of Margaret, and wanted her to think so highly of me in return, that I did not want to fail her on my first and deceiving simple task. So I thought I would give this meditation malarky a whirl to this chore and see if it worked. I was on retreat after all. I applied some simple and very rudimentary techniques. I focused on my breath, “cleared my mind”, only concentrating on the task. And lo and behold, I did it! I didn't find excuses or cry (from onions or otherwise) or wretch or complain or quit. This was quite a revelation for me. That bucket of onions had made me invincible. I could do anything.

The truth is that it took three more years of practise before I really “got” meditation. But the seeds were sown that day. Previously any spiritual exposure I had involved a lot of praying which to me means talking / asking. Like my number one prayer my friend taught me “Hail Mary full of grace show me a parking space.” Meditation is teaching me to shut up and listen. And run.

The Non Attachment Workout

Currently my greatest challenge has resided not in running but what Buddhists call “non attachment”. True understanding of non attachment, like a big bar of chocolate, is best served in in bite sized pieces not by stuffing your face. And running is a great teacher. If I find myself thinking or saying, “I only run in the evening / or when it is sunny / or with my running partner / or in the country / or when wearing my lucky underwear” I stop myself. I do not want to create conditions that will set me up for further excuses or failure in the future. If I have no preconceived notions of how things should be or how I feel about them then I am exercising my true free will and not allowing circumstances to have any form of “control” over me.

Does it mean I still have preferences? Yes. But when in life is anything ever perfect? And the few times when the stars are aligned just so and everything in the universe conspires to my wishes than I am grateful. The irony is that I have never learned anything new about myself in these moments and they are often the least memorable runs. Remind me of this when the inevitable blizzards with -40 Celsius and waist deep snow drifts settle in for the winter.

Recently I had a taste of this when the fringes of a hurricane swept our shore. I felt coerced to becoming one with that sad piece of a equipment in the bowels of the basement. Treadmills are not the best cheerleaders, and nobody benefits from immediate feedback of calories burned, distanced travelled and watching time play tricks on you. It is a dysfunctional demoralising relationship but we are working on it and hopefully one day soon we can be on talking terms that treadmill and I.

Last weekend I was in the city and unexpectedly had to stay longer than originally planned. This meant I had not packed my running shoes. I went into full blown panic mode. Every second day I run and I feel if I miss one day then I will undo all the conditioning that I have sweated for and be back walking as fast as one can untie my double knotted runners shoelace. I do not even want to admit how low I stooped to borrow a size 10 pair of running shoes in Halifax. I am still embarrassed by it as I have no concept of personal boundaries. I apologise – you know who you are! Amidst this chaos screaming in my head I finally listen to a tiny whisper...could it be....no....could it possibly be....am I attached to running? In summary I practised non attachment techniques to running only to become attached to running which means I now I have to become non attached to running. So essentially I am back at the beginning! My non attachment practise did a switcharoo on me. Hardly surprising. I am a Gemini.

I fully recommend the non attachment workout. I learned to let go and not run. And in the process I became a much better runner.

Reflections on Running 5kms

I stepped on my scales for the first time since I started running two months ago. I was staggered at my weight loss, it seems inconceivable that having run consistently every second day that I have lost....wait for it....I really hope you are sitting down....100 grams. Seriously. I could cut off all my hair and get greater results. Surely people who can run 5kms weigh less than 100 pounds?

Running has defiantly changed my life. For the worse. Showers, for me, are a luxury activity not a necessity. Being someone who resembles a sweaty beetroot when I run, means I have to shower much more often than previously. Plus I need to wash my hair more often than my ten day maximum. I have more laundry as I am now having to wear a second set of clothes that scream “olfactory” from my laundry basket if left for longer than a day. My skin has broken out like a forlorn teenager and for all my moaning I am even starting to sound like one. In summary running has changed me into a 100 gram thinner, smellier, acne-ridden beetroot. I apologise profusely but I am the worst possible advocate for running.

There are signs of hope though and I cling on to these like velcro. The deer no longer mock me with their rudeness and I look forward to seeing the wildlife. I prefer the days when I do run rather than when I do not. Positive signs of addiction that 5km is no longer enough, running has made me greedy and I want more. And I even managed to convince my husband that it was not a tumour on my left buttock but the promised beginnings of muscle. That and the bag of onions. I have got a lot of mileage out of that bag of onions which deserves further exploration on another day.

Death Run: Part I

I finalised my will today. Not a very cheery subject I know but very practical now I have become a runner. I decided to take the opportunity to run home from the lawyers house since it is exactly 5km from home and my husband escorted the will by car. A bit of a death wish running holding your will really. Imagine if I did get hit by a car or had a heart attack and they found me in the ditch holding my will. Everyone would be extremely impressed by my practicality and organisational skills for sure and would talk about this rather than my crap running. Because that is what you do when people die, you leave out the bad bits. Which is a shame I think as those are usually the most interesting parts. But I digress....

In Buddhist traditions it is very important to meditate on death. They are not morbid, it is just the most effective way of quickly putting life in perspective. There are various ways to go about it. I highly recommend “The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” it is a rollicking good read and very thought provoking. I usually drag it out once a year. One meditation I have always been fascinated by is you go to a cemetery at midnight, by yourself and meditate. If that sounds scary than imagine doing it in India where you could smell the burning bodies, see the bones poking about and hear animals creeping in for a midnight snack.

However this is tame compared to the Marathon Monks. Having a lazy day? Lacking motivation? I highly recommend watching this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S06oMxdt40A Totally riveting. They run themselves physically to the point of death and then meditate. Some actually die. Simplified, I think the point is to confront your own death in meditation so that when your time is up you do not waste all your energy freaking out and miss the momentous event. It feels like I am dying sometimes when I do run so to me this is a logical connection.

I am psyching myself up to do a death run. I have always liked the idea of running in the woods. Which is handy since I live in the Nova Scotian wilderness. The problem is that packs of coyotes and bears like living there too and I swear there is a wildcat or puma lurking around. Even thinking about it while I ran on the safety of the Gulf Shore Road gave me the willies and I was so preoccupied thinking about death that I ran my first 5km the whole way. I strongly suspect that once I summon the courage to do the Death Run that it will be my fastest. If I survive to tell the tale.

“Live each day as if it were your life.” One of the Marathon Monks said that and it really inspired me. I have to run each run as if it was my last. Because it very well could be.

Moving with Mudras

I have been grasping for anything that I believe can carry me over my 3km barrier. Mudras are what took me to a higher level of meditating, and it was this inkling that made me think they maybe transferable to running. If you don't know what a mudras are do not worry. You have been using them all along without knowing that they were called “mudras”. Every time you put your hands in prayer position, that is a mudra. Ever interlaced your hands together? That too is a mudra. Utilizing acupressure points to tap into your internal energy sources. I like to think of it as antennae to energy. Others will think it is a whole lot of mumbo jumbo. Shame. They are missing out.

I was on retreat, meditating on a rooftop in Morocco. It was the first time I had used this particular mudra (I think it was the heart one) for a length of time and no matter what tricks I used I could not settle comfortably into meditation. This was unusual at this point in my practise. I fidgeted, sighed, changed sitting positions anything to provide a distraction. I went back to the breath and found myself weeping uncontrollably. How embarrassing! I have seen people emotional many times when meditating on retreat and it always peaks my curiosity. What dark imaginables must be lurking in their souls, how they must be tortured by inconceivable memories.... I feel a great surge of compassion. For me, that was not the case. I had no idea why I reacted that way, there was no explanation. They say you have not truly meditated till you have cried and on that rooftop in Marrakesh I bawled like a newborn baby. Such is the subtle power of a mudra.

I have been experimenting with two mudras. I don't even know what this first mudra is called but it's speciality is to reduce all physical weakness. You place the tip of your ring finger on the tip of your thumb, with the other three fingers straight. The pressure should be strong enough to make a “lock” but not hard enough to whiten the finger tip. I begin my run with this one. Before I start feeling like I am running out of steam I will also place the pinky tip on top of the thumb. This mudra is the one of life and it removes any fatigue. The key, I discovered, is to use it before you need it. I'm useless at instructions so if you are really interested just google mudra or I found this site http://www.kundaliniyoga.org/mudras.html I have spent a great many runs concerned that on coming traffic would think I was giving them the finger from their vantage point. Despite this, I feel more at ease running with my hands in this position. The more common running fist position I feel is instictually aggressive and closes an important energy point. Alternatively the flopping fish hands just look comical and I have yet to see a “real runner” not correct this one.

I'm still exploring mudras in running. Since I have used mudras effectively I have managed a 5km run twice. I still walk if I need too but I find the time I need to walk has been halved (one minute walking break down to 20 seconds). I feel the quality of my running has improved, although I have yet to run a whole 5km straight.

I would like to point out that I do not know of anyone else who runs while using mudras. If you have I would love to hear of your experience. Or if you decide to try it let me know how it goes. If this is your first time using mudras then it maybe best to try it out a few times first sitting down with your eyes close to see how it makes you feel before you try it running. You do not want to have a mudra moment mid run. Trust me!

Running as a journey not a race.

My personal history and experience with running has been one riddled with pushing yourself that little bit harder, no pain no gain and using competition to edge yourself over the finishing line. This has not served me well in running or in life. I may have had some wins but I never felt much like a winner. In contrast, when I am in a yoga pose I do not berate myself for not doing it perfectly or “winning”. Everyone's bodies are shaped differently, people hold their strength in varying ways and not everyone is at the same stage. It is about finding your breath, listening to your body, easing your way in. As one of my wiser teachers would always say, “bring acceptance into your practise”.

So this is what I do. I try to celebrate what I can do well rather than wallow in what I deemed as large failures. Running mindfully has meant I have never had to search for motivation. I also have complete mastery of my breathing. Strangely I have yet to have any sore muscles or aches. However these last two points, one could also argue this means I am not running hard enough.

I have started running 7 telephone poles further than the 3km mark and it takes me past some horses. At the time I was willing my body to keep running when clearly all it wanted to do was walk. It occurred to me, if it was the horse running with me on it's back I would have shown it more compassion than I do myself. I would have made sure that the horse would slow down if it was tired, told it look how far we have come and how close we are home and patted it's mane in encouragement.

I can not honestly say I like running yet but I can say I do not dislike it. This in itself feels like a milestone. No matter what condition I am in on the run as soon as I see the last hundred meters to our mailbox I pick up my pace, confidently and compassionately stride with effortless grace. For those last hundred yards of every run, I am the runner I will be.

Looking for where to look (and for the tape measure).

I've been "running" steadily for over six weeks now, still attempting the same 3 kilometres and am bitterly disappointed I do not have body in manner of Cameron Diaz. I have been misinformed I was sure it was 1 kilometre = 1 kilogram lost. Wasn't that the whole point of the metric system? I tried on some second hand "real runner" clothes and I look like a trussed up marshmallow.

I've started reading other running blogs for advice and inspiration but am discouraging (see http://brokenheartedrunner.com/?p=443 It's all a bit advanced and overwhelming, like entering a marathon before you can run at all. The only suggestion I tried was using golf balls to give your bum cheeks a self-massage but you need to have glute muscles for this and the balls just sink into me, get lodge and don't move. This is heading into dangerous territory. I decide to google "non runner" blogs and it does not bode well. I couldn't find anyone who had updated a post for two years. What happened to them all? Did they give up? Die? Is this my fate? I hope not. I like to think that they are too busy getting high off the happy endorphins of running heaven. Evidently this has yet to happen to me. So if anyone has suggestions for beginner runner blogs or know a time frame to arrive at runners heaven please share.

Part of the problem is that real runners do not remember what it is like not to run. Like a baby quickly forgets their birth. I need someone to simplify this down to basics. As stated in my last entry I worked out not to use headphones or listen to music, that I sussed out myself by observation. But where does a real runner look? At the horizon (the makes me nauseous)? Their feet (gives you a bad neck)? Sky? If I find something really difficult it is my instinct to close my eyes to concentrate. I notice myself doing this to summon strength and focus. When running this is a dangerous and unbalancing habit. I also have a tendency to roll my eyes upwards to the heavens, in a silent non-verbal gesture, "Why oh why am I compelled to do this?" I prefer running with the sun behind me casting my much thinner shadow in front. I imagine I am running to meet a thinner version of myself. After much painstaking research I did find the answer. When running you should look exactly 6 metres in front. Now I will have to get a tape measure.

A lot of these "real runners" who blog seem to have had a head start. They do not need to look far for inspiration. Some have had traumatic experiences, innumerable operations or conditions that they have managed, with sheer grit and determination, to overcome and run over a hundred marathons. I am just fat and lazy. Hardly inspiring. I think all this running is making me cynical and cranky. Better skip the run and sit on the meditation rock for awhile. Ommmmmmmm.

 

 

Here is what the Gulf Shore road looked liked the other night. Feel very fortunate to live somewhere you can see the sun rise and set over water.

 

PS - I would like to retract and apologise to my husband for saying he listened to talk back radio in my last post. Apparently this has caused him much anguish. I don't know what he listens too but it is boring with no rock music. I wrongly assumsed this was talk back radio.

 

Finding My Own Rhythm

Clubbed to Death use to be my favourite running song. It was 2006 and I had just moved to London and convinced one of my oldest and dearest friends to let me start running with her. It had been a really hot summer and my lungs were collapsing with the smog, my muscles were fatigued and Islingston had completely disoriented me, panicking that I would be unable to have the energy to make it back to our "bunker" I began to hyperventilate. We had been running for just over 7 minutes. I saw my saviour a local council worker picking up rubbish and managed to convince him to give us a lift home. Being a sophisticated Londoner my friend was mortified but cared enough about my safety to help the councillor worker escort me home in the council van. She never ran with me again. This is one of my many failed attempts to be a runner and the last time I heard Clubbed to Death. True Story.

One of my many observations about "real" runners is that they run in silence. Since I began running with Spirit I have ditched the headphones and obsession with creating the perfect play list. This, surprisingly, has been the easiest transition so far. Silence is rare in my life. I have a husband that thinks talk back radio is interesting, a 3 year old who talks incessantly about anything, a 2 year old who likes rock music and a 11 month old baby who is desperately trying to be heard above it all. There is no longer a disco inside of my head when I run. I silently witness, with every thud, one step closer to completing my marathon miracle. This is sacred.

But sacredness aside, it is also very practical. I know when to focus more on my breathing. I can hear what direction cars are coming in (this is handy having spent the most part of my life driving on the "wrong" side), and identify animals rustling in the ditch. Like this evening when I heard something, and my heart sunk thinking "BEAR!". Half in excitement as I have never seen a wild one yet, but also I would be very tasty to a bear. I have a nice, even layer of fat and the mosquito bites are testament that I am sweet and tasty. On the plus side if I was attacked it would be a credible reason to hang up my sneakers and get a very cool scar. But unfortunately it was not a bear. It was a skunk. I had never seen a live skunk either till this evening. It just toddled on up to me with no fear, waving it's tail like a puppy. Even a bear would be scared of a skunk. I can not get skunked and luckily, this evening I discovered I can out run one. My heart rate is my new beat, my erratic, gasping, wheezing breath a constant chorus. I'm running to my own rhythm.

My 3km Marathon

The problem with doing something successfully is the expectation that you can do it again. My lucky underwear run was over ten days ago and I haven't been able to replicate it since, despite best efforts. The energy my enthusiasm generates is rapidly depleting so I decide to have a look at the "How to Run" program and realise that you are suppose to have 3 "rest" days a week. Against my nature, I take two rest days as my ankles are starting to pop like popcorn and my left knee is protesting. I like to complain about them often as I can as it makes me sound hard core but the truth is they did this before I started running.

Starting to run again after my "rest" feels like beginning all over again. I came across the term "marathon shuffle," whereby your body is so fatigued you can barely put one foot in front of another. I empathise. I hit that wall at the 1 kilometre mark in my 3 kilometre goal. Every step is a choice to keep going. In these hardest moments in the run, like in life, I feel Spirit has forgotten me. Why me? Why is it harder for me? Everyone else can do it? I guess in a spiritual context the word choice would be replaced by freewill. I can always stop. But really, where's the fun in that?

PS - The Gazelle has gone back to university so I am looking for another running partner (any offers? Must not get embarrassed easily). This link is in honour of her running with me....remember your pinky promised!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1UvxxYIv3U&feature=related

Making Peace with your Pace

In Buddhism you practise non-attachment to many things including your achievements. Luckily my accomplishment of "running" the whole way is short lived as I become enlightened to the fact I could have probably walked it quicker. I check the "How to Run" book and Paula states that the average runner does one mile in 13 minutes. Which means absolutely nothing to me since I don't do miles, or count (as previously stated) or especially math. I wouldn't have signed up for this if I knew math was involved.

 

What appeals to me is the simplicity of running. Now it has become more complicated. Like what is the difference between a fast walk, a jog and what constitutes a run? I spend my "rest" day driving the car working out the odometer to calculate distances. I momentarily become discouraged, as I feel I haven't even begun bringing any spirit aspect to my running or this blog because all my effort is on the running! But then I remember that it took me 14 years before I could even sit still enough to contemplate meditating. Once I could manage that it took 3 retreats, at least 5 teachers, 1 meditation group, countless books and loads of hours of practise. I should learn to accept I am a slow learner.

 

I thought running was a solitary sport but now I know you need a team behind you. I have the husband as a mathematician so I gave him some homework, I'm luckily enough to now have an accommodating (not to mention free) childcare team in my parents since I am basically a part-time single Mum. Now I need to find some experts. Which means apologising and grovelling to all those friends I have that are runners who I've teased (often behind their backs while eating Tunnock Teacakes). horrendously over the years for advice and support. This feels very much like a Catholic confession. Plus I have ordered a book online called "Making Peace with your pace." And once I work out what my pace is I should have hopefully have finished the book.

Anything is better than nothing

I never wear a watch. Only when I run. I'm following Paula Radcliffe's "How to Run" and I need to a stop watch so I know when to run and when to walk. I watch the seconds as keenly as a woman in labour timing contractions. And now I can't find my watch, so therefore I can't "run". I glance at the running program and my heart sinks. I've been trying to achieve day one for ten days. I could never read instructions. Or count. Which is why I need my stopwatch. My running partner's voice sings smugly in my head "Anything is Better than Nothing."
My running partner is my younger-by-a-decade sister. When she runs she only wears make-up so she perspires dew like beads. I sweat buckets from a face like grated beetroot. She runs like a gazelle. This is also the first time that I am going running without her. And no stop watch. I also can't find my running pants. My other options are maternity leggings that I will have to hold up with one hand or ones that give me a corker wedgie. It's getting dark now and the chances of me becoming road kill are increasing. I settle for a pair of shorts that in hindsight are my husbands old underwear (boxer not jock style!). Anything is better than nothing right?

I have a friend in Scotland that runs marathons like other people run to the shops for milk. Her advice was to run till I stop. This seemed good advice for someone trying to run with no stop watch, no running partner while wearing her husbands underwear. But something is watching me from the side of the road. A deer with two fawns quickly evaluate me as unable to outrun them and come closer for a look before flicking their pert tails at me like giving me the finger before they dash in the forest scoffing "You call yourself a mammal." Wildlife can be really rude. And scary till you identify it. I'm still not sure what those five creatures crossing the road orderly in a line were ahead of me. I don't think skunks live in families. These were too big for mice, too small for a bear and with long tails. I think they were raccoons. I started getting excited there was something up ahead but it was just a mail box.

Actually it was our mailbox. A miracle or lucky underwear, you decide. I ran the whole way.

On Your Marks. Get Set. Go!

I want to be a runner. When I stated this my father snorted as if I failed before I even began, my 3 year old daughter became distressed about who would make her breakfast and my Grandmother started worrying about my joints. Totally glossing over the fact that hefting around an extra 20 kilos wouldn't cause more destruction to my overall health.
I'm in no disillusion at the state my body is in. I've had three babies in four years. Two c-sections and a gall bladder removed. A survived a short (5 months) but powerful bout of post natal depression. I watch my ten month old try to take her first step walking and I feel the same way when I try to will my body to run. It would be nice to use my three children as an excuse for my physical state but the truth is that I wasn't in much better physical health before having kids either. Actually worse.

For awhile I spent time "researching" running, it made me feel like I was already doing it without leaving my bed. But the more I read seeking for inspiration the more discouraged I felt. Women trying to shift the extra 2 kilos before their wedding, the people who found marathons too easy and now doing "ultra marathons". How does someone who can literally run ten steps relate to this? I feel like the only person who really wanted to run but can't. Like that little train that chugged up the mountain spouting "I think I can I think I can I think I can."

I may not be able to hold my head up high yet and call myself a runner but I am certainly a multitasker. If I want to crack this running malarkey I am going to have to make time because I've looked and I can't find anymore. I have a daily meditation practise, which sometimes because a daily cleaning / nappy changing / buggy pushing / driving mindfulness meditation practise but now is going to evolve into running practise. Meditating, sedately on a mountain may work for monks but I have to be realistic here. If my body is my temple than mine is in serious need of renovation and it isn't going to happen sitting on my bottom meditating. The idea of combining the two appeals to me because I know that I will need all the higher power help I can get. My Dad's snort is ringing in my ears like a motor reving its engine.