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.