the whole plate. » running

looking forward.

leslie — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 17:27:24 +0000

I have a tough time keeping my head in the present.

Currently, as an intern, I don’t have much idea of what my professional life will look like past this spring. I know that now it’s going as perfectly as I had hoped. I know that I am learning, observing, and accomplishing each and every day. But I also know that it is short term.

Still, I find that I am always looking ahead: dreaming up possibilities for the months to come, making plans for the weekend or the summer, basically, contemplating every inch of the future. I’ve done this for years. I remember imagining my life at the film school I hoped to attend [I got in; then I transferred out] when I was still five years away from collegiate age. I envisioned my life as a student abroad before I had ever left the country. I pictured myself as a New York working professional while I was still a European assistant.

It’s a bit paradoxical, because I’ve never really known what I actually want my future to be. I don’t mind the unknown; I’ve learned over the years to embrace it. But that hasn’t stopped me from thinking about the future anyway.

“sweet potato hash” topped with poached eggs; side of roasted brussels.

These thoughts all began on my yoga mat [shocker]; I was in the midst of a podcast I return to quite often, and it occurred to me that the next sequence would allow me a short respite in triangle pose. I love triangle pose. Something about that stretch feels designed exactly for my body, and it seems to uncannily arrive precisely when I need a few moments to catch my breath. I always settle into it with such a sense of calm; I always lift out of it with such a sense of strength. Remembering that it was only a minute or so away, the edges of my lips curved just a bit upward. I was looking forward to it.

I used to experience this sentiment back when I ran as well. I trained myself to start at my slowest, so each run always felt like a journey, building and changing over the course of the miles [though I'm sure I idealize this now - there were bad runs too]. Usually, though, a moment would occur sometime toward the end of the first mile: my momentum would grow, a rhythm would set in, and the freedom of running in fresh air would lay before me. One foot in front of the other: I would look forward to it.

tonight, i’m looking forward to making this dinner again. i mean, just look at that runny yolk.

I am realizing there is a difference between mulling a future largely out of my control and simply contemplating the little things I can choose to do each day. It’s the thought of those small intentions that compose each day: awaiting the arrival of an online purchase, rereading a classic novel and knowing a beloved sentence will come in the next chapter, chopping ingredients in preparation of a dinnertime craving, smiling into a favorite yoga pose.

The future will likely always be a question mark. But I’m grateful for those tiny moments of anticipation – they let my mind wander to the future without ever straying too far from the present. It’s nice to look forward – as long as it’s not too far.

What little moments do you look forward to in your daily life?

cautious steps.

leslie — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 15:00:43 +0000

I did something totally crazy yesterday.

laced up the old shoes…

I went for a run.

Running? Who, me?

If you’re newer to the blog, here’s a little backstory: In January, I had just begun training for my first half marathon, when I started to feel an odd sensation in my right knee. New shoes and extra cross training didn’t help, and by February, I couldn’t walk one block without painful scraping behind both my kneecaps. Thus began an eight month journey through two doctors, two physical therapists, countless hours of internet research, very expensive custom orthotic inserts, and more than a few tears. By the end of April, when my attempts to continue running left me nearly unable to walk down stairs, I knew I had to let go.

A month later, I discovered yoga. I started out with just a couple sessions a week, and as I began to fall in love with the practice, I increased that amount. Still, I continued to sweat it out on the elliptical on off days. After returning from vacation in Maine two months ago, where all I had done was morning yoga and oceanfront walks, I quit the gym. I devoted myself to yoga and nothing else, and I felt such peace with that decision.

Then, my knee pain, which I thought would be with me forever, slowly began to fade.

soft run/walk/bike path

About four weeks ago, I was walking to the grocery store (where else?), and I realized I felt nothing in my knees. The following day – nothing.

I did some tests. I went on longer walks. I tried walking with my orthotics. I tried walking without them. I tried soft surfaces. I tried concrete. I danced in heels at my best friend’s wedding, jumping and spinning to the cheesiest classics, “Shout” and “Cotton-eyed Joe.” I even ran barefoot on the beach for pictures.

Every morning, I expected to wake up in pain. And every morning, I felt nothing.

So yesterday, I chose to do an experiment. I went for a run.

Why am I posting a makeup-less pre-run self portrait? I was excited, I suppose.

It was a short run, and I alternated running and walking to keep it gentle on the knees. But the length, speed, distance, timing – all of it is irrelevant [and I didn't wear a watch or HRM, so I don't even know the details]. Only two things matter: One, I woke up this morning without any pain.

Two, running again felt like coming home. The breeze, the scenery, the movement through the outdoors. The only thing I feel is missing from yoga is fresh air.

I don’t know have any idea where this will take me. Tomorrow morning, I will happily be doing a seventy-five minute Ashtanga podcast. But in a few days, perhaps I’ll go for another run. And we’ll see.

Do you have an injury-recovery story? Are you dealing with one currently? Tell me the details; I can sympathize.

channeling the yogini.

leslie — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 16:23:44 +0000

The final panel at the summit last weekend, prior to a free giveaway-palooza, was a casual talk by the planning committee entitled “Fitness for Everyone.”

Each blogger shared personal fitness-related stories, whether it be Kath biking to the supermarket or mowing the lawn, Caitlin and Tina navigating injuries, Meghann training for marathons, or Heather displaying a yoga-running balance. The overall message was that exercise should be a priority, but that it should also be enjoyable. There is no mold that perfectly fits us all, and we all have different activities that suit us best.

Then Jenna stood up and cemented that point. She faced us without Powerpoint slides, without notecards, without any pre-planning. She told us how running continues to disagree with her body and expressed that it’s likely she will stop entirely after her half marathon this fall. What will she do then? Yoga. Just yoga.

When I arrived in Boston, I knew I would be spending two days mingling with many, many runners. I had prepared myself to be upset, to be frustrated, to be angry with myself and my knees.

But I wasn’t.

In my first couple months of physical therapy last winter, I tried yoga out, but I couldn’t focus. I was counting the days until I’d run again, and I felt neither commitment nor connection to yoga. But when my knees flared up again, I chose to give yoga another chance. Somehow, in just a few short months, it has become just as rewarding to me as running once was.

Yoga has made me more connected and aware of my body than ever before. I used to say that about running, and it was true to a point. I could tell when I was underfueled, overworked, or just right, depending on how I felt on that day’s run. But having that awareness didn’t necessarily mean I listened to what my body was saying.

When I ran, I was always planning. 5 miles today, 3 tomorrow. Long and slow today, tempo tomorrow. Yoga is different. I can do it for twenty minutes or an hour and a half. I can shake and stumble out of poses; I can also shock myself and balance with strength I never knew I had. I can feel sweat coat my body, and I can also relax, letting my mat simply be a place for a gentle stretch. Most of all, I never choose what to do in advance. I allow the moment to guide me, and my body tells me if it needs work or rest, if it’s ready for a new and challenging pose, or if it needs to resettle in the familiar.

I still love to run. I am glad I was able to participate in the running community for the time that I did. I’ll always know I have the heart and the drive to run long distances. But putting my sneakers in my closet and shutting the door is a decision I am not only proud, but content to have made.

I believe our bodies were meant for activity. But I am also a firm believer that we each have our own unique niche. Some people run. Some walk. Some enjoy the gym. Some dance. [Have I ever mentioned I took twelve years of ballet lessons?] Some people swim, some bike, some climb. And some practice yoga.

Exploring the many different forms of movement can be half the fun of staying active. The other half, at least for me, is finding the one that’s right for you, falling in love with it, and treasuring its sweet release.

What is your exercise release?

what i learned on my running vacation.

leslie — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 15:41:06 +0000

Today I am finally getting fitted for custom orthotics. My physical therapist swears I will run again, and soon, but I still don’t know.

Sometimes I am still surprised that I’ve managed to settle into a running-free life. It felt like agony in the beginning, but in the past couple months, things have changed. It’s not that I learned to live with it; it’s more that I learned to live in a different way.

Sure, there were some tears. There were some screams. But looking back, I have grown an incredible amount, and I’m not sure that living out a dream of running a half marathon would have taught me the same lessons:

I discovered yoga. Running was my outlet for any and all emotions. Frustrated? Run. Angry? Run. Excited? Run. Afraid? Run. I had some of my most introspective thoughts while pounding out the miles. But with yoga, I learned to shut my brain off. I stopped focusing on my body and my emotions, and instead centered on simply being. That mental freedom is something I will treasure forever.

I practiced patience. I followed the plans I was given, performed the strengthening exercises, stayed in when I knew I shouldn’t walk too much, rested when I was told to. I did what I should have, but my body didn’t always follow. I could never predict when I would have a good day and when I would not. I couldn’t make my own exercise plans; I couldn’t train for a race. I could, however, focus on what was happening right now. As someone who always looks to the future, this was a difficult adjustment – but it was worth it. Patience is a virtue, and appreciating each day as I live it has been a beautiful gift.

I started eating to live, not to run. Most runners I know are a bit obsessed with food – what to eat, when to eat, how to eat it. While I think the concept of sports nutrition is a fascinating one, it has been nice to take a break from it. While running, I knew I needed to eat in order to run well (and the feeling of running while underfueled is not an enjoyable one). But without running? No longer was I eating for a purpose. I was eating because it was an enjoyable, pleasurable part of life. I’ve stopped seeing food as fuel, and I am now happy to approach it as something I love.

I realized the mental benefits of exercise far outweigh the physical. I started seriously exercising a couple years ago in order to change my body. And suddenly, I found myself forced to rest. I was shocked to find that not only did my weight not change an ounce, but that I also didn’t care. Far more than the calorie burn, I missed the high. Each day I am able to walk, to press up into downward dog, even to zone out on the elliptical, I am grateful for the ability to do it. I’ve proven to myself that I exercise to better my soul.

So really, who knows if orthotics will be a miracle cure. But if they aren’t – I’m confident I’ll survive.

Have you ever been injured? What have you learned from it?

power[ful] yoga.

leslie — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 15:11:24 +0000

Saturdays used to be my long run day. Since getting injured, I have slowly transformed them into yoga days.

I am very new to yoga. I have always been hopelessly inflexible, never coming close to a split even after twelve years of ballet. Running made my muscles even tighter, and my addiction to the adrenaline of high-intensity cardio made yoga seem like a slow, prolonged form of torture. Needless to say, I gave up rather easily.

But then I found myself unable to run, and I needed a place to focus my energy. I craved an outlet for it. So I slid my old beginner’s vinyasa DVD into my laptop, set up a towel on my living room floor, and sat down in front of the screen.

“Breathe in. Breathe in the energy from the earth through your sit bones, from the sky through the crown of your head. Breathe out the stress, the worries, the pain you might feel.”

I’ve never been one for new-agey meditation, but at that particular moment, I believed those words could help me.

And so I awkwarly transitioned from pose to pose, my mind centered on my alignment, my breath, my strength (and sometimes lack thereof). As I laid in Savasana, I could not locate any pain in my knees.

I felt I was on to something.

Running has many benefits. But it is also hard on the body, pounding twelve times our body weight into the ground with each of the 1750 strides we take per mile. Of course there are many intense yoga poses and flows (I certainly won’t be balancing on my head any time soon). But I’ve learned to love how accessible it is – with a bit of trial and error, there can be a style of yoga for each and every person, for each and every need.

I might be one of those people that isn’t meant to run. But I am coming to realize that everyone may be meant for yoga, me included. And today, I’ve finally decided that it’s time to leave my living room and brave a real class. I haven’t felt such nervous excitement since running left my life.

I really do think I’m on to something.

Do you practice yoga?

7.84 [runner's] high.

leslie — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 14:31:52 +0000

About a month ago, I learned that my left leg is about half an inch shorter than my right.

I also learned that my right hip sits higher than my left, and my left foot naturally supinates (that would be fancy speak for “tilts”) inward.

Talk about some major problems, right?

On Christmas Day last year, I woke up early before my parents arrived for our typical day of movies and Indian food. I toasted a couple pieces of grainy bread and slathered on peanut butter and banana. While digesting, I began to strap on my winter running gear: nylon leggings, long sleeved moisture wicking top, ear-protecting headband, warm wicking socks. I made sure I was adequately hydrated, had my emergency contact info and housekeys around my neck, had my Sauconys tightly wound and double knotted.

As I exited my apartment building, I smiled at the doorman. I was already wired, about to head out on my longest run to date. It was 51 degrees, windless, sunny. 51 felt crisp and refreshing in December.

For some reason, I had convinced myself that the city would be quiet on Christmas morning, so I thought it would be fun to run along Broadway, rather than sticking to the east or west sides as was typical for me. I had it perfectly mapped: Wall Street to Penn Station and back again.

Apparently I forgot about the overabundance of tourists that infiltrate Manhattan for the holidays. Just 6 blocks in, I was wishing for magical abilities to float through all the people obliviously gazing upward, feet planted firmly in the center of the sidewalks. Quickly realizing my Broadway idea was far-fetched, I turned west, beginning to zig zag my way uptown, sticking to less tourist-friendly streets.

A mile or so in, I found myself hitting a rhythm. My pace was comfortable, my breath even, my body warmed from the inside out. I passed the purse peddlers in Chinatown, the SoHo boutiques, the cobblestones of the West Village. As I reached my turnaround point, I spotted a clock – I had been running for a precise 40 minutes, and I felt I could go for hours more.

Later I would map out the route I actually took and discover that my zig zagging had added nearly a full mile to my planned run. 7.84 miles. I maintained an even 10 minute mile pace, an accomplishment of which I felt quite proud. Speed was never of great importance to me. I finished with a sprint and a grin on my face.

While coming down from euphoria on my walk back to my building, I noticed a small vibrating sensation behind my left kneecap. I didn’t think much of it; I had a couple days of rest planned. Running is tough on the body; tweaks and twinges are par for the course.

Six weeks later, vibrating had become grating, and one knee had become both. I took a break from running, went to physical therapy, became well acquainted with ice packs. I was cleared to start running again, and the pain returned. That’s when I was informed of my “skeletal misalignment.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever run again. I hope I will. But in a strange way, injuring myself was a good thing. It’s rare for me to be able to push myself the way I did while getting half marathon ready; my knees can’t handle it – yet. And so I’ve discovered that exercise doesn’t have to be about constantly conquering new goals.

For me, it’s about the high. That feeling when the rhythm hits, when the body generates its own heat, when the mind is focused yet clear. I don’t need to run to achieve that; I can do a host of other things. That was a lesson I needed to learn.