Sitting in Sbux at the well-used table by the barista's bar, I sipped the Venti Skinny Mocha and flipped the pages in a fitness magazine that I picked up at the Surf City Half Marathon post race exposition. "Why Do You Run?" in bold font was printed on the cover with a red-headed woman staring out at me.
There were the pedestrian answers, "I run because I like to eat," or "I run because I like the jewelry." Others run because they feel strong, want to be alone or outdoors, or faster than, "...guys twice my size." Some went full Descartes with, "I run therefore I am." It has not taken much time for me to answer this question today.
Kierkegaardian/Nietzschian existentialism (though let's not get into the argument of existence or non-existence of god) formulates the basis for running. I am an individual who embraces life passionately. I am responsible for keeping my muscles firing, strengthening the marrow in my bones, and developing skills. Running, along with so many other things I do (learning languages, cooking and tasting fine foods and wine, watching tv with the family, yoga, RAGNAR, traveling, golf, teaching, reading, meeting new people, loving) gives my life meaning despite obstacles of fear, angst, hate, doubt, alienation, absurdity (see Kierkegaard's absurdism), placed in front of us.
I run because it is something that I value and it brings meaning to my life. Plus, had Nietzsche been around for Shorter or Prefontaine when he said the following, "All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking," he might have included running in his quotation, too.
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Monday, February 6, 2012
Saturday, September 24, 2011
From the Golden Gate to Calistoga: A Ragnar race that will never be forgotten
If you've never run in a Ragnar race you must promise me that you'll Google it after your short sojourn with me here on The Moxie To Thrive. Friends new and old met at an Italian restaurant near the Golden Gate Bridge the night before the race so that I, Captain of Team Got Runs?, could bring the nine runners up to speed on the seriousness of our situation. We were three runners short and we all would have to pick up an extra leg.
After a quick survey of the group we cinched up the race order. Glasses clinked, ales absorbed, down the gullet and off to our team rooms at The Crazy Cow's Cottage. Well, it had a different name, but I can't recall it. Something about a Cow's rear end. By morning Van 1 headed to the start where our first relay racer was honored with running a portion of the Golden Gate Bridge.."..after a cup of coffee," he said. There was an issue already brewing in our team because we didn't stop at a coffee shop pre-starting line. Sans java the first leg might have proven to be a complication for our friend and teammate however, the coffee was provided, and the leg began without a hitch.
Subsequent legs wound through singular seaside towns, up and over hills geometrically patterned with grape vines, and by quaint farm houses dotted with cattle, chickens and crafting cottages. 329 teams ran with beside us, ahead of us or behind us. One of our girls caught up with walkers as they leaned and slumped into a modest hill. The weak ones unexpectedly got the vapors while whiffing manure and, she noted while smirking, they were throwing up. The sun was setting and our time had come to run from dusk to dawn with little sleep.
After a three hour break for pasta and a nap we found our trainers and slipped them over clean socks. Headlamp and buttlamps made us all look like miners and the reflective gear was truly a fashion statement for ravers. Protection from motorists is key. Death is not an option on a Ragnar Relay. My goal as a captain was to have my team come out extant.
Sunrise in this part of California was peculiar: no glowing bulb rising from the east to squint at. Light crept in on all sides of the horizon like many silent tiny fingers. North, South, East and West: My natural compass was lost. But all at once the sky went from a stygian underworld where one sticks close to other runners for assurance and support, to an glowing earth with trees and air, fresh and moist. And with that, Van 1 was done. Van 2 in our relay would carry the team the rest of the way to Calistoga which is where we met up with them.
In the end, the whole team raced in together. Our final picture shows a troop of runners that learned a lot about each other. We sat in vans together for about 72 hours! As we were all driving home the next day it was really hard to say goodbye. We lived together in war against sleep, food cravings, and manure odors. We had conquered this with a laughter... so much laughter: There were more gufaws and gut-splitting giggles than some of the team had felt in their bellies in weeks, months, or even years. The shrieks, snickers and shouting were tribal and raw. We nine got away from things for a while and returned restored and revitalized. Our vigor and vim may still be shining through and we hope and pray each day that it doesn't get tarnished.
I love what I discover about myself each time I put on my running shoes. What will you discover when you put on yours today?
After a quick survey of the group we cinched up the race order. Glasses clinked, ales absorbed, down the gullet and off to our team rooms at The Crazy Cow's Cottage. Well, it had a different name, but I can't recall it. Something about a Cow's rear end. By morning Van 1 headed to the start where our first relay racer was honored with running a portion of the Golden Gate Bridge.."..after a cup of coffee," he said. There was an issue already brewing in our team because we didn't stop at a coffee shop pre-starting line. Sans java the first leg might have proven to be a complication for our friend and teammate however, the coffee was provided, and the leg began without a hitch.
Subsequent legs wound through singular seaside towns, up and over hills geometrically patterned with grape vines, and by quaint farm houses dotted with cattle, chickens and crafting cottages. 329 teams ran with beside us, ahead of us or behind us. One of our girls caught up with walkers as they leaned and slumped into a modest hill. The weak ones unexpectedly got the vapors while whiffing manure and, she noted while smirking, they were throwing up. The sun was setting and our time had come to run from dusk to dawn with little sleep.
After a three hour break for pasta and a nap we found our trainers and slipped them over clean socks. Headlamp and buttlamps made us all look like miners and the reflective gear was truly a fashion statement for ravers. Protection from motorists is key. Death is not an option on a Ragnar Relay. My goal as a captain was to have my team come out extant.
Sunrise in this part of California was peculiar: no glowing bulb rising from the east to squint at. Light crept in on all sides of the horizon like many silent tiny fingers. North, South, East and West: My natural compass was lost. But all at once the sky went from a stygian underworld where one sticks close to other runners for assurance and support, to an glowing earth with trees and air, fresh and moist. And with that, Van 1 was done. Van 2 in our relay would carry the team the rest of the way to Calistoga which is where we met up with them.
In the end, the whole team raced in together. Our final picture shows a troop of runners that learned a lot about each other. We sat in vans together for about 72 hours! As we were all driving home the next day it was really hard to say goodbye. We lived together in war against sleep, food cravings, and manure odors. We had conquered this with a laughter... so much laughter: There were more gufaws and gut-splitting giggles than some of the team had felt in their bellies in weeks, months, or even years. The shrieks, snickers and shouting were tribal and raw. We nine got away from things for a while and returned restored and revitalized. Our vigor and vim may still be shining through and we hope and pray each day that it doesn't get tarnished.
I love what I discover about myself each time I put on my running shoes. What will you discover when you put on yours today?
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Irreverent Musical and the Running Shoes
Cue the jackhammer one block down. In come the beats from steps on the scaffolding two stories below. Long honking sounds from yellow taxis, beeps from the NYPD, unforgiving sirens from an FDNY engine or ladder truck changing frequency with distance. I miss my daily irreverent musical staged every morning outside the window I rented (attached to an apartment) on the corner of West End Ave and 103rd. Though some of you thought I was going to discuss The Book of Mormon musical or even the shock-named Mother F**er With A Hat, I would rather leave those to others for now.
When I peeked out from the west facing window the sun and shadows on the buildings indicated the time of the morning; the less glare the earlier it was, the better it was for me to run* and the simpler the sounds were outside. From my perspective, the change in the sun's reflection and the sounds below were my cues. Get up. Experience the day!
**********Note**************
I ALWAYS make sure I pack running shoes and associated accoutrement when I travel. I make room in the suitcase for two pairs of running socks, a running outfit and my running shoes. This is not easy for a woman who likes her high-healed shoes and flirty dresses but I will make the sacrifice. This time I brought two pairs of fancy-heeled party shoes, a strappy, white, low-heeled sandal, a pair of walking shoes (Toms are wonderful for that) and my running shoes; Brooks with about 100 miles on them. I stuff the running socks in the trainers so they don't take up any space in the suitcase.
****************************
While the girls slept in cool sheets, the city symphony outside the bedroom walls slowly waking them from a peaceful night's rest, I sipped some water, laced up the shoes, adjusted the footpod that recorded my pace, speed and other geeky, techno-bits about my running, walked out the door and started my Garmin training watch for Le Tour de la Ville. I would go see the instruments in the morning orchestra that wakes me up each day.
There were hundreds of people going to work, walking dogs, pushing strollers, leading preschoolers to Riverside Park for Sesame Street-like playground time. Black cars revved their engines to make the yellow light on their way downtown with their late clients. I ran east toward Central Park. Friends called to each other, hobos slept on yesterday's paper up against the brownstones while others talked to themselves with an untamed waving of their hands: my orchestra director for the day I presume.
Four blocks from my start point and I have run a varied cross-section of socio-economic backgrounds from the desirable West End address through the Frederick Douglass public housing that touched the sky and on to Central Park-facing apartments where the real Jerry Seinfeld lives. I jog around all the walkers on the sidewalk and, not waiting for the signal to change in my advantage (I was finally becoming a New Yorker!) I land in Central Park (http://www.birdsofcentralpark.com/index.php/map). A world of green explodes in front of me. The birds are singing in tune and there is a small brook where cobbles line a short waterfall. The water moves under a bridge. Near "The Pool" some water fowl land with a slight splash and I hear it. Impossible. The jackhammers, food carts, taxis, are right behind me 50 yards, but 50 yards in front of me I hear the splash of water and the crunch of my running shoes on the dirt path. I run for only 30 minutes in the greenspace since I have to still get back to the apartment after I leave the boundary of Central Park. We were leaving that day and I wanted to make sure we left the apartment in tip-top shape for the returning family.
The dissonant sounds that filled the streets as I ran the four blocks back to my home from the park boundary was like the beginning of this Vaughn Williams Symphony (#4: movement 4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4vnLCm0qn4. Some of the symphony feels like my run. (A story for another day: how music makes the run.) But it was pleasing to hear. I welcomed my New York sounds. Some were jarring and tuneless while others kept a funky beat. I miss my morning melodies like a silly symphony, the irreverent musical. These cacophonous hummings played in a socialized ipod. Everybody who was "unplugged" to their own devices heard them. As I reflected on this I entered the apartment building and walked up the stairs. I gain entree into the apartment and peel off my shoes. I was full of endorphins, inspiration, aspirations and I was thriving. I had fallen in love with New York City in my running shoes.
When I peeked out from the west facing window the sun and shadows on the buildings indicated the time of the morning; the less glare the earlier it was, the better it was for me to run* and the simpler the sounds were outside. From my perspective, the change in the sun's reflection and the sounds below were my cues. Get up. Experience the day!
**********Note**************
I ALWAYS make sure I pack running shoes and associated accoutrement when I travel. I make room in the suitcase for two pairs of running socks, a running outfit and my running shoes. This is not easy for a woman who likes her high-healed shoes and flirty dresses but I will make the sacrifice. This time I brought two pairs of fancy-heeled party shoes, a strappy, white, low-heeled sandal, a pair of walking shoes (Toms are wonderful for that) and my running shoes; Brooks with about 100 miles on them. I stuff the running socks in the trainers so they don't take up any space in the suitcase.
****************************
While the girls slept in cool sheets, the city symphony outside the bedroom walls slowly waking them from a peaceful night's rest, I sipped some water, laced up the shoes, adjusted the footpod that recorded my pace, speed and other geeky, techno-bits about my running, walked out the door and started my Garmin training watch for Le Tour de la Ville. I would go see the instruments in the morning orchestra that wakes me up each day.
There were hundreds of people going to work, walking dogs, pushing strollers, leading preschoolers to Riverside Park for Sesame Street-like playground time. Black cars revved their engines to make the yellow light on their way downtown with their late clients. I ran east toward Central Park. Friends called to each other, hobos slept on yesterday's paper up against the brownstones while others talked to themselves with an untamed waving of their hands: my orchestra director for the day I presume.
Four blocks from my start point and I have run a varied cross-section of socio-economic backgrounds from the desirable West End address through the Frederick Douglass public housing that touched the sky and on to Central Park-facing apartments where the real Jerry Seinfeld lives. I jog around all the walkers on the sidewalk and, not waiting for the signal to change in my advantage (I was finally becoming a New Yorker!) I land in Central Park (http://www.birdsofcentralpark.com/index.php/map). A world of green explodes in front of me. The birds are singing in tune and there is a small brook where cobbles line a short waterfall. The water moves under a bridge. Near "The Pool" some water fowl land with a slight splash and I hear it. Impossible. The jackhammers, food carts, taxis, are right behind me 50 yards, but 50 yards in front of me I hear the splash of water and the crunch of my running shoes on the dirt path. I run for only 30 minutes in the greenspace since I have to still get back to the apartment after I leave the boundary of Central Park. We were leaving that day and I wanted to make sure we left the apartment in tip-top shape for the returning family.
The dissonant sounds that filled the streets as I ran the four blocks back to my home from the park boundary was like the beginning of this Vaughn Williams Symphony (#4: movement 4) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4vnLCm0qn4. Some of the symphony feels like my run. (A story for another day: how music makes the run.) But it was pleasing to hear. I welcomed my New York sounds. Some were jarring and tuneless while others kept a funky beat. I miss my morning melodies like a silly symphony, the irreverent musical. These cacophonous hummings played in a socialized ipod. Everybody who was "unplugged" to their own devices heard them. As I reflected on this I entered the apartment building and walked up the stairs. I gain entree into the apartment and peel off my shoes. I was full of endorphins, inspiration, aspirations and I was thriving. I had fallen in love with New York City in my running shoes.
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