It was a long winter in Toronto. When I started running over 20 years ago, I started in the fall, and I continued throughout the winter. The first official race I participated in was a “Chilly 10K” in December. With this foundation for my running experience, I continued to run outside throughout the winter. Most winters in Toronto would allow for enough days where the snow was plowed quickly and the sidewalks were not icy. I developed a rule that as long as it wasn’t colder than -10 C and the sidewalks were clear, I’d go for my jog. My jogs were not as long as they were in the spring-autumn season, but still, I’d go out and run.
I have found the last couple winters to be more challenging for outdoor running. The main reason is that there seemed to be more “icy sidewalk” days. There seems to be a lot more extreme fluctuations, day-to-day, with lots of snow, cold, freezing, warmer, melting – and back and forth – which tends to result in icy sidewalks. With age, I can tell that I’m becoming averse to walking on even a little bit of ice.
I also don’t like running on treadmills. Years ago, one of the weird movement things I developed was that as soon as I get any speed going, my brain instructs my legs to jump to the sides. I just don’t bother anymore. I don’t enjoy the treadmill and I don’t care. It’s only been an issue when I went for a stress test once and determined that I needed to get on a waiting list for the bicycle version of a stress test, because I was incapable of walking on the treadmill long enough and fast enough for it to be an effective test.
I digress. Where was I?
It was a long winter. For running. For grief. For many things. However, I’ve been running regularly again. Last week, I had one of the best runs in a long time. I beamed about it. I wrote about it. I glowed about too much joy. Then (did I plutz too much?), a few days later, I went out for a jog and the anxiety-induced vertigo that was an issue in recent years, started to emerge again. Not as forcefully as last time. It’s manageable, but it’s there. It feels clearly like a head condition. Connected to a feeling of anxiety that affects my feeling of stability in the world. Possibly triggered by spring allergies, even though I now take heavy-duty prescription antihistamines daily.
I am working my way through the things that help me with getting through it. I have lessons in my pocket from last time, that I’m employing faster and more regularly and, I’m hoping, it doesn’t get worse.
One of the things I find helps, is warming up a bit. Walk a bit first. Then transition to a run/walk and then I get a better rhythm. You may see me doing some walking warm-ups. Swinging my arms to and fro to feel my balance in the world. I also talk to myself. I bring out my mantras. “I am. I can. I will. I do. Envision. Thank you”. “Don’t take the shortcut.” “Fuck it.” “Just go.” “Your legs are strong.” “YOU ARE A RUNNER!”
I also look at places to ‘go to” as the next part of my leg – a utility pole or a car or a sign. It helps to focus on that next destination rather than the current portion of sidewalk I’m on.
I don’t know if it’s helping my running but I am always aware of the people I think about who are no longer here but who are present. My Mom. I’ve said to people recently, when we talk about the great void with her loss, that I feel her everywhere. Her energy is EVERYWHERE. At the tip of my nose. At the back of my skull. She is present. I think of a late Aunt (she died in 2010) who called me when I completed my first marathon and I was so surprised at how emotional she was about it. I didn’t know she would be so proud of something like that but she really, really was.
It’s occurring to me lately, that what IS helping my running, is “relying on a little help from my friends”. I don’t mean physically. I like to run on my own. I mean conjuring up experiences that make me feel like I have my friends’ support with me in the moment. I think of gym classes, where we’d go outside the gym and run together as a group for a little loop. I think of those people, imagine them running next to me. I think of gym friends and imagine they are waiting for me ahead. This helps.
This imaginary community support reminds me of a quote from Maya Angelou, “I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.” I have thought of this concept outside of running. For example, when I’m anticipating a tough call at work. I’ve thought of the strong family role models I’ve had. I think of the things they’ve had to endure and how strongly they would have handled those situations. I know not all things are relative, but sometimes, I’ve thought, if they could deal with that (big) thing, I can surely handle this (much smaller) thing. It makes sense that that this feeling of community support, that I’m fortunate to have had in my life – whether from family members or friends, around me or no longer in my life, can help me feel confident during times of uncertainty.
How about you readers, are there situations where you conjure up, “a little help from your friends”, even if only in your imagination?
