The Work-Out Writer: How Bad Do You Want This?

I climbed on the treadmill today with less energy than I wanted. Since at least Monday, I’ve had a dull headache and that weird “impending doom” feeling. GMR teases me about it, but I usually say “Something’s coming,” when I feel this way. That something’s usually geological or atmospheric or combo. I’ve been "right," but maybe as well there are times I’ve been wrong and just didn’t note it—all could be a coincidence. I’m still feeling it today, and danged if some weird thought didn't bomp me in my head: “under the sea,” and now I’m feeling foolish and where was I on this post? I sure need to talk about "distraction" don't I?

Oh yes . . . treadmill, no energy - the old "I don't know if I can do this today" come calling . . .

You think this snail worries about how long it'll take it to cross the road? Does it pause to consider how sucky it is?

During my jog, I wanted to stop multiple times. I didn’t want to challenge myself. I wanted Easy. To go along at this slow steady pace, or better yet, walk, or better yet, jump off and go do something else. I became so frustrated with myself, that I yelled in my head, like a red-faced coach, “HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS? HUH? HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS?” And all of a sudden, I wanted it BAD! I was fired up! I was ready to work. I bumped up the speed and tore off on the treadmill.

During one particular song, I pushed off on my leg and hovered in the air before slamming down, and did it again and again. As I hovered there, it felt as if I were suspended about a foot in the air, when in reality, I probably only came up a few inches—but the Perception was I felt myself higher. Does it really matter if I only came up a few inches? Or is the Perception of what I felt I accomplished a just-as-important reality? I like to think the latter, for it inspired me to take it further/farther, to run stronger, to push myself past the point of what I thought, or what I told myself (and this is an important insight), was my limit.

HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS?

Take what I said above and apply it to your writing life, or your musical life, or your artistic life, or your work life, your home life, your Life. How bad do we want what we think we want the most? How hard are we willing to work for it? How often are we willing to feel uncomfortable? How often are we able to face disappointment and still go on? And how much are we willing to push ourselves past the point where we think we must stop?

And when we push off, hovering in the air, feeling powerful and strong, do we let that wonderful perception spur us on to do more and better and stronger? Or do we say, “Eh, I was really only inches off the ground. No big deal. Other people can jump higher. Eh.” How bad do you want this? Bad enough to sweat and push and sprint and, as well, sometimes to feel pain and set-backs and exhaustion but pick yourself up and do it again. And again. And again. And again. Once again.

I’ll tell you what giving up or giving in gives you: Not a danged thing but regret. And the flipside of that is this: you can work your ass off and still not reach all of your goals, but I can guarantee you’ll have accomplished more than you ever dreamed you could if you do not give in to negativity and fear and doubt, and note I said "not give in to it" not that you'll never feel those things.

You’ll have jumped up, hovered higher than you ever thought you could soar, grow stronger, faster, more determined. Note the accomplishments and savor them, for even the smallest goal reached is A Goal Reached. Why do we disregard even the smallest of goals? They weren’t so small when we were arching towards them, were they?

How bad do you want this?

Photos by kat . . .

Allowing the possibility of failure, but also the possibility of success . . .

It started out as an experiment. I wanted to jog, just a little. Part of me was afraid, because I had just a tiny glitch in my heart valve, or something or other, that my heart rate would race up very quickly and I’d be dizzy and nauseated. It’s a scary thing, glitches of the heart are. For one wonders if suddenly the heart will race out of control and then freeze up and the keeling over dead would occur and that would suck—my doc reassured me I wouldn’t die, but could pass out. Okay, I thought, I can deal with passing out as long as I won’t die. Good. Yeah. Okay.

But, the idea of running any distance or at any but a slow plodding pace seemed far-fetched for me. Still. I wanted to try it. I’d watch others at the gym or at Lake Junaluska jogging/running and they looked so . . . I don’t know . . . intense but satisfied? Happy? Healthy? Successful in their goals? Wait, I know: as if they belonged to a special club. I wanted to be in the club.

In April of this year, I began. It started at Lake J, where I’d go in one direction and GMR in another and we’d meet in the middle. Little Maggie Lou and I would jog a little, walk a little, jog, walk, jog-walk. My feet barely left the pavement. Even so, when I’d pass another runner, I’d feel a little thrill as I waved at them. They'd sprint past, but I'd not let myself feel as if I were somehow "not enough." No. I'd keep running my little pace, plod plod plod.

Even still, it seemed my heart and lungs weren’t going to be cooperative. I’d meet GMR and have to walk until the weird light-headed feeling faded. The first time I was able to jog without walking most all the way to meet GMR halfway, I was euphoric! I did it! But, I told myself, that’s only maybe a mile. And I was going pretty slowly. And . . . well . . .I wanted to see what else I was capable of. I could feel tiny changes inside of me, like knitting.

The next time I was at the gym, I stepped onto the treadmill, punched in 3.5 and did this little light jog where my feet came up about a milli-meter from the treadmill. I set a goal of twenty minutes of straight jogging. The next time I pushed it up to 3.8 and tried to go longer. Soon the dizzy weird light-head feeling came and I had to slow up, then walk. Twice a week, I went to that treadmill and set tiny little goals: I’ll go a mile without stopping. I’ll speed up for a minute and then I’ll slow down. I’ll go a little longer. I’ll go a little faster. One mile turned to two. 3.5, 3.6, 3.7, 3.8. Two miles turned to two and a half, then three, then four, then five. Two days a week turned to three days a week and 3.8 turned into 4.0, 4.5, 5.0 . . . then I tried sprints—5.5, 5.6, even yesterday 6.0 (though I couldn’t sustain that for long—yet).


Sometimes my back pain hits me hard. Sometimes I push myself too much and the old light-headed weird feeling comes on. Sometimes I’m tired and can’t do as much as I’d like. Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing all this when I could be working, or goofing off. Sometimes I look at other runners and wish I were doing what they were. Sometimes I wish I’d have started this a long time ago. Sometimes I think for all the hard work I’m doing my body should respond in ways it may not respond because I am a 53 year old woman and not a 33 year old woman.

But, I am seeing many changes in my mind and body. Progress.

I keep running. One step, two, three, four. From April until now I’ve learned things about my body and myself. I’ve grown as a runner. I’ve learned to focus on what I’m doing and to enjoy the process instead of letting my mind wander all over creation or looking way ahead to where I could be or maybe be or if I was here there or yonder or etc etc etc. I’ve learned what my weaknesses are and my strengths and what weaknesses I can make stonger or what I have to accept, and what strengths I can rely on and experiment with. I’ve learned what to accept as “it’s just how it is so get over it,” and what I can change--or at the very least that trying is better than sitting around wishing. No one gets anywhere by sitting around WISHING . . . you eventually just have to take a step, then the next, then . . . the rest.

If in April anyone would have told me that I’d be doing what I’m doing now, I’d have said: “Me? I can’t do that! My heart won’t let me. I have this problem, you see, where my heart rate rushes too high and I could pass out. Nope, not me. I wish, but, nah, not going to happen. Oh well. Dang. Guess I'll just WISH.”

If I had not tried. If I had not just Done It. If I had not pushed myself just a little and a lot. If I had not practiced practiced practiced. If I had not allowed myself the possibility of failure, but also the possibility of success. Then I would never know how great it feels to run. How my body has responded. How I feel as if I am a member of some club I never had access to before.

Now—take everything I just wrote about running and apply that to writing.

Enjoy your weekend!

(PS - for some reason I can't upload photos any longer in blogger - bummer! - I haven't said "bummer" in years - huhn, wonder were that came from *laugh* anyone else having that problem with photos?)