Pacing Myself

Last week:

Conference, partners with
Foreign accents, note-taking
Lost in translation.

Vs. this week:

Being mom again,
Back to real life and kids and
Making the sandwiches.

One of the first things you learn when you take up running is that you can’t run fast for very long.  Your endurance is nil.  Gone are the days when you sprinted everywhere.  Ruby still does this.  She runs up the stairs.  She runs down the driveway.  She runs to the bathroom.  Okay, some of us might still do that.

But if you want to run distance, you can’t do it fast.  I ran on the treadmill today.  I started out pretty slowly.  I could not go as fast as I had in the past due to coming back from my injury.  I could go longer, though.  And I did.  I ran three miles today, which is the farthest I’ve run since January.  Yes, I walked between the miles and stretched a bit, too.  But it felt good.  I didn’t even get queasy.  And I beat the guy on the treadmill next to me.  Not that I was looking.

Running is like so many things in life.  Sometimes your runs feel good.  You feel like you could run forever, to Venus and back, soaring among the stars.  You could make a lovely holiday home there.  Other runs are torture.  You’re tired.  The desire to run has dried up, an exotic bird flown to a warmer climate. Something you ate in the last 24 hours threatens to make another appearance.  You’re hurting and achy.

Take this week.  I have very few things on my docket this week.  I have a few social engagements, Zac’s 9th grade registration orientation (yikes!), church stuff and the usual rotating list of household duties.  Last week was different.  We were staying Seattle at a hotel for a couple days, then, at the Bellevue Hyatt taking notes for the Microsoft PACs, finally returning home to the chores and the rest of the time editing the notes.  I had to put some things off in order to prioritize the main event.  I had to pace myself then in order to finish and not get discouraged.  I could not finish all the corrections in one day.  Each day required new strength and effort. This week, I must dredge up motivation to do the daily tasks with joy.  It’s a bit of activity-whiplash, I suspect.  Yet each of these weeks are important in their own right.

I am learning to pace myself here, too.  The cold and drizzly late winter weather makes me contemplative.  I  can choose to find the good things and be happy.  It’s been said, “The trouble with life is that it is so daily.”  It’s true.  But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have value.  It’s just different.  These days require strength and effort, too, albeit of a different sort.  Meals must be prepared, bills paid, children ferried to school.  And a mom with a good attitude helps the family stay on course. This run will strengthen me for the next one.


3 thoughts on “Pacing Myself”

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