Same As It Ever Was

Just got back from my first run in about a month.A slow 5K in the chilly Syracuse November. It felt good. I'm trying not to think beyond this one run and as I ran tried not to think of anything at all. It's no good thinking about the possible next runs. That's the way to failure. Instead, I want to be okay with the simple fact that I ran today and felt good. That's all. That's enough.

It's the same every time I run after a long layoff. I wonder, why haven't I done this sooner? But I know. It's because running felt impossible. It's not just that I feel unmotivated. Even at my lowest I a run will feel good and take me out of the darkness. I understand that as fact, but I just can't run right then. I'm know that just as sure. Of course I could run except that I can't.

I wish I could explain it better.

Chance gets me running again. Today, I left work earlier than in the last few weeks. I'd done a day's work and I'll put in extra hours tomorrow night. Staying at work would have been a case of diminishing returns for the organization and for me too. So I walked home, pet the dog, changed into running clothes, and went out the door, down the road.

There wasn't much thought or planning. Thought and planning keep me from running more than they get me out on the road. I felt like a run was possible and kind of wanted to. I didn't think it would transform me. I'd still be fat and the answers to life's big questions would still elude me. Still, it felt like the thing to do.

I texted my wife that I was going for a short run. I kept expectations low for me, not her. I told the dog I'd be back soon. That I went for a run and it was the same as it ever was. The same good, not great. Nothing to write home about, but here I am. Another thing same as it ever was.

It's best to let these things be instead of thinking them to death. Someday I may figure out how to do that. Then again, probably not.

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Speaking of thinking things to death, this is another instance of writing something I've written before (probably several times). I worry about that but I need to think things through a few times. If I bored you, sorry, but that's how this works. The writing is free and you get what you pay for. I've probably written that before too.

Not Quite Midnight Run

The computer is killing me. My work laptop has the absolute worst trackpad. Thank you, Hewlett-Packard! I may bring my computer from home to get through tomorrow without feeling crippled. That or start exercising. Maybe both.

Tonight, I sat on the couch under a cat (which is more comfortable than being on top of a cat, for both of us). My neck and arm ached too much to hold the book I was reading (Running With Sherman by Christopher McDougall which is good and getting better with each page). I set the book down, closed my eyes, and tried to meditate, but the sounds of cartilage moving in my neck was too disturbing.

I should go for a run tomorrow morning, I thought.

I've thought that for two, maybe three weeks, but each morning snooze until I've run out of time for a run. After work, I can't fit in a run with picking up our daughter, helping cook dinner, and whatever else comes up. Really, I just don't feel up to running and so make every excuse.

I should really go for a run, I thought again, leaving off the tomorrow morning part.

Running is my go-to cure for depression and stemming the blues. When I go for a run, I end up feeling better most every time. When I run regularly, I stay out of the blues and the blacks of depression.

I wonder, why the hell don't I just keep running?

I'm reminded of the scene from The West Wing in which Leo McGarry explains alcoholism to a woman. "I drank and took drugs because I'm drug addict and an alcoholic," he says. I've yet to complete a psychology degree (mostly because I've yet to begin one), but it seems to me that my not running and depression are part of a circle or maybe a sphere that tipped just the right way allows me to run 50K but tipped a degree off that axis leaves me on the couch, thirty pounds overweight.

I should..., I thought.

The cat got over me moving her. The dog popped up at the sound of her leash at eight o'clock in the evening. I strapped on my sandals, told my wife and daughter I was taking the dog, and went out in khakis, t-shirt, and hoodie. Not exactly running wear.

I leashed the dog and we jogged down the road. The dog prefers to sniff everything but went along down the block and around the corner. My pace was slower than slow. The distance was maybe once around a track. The dog stopped twice because things just had to be peed on (by her more than me). We returned home almost giddy. I chased her on the front yard hill, her favorite game, then we decided go in and tell people all about our adventure.

I don't know if I'll run tomorrow. I think I should, but if I don't, at least I went tonight. And, depending on the angle and axis around which I end up spinning tomorrow, maybe I'll still feel this good.

The Blues

I'm prone to the blues. I've described all that before. Rather than go back into it, I want to suggest, mostly to myself, a couple things that help me get moving out from under the blues.

First is family. When I get involved with the family, when I really dive in, my self-importance shrinks and an overabundance of self-importance is a lot of what leaves me blue.

Ray Charles' first album is pretty damn good medicine. Ray is so deep blue, he makes whatever I'm feeling seem shallow by comparison. Funny, as a kid, I listened to sad music when I was depressed to get myself feeling even sadder. Ray is a whole other deal. I hear hope in his blues.

Being on the couch with a cat in my lap or on my chest works too. The dog takes good care of me too, but she's not allowed on the furniture. I've been reading that cats, dogs, and humans have grown together because a purring cat or a sleeping dog means there's no danger present. The animal's better senses know trouble before we do.

One of our cats knows when something is wrong. If my daughter or I are depressed, she sits on us. If my wife is sick, she comforts her. When our other daughter is lonely, the cat befriends her.

The other cat is just an attention whore, wholly in it for herself if you ask me.

Don't stay too long on the couch. Move and create. Dinner is in the oven and moments away from being done because I chopped vegetables, rolled crust, sauteed things in a cast iron pan, put it all together and into the oven, then cleaned the kitchen. Getting something done eases the blues. Better still, I listened to Ray Charles throughout all that.

There's no cure for the blues, but I'm lighter. A cold night is falling, but the darkness is a warm blanket and the oven is hot, the warm food will soon be on the table. I'll call the family to dinner. We'll feed the animals. We will share a meal together. It's tough to stay blue around all that.

Motivation

I'm not going to tell you to go run (or swim, hike, walk, or whatever). If you're on the couch, into a second beer, halfway through a bag of chips, and depressed, I'm sorry and will do you this favor: I won't tell you it all gets better when you get up and moving. Screw that. About all that's likely to do is piss you off.

There are good thinkers I read regularly. Leo Babauta is my favorite. Trigger warning: most of these are self-help people. Self-help is a laughable category, but sometimes I need someone to help me help myself. You know?

Most of this year those thinkers haven't gotten me to move far or often. At least physically. Mentally, I'm no longer in a terrible teaching job partly due to things I read. But physically it has been a different story.

I've been a runner for a while. Last year I ran thirty-five miles in loops run with a different friend or pair of friends. Last spring and summer I ran five or ten miles most every day to get ready for the big run. I was as motivated as I've ever been. Running was natural.

This year, not so much. I mean to run, but haven't made the time, haven't gotten into a routine, haven't set up a schedule. Not that I want a training plan. Even last year I didn't have any plan other than to run most every day. I'd head out the door, start my watch, then let my whim decide whether to turn right or left at the corner. I don't need a plan. I don't have goals. I just know I'm happier when I run.

Don't worry. I'm still not going to say that you will be happier if you run. Who the hell am I to decide that? And who wants to hear that crap? Not me.

I've meant to run. I've wanted to run. I just haven't run. And no amount of motivation has worked on me. Not the numbers on the scale, the aches in my potato body, or the understanding that running makes me feel better. None of it has worked.

But in the last seven days I've run four times.

My daughter joined her high school cross country team. She has friends on the team and needs the spirit of belonging to a team. She got the usual August mailing from the dance studio listing classes they'll allow her to take. Looking at it her face kind of fell. She likes dance but hasn't much enjoyed the dance school. It's a different kind of spirit. One that hasn't served her. She's going to run cross country in search of a different spirit. Last week she joined the team but her forms hadn't been processed.

"Coach says I should start running each day until I'm cleared to join the team. Will you go for a run with me?"

You bet your ass I will.

If you're feeling unmotivated and depressed, I'm sorry. I have no words of encouragement or life hacks. My solution involved my wife and I deciding to have a second child sixteen years ago. That might be longer planning than you're in for.

Still, nothing moves me more than my girl asking for time with her. She wants me to run with her? I'm in shorts and strapping on my sandals. Last year I ran thirty-five miles. If she asked me to go thirty-five today, I'd run until I couldn't any more. That's motivation.

Don't take this as advice, but if you're on the couch, maybe go see what your kid wants to do with you. Self-help turns out to be easy when it's not so much about the self.