After only six months of running, I do not by any means, consider myself an expert. Interestingly, in the land of disability, learning new lifestyle skills are usually all about becoming familiar with, for example, a new landscape, and repeating the task until comfort sets in. It’s kind of like the shampoo bottle; “lather, rinse, repeat.” Only multiply that by a hundred and you’ll get the idea. Nobody worries about how a blind person brushes their teeth; mostly because they do it every day (and most of us for some reason or another have attempted to brush our teeth in the dark at least once). Adapting to a new city or learning how to cook a new complicated recipe takes a bit more effort to learn and further effort to be comfortable cooking it.
But running is different – yes there should be some level of comfort, however, for the most part, running is about pushing past comfort. It’s about constant betterment. As much as I love to run, I really hate being uncomfortable. So that moment, that deep breath where you realise ‘I can do this’; that contrary to previous thought, neither your legs nor lungs will implode – that moment is my treasure.
What is a treasure? To me it’s an artifact; a memory linked with pleasure; something inspiring, something cherished and hopeful. A treasure is the diamond earrings the belonged to great aunt Sue that you wear every Christmas or the good china that comes out for special gatherings. A treasure was earned, through some kind of inner toil, and is yours to hold. However, like the good china and silver, if you use them every day, treasures wear out. That moment I reflected on where my heart rate and respiration acclimatized to my pace – is my treasure. But it only remains so if I move past it and attempt to re-measure.
So I go about setting a new goal, a new marker – When I was starting, my guides encouraged me to run one minute, walk one minute; run two minutes, walk two minutes. Currently, I’m aiming for a goal of a new distance of 10k. This has become my new measure, placed off in the attainable distance as a marker to set my (guides) sights on. My mental picture needs to be powerful enough to override my desire to stay comfortable. That’s pretty strong, because my warm bed is the last place I want to leave at 4:30am – especially when I know the outside temperature is -30 Celsius.
Here’s where the guides come in. My one and only running suggestion – run in packs; not too big that you are easily missed and make sure at least one person is counting on you. My running guides make their way to my driveway (quietly so as not to wake the sleeping children) at 5:30am. So the least I can do is make an effort. I rely on my guides to see my measure, to aid my travels towards it and also for support. There’s nothing like having a personal cheering squad to run with. They are there for me – so I forgo the warm blankets and postpone the hot coffee. This is where the pleasure comes in. If you treasure your previously attained measure, than you have to find pleasure in the attaining of your new measure. In short; HAVE SOME FUN!
Running with my guides brings me pleasure. It also allows me less focused time to dwell on my legs and lungs which I’m sure at any moment will explode under pressure. They distract and reassure me, and help to push past comfort. Those moments contain my joy for running.
As I mentioned, we normally run in the early morning, before the sun’s up (which enables me to leave my glasses at home). In my six months of running my guides have only been unavailable maybe three times. So there has come a time in the last two or three weeks where I had to venture forth and find the tread mill at the gym.
Disability panic is unsettling; how will I ask that question that seems so trivial to others but haunts my dreams? In my nervousness I called ahead, confirmed times, equipment, help and even encouragement. Yes there were treadmills, yes I could use it for as long as I needed (some places have a time limit), yes someone could show me how to work one, and yes there were safe places to put down my white cane while I ran. So I went, I met, and I delved into the world of the indoor runner.
Let me say; this kind of runner is courageous and daring and throws caution to the wind. Sure I can throw my face into the onslaught of rain, snow, sleet or hail but caution to the wind? Running is a very public sport. I’ve spent most of my disabled life trying to hide in the crowds, to blend in and not be noticed. Outdoor running is also public, but at least the car passes (even if it honked), the puddle splatter dries and the next person to see you won’t know you wiped your frozen nose on the back of your mitt to avoid frostbite retrieving a tissue. But in the gym, running is very public.
I’m used to having company, my guides to talk with and share with during my run. I trust them completely, to the point that I don’t even look up when we are crossing the street. So in my prioritizing mind, I remembered to grab an MP3 player on my way to the gym. The only problem was, I had to borrow my husbands. Go back and reread that… then add the discomfort of an increased distance to the discomfort of publicity, to the craziness of a playlist that is not your own.
After my early morning arrival and with the help of the gym techy person (whom I’m assuming had a name and a proper title), I spoke out loud my goal of reaching 7. There is something about speaking your goals out that makes them more real. Then I started running. After two or three minutes, I felt comfortable enough to let go of the bars which surrounded me; the bars which contained and defined my space and safety. Then I increased my pace. The gym techy person checked in on me a few times and I kept running. Thoughts of how slow this seemed to be going, when the next bus left and where my next class was – kept occupying my mental space.
Right about the time I’d banished “Thunderstruck” from my ears and was letting Ben’s “Loneliness come crashing in”, I found my groove. Wow, pleasure at the gym. Sure I was sweating visibly from my glasses, sure my fingers were numb from repeated shocks that I gave myself checking and rechecking my position in space by tapping the front bar with my knuckle; but pleasure nonetheless. The gym techy dude checked again, a frightening interruption to my “Beautiful Day” as obviously the shift had changed as this was a different person.
Yes I was fine, just not sure why it was taking so long to reach my goal. I was asked “what’s your goal?” by the gym tech extraordinaire. Seven, I mouthed between gasps and cramps – seven. And the last I did it in sixty minutes. Here I was sixty two minutes in and the read out display told me (or I should say the gym tech, who then told me) 4.5. “Seven what?” the tech master inquired. 7K I replied, thinking how strange and annoying that question was, but then compared to my question about where to put my cane, it was forgivable….. Techy gym dude ran off muttering something about conversion. Ran, like faster than I was on the mill. I was at a loss. Were disability km so different? Do wheelchair athletes track different mileage? Wait, did I just say mileage? How very American and un-metric of me.
After ACDC’s second failed attempt at interference, the gym tech came rushing back, arm outstretched, hand suspiciously poised to come down quickly. I was enthralled and a bit intimidated by the movement, the distraction. Techy appeared almost panicked. I hardly notice Ozzy’s suggestion to ‘come home” in my ears. “
”You’ve finished” Techy almost spat, sweating more than me. It wasn’t harsh, but spoken as if the words could end my pain the faster they were spoken. The hand, was moving fast…. “Wait” I managed “It’s only at 4.9!”. My fear was more out of the fact that I didn’t know how to restart the machine once it was stopped.
So as it turns out, this particular gym in this particular town has tread mills that measure in miles.
No wonder it took me so long! No wonder my body was protesting, no wonder……I ended that morning at 5 miles, my personal best distance. Wordlessly I muttered my new measure – 10 K – See the pleasure, my heart told me. This will be funny later. Ben Harper whispered on my grand finish; “Don’t you get ahead of me….”
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