what to do when you don't feel like running

You know the feeling well.

One day off feels like an itch. Two, a gnaw. Three or more, and every single thought you have about plans for the day is back-ended with "but I should really go running instead."

Well, welcome to the club!

For years, this blog has been about releasing the guilt after I've beaten myself up for one thing or another, but from this point forward, I'm making a vow: I'm going to be compassionate with myself about my little slip-ups. That includes running—and in life. No more excess worry—just tools to get back on track.

So, here's my secret #1. It's really no big deal.

The faster you can admit that to yourself, the faster you'll get back out there. The more guilt you heap on yourself about not running, the longer you'll wait. Side corollary: If you see another runner sprinting on the pavement at dinner hour when you're rushing home for, well, dinner, and all you can think to yourself is, "damn, I should be doing that," instead, just wish him or her a great run, then commend yourself for all the dinner-hour runs you've put in.

Secret #2: Maybe it's time for new shoes.

Runners are a stoic lot. We can pound the pavement for hours. Our trusty technical tees and beloved Asics powergels become our good luck totems, helping us get through the hard parts. I've worn the same bright-pink Nike zip-up long sleeve tee for four years (see my marathon pic) and I'll never throw it out. But that said, eat Ben & Jerry's Phish Food every night and you'll even get bored. That's when it's time for a trip to Lululemon for some new gear to get you pumped.

Secret #3: Maybe it's time for a new sound-track.

I have loved "Now That's What I Call Music" since they put out version #8, headlined by Britney and J.T. Now they're up to 1,007 or something, but it's still great, upbeat, timely music that reminds you what season you're in and that J.T. can still jam. I've also started running to Ray LaMontaigne albums—he has such a sense of rhythm. But even this one reminds me, I need some new music, too. (Any ideas?)

Secret #4: Tell yourself that even a mile is great.

We hate to run less than last week. I hate it to think that last month I was running my usual three miles a day and now I'm feeling winded. But you know what? A mile is better than nothing. In fact, it's a great thing. I think back to the first mile I ever ran, back four years ago, when I couldn't fit into my bridesmaid dress. That mile meant a lot. In fact, it meant everything. It meant that there was hope. Now, I'm going to applaud myself each time I run that first mile, because it means I've taken action—the hard road.

Secret #5: What are you afraid to think about?

I've finally realized that this is the real reason we don't run. We're afraid of being in our own heads for 30 minutes. What scary truth might come up? Have we put on 5, 10 pounds and don't want to admit this to ourselves yet? Are we unhappy in our job and don't feel like hearing the scary answer—that we need to quit? Has our relationship reached an unconquerable impasse and we have no idea what to do?

It's all pretty frightening, that life stuff, sure. But guess what. Running also provides answers if you're willing to listen.

gaps and opportunities

In running, and in life, you can fall into a gap and get stuck there.

After a period of about a year, I've come to realize I've been spending time in one of these gaps, checking it out, languishing a bit too long. To be specific, after completing the NYC marathon last year, I haven't stopped running, but I've stopped training, which in a sense is all about moving forward.

There are some good excuses: the temperature's never seemed quite right, my clothes from a few years back feel itchy on my skin and my fitness levels have plummeted. I've also been launching a freelance writing career, finishing a book manuscript and trying to find love. But being honest with myself, I've allowed a darkness of spirit to seep in that I haven't really felt up to facing yet.

Though I've been aware of it happening, I haven't been able to figure out why I'm letting it happen. Have I not been putting myself first? Or is it normal when my other major life goals are a priority? But none of the above goals have been fully realized. They are all unfinished marathons in their own ways.

The endless monkey brain loop is something I've spoken a lot about in this blog. A steady stream of thought spirals, what-ifs and ruminations like those ghostly army men in the last Harry Potter movie, hungering, blood-thirsty and ready to storm the castle any chance they get.

While I was training for the marathons, those annoying footmen seemed to take a break for a while, but now they're back, in full force, storming my weakened barriers on all fronts.

Penetrable barriers aren't necessarily a bad thing. Porous boundaries allow me to take in a lot more of the world. This profound sensitivity allows me to see trends, sense feelings on a mass scale and perceive the stormfronts simmering below the surface that others may not notice. Eschewing cliches more readily, hopefully I can see the entirety of what is.

The problem is that sometimes "what is"—this gap—can have a dark cast to it. I think I've seen the darkness a little more fully this year. In slowing down, taking a break from work and busyness, I've allowed myself to really see it, walk around in it and feel it—maybe for the first time in my life.

The darkness isn't a bad thing either, but when you have fuzzy edges, it feels like you've been walking outside on a cold, rainy day without a jacket and you feel it in your bones.

However, running buffers the grainy edges. With each pounding foot, the jangly glass shards tossing around inside me smooth out and my internal barriers thicken up.

Running is like carrying a sepia-toned flashlight, softening what I see into beautiful rosy glow.

Instead of seeing shadows, I see opportunities.

There may be gaps to fall into, but with running, there's hope.

With each step, I'm reminded that taking action, in whatever small way I can, is the answer.

Sometimes it takes a full year to realize this, but other times, all it takes is one good run.

As I get back into running more regularly, signing up for races again as little metaphors to face my fears and complete things, I'll be casting a light on those annoying Harry Potter army men waiting cleverly outside my castle. As I do this, hopefully I'll also start to see the completion of all the other marathons in my life—the book manuscript, a successful freelance career, opening up my heart enough to fully let love in.

I have to believe that this waylay hasn't been for naught. That within these small gaps of nothingness that we fill with our beliefs and thoughts also lie the breeding ground for the biggest opportunities—the transformative kind that feel like miracles.