First Loves

First loves are never planned. You don't get to arrange your life and say,"It's all in order! And now I'm ready." First loves catch you by surprise. Perhaps it is the unexpected that makes it so wonderful. Everything becomes new and an adventure. And because it is a first, you are not jaded by past events. You are innocently blinded and easily give your whole heart. Running was my first love.

I recently started running again, and by recently I mean about 5 months ago. It all started when my friend, Lealah, asked me to join a running group (Running Grrrl) that she was starting. It would be all women, all levels, with the common thread of loving running. I actually didn't even want to join, but I did. When I became a part of Running Grrrl I had no aspirations of being the fastest runner or of even completing a half marathon. Lealah asked me to become a part of the running group and I said “yes”, because she's my friend. I had no intention of really becoming a part of the group. I figured I could tell her that I was working, something came up, and I would just keep excusing my way out. Not because I didn’t want to be a part of the group, but because it was running.

I fell in love with running at a young age. I would watch mesmerized as my dad laced up his shoes and came back sweaty, panting and smiling. I realized early on that running came easily to me. And I used it to my advantage, beating all of the boys in my class, which meant I was always picked first for games at recess. Sometimes on the weekend my dad would take me out to run with him. We would go out and run from telephone pole to telephone pole, and I would relish every “win”. As I grew up running remained a part of my life. In high school and college my tennis coaches joked that it was my ability to run down balls, not my hitting, which kept me in my matches.

After college I had an on again, off again relationship with running. Remembering the fun that I used to have with it I would come back and try to pick up where I had left off, only to be punished for my absence, left panting and sore from muscles I'd long forgotten. Inevitably, I would decide that I was bored with it, and I would move on to something new. Running was that relationship that I always came back to and it never let me down.

And then I started dating THE EX. Running became our thing. We did a couple of 10ks or just ran the bike trail on date night. It was great. I had never been in a relationship where I was so completely comfortable being me. I was head over heels in love. And then we broke up.

I have never been one to trust easily. All too often I had seen friends' hearts smashed by giving of themselves too easily. I spent years building up walls to ensure that I wouldn’t be hurt. And then when all the walls came down I was told I wasn’t worth it by the person that I’d built my life around. I shattered.

In the aftermath of the breakup I threw myself into work and running. In the moments of silence that I had I would beat myself up and review every aspect of the relationship, and then I would cry to the point of throwing up. Where had I gone wrong? I rationalized that the demise of the relationship was due to some flaw in me. If only I could have been prettier, smarter, funnier. If only I could have been more.

In an attempt to silence everything and assert my worth I turned to what I knew best: running. I started training for a half marathon and I made the horrible discovery that physical pain is easier to bear than emotional pain. I couldn’t bear the immense sadness, but I could handle running to the point of exhaustion. I slowly began to punish myself. Every footfall became an accusation. I found it in my heart to forgive him, but could not reconcile that he and his actions were one and the same. I found myself to somehow be complicit in what had happened. I should have know what was going on. How did I not know? And every step became more painful. But I loved the pain, mostly I loved knowing that I was the one inflicting the pain. And I vowed that nobody would get to hurt me again. I took what I had once loved and twisted it into something dark and painful.

A month and half went by with little sleep and constantly pushing my body. I was working two jobs and running every chance I had. I dropped to 89 pounds. I couldn’t walk up stairs without getting light headed. And then I got sick. When I walked into the doctor's office I was numb. I was numb as she explained the strain I was putting on my body, and my heart. I was numb as she painted a picture of what would happen if I continued. She said that I was putting too much strain on my body which had led to an infection. I was exhausted. I stopped running when I came home.

I moved shortly thereafter and started to rebuild my life. I rediscovered all of the things that I’d given up. I went back to church. I fell back in love with writing, tennis and music. I made new friends and realized that I could stand alone and be alright. It took a year and a half to gain back the weight that I had lost, but it was a physical reminder of what I had done to myself and how far I had come. The girl that I once was, the girl before the boys and the self-doubt, re-emerged- strong, passionate and optimistic about the world around me.

Occasionally I would run. I would run for 10 minutes at the gym. I would run while playing tennis or chasing the dog. But I no longer ran for fun. I had a pair of running shoes that I carried with me every time I moved, but they were lifeless and spent, just a memory of what was. And then Lealah asked me join the running group.

Like I said before, I had no intention of joining. But Lealah's enthusiasm was infectious and the next thing I knew I was standing at Montana de Oro with a group of women I didn’t know, praying that I wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown. Before I started running I promised myself that at the first hint of pain I would stop. I was afraid that all of those old feelings would come rushing back. But there was no pain. I was met with smiles and words of encouragement. And I only felt relief when I finished. Still, I thought it was probably a fluke. I decided to tempt fate and ran the next week and was just as hesitant, but nothing happened except being slightly sore. My fate wasn’t entirely sealed though until Miracle Miles (a fundraiser for foster children). Running on the beach, surrounded by people, they all just melted away. It was just me. No iPod, no self criticism just the sound of the water and my own breath. And I realized that I was happy. I was HAPPY. Perhaps the hardest thing to do is forgive yourself. But I'd finally done it. I could no longer punish myself for all the could'ves, should'ves and would'ves. Those old ghosts had been vanquished and there was nothing more to prove to anyone else or to myself.This was the running that I loved, the running from the playground, running after my dad to the next telephone pole, running to get to the ball. It had come back to me.

Actionwriter

*Old stuff*

Summer jobs are supposed to be fleeting. A quick way of making some money and today, while assisting one of my students in the seemingly impossible task of typing up an essay on Oedipus Rex, I became mesmerized by her very diligent and patient one finger typing method. And it reminded me of the typewriter that my dad used to force my siblings and I to use while working for the summer at his office. It was the bane of my existence. Seriously. I don’t know its origins, or how it came to be in the office, but it sits on the desk next to the computer. It’s such a weird juxtaposition of past and present. You know how shotguns have a kick that propels you backwards? This typewriter has a related kick. Maybe because it's called the Actionwriter (IBM). Anyways, you can be typing away (very carefully, because there's no backspace button) and it will suddenly kick and the next letter that you type will be 2 inches below the rest of the previously typed letters. So you have to proceed with caution. I do the one finger typing and leave a respectful pause in between each keystroke. Actionwriter would always manage to get me though, just as I was getting cocky enough to rest two fingers on its buttons. And I would be forced to destroy a perfectly nice, watermarked envelope. Thankfully I've made friends with the paper shredder. It destroys all of my mistakes. And when I'm bored I shred different colored paper just to see the rainbow of confetti. This got a little out of hand.