Just Get Through It

Stop.

Read no further if:

1. You've never survived anything (but I guess that precludes you from reading)
2. You've never needed an escape
3. You're happy sitting on your couch instead of living

On the other hand, if you need a way to get through life, if you have something you can use to keep your sanity, if you consider yourself an endurance athlete just for getting through the day, read on.

I'm a runner. After 30 years, that's how I've come to define myself. I say that because I need to run. A fact I've only discovered recently.

It started because my father ran the mile in high school. I signed up for track in junior high, and I ran the mile. I wasn't very good. But I loved being outside after school, bus trips with my friends, and the trophy cinders in my knees I won after falling at a meet.

I went to college and I continued to run. I never missed a practice. I had switched to the 400 meter hurdles by now, and I still wasn't very good. But I showed up. Every single day. I started running cross country for off-season training. I ran in the summer at home. Didn't feel like doing homework? It was time for a run!

Then I graduated and life got in the way. I didn't feel like running much. I got out of it. I gained 20 pounds. I ran a 5K here and there, never placing very high.

But the funny thing was I still told people I was a runner. I talked about running college track as if I'd been Flo Jo. When I won my age group in a 5K by virtue of being the only entrant, I hung my medal proudly on the wall at work. Calling myself a runner communicated in one word who I wanted to be:

Determined, Hard, Tough, Dedicated, Strong, Not-Someone-To-Mess-Around-With

I did my best to act that way. But the fact of the matter was I could barely complete 3 miles. I entered a 10K and walked most of the second half with an 80 year old man who outsprinted me at the end. I felt like a fraud.

In 2002, my husband, an Army Reservist was sent to the Middle East as the war in Iraq was gearing up. Most soldiers will disagree with me, but I almost would have rather been there at war than sitting home completely by myself in the dark winter wondering what was going on over there.

One November night, I decided I had enough sitting around. The inertia of depression is the most powerful force known to man, but I decided I couldn't bear the weight anymore. With the force required to bench-press your own body weight, I pulled myself up off the couch, laced up my shoes, and went for a run.

When I did that, I finally became a RUNNER. It didn't matter that I hadn't yet taken a step. Or that racing was the furthest thing from my mind. I went out and ran. In the rain. In the dark. Coming inside mud-caked, soaked to the bone, and shivering felt more alive than my dead house.

Every night from then on, when I returned home from work to my empty house where the silence was louder than a howitzer, I ran.

I listened to my breath. I counted my steps.

Some people like to think on a run. For me it became a meditation - a way to clear my mind. I eliminated all worry and terror - the viruses of anxiety and depression that will invade your soul with bile.

They always came back. But on a run, I was free for a few minutes.

My husband came home, but the problems didn't stop. If you think the familes who are reunited after Iraq have made it through their test and live happily ever after, you are very mistaken. Because its then that the test finally begins in earnest. Like the second 10 miles of a marathon, the following years were filled with introspection, self-analysis, self-flaggelation, and doubt that the end will ever come.

So I kept running. I signed up for the Army 10 miler in an effort to push myself from jogging once around our community lake (a distance of 2 miles). The farther I pushed, the more I started to wonder where my boundary actually lay. It didn't seem to be anywhere in sight.

I finished the Army Ten Miler, and decided to see what I could do. I tackled a marathon. And 16 miles into my first 20 mile training run, I had to implement the "Survival Shuffle."

The Survival Shuffle is a useful technique for getting through a run that my college cross-country coach taught me. I was out on my first run with the team. I'd never run longer than 10 minutes at a time. And here I was doing 45. At altitude in Colorado. I fell far behind, and the coach, running with us, turned back to get me. He told me to slow it down, barely picking my feet off the ground, just putting one foot in front of the other. It was more important to finish the workout than to go too fast and not complete it. He told me to "Just get through it" instead of worrying about being so far behind. He ran the rest of the course with me. He encouraged me to pick it up when I came out of hypoxia. He pushed me a little harder.

Every workout from then on, I got better. Eventually I kept up with everyone else. But whenever I felt like giving up on a long, tough day, I would say to myself "Survival Shuffle" and slow it down for a few steps, sometimes for the rest of the workout. Whatever it took to get through it.

I shuffled the last 2 miles of my first marathon, and the last mile of my second. Just this last weekend I shuffled the last mile of an 18 mile run. But I have never quit a race or a workout.

Six months ago I stopped running as often when life again started to get in the way, thinking my marathon days were over. 15 pounds and much unhappiness later, I realized that I need to run, or at least to shuffle. I'm now training for my third marathon. The family and job situation will dictate what exactly comes after that, but I know I'll never stop running again. But for now, I'm concentrating on getting through the last 6 weeks of training.

I decided to start this blog to share not only the training experiences and tips you can find in any number of places on the Web, but also to share how it affects my life.

And to remind us all to slow down and catch our breath.