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GUEST POST: Back Into The Stride

June 7, 2012 By

In March, I received an email inviting me to participate in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge hosted by WEGO Health. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I thought, and signed up. I had never participated in a month-long blogging challenge before and didn’t really know what to expect. I thought that maybe my readership would increase slightly. Perhaps I would come across a couple of blogs that interested me.

I didn’t anticipate becoming immersed in an entirely new (to me) community of bloggers. During the challenge I read many blog posts that were humourous, surprising, heart-wrenching, thought-provoking, informative, or just downright good. I have been fortunate enough to keep in touch with some of the writers, and I remain an active participant in the goings-on at WEGO Health.

One of the writers I “met” during the challenge is a woman who has much in common with me. She is the parent of an individual with special needs. She is also a runner, and therefore totally gets why the highlight of my weekend was going out to buy a new pair of running shoes.

Today, Gretchen Stahlman tells us about her train of thought as she returns to running after a break.

 

I hadn’t run in about a month, the longest stretch since I started running distance six years ago. I normally run three or four times a week, depending on what I’m training for. Last December I started training hard for the half-marathons I ran in the spring. I had a good base from running the NYC marathon in November and I wanted to capitalize on that, plus I wanted to keep myself motivated through the dark, cold winter months. And it worked: I had a PR at my half in March, and I felt like I was really coming into my own in running. But by the end of April when I ran my last half, my body and my mind were too tired to do what I wanted them to do.

Soon enough I’ll start training for the Chicago marathon, so the month of May was a good time to rest and recover and finally address that twangy right hamstring. When I traveled to Denver on business, I purposefully didn’t take my running gear so I’d be forced to take the time off. As it turns out, I liked resting. And I’m pretty good at it (better at it than running). So I took another week off. I stretched my hamstring and, amazingly, it got better when I wasn’t running on it. So I took another week off. I decided that I would run again when I felt like it. Day after day, I didn’t feel like it.

Then last week, my mind got stuck while working on a new essay. In writing, there is the required butt-to-chair time when the words manifest themselves on the page, but for me, I also need running time that frees my mind to go where it will while my body churns away at the miles.

I made my triumphant return to running last Saturday. Just three miles and I knew it would be hard, making me wonder how I had ever run 26.2 miles before and how I would ever do it again. I ran with a new friend on a route I like a lot, one that takes us on the canal path where there are always other runners, owners walking dogs, couples strolling with cups of coffee. We ran smoothly over the brick sidewalk, saying good morning to those who came our way.

A white haired man in old-school running gear came our direction, not terribly fast and with a little lurch in his stride. His left hand held his right arm to his chest as he ran, and when we drew closer, I could see that it was shriveled to half the density of his left. I said Good morning as we passed, and then Wow to my friend when the man was out of earshot. Wow, she said back.

When my friend slowed to walk, I ran on by myself. Now free of conversation, my thoughts drifted to my son who is 22 and only recently diagnosed with Asperger’s although he’s been this way his entire life. He hit a dark skid last fall where he stayed in bed all day, didn’t shower unless told to, didn’t go out, shrank back from the difficulties of the world. That’s when we sought professional help, that’s when the diagnosis came, and now he’s getting out of bed and doing a few things on his own, more each week, a slow stuttering rise to a new life. The social interactions are hard for him, going new places, doing new things, but equally hard to go old places and see people he already knows. But he’s doing it. He’s putting himself out there, making the effort, like the old man who has found his own way to run, holding himself together, not letting what he can’t do prevent him from doing the things that he can.

The route I ran turned down a dirt road and then along a short stretch of trail. The wet of the morning grass come through my running shoes. The trees arched over the path, dimming the sun, muting the world. When I picked up my right foot to clear the rocks and roots, that old achy hamstring sang out like an old friend. The path ended and I turned onto the road, the one that lead me back to where I started. My first run was done, not as hard as I thought it would be. It felt good to be back, in both mind and body, ready to begin my own arduous climb to the marathon.

To learn more about Gretchen Stahlman, check out her website!

(Photo credit: Gretchen Stahlman)

Filed Under: Aspergers Syndrome, Gretchen Stahlman, Guest Posts, Injury, running, Special Needs, WEGO Health, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Emergence Of A Rainbow Generation

November 3, 2011 By

On a hot day in February 1990, I stood still, waiting for history to happen. It was the middle of a South African summer; I had just started my final year at the University of Cape Town, and it seemed as if the entire student body – no, make that the entire population of the Western Cape – had turned out. I was going through a lot of difficulty in my life at that time, but wild horses couldn’t have kept me away from this.

Finally, it happened: the event everyone had been waiting for. A well-known and much-loved figure appeared and waved at the crowd, which was going nuts with excitement. Tears of emotion flowed all around me and within me as this great man stood before us. It was official. Nelson Mandela, the icon of freedom in South Africa, was a free man.

During my childhood years in South Africa, I was a little afraid of black people. This is hardly surprising when you consider the draconian laws that were in effect at the time. Black people and white people were completely segregated. They were required by law to live in different neighbourhoods, they could not attend the same schools or churches, and they could not use the same public facilities. In many cases, they could not even enter stores through the same doors. When I was a child, my exposure to black people was limited to the gardener and the cleaning lady.

My parents, and the parents of my peers, did their best. They themselves had been raised to distrust people different from themselves. Fortunately for me and my contemporaries, common sense and basic human dignity had prevailed, so the generation above me had gone against their own upbringings and taught us to treat everyone with respect, no matter what colour their skin was.

And yet, it has to be remembered that our parents were trying to raise non-discriminatory kids in a society that legally mandated racism.  We couldn’t have playdates with black people. If you looked at the student body during school assemblies, you would have seen a sea of white faces. We never shared grocery store line-ups with black people; we didn’t even pass them on the street.

How could a generation of kids learn how to interact in a positive way with a group of people they were never exposed to? It is no wonder that despite the eventual dismantling of the Apartheid regime, race relations in South Africa remain troubled. People are still learning how to get along after generations of having been told that they were not allowed to.

My two kids are having a childhood that contrasts sharply with my own. They have never known an existence of discrimination. They interact freely with kids from all backgrounds, regardless of ethnic origin. To them, people are just people. A telling example of this happened almost two years ago, when my younger son’s Kindergarten teacher unexpectedly died and a new teacher was brought in. When I asked my son what the new teacher looked like, he said she was absolutely beautiful. She had long black hair, and a big smile, and big brown eyes. It is perhaps a damning indictment to my own upbringing that I was surprised, when I finally met the teacher, to see that she was black. My son had not once mentioned this in his lengthy description of her. He had not even noticed her skin colour.

My kids are growing up in a world that sadly still experiences some racism. But so far, they themselves have not shown any signs of discrimination. If that ever happens, it will be nipped in the bud immediately. My dream is for my kids to grow up respecting everyone, no matter who they are or where they come from.

As Scout says in Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird, “There’s only one kind of folks. Folks.”

Filed Under: Apartheid, Childhood, parenting, Race relations, Respect, South Africa Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Weight a Minute

March 1, 2011 By

This morning I realized that after a long, bitter winter, I am done with the treadmill. I actually dragged my feet into the gym and sighed wearily as I punched the buttons on the machine to get the damned thing going.

They’re great machines, treadmills, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them. I’m definitely an open road kind of girl. I like the freedom, and the sunshine (assuming there is any), and the feel of a light wind on my face. Road running makes me feel invigorated and carefree.

Treadmill running makes me feel like a lab rat doing an experiment. I can picture the men in white coats standing on the other side of a one-way mirror, observing my every move and deciding what mind-altering drugs to inject into my brain next.

I have a history of using the treadmill only in extreme circumstances. Last winter I didn’t use the treadmill at all because it was so mild, and there was very little snow. Even though it was dark, I could go running at five in the morning and not worry about ice.

I did have to worry about a chiropractic injury that had me crying like a baby for three months, but that’s another story.

This winter I’ve been making extensive use of the treadmill because the weather has been so messed up. We have spent some time in a deep, deep freeze, with temperatures going down to -30 degrees Celsius (or -22 degrees Fahrenheit). When it’s that cold out, I cannot even breathe, and despite layer upon layer of clothing, my entire body goes numb within about five minutes.

Along with the cold, there has been snow and ice. When the cold has abated, the snow and ice have remained. It has been treacherous out there, and so I have only been willing to run outside at times when I can actually see where I’m going. Without the ability to see where I’m planting my foot, I run the risk of landing on my ass while anyone who happens to be nearby points and laughs. Since I only have time to run before work when it’s still dark, this has meant a long sentence of treadmill running.

This morning, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I got onto the treadmill and decided on a hill training workout. Just fifteen minutes in, though, I’d had enough and I had to stop. It wasn’t that I was tired (I wasn’t). It wasn’t that my legs were sore (they weren’t). I was just out-and-out fed up with running on the treadmill.

Despite cutting my run short – something that did not sit well with my consciousness – I managed to make a decent workout out of the whole thing. I headed over to the weights section and pumped iron for a while.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. It has been months since I did a decent weights workout, and this morning convinced me that I should reinstate it in my regular routine. I liked feeling the burn in my muscles, that sensation that allows you to visualize the cells in your muscles knitting together and getting stronger.

Regular weight training will make me a better runner.

It won’t hurt when I want to look pretty on my wedding day, either!

Filed Under: running Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,