It’s no surprise that my absence from this blog coincided with my absence from running. Or at the very least, my lack of enthusiasm for running, which waned as the thermometer rose, and came to a screeching halt in mid-August with a calf injury that sidelined me for several weeks.
Up until that point, I had only two priorities in life: running (and growing and growing and growing) my business and actual one foot in front of the other running (the faster, the further, the better). No quality time for friendships and relationships; no real purpose for growing my business other than the always flawed rationale that more money is better; none of the so-called “balance” I was craving, the very reason I am in business for myself.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was in the midst of an identity crisis. About who I am as a person, as a business owner, as a wife, a friend, a runner, and yes, even as an athlete.
I started the year with two nearly full time employees. By mid-summer, my business was busier than ever, yet I was limping along with two interns. Why? Because I realized when I did my taxes on April 14 that I had paid staff more than I’d paid myself the previous year. That I’d actually COST myself money in 2010. Clearly, something needed to change. But it didn’t.
Even after that realization, I didn’t make time for strategy. For planning. For stepping back and examining all I’d built and why I’d built it in the first place, to determine how and whether it was worth sustaining. I was just happy to be on the positive side of the ledger.
The same with running. At the beginning of the year, I started running six days a week. Pretty much without fail. Sure, some of my workouts had purpose, but others were just about running. Getting in miles. A “base,” as we call it.
And for six short months, it worked. I PRed every race I entered, from a mile to a marathon. I placed consistently in top 5 or 10 of local and even regional races. Even though I chastised others for embracing the “more is always better” philosophy of running, I didn’t think that I–with my measly 35-40 mile weeks–could possibly be overtraining.
And then I re-discovered yoga. And swimming. And started taking ballet. And going to Pilates two times a week. And working out at least two hours a day.
My body gave out. It tried to warn me with a couple of bad runs. I ignored it. Then it warned me again with a week-long cold. I defied it by running the Peachtree Road Race in my second fastest time ever. More bad, sluggish runs followed, including one miserable day when I had to have my husband come pick me up a mere two miles from our home. Yet I kept running. Then I tweaked my calf. I decided to show that calf who was the boss my running my fastest half marathon ever–in racing flats, natch.
And my body put on the brakes. It had had enough abuse. I couldn’t even walk after the race. I knew immediately something was wrong. I still ran five miles the next day. Amazing how stubbornness can get you through the pain.
The irony of that race was that it qualified me for a starting corral at the Chicago Marathon, a marathon that is 12 days away, that I will NOT be running.
But slowing down was good for me. I had lost my joy for running. It was an obligation, nothing more. So I started swimming, and for the first time as an adult, I’ll be swimming through the winter. I even signed up for a swimming clinic and am considering a masters’ swim class. I started getting serious about my yoga. I am getting eight hours of sleep every night. I was finding my way back to what I thought I should call “balance.”
And yet, “balance” never fit. That assumes a dichotomy that I don’t believe is realistic in my life, in anyone’s life, really. But it was the best word I could come up with, until this past Sunday. My yoga studio came together for 108 sun salutations as part of our Global Mala for national yoga month. A very serious, thoughtful, intense practice that would take use nearly two hours of moving and breathing in unison.
We were asked to set an intention at the beginning of class. Not one we thought we *should* be focusing on, but one that came from deep within.
Suddenly, I had found my word: clarity. I craved clarity. On what and who is important. On the direction of my business. On how to step back and make thoughtful decisions about all things in my life. Permission to breathe. To think. To sometimes just sit and be and allow the answers to come.
And after two hours, they did. Everything seemed so much simpler. Easier to manage. Decisions have become clearer. The path more visible.
Clarity.
