Shut Up And Run
Wednesday, January 21st, 2009
Once in a marathon (I can’t remember which one or when), I ran behind a guy with a shirt that said “Shut up and run.” I repeated that phrase to myself this morning and finally escaped a mental rut, where I had been wallowing in self-defeating self-talk.
The thoughts collide like this:
I can’t run track because I feel too slow and heavy.
I’m getting slower and heavier because I’m not running track.
I’m overeating and procrastinating because I’m stressed and overwhelmed.
I’m more stressed because I’m overeating and further behind because I’m procrastinating.
I’m mindful that I am not eating mindfully.
I want to run with coach and friends to help me work through this.
I don’t want to run with others when I feel so lame.
I can’t believe I’m this small-minded and self-absorbed.
I’ll run when I feel better.
I won’t feel better unless I run.
Even when I look objectively at my situation and take in the bigger picture — e.g., my extremely fortunate position in life and all that I have accomplished; the backdrop of yesterday’s Inauguration, which marks the dawn of a new era and a victory for hope and idealism — even then, I can’t turn off the mental chatter that sabotages what I strive for and makes me unpleasant to be around (just ask my husband and kids).
Until I tell myself: Shut up and run.
So I did. Not at the track today, but to and around the lake: 8 miles with 3 of them at tempo pace. Block by block, shushing or talking back to the self-criticism and opening up my narrow view. I thought of the saying “you have only moments to live” — what if this were one of my last moments, how would I want it to be? How could I appreciate it the most?
I was finishing the loop around Lake Merritt mid-morning, at around a 6:50 pace, when I ran up behind a lanky older black man dressed in ragged sweats and broken-down basketball shoes, laces undone. He could have been one of the many Oaklanders who spend all day feeding the geese and sleeping on the benches. He was doing a funky ragdoll kind of shuffle, like he had just decided to get up, shake himself out and see what his body was capable of doing. As I approached him, he started to jog and do some high knee lifts, as though remembering a track warmup from his younger days. He must’ve heard my footsteps and breathing because all of a sudden he started sprinting, not wanting to be passed, and I called ahead, “You go for it!” He did — he sprinted maybe 50 yards and then all of a sudden shifted back to high-knee jogging and laughing out loud. I looked at his face as I passed; he had wirey gray hairs sprouting on his unshaven cheeks, and when he smiled, he revealed missing and crooked teeth. He chortled, “You run for both of us!” And then he stopped, bent over and laughed like he was drunk or high, which he may have been, and I kept running for both of us.
That was the best moment.
I vowed to write something after that run, for the sake of marking a low point and not forgetting how I started to work past it. I also vowed to not polish the writing, just get it down — try not to be such a procrastinating perfectionist — and then shut up and work.
Phew.