run like an artist
This is a very unusual bit of writing for me. It may not even be sad. Maybe.
I will turn 40 in a few months. When I think of this, I picture myself, exactly as I am but younger, standing in Party City, looking at black and silver plates with “OVER THE HILL” written on them, and wondering, how does someone become 40? I don’t know that this ever happened, but I have an imagined memory of it, and no one can argue with me about this.
When I think of turning 40, I remember that I was twenty years old when my mother turned forty, and I remember the cake. And the plates, black and silver. At forty-five, my mother was a grandmother. A grandmother!! And now, this is me. My daughter is fourteen, and she will remember my 40th birthday, and the cake, and the plates. My sisters, who are younger, will call each other and say, “Can you believe Rachel is forty?” like we all did on our brother’s birthday.
So anyhow, running. I hate it. It is competitive and it is braggy. It is loud and vain. It requires swagger and a playlist of jock jams and special shoes and weird bras that have confusing straps. I can’t find my water bottle, ever, even though I keep buying them, and I hate jock jams.
So, running, though. I’ve been doing it, after realizing that it’s been about fifteen years since I did anything body-oriented, and thinking that I should probably take some responsibility. I have been very averse to fitness, and I roll my eyes at work out moms. Our bodies are for dying, and they are dust. My aversion has been strong and self-righteous… but also, I’m right. The culture sweeps me away, too, and I see everywhere women like me who fight hard against aging, who hide away the softening effects of their motherhood like their dirtiest secret, like a great dishonor. We work to get our bodies back too soon after babies, our softness a secret shame. I want to look at our bodies through the lens of truth, and I am averse to pretending that all we have is this one life, this one body, and that we need to pour everything in to preserving our physical forms. I want to pour life into my soul, which will last forever, and put my concern for my body in its right place, because I feel the disorder deep within myself, and because I, too, have drunk the poison. I want to be an antidote to the culture of body-obsession.
So I am, rather, a bit lazy. I think of Chesterton and how some say he cannot be saintly, because he was obese, and I think he is the perfect saint for us in our times.
Anyhow, I have been running. Here is how.
Your playlist can have any dang song you want on it. Fleetwood Mac’s Rhiannon. Lodi. Shiny from Moana. This does not have to be pop songs that you have never heard of. Do not look at other people’s Spotify playlists. Do it your way.
The dog. The dog really helps. It says to me, “This is not for me, really. This is an act of loving service, for my dog.”
Run like an artist. If you see something beautiful, stop and look. This is for you. It is not for your butt muscles. It’s for your soul. Does a view inspire you? Stop. Rest. Look. We are running to feel our lungs fill fast with air, to feel a challenge, to feel sunshine on our shoulders, to smile at other runners, to make our hearts strong and big, to feel like we are floating, a little. Run for only ten minutes. It’s for you - do it however you want.
Use a training app. I like Start2Run. The woman has a lovely Aussie accent, and she says things like, “You’ve got it! This is going to work beautifully!” and I imagine she is plumper than me, but more disciplined and happier, and that we are out together with the dogs. It’s for fun.
I actually really feel great when I come home from a run, and this is the biggest motivator. I feel breathless and fit and clear-headed and for a few moments, like a really good example.
For years, people told me some kind of blah blah about how once you’ve run for a while, even a short while, you’ll start to like it. I was always a hater of exercise, but I think this is true. I truly like it now - maybe mostly because it allows me some excusable break from my noisy zoo homeschool - and if I can like it, I think anyone could. Maybe try and see what happens.