It’s tough being a Winnipegger in the middle of a frigid January winter and training for a spring marathon. Options are few, opportunities are fewer.
A couple weeks ago, with the weather forecasting a windchill nearing -43 degrees Celsius I took up the offer of my brother and his wife’s treadmill. I figured I needed some kind of carrot to keep me going so I stopped at the video store on my way over to pick up two of the Jason Bourne movies. Starting the first one I mentally vowed to pause the movie each time I took a break and not allow myself to watch the movie unless I was actually running. Not being a great treadmill runner it took me about 30 minutes to find my “tread-legs”. Then off I went. I broke it up into 15 minute intervals between which I would stop and grab a big gulp of water, and wipe the sweat off my body, and step back on for another 15 minutes. This was the only way I could get myself through this tortuous and grueling ordeal. It was the slowest 2 hours of my life and it felt like the longest marathon I had ever run.
Flash forward to a week later, the only difference was that the windchill this time was a mere -30 degrees Celcius. I decided to take this one outdoors because the thought of another 2 hours running in the exact same spot was giving me chills and I hadn’t even stepped out of my door. Two and a half hours later I bounded up the stairs to my apartment, feeling buoyant and energetic, despite having run 15 miles on snowy packed trails.
For days afterwards I wondered why the opposing difference in experiences. One would think that running indoors, unencumbered by two pairs of pants, four top layers, a neck warmer, toque, and double mitts would be freeing. Instead I had found myself labouring and watching the treadmill countdown (more than I watched the movie) and timing when I could jump off and have a quick break. Oddly, during my outdoor run I ran 45 minutes straight before stopping to grab a drink of water at the park skating shelter before heading out for my next 5 miles. I felt neither as tired nor needed much of a break.
I think watching the scenery pass me by as I run outdoors is what gets me through these long runs. I can actually see my motivators up in the distance. “I will run to the railroad tracks”. “I will run through the park.” “I will run around the golf course.” For me these are more concrete than, “I will run for 15 minutes”. And that is why I am not a treadmill runner. I appreciated the opportunity to run indoors in insulated comfort. But I think I will choose the mild discomfort of the cold if it means the time will pass more quickly.
Besides winter will not last forever, and each of these cold runs means one less as April approaches. I have learned that I can be stubborn and a lot stronger than I give myself credit for most of the time. And I just think of the character I build each time I walk out the door for another long one. We Winnipeg runners are full of it…character that is…!
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
The Mind’s Age
Listening to Shelagh Rogers interview Douglas Copeland on CBC radio one morning really got my creative writing spark heated up. I wanted to leave work that day and head off to a coffee ship to write for the rest of the day. Some day my words will make me money, but until that happens, they’ll just have to make me happy.
Today’s brainstorm deals with age and perception, something the two speakers touched on in their captivating discourse. We all have a specific concrete number that defines the years we have lived on this planet. We also have a more abstract number. More specifically, this alternative number defines who we think and feel we are inside. If you were to close your eyes and relax and think about how old you really feel, the chances are the number will be less than your actual age. We all have our ‘mental’ age and each person’s differs for their own reasons. The two radio personalities postulated that our mental age was one at which we felt the most happy with ourselves and our life at that time.
I’d never gone much past 30. For me, 30 was an ideal age – still young enough to be forgiven for my frivolities, yet sufficiently mature to be taken seriously on most levels. Recently though, my mental age is beginning to catch up with my physical one.
Before I turned 40 I dreaded the prospect of hitting middle age. It loomed in front of me and I had visions of suddenly becoming ‘old’. Until I decided to attack it back with the same ferocity with which I was allowing it to control me. Suddenly I had become empowered. By taking jurisdiction of it, complete with fighting stance and “bring it on” attitude, I turned this pivotal milestone into a memorable and enviable event. My ideal age of 30 transformed overnight to 40. If I willingly take into account that my mental age reflects the time I was the happiest, then my two ages have melded, and are continuing to meld as I keep aging, into one. Perhaps growing older is not so bad when you consider the benefit of maturity and expanded knowledge base combined with the freedom to answer only to yourself.
I still have days when I feel like I am back in high school, but am quite thankful that those days are long behind me. I think it all comes down to the quote by Mohammed Ali, “Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.” For me, as long as I am happy, I am happy with my age.
Today’s brainstorm deals with age and perception, something the two speakers touched on in their captivating discourse. We all have a specific concrete number that defines the years we have lived on this planet. We also have a more abstract number. More specifically, this alternative number defines who we think and feel we are inside. If you were to close your eyes and relax and think about how old you really feel, the chances are the number will be less than your actual age. We all have our ‘mental’ age and each person’s differs for their own reasons. The two radio personalities postulated that our mental age was one at which we felt the most happy with ourselves and our life at that time.
I’d never gone much past 30. For me, 30 was an ideal age – still young enough to be forgiven for my frivolities, yet sufficiently mature to be taken seriously on most levels. Recently though, my mental age is beginning to catch up with my physical one.
Before I turned 40 I dreaded the prospect of hitting middle age. It loomed in front of me and I had visions of suddenly becoming ‘old’. Until I decided to attack it back with the same ferocity with which I was allowing it to control me. Suddenly I had become empowered. By taking jurisdiction of it, complete with fighting stance and “bring it on” attitude, I turned this pivotal milestone into a memorable and enviable event. My ideal age of 30 transformed overnight to 40. If I willingly take into account that my mental age reflects the time I was the happiest, then my two ages have melded, and are continuing to meld as I keep aging, into one. Perhaps growing older is not so bad when you consider the benefit of maturity and expanded knowledge base combined with the freedom to answer only to yourself.
I still have days when I feel like I am back in high school, but am quite thankful that those days are long behind me. I think it all comes down to the quote by Mohammed Ali, “Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.” For me, as long as I am happy, I am happy with my age.
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