lucindasrunningblog

Yesterday, after an all-morning faculty meeting in Montpelier, I ran through Hubbard Park, a labyrinthian trail system in a wooded area near the capital building. I ran the burnt sienna trails, winding through sunlight dappled ferns, plush moss, and rich evergreen, shedding work with each stride. After about 15 minutes, the ups and downs of the trail roused the stubborn ache in my hip.

The hip issue peaked in October, when I was at a 5-day meeting in Cincinnati. Perhaps it was exacerbated by sitting under fluorescents for 9 hours a day and leaping onto the pavement to run straight after… One afternoon, I found a fabulous run–5.48 miles back and forth across the bridges between Kentucky and Ohio:   4 Bridges Run

In spite of the tall bridges with skinny walkways, the run was a blast. I decided on a redo on my final morning. About 3 miles into the run, the hip pain began to stab, and I had to stop and walk back to the hotel. Back in Maine, I went to my doc, who sent me to physical therapy. It appears that I have a stressed piriformis, though the pain is elusive–regularly shifting to connected muscles (psoas and adductor, in particular). I’m following pt orders: running short, easy runs with light, structural sneakers; cross training, including running in the pool; Kinesio tape; and doing leg and glut strength training. Casual advice has been filled with contradictions: taking a month off of running all together, running only on trails, running through the pain until it passes, running only in flats (don’t get me started on the those 5 toed “shoes”), and more. I’ve learned a lot about running through the process, and about my own path for growth as a runner, but at this point, I’m ready to run without the ache!

Do you have any wisdom to add?

On October 7, I set out for the Harpoon Octoberfest race in Windsor, VT with a carload of friends (Julie, Mike, and Rick). The brewery hosted over 1100 runners. Given Harpoon’s enthusiasm for costumed running, and the opportunity to get ridiculous, I costumed up as a beer loving Oktoberfest gal. We had a pre-race braiding tutorial in the parking lot, which helped banish the pre-race jitters. I placed 21^st out of 90 women in my age group and ran the 3.6 miles at an 8:31 pace. Given the punishing course—up, up, up–I feel just fine about the time. I’m not sure if it was the brutal course or the fact that I downed a grape Vitaminwater right before the race, but after crossing the finish line, I had to run to the fence to wretch. I’ve since learned that it’s best to stick close to the routine established before race day (no fruity beverages). Mid-race, I also realized that I would have to attend to the ache in my hip, but that’s a tale for another day, at which point I hope to gather some advice: to run or not to run with hip pain. In the meantime, major festivities ensued post-race, and I discovered Harpoon Rye IPA–delicious!

Harpoon Oktoberfest

The Punishing Course

Why Do What Lights You Up?

There’s a great little book, Letters to a Young Artist (inspired by Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet), published by the now defunct journal, Art on Paper. The book consists of 23 letters written by mature artists in response to a fictional letter from a struggling young artist. This afternoon, I was quoting the book in a letter to one of my students, when I realized that my thoughts on her work are relevant here. The final letter, from Joseph Grigely, ends with the following paragraph, echoing my thoughts about casting about for meaning rather than following a trajectory that is institutionally mapped out:

So my advice, for whatever it’s worth, is not to worry too much about those uncertainties, mysteries, and doubts. If making art is hard work—and it is—equally hard is the process of being an artist, of bringing the work to a public. This is where human relations are so important. A lot of the stuff I learned about art and being an artist did not come from visual artists; it came from writers like Keats (in his letters) and composers like Ned Rorem (in his diaries) and outdoorsmen like Ray Bergman (who wrote about fly fishing for trout). So read as much as you can and get into the thick of life whenever you can—learn a foreign language, learn things about other people, go places and do things that have nothing to do with art—because it’s the stuff that has nothing to do with art  that has everything to do with art. (92)

The artist, if you’re curious: Joseph Grigely

I began running in the summer of 2011. I’d been a competitive cross-country skier in high school, and I realized that at age 46, it was time to see if my body could still be pushed. I’d jogged, skied, and hiked over the years, but running wasn’t really on my map. I didn’t believe I could run more than an easy 3 miles without getting knee pain, so I never considered taking it on. Last summer, inspired by enthusiastic friends, I decided to give it a shot. I built up slowly, running 5 or 6 times each week; after 8 weeks, I was shocked to realize that I was enjoying myself! I ran my first road race in Portland’s Annual Thanksgiving Day 4-Miler, coming in 846th overall with a 36:58. I was handily outrun by a pilgrim, among 846 other runners, but I was elated. The race was painful, unpleasant, and totally addictive. By my next race, Jimmy the Greek’s Frozen 4-Miler, I had taken a few minutes off my time, coming in with a 34:00 and just beating a runner dressed in purple streamers. Progress.

Why Write a Blog?

A few weeks ago, in the airspace between Detroit and Portland, I had an epiphany. I was on my way home from a professional conference, feeling blue with the realization that I’d developed a case of identity tunnel vision. My self worth had gotten bound up in collecting success chips. I’d somehow become so fixated on my progress as an artist and professor that I’d temporarily forgotten to trust my gut and let the experiences that light me up lead the way. Soaring at dusk between two layers of luminous clouds, I realized that running had permeated my imagination. It looks like this: I mull over past and future running adventures. I think about how to train, where to go, what gear to wear, and how to gather a posse. Anyone who runs knows that running is storytelling. I’ve decided to share some of my own tales–mostly about running, but as I’ve come to see, running doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Running will be the lens for this blog, and the stories will lead the way from there.