Getting It Back

Any endurance runner worth their salt will tell you that stride is key. Not just the length and pace of your steps, but the way you're holding your body when you're moving. As a former short-endurance athlete whose lungs are desperately trying to rebuild tissue, I can tell you that missing my stride lately has been a nightmare. It has turned what was once a generally pleasant activity I could do virtually anytime, anywhere (hey, no matter what Nike is telling you, all you really need to run is a decent pair of kicks. The rest doesn't really matter.) into a rather unpleasant lesson in muscular rediscovery. My legs ache, my back cramps, and the big ol' belly I'm now hauling around after the past year of a relatively sedentary lifestyle is starting to really weigh on me. Indigestion used to be an occasional, short-lived moment of misery; it's now consuming half of my waking hours and I am finding that I can no longer eat "whatever I want". Oh, and in addition to all of this new stuff, the old stuff is back too: side and shoulder cramps, the latter being the worse of the two.

Honestly, lately, it's been rather a trying time to keep going with all of this stuff. I've been cigarette-free for nearly a month (three more days and it will be!) and I'm really learning what smoking for all of those years has done to me. I keep plodding along, hoping things will get better, going about my so-called training halfheartedly and telling myself it will get better. This morning, for a change, it did.

I was just doing my little neighborhood loop, taking my time, trying not to outpace myself after I blew the first third of the run by moving too quickly and then having to walk to regain my composure, as well as my will to keep breathing, when something changed. I don't know what it was, but I fell into step. My legs got lighter. Things became easier, my shoulder cramps began to loosen up and my upper body fell into perfect rhythm with my lower. I, the occasional atheist and generally religious nonconformist, was about to say twenty Hail Marys when I realized what it was. I'd gotten my stride back.

It wasn't something I ever noticed before, because back when I was running seven-minute miles I was a kid, I just did it. It wasn't anything to pay attention to, it was just what had to be done. As a gangly twelve-year old (don't worry, she's still kicking my butt) with long, coltish legs I developed a larger stride than most kids my age; my former coach used to say it made him uncomfortable to watch me run, but it got the job done. Now in my early twenties, my torso's grown to round out the lengthy runner's legs I was born with and I found that I needed to make more adjustments to my form and pacing to try to fit my newer, longer frame. And now that I've got it back, I just hope I can hang onto it. My inner twelve-year old is dancing with glee, while simultaneously saying "duh!" and wagging a finger at me. Of COURSE I couldn't run the way I did when I was twelve. That was over a decade ago and a lot had changed. This morning I figured out just how much, and man, did it feel good. Instead of dreading my next run I am looking forward to it. Stride helps you pace yourself, organize your timing and speed, refocus your attention and movements to the parts of you that really need it (for example, if you're cramping badly you can batter accommodate that when your form is working for you) when necessary; it straightens your posture, which helps you breathe better, and gives you more flexibility in timing your workout. It's the component that makes everything else fit together, and when you get it, there's a "whoa!" moment where you kind of ponder why you haven't been doing this all along. Maybe your form isn't perfect "runner's form" according to this training guru or that, but man, if you find something that works for you, hang onto it for dear life. I would've stayed out this morning and explored further, except that whole work thing was calling my name. I'll be out tonight working with it some more...I just hope that after getting it back, I don't lose it too quickly again.