Saturday, June 6, 2015

Happy Drugs, Hills, and Hospitality

Favourite spots from my running route

“Say ‘yes’ to drugs!”
The whole Microbiology class chuckled as our professor made this challenge with great enthusiasm. As I laughed, a little extra glee trickled in, mixed with pride. Because recently, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to drugs—and I’m loving it.
Now. to you who are growing concerned, thinking, “She’s only been in a secular college for a few weeks and she’s already gone off the deep end!” you can relax. The “drugs” we were discussing were hormones—endorphins being released during and after vigorous exercise. My professor, Dr. Wollert, was asking if any of us had ever been addicted to exercise.
“Anyone? Really? This isn’t a bad thing… seriously? None of you. I have a class of couch potatoes, I see. Come on, it’s great! You get done and suddenly all these endorphins are kicking in and you’re just like, ‘ah yea! This is great! I’m like high right now!’ This is a good thing—say ‘yes’ to drugs!”
I’ve been running more and more over the past year. I started out small, only being able to do about a mile. Then I started consistently running 1.5 miles. Then I bumped it up to 3.1 sometime over my last semester at school. However, running a 5k in Florida is NOT the same thing as running a 5k in Tennessee. Where I live here, in TN, it’s all hills. My neighbourhood is like a rolling tide, with barely a flat space to be seen. Besides, down to the cul-de-sac and back is only about a mile. If I wanted to do 3.1, I’d have to do three repetitive runs of nothing but excruciating hills. No thank you. One day I tried a different route, bravely leaving my neighbourhood, and found that it’s about 1.5 miles down to a local airfield (one of the little ones for little, privately owned planes). The route has hills, but they are relatively scattered, gradual, and not nearly as vicious. The only bad ones are the one leaving my neighbourhood at the beginning of the run, and the one leading back up to that one when I am coming back. I quickly worked my way up to being able to run the whole thing (all-in-all it’s about 3.1-3.2), and now I’m working on shaving seconds off my time. My times are still longer than they were in FL, but that doesn’t bother me at all, because I’m working way harder than I was there (FL is flatter than a pancake, and I was right at sea level. Running was a breeze). And the more I run, the more I love it and the more I want to do it. Not necessarily always during the run—sometimes I just want to be DONE. But right after I finish, and as my breathing staggers its way back to normalcy, I begin to feel stronger, greater. The endorphins that sustained me as I finished are now running rampage through my resting body, making me feel glorious. The sense of accomplishment. The hormones. It’s wonderful. No matter how good or bad my time is, as long as I don’t quit, I feel like a superhero when I’m done. And I want to feel that again. When I’m feeling lazy the next day or just don’t feel like taking the time out to run, I remember that feeling. I want it. So I run. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but I definitely understand the feeling. The desire to reach that high again. And I just get the little one that comes with a 5K—I can’t imagine how euphoric those marathon runners’ highs feel like!
 It’s also starting to be one of my coping strategies when I’m stressed or upset. Now, I know that I can’t depend on running to make myself happy—I need to find my joy and peace in Christ, because, like, any drug, the feeling from running fades, and I’m still left with my problems to deal with. However, going running is progress for me. I hit a bit of an emotional low this past Spring semester, and I had a lot of free time on my hands. Slowly, I started to realize that I was just trying to sleep away my problems. If something was frustrating or upsetting, I would go straight to bed and nap. It got to the point where, if I was upset or provoked in the slightest, my body would start to shut down and get really tired all of the sudden—even if I was fully rested and completely functional minutes before. It was not the best coping strategy. So now, instead of sleeping, I’ve started wanting to run instead. I’m not one of those people who can think while they run. Or pray. I don’t get that. Like yea, I think a lot while I’m running, but I have almost no reign over what thoughts go through my head. They’re scattered and disjointed, and they flip over and over without me even realizing it. Basically, when my body goes for a run, so does my brain. I try the whole praying thing or planning or sorting out my feelings—yea, no. It doesn’t really work. I can do it for about ten seconds, but soon I just find myself repeating,
“And Lord, please be with (insert name) and help them. Uh. Life. And. Be with (insert same name), because. Uh. please be with (same name).”

You see. It really gets nowhere. I applaud and envy all you who can have special prayer times during your workouts. Really, I do. I just can’t focus my mind like that.
So running is basically 30 minutes of going. Pushing. Thinking random thoughts: mostly escape plans of “what would happen if someone tried to abduct me right here?” or “I really like this field. It’s pretty. It distracts me from the fact that I’m running uphill right now… no. don’t think about the uphill. Pretty field. Think pretty field.”
That’s just about as deep as my mid-run mind gets. Actually, I get a lot of first paragraphs of potential blog posts mentally written during some downhills. Obviously, they don’t often develop. Nor do I often remember them afterwards.
However, running has given me more than happy drugs and a sense of accomplishment. It has let me see goodness in random people.
Running as a young lady can be a little intimidating. I don’t usually feel particularly intimidated, but I’m always afraid someone is going to tell me I can’t anymore because it’s “not safe” or something. I’m not stupid or naïve, so I do try to practice good runners’ safety. And, as previously mentioned, probably at least 40% of my rambling runner thoughts are epic escape plans for if I were to be attacked at any given moment (another 5% goes to the thoughts of “Good glory breathing is rough right now—would I even be able to scream?” A question that was answered the day that, despite the fact that I was taxed from just running a steep hill, I unintentionally screamed when a dog behind a fence surprised me. It was out before I realized what I was doing, almost making me doubt whether or not I had actually screamed. My strained vocal cords, however, assured me that I had). Yea, I am extremely wary of the cars that pass me. And people (though I rarely ever pass people aside from the ones mowing their lawns). However, there have been some occurrences that, though I was in no danger, the caution that other people had for my safety reminded me that, while there is danger of running alone (there’s potential danger in basically everything we do, honestly), and there are creepers out there, there are also nice people out there.
The first experience was right in front of my house at the very end of my run. The final stretch for me is going down a big hill at the entrance of my neighbourhood, sprinting the flat space in front of my house, then turning up into my driveway. On my descent, this certain day, our neighbour’s dog, Mo, decided to come out and remind me of her existence. I got to the place where I would normally sprint, but Mo was RIGHT there. RIGHT next to me. Barking and nudging up to me. She likes to run after people to begin with (never hurting, just annoying), and she just had a litter of puppies. So now she thinks she needs to remind us all that this is her territory. Like I said, she never hurts anyone. And her owners were out in their lawn, so I didn’t really think any harm was going to come to me, but she messed up my final sprint. And, the whole last stretch, I was pushing her away, saying “no, Mo! No! Go home!” I got back to my house, the neighbours came and got Mo, and I began climbing the stairs up to my front door. As I did so, I saw a car drive slowly down the road with its windows rolled down. It was the same car that had passed me to leave the subdivision when Mo was pestering me. The man in the drivers seat leaned his head out and said,
“I’m sorry I did not stop when that dog was bothering you. Are you okay? I should have stopped.”
I explained that I was fine and she didn’t hurt me. (If you’re questioning me talking to strangers, he and I were actually quite far apart, and he was making no move to exit his vehicle—he genuinely was checking on my safety). After expressing his disapproval of the dog’s owners and receiving further confirmation on my safety, he left.
He had apologized. Apologized. Because he hadn’t stopped when he first saw the dog getting all up in my space. He had obviously felt so guilty that he had turned around at the top of the hill and drove back, unable to go on when there was a potential dog attack occurring behind him—one that he could have prevented.
The next one really has nothing to do with safety—it was just one of those little blessings, being reminded of the beauty and simplicity of childhood.
It had been a rough run, and I did not feel like braving my last hill. I had opted to run in the evening, thinking it would be a good time, and letting me get things done throughout the day. Eh—nope. The roads were busy with people getting back from work. So not only was I being stopped at intersections, I also had to drink in these people’s exhaust trails, because who doesn’t want contaminated air when they’re struggling to breathe to begin with? I thought it would be cooler, running at 6 p.m. I did not account for the fact that, though the sun was lower in the sky, it 1) was still beating on me, just from a different angle, and 2) had been baking the ground all day, so now the heat was coming from above and below. And lots of people were home, so they were mowing their lawns! Because there’s nothing like a lung full of allergens as you run. Okay, so I was being pretty grouchy. And I wanted to just walk my last hill. But I knew that I would hate myself for it after. But I still wanted to do it. I was debating, still running, when I passed this house. In the lawn stood these two little boys. One was probably 6 or so, the other was probably more around 3. He seemed very young, but apparently old enough to be potty trained, because he was wearing nothing but some little-boy unders. As I passed, they both smiled and waved, and one of them, in his high, innocent voice, chipperly called out, “HI!” I responded with a smile, a wave, and new determination to finish that run.
The most recent occurrence was today. I am usually much too proud to walk during a run. It almost never happens. I pray (literally) for loss of consciousness before I am willing to quit. However, today there were different things interfering with my run, and, honestly, I just wanted more peace. I wanted a quite walk. I just, didn’t feel like running. It wasn’t that I was too tired. I just wanted to walk. So, about ¼ way in to the second half (I had already turned around at the skypark and was heading back home), I passed this adorable little house. It’s one of my favourite ones to pass. It’s sweet and quaint—with a not so sweet and quaint “NO TRESSPASSING” sign in the front lawn. And there are always people about, it seems. I believe grandparents live there, and their kids and grandkids are often visiting. And if there aren’t people arriving or leaving as I pass, I usually see the old man in his screened-in front porch. So they do often see me, as well. I don’t know if they’ve grown used to seeing me run past twice in a row, or if it was the sight of a young lady who was obviously just running but now is walking down the road that triggered their concern. I had just been distracted by some little creatures in the gutter, so I had slightly mis-stepped and had to regain my proper footing. Maybe they saw that and thought I was struggling. I don’t know. But, as I passed the house, a man and his (very) young son were walking out of the screened-in porch. They stood there in the doorway (quite a distance from the road where I was), saw me, and called out, “You alright?” I smiled, assured him I was, and we all three went on our merry little ways.
These little things were so simple. They weren’t superfluous. They didn’t try to come to me, but respecting the universal knowledge that someone approaching you as you run by yourself is going to be taken as a threat, they called out to make sure I was fine. Didn’t pursue. Didn’t press me when I assured them of my safety. They just checked and went on their way.
Perhaps you’re more pessimistic than I, and you still see these as threatening. You may be even questioning whether or not letting me go out on my own is such a good idea after all.
Or maybe you’re fine, but you see nothing super special about these small interactions. “So what?” you might think.
But to me, they meant a lot. They weren’t responsible for me, but still took the responsibility of checking on my safety. They didn’t pursue me or push me. There was nothing threatening in any of these interactions. They just showed me that, were I in danger, they would have helped. Otherwise, they’ll leave me be. People like that aren’t always around. And I don’t put my trust in the presence of strangers. But being reminded that there are people out there who, not only won’t bother me, but would help me if I were to need it—that put a smile to my face. Because what if Mo had attacked, and his owners weren’t around to notice? That man would have been there to save me. What if I had passed out on the side of the road in front of that family’s house? Someone would have been there to pull me off the street.
We expect everyone to be an enemy—sometimes that keeps us safe. Because there are people who will take advantage of weakness. Even ones that will feign hospitality so that they can get your guard down and get at you. But it’s good to be reminded that not everyone is terrible. There are people, random people, who not only aren’t going to hurt you, but are willing to help you if they needed to.

And when you mix happy hormones with hospitality, you get one encouraged runner.
It's important to remember that running is an excellent excuse
to wear an absurd amount of neon:)