Zooming Out

 Last weekend I ran the Toronto Goodlife Half Marathon.  This was something I had not expected to participate in, due to some health and injury issues I had been dealing with earlier in the year.  With support and some patience I managed to move past the physical issues that had been plaguing me and found myself at the starting line, hopeful for a good result.  Going into this race, a good result meant finishing the race in one piece and not feeling horribly beaten up at the end.  Leading up to the event I had been doing the hard work of slowing letting go of expectations based upon past performance and replacing those thoughts with being open to meeting myself (and my body) where I was now.  Humbling to say the least, even though I have always considered myself to be a solid mid-pack runner and have never come close to the podium in any sporting event I've entered.  

As the race began I found myself reflecting on a podcast that I had listened to in the days prior.  It featured a runner whose focus was on re-wilding folks, the act of reintroducing people to our more natural instincts.  One aspect of the conversation that really caught my attention was focused on attention in general.  The concept of allowing ourselves to zoom out and take in the bigger picture versus a tendency to be narrowly focused with tunnel vision.  The premise behind this links to our fight or flight response - imagine wathcing an animal being chased on the Serengeti by a lion.  As the chase begins, the prey animal's vision narrows to focus entirely on what is happening and the quickest route to safety.  There is no time for taking in surroundings and admirinig the view - all energy needs to be focused on survival and shutting down peripheral outputs is one way to do that.  Now think of a typical day with demands, deadlines, and other challenges that we all encounter.  If you think back to a recent time when you were facing something that stoked your fight or flight response, you were likely very laser-focused on the issue at hand, and not at smaller and less important aspects of your environment.  As we narrow our focus towards tunnel-vision, our body's response is to feel less relaxed, assuming that there is a threat coming our way.  The opposite rings true when we zoom out and allow ourselves to widen our lens.  Taking in more of our environment actually starts a relaxation response in our bodies, and allows our mind to slow down along with our breathing.  

I was very curious about this concept, as I had found myself heading into training runs feeling stressed and worried about how I was going to feel and as a result running in a non-relaxed state leading to more stress that seemed to be snowballing as the weeks went by.  I decided that during the race I would pay more attention to where my attention was, and would gently work on widening my lens to see if it made any difference at all to how I felt.  And I figured that if nothing else, it would be a great way to distract me during the race if things did start to feel a bit uncomfortable.  

We started off and I immediately told myself "widen the aperture and relax".  I allowed myself to take in the bigger field ahead and around me, to look way down the line instead of just infront of my feet.  This did seem to help my shoulders slide down from my ears and also put my head in a more neutral position, versus being hunched over my body.  Hmmm.  Interesting.  Let's see if this still lands after an hour goes by.  And it did!  Each time I found myself starting to become too focused on what was right ahead of me, I gently reminded myself to widen the aperture and relax.  It became my mantra, and damn it if it didn't work!  Not only did I notice a physical shift, I also became aware of a mental shift taking place.  What started to cue me about my vision closing in were my thoughts.  Instead of running and not thinking about anything specific, as my field of vision started to narrow I began to think more about things like time, distance, outcomes, and other typical race thoughts I often have.  As soon as I started to notice those ideas popping into my head, I knew it was time to widen the lens, and once I did my mind went back to being more aimless and relaxed.

This experiment left a lasting impression on me, as I finished the race feeling much better than expected and with a renewed sense of ability and love for the sport.  I also started to wonder where else in my life I could apply this same logic.  Enter the first week back to school.

My courseload this semester is intense - I am taking what is typically a 24-week Intro to Psych course on a condensed 12-week schedule.  I knew going in that it would be a bit heavy but also knew that without a full-time job and with no other courses on my plate, I would have the ability to focus in on this one.  Regardless of how it sounded in my head and how it looked on paper, there was still a sense of panic that arose as I actually saw the amount of content I'll be taking in over the next 12 weeks.  I felt my vision starting to focus on the how and when and a bunch of other questions about my ability to do this.  Then I stopped and gently reminded myself to expand the lens and look at the bigger picture.  I slowed my thinking down and started to look beyond these twelve weeks to the years I have ahead of me.  This is not going to be the only course I take, and in the grand scheme of things will not be a pivotal piece of my history.  It will simply be one of many challenges that I face and move through as I continue along my path.  

Will this thinking always work and will it always be an appropriate way of looking at things?  Not always, but I am open to adding this tool to the many others I am finding along the way.  What I like about this practice is that it takes away the burden of making the "right" decision or choice while under pressure.  It provides a momentary pause that often helps to illuminate options that I might have otherwise overlooked in my hurry to plow ahead with my head down.  Opening up my eyes and mind to the bigger picture feels like an invitation to be more present and aware in the moment, regardless of the background noise that might surround me.