Kerri On Down The Road

 I am not someone who tends towards stillness.  I don't fidget or shake my legs when I sit still, or anything like that. My "style" of busy-ness comes in the form of always being in search of what's next.  A new goal, a new interest - anything to take up space that has been created by the completion of the last item on my list.  A song lyric I love that sums this up perfectly states, "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."  Sometimes I am in search of the new beginning before the end, lest there be a gap or idle time created by indecision or a pause in activity.  This has been my pattern, until recently. Something about last weekend's marathon experience felt different.  It wasn't because I posted a new personal best time, or that I finished the race feeling fresh and ready to tackle my next workout.  Quite the opposite.  My finishing time for this one was slower than my previous one, and my effort at the end was more int...

 Yesterday, I ran my fifth full marathon, my first in two years.  The idea felt daunting at first - I hadn't forgotten how all-encompassing the training could feel, spanning sixteen weeks and requiring hundreds of kilomteters to be travelled simply to complete those last 42.2.  And yet, there I was, signing up and taking on the work. Training went well - the weeks seemed to pass more quickly than I expected them to, and despite a slightly cranky hamstring, my body and mind adapted to the workouts and didn't put up roadblocks along the way.  Getting up and getting out for those early morning runs and long weekend runs became routine, and something I looked forward to.  Especially the long runs that had me crossing the city instead of sticking to very well-worn routes from previous training blocks.  Friends started to inquire about the big day, and I noticed that many of them seemed to be more excited about the race than I was.  With it not being my firs...

As next weekend's marathon approaches, I find myself in the middle of a precarious time known as "the taper".  This is the point in training where the workload is pulled back to allow for rest, recovery, and repair before waking up and lacing up for the big event.  While this may sound like something that a person would look forward to, relish, and embrace, it isn't always.   The mere act of taking your foot off the gas pedal leading into your goal race feels very counterintuitive and unnerving. What will happen to my fitness if I don't push myself right up to race day?  Won't I lose my edge and come in soft? Why does it feel so uncomfortable to not follow my usual routine?  Did I do this right?  Did I do ANY of this right? And so on, and so forth.  The thoughts, worries, and questions come swirling and repeating themselves, with the only solace being the knowledge that every other runner who is in the midst of a taper is also facing down the same...

Why is it so damn hard sometimes to ask for what we need?  What is it that keeps us quiet when speaking our truth, is what our soul is crying out for?  And more importantly, how can we change this pattern of silence? In my experience, pain seems to be the only way through.  Physical, mental, emotional - there needs to be some level of real discomfort felt before I can push through my self-imposed boundaries and ask for what I require.  Despite being aware of this tendency and the inherent discomfort that comes with remaining silent in times of need, I struggle with the idea of proactively reaching out. This is where I find myself lately, reactively asking for time, space, grace, and trying to find ways of reducing a sense of overwhelm that has snuck up on me.  What I find interesting is how hard asking for what I need feels like it will be, and yet how much relief comes when the words finally escape my mouth.  How quickly my fears of external judgment are e...