Guest writer: Becky Gray

Becky is an old and dear friend.  We went to college together and then lost touch when we both left the university before graduation.  We met up again a year ago (thank you, Face Book!) and realized we had more in common than we thought.

Becky lives in Pittsburgh, Kansas where she’s raising her daughter, teaching courses at the local universities, and getting her Master’s in Technical Writing.  When I asked her to write “something” about what running has meant to her she dropped EVERYTHING, sat down and wrote.  I was stunned by the depth of emotion she culled from the simple act of running.  Her essay really solidifies the fact that there’s something totally “zen” about running.  We all get there in our own way, and it’s a very personal journey for each and every one.  Here’s a snapshot of Becky’s journey.

Guilt

by Rebecca Gray 

               I was closer to forty than twenty; the mother of two kids facing a second divorce.  I knew that if I did not aim for something positive, I might seriously fall into the deep blues.  This awareness alone, however, was not what really caused me to take up running.  It was vanity.  An old friend from childhood found me on FaceBook and after looking at the photos she posted on her profile, I was envious of how healthy, fit, and beautiful she was.  I felt a certain amount of guilt at letting my own physical health turn south, and I really, really, wanted to have pretty legs like hers again.  I know, it’s highly immature, childish and not-so-enlightened; but honestly, I no longer wanted to be flabby.

                I asked Amy what her secret was.

                “Running,” she said. “I’m an addict.”

                Serendipity exists for moments like these.  It seems that several other friends from my past also ran, were pursuing goals of 5K races, half marathons, fundraisers, and more.  I jumped on the running bandwagon and took off early one morning in mid-November.  By the time I made it halfway around the block I was freezing cold, my knees hurt, my nose was running and my lungs had exploded.  Clearly, I needed help.

                The first few months I leaned heavily on my running friends by asking advice about shoes, breathing, and stride.  I felt guilty that I was so behind in my abilities – there was no way I could keep up with my friends – they were athletes!  During one such morning of running on the treadmill (out of the morning cold!) and feeling “less” than them, it occurred to me that running was a solo activity. I know, it sounds so simple, but it was an honest “aha!” moment.  The only person doing this run is me!  The only person holding myself accountable is me.  The only one who cares whether I run or not is me. All guilt I felt about not being able to keep up with my girlfriends melted away.

                Over the next few weeks my pace picked up, my distance increased, and I started to gain confidence in my abilities.  I determined an appropriate running schedule and made sure I got in three or four good runs each week.  However, as a single mother, professional writer, graduate student, and parent volunteer, I felt a lot of guilt for taking the hour or so out of my day to run.  In a flash, it occurred to me: I was feeling guilty for taking care of myself! How could that be? 

                Over the next few months I decided to focus my thoughts on this notion of guilt, rather than on how tight my lungs were or how tired my legs felt.  As I shifted awareness from my body to my head I found that I was literally weighed down by guilt.  I carried more with me than I thought.  I found guilt for letting my parents down by dropping out of college, letting my kids down with failed marriages, letting myself down by not maintaining my health, letting my brothers down by not conforming to their political and religious ideologies, and letting friends down by not keeping in touch.

                Then one day I left my house before the sun was up.  The sky was purple and pink with early morning colors as I headed east.  I found the bike path that is often deserted that time of day, and turned north, where into my vision came a thick hedgerow of trees. The tops of these trees were filled with an enormous flock of black starlings.  The birds took flight.   Thousands of wings filled the air with a soft, gentle sound.  I stopped running and watched.  They were so peaceful, so interconnected, so at ease. I do not know what triggered it but that guilt I had been carrying for so long lifted and took flight with those birds. I watched the undulating river of birds fade into the lightening sky and took several deep breaths.  When I finally started running again I felt lighter, my legs moved faster, my lungs took the air in easier, and my mind found a peaceful place to rest, where I thought nothing and felt nothing, other than relief and release.