Running Therapy

Running clunks my brain into order. I thump around the track, making circles to nowhere with my tennis shoe feet. Life rocks around in my head and resettles, making more sense. What it is about making circles that creates logic?

I run for stress. I run for joy. I run for health. I run for good legs.

When it is done, I plop on the floor and push up off the ground with my ape arms, over and over, feeling strong, like I am getting ready for the Army fitness test. Like I can do anything I put my mind to.

The finale is stretches and yoga and water and washing my face with a terry green washcloth, before descending the stairs to my tiny car waiting in the lot.

How many years have I been doing this fitness regime for sanity and strength?

When I run, ideas flourish. I discover answers to life’s worries. It is like dreaming awake. It releases me from past and present pains. Anxiety dissipates. I feel used up and alive when I'm done. The runner’s high is authentic for me.

Seasonally I drop off. Running becomes a victim of a time crunch or laziness. But it always finds its way back into my heart. Free therapy for the soul and the body. 

Three Things

1. All the Pretty People by Ariel Gore.

I confess, I know the writer. (You may too- she started Hip Mama.) Right before I moved to New Zealand I took her class at the Attic Institute in Portland. I don't know why I signed up, and I felt like a fraud being there, but I eventually became comfortable enough in the class and really enjoyed it. So her book is a bunch of little stories (good for people like me who like to take reading breaks at work, or someone with kids, or a regular person too). The stories are both chronological and creative, and I could identify with a lot of the subject matter, as someone who grew up not traditionally pretty while wondering and trying to figure out what it would take to be considered attractive, and then led a semi-alternate adult existence. Ariel Gore has not led a mainstream life, but I think most people would identify with her thoughts. The book is not really about being pretty or not, but more about thought processes surrounding life events as she grew up in the SF Bay Area. (That's her on the cover.)

2. Listening to: Portishead's Glorybox.

Portishead: spooky, dreamy, artsy music. Perfect for intermediary life times, when the future is a black hole and a fuzzy dream at the same time. "This is the beginning of forever and ever..."

3. Weather & Life.

It's kinda summer here. 19C today. I ran the fields, hot and sweaty. It felt good even though I didn't want to go. The lame-duck-sitting-and-waiting thing that happens when your job is over but not quite makes me feel generally sluggish. I just want to sit and do nothing. Maybe with some chocolate. It's like I'm holding my breath until the end arrives. But it's a bit illogical. I should just keep living and enjoying my life as if it were going to continue, because it will, just in a different way. I'm not really waiting for anything.

The problem of calling your team "Sprechen Sie Englisch."

After the crazy triathlon fiasco, and flowing with energy from the near death swimming adventure, I decided I should run another race- October 3 in Nuremberg. I gathered a team of eight together; me plus soldiers. 10 km, so as not to kill ourselves. (I wanted to do the half marathon, but was shot down. Not literally, mind you.)

After several attempts to register the team online, I finally succeeded. We brainstormed team names, and decided to just go with the original idea, "Sprechen Sie Englisch." Because at the triathlon, we were given shit for not speaking German by a snotty "I belong to the Portland Tri Club" woman who only finished a few places ahead of me. Anyway. Not all Oregonians are perfect. I know, it's hard to believe.

This afternoon, I'd planned to pick up our registration and shirts in Nuremberg, so I rang the store to make sure our packets were ready. (I'd done everything in German, so you never know.)

They transferred me to a woman, who asked my name, and then couldn't find the registration, even after I'd spelled my names twice. I said, "Is it different for teams?"

Lady: "Yes, what is your team name?"

Me: "Sprechen Sie English."

Lady: "Yes, but I am German. What's your team name?"

Me: (Thinking that she's thinking, I am speaking English. you idiot.) "Our team name is Sprechen Sie Englisch."

Lady: Still confused.

Me: "Our team is called 'Sprechen Sie English.' Wir sind doof!" Laughing. I explain my feeble German skills.

Lady: "Ohh!!" Laughing. She explains the rest of the details to me, regarding packet pick up, and then we hang up.

Hopefully they got as much entertainment out of my stupidity as I did....

9.11 miles, 9:11AM, September 11th

It's been nine years since the day the sky seemed to be falling. I remember, as I'd just returned from Germany late the night before, and woke up to a horrific spectacle on TV, as most Americans.

My friend Ryan called last night, to confirm travel plans to Hallstadt for next weekend, and mentioned there was a run in the morning. I'd seen it advertised as "The Freedom Run" which sort of bristles me, feeling that we're chasing the wrong terrorists, still, and using propaganda phrases to catch people's attention and fears.

But I was going to run anyway today, so I decided to go. And would aim for under 90 minutes, which I did. Considering I've only run 6 miles lately, it was ok. The crowd was rather small, but I saw a few people who I knew, including a couple of patients and even took care of a little work with one of them.

So The Race.

A filmy, foggy morning, breath-in-the-air type of start, which carried us through about mile eight, before the sun decided to take over. It was perfect.

I delight in being part of these things, even if I am an outsider. I'm Dr. Sara to some of them, and nobody to most. But I can quietly observe and wonder.

I thought it should be a Peace Run. Or at least a Think Run. Or maybe a What Are We Doing Run. In reality these runs are rather meaningless. Our military efforts will not bring back all the people who died, whose families were ripped apart. Instead we are ripping apart more families each year the war goes on.

I can't say I had any revelations from it. I'm still just wishing we could all get along, kind of like the mix of people joining together for the run this morning. If only it could be extrapolated.

She lives through the triathlon.

The event: Berlin Triathlon
700m (0.434mi) swim
24km (14.9mi) bike
5 km (3.1mi) run

The weather: Sunny at start time of 0900
18.0C (64.4F) air
23.0C (73.4F) water


The plan: drag ass through the swim, make up for it during the bike and run. Try not to die. Attempt to finish in 2 hours.

The outcome: Still alive. Finished in 2 hours.


The morning of, the weather gods smile after two weeks of treacherous cold rain. You don your highly attractive unitard tri-suit, which you bought for $25 at REI four years ago after having completed a duathlon. You've swam five times before the swim, passed by all in the pool including 85 year-old-beer-bellied German men. The shotgun starts. Immediately, start panicking and chugging algae-infested water. (This is no Minnesota lake.) Heart racing, think you are going to die. Wonder what you were thinking entering a triathlon, when you are the geriatric age of 34, and you are an eye doctor, not an athlete. Where are the flippies? Think you should have hidden a floatie in your swimsuit, but continue on, switching strokes about 57 times before the first buoy, which seems to be about 50 miles away. Finally decide just to plug away with the slow and bobbing breaststroke. Wonder who you should be swimming for. Think of your dad. Paddle on. Notice that the boats are circling nearby like sharks, waiting for you to shout., "Helfen mir!" so they can slurp you up into safety. You are not getting into one of those boats. Decide that you are going to come in last in the triathlon. How embarrassing. You shouldn't have told anyone you were doing this!

Finally the swim is over, and to the transition zone you head. Someone with a sick sense of humor decided it would be a good idea to climb several flights of steps to get there. You're not running. You're just glad to be alive. The goal has been revised to just finish. Seriously doubt your abilities. Kick yourself for being overconfident.

It's not hard to find your bike, since almost everyone else has moved on to the next event. Feel depressed. Decide you are totally unathletic. See Patrick (Amber's husband waiting to take a picture) and declare you nearly died. But continue on. The bike ride through the trees is pleasant and you manage to choke down two slimy clif shots. Sweet chocolate sludge, clogging up your throat and stomach. Fearful of the run, you don't over exert yourself on the bike, but manage to pass some people. Decide that you are not a total loser.

Riding into the transition zone again, you hop off the bike and into your running shoes, off for a happy little run in the woods. "Pump your arms," you remember from the training tips in your Runner's World magazine. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You start talking to yourself. Pick it up. You're a runner. You can go faster. Decide to coast a little for the first 2 km but still pass people. Decide that you should be pretty proud since it was only a few months ago that you stress fractured your foot and now you're doing a triathlon. From afar, see Amber and decide to yell, "Is that my lady friend?" through the library-quiet German infested trees. No one else is yelling. In fact, no one's said a word. Germans are as serious in these events as in the rest of life. During the whole run, you had to suppress all these stupid jokes you wanted to call out to other runners. You didn't want to seem too American, but now you don't care.

Coming into the finish, you think it wasn't that bad, but next time you'd get a swim coach to give you some tips. Realise that you might be a runner after all. At the finish line, you pick up your finisher t-shirt, a beer, an apple and a slice of lemon pound cake. These Germans know how end a race.

You decide that you'd do another, but you're happy the first one is over.

News: Christi Himmelfahrt, Dave the Irish lad, SRP wrap up.

Heute (today) ist Vatertag und Christi (Christ) Himmelfahrt (sky-travel). It took some talking with Helga and her daughter to confirm it's Ascension day in the church and Father's day. In ten days comes Pentecost, called Pfingsten. I figured that out because of the ten day difference, being the good little Catholic girl that I am. Pfingsten doesn't translate into anything useful, just "Pentecost." Still, it's another few words.

This morning I got an email from David, the Irish guy who bought my registration. He said he did the marathon in 3:23 and the other two lads who were with him also secured registration and did it in 3:14 and 3:15. All much faster than I would've done. I'm sure the race people appreciated the improvement in time I offered by selling my registration. Thanks, foot! As always, there's good with bad- it was nice to get a note of thanks from him- makes me trust in the goodness of humanity.

Finally, the week is wrapping up and slowing down. The last few days, I've nearly been propped up at work. I've longed for Grandma's long-gone and never-used motorized cart at times! I've been going in at about 7AM every day, missing lunch and staying late to help get more soldiers through their exams, in exchange for an extra day or two off in the future. I've requested June 14th, an important national holiday, and my magnificent entrance onto earth. (Thanks mom!)

I will post the grand total exams after tomorrow. If there was a Guinness book for optometrists, I think I'd have a chance.

Running thoughts... Grandma Hazel

I made it through 22 miles today. It was not horrid. It was not fantastic. But I'm done with my longest run before the marathon in three weeks. It is mostly a mental game. The first 13 miles were fine, then the last 9, I had to do a lot of self pep-talk. I felt ok afterward. Stretched. Ate a banana, some yogurt, broccoli. Hopped in the tub. Then felt like passing out and nauseated. Good times. Why am I doing this again?

One of the things I love about running is the time to think. To let my mind wander without course or worry. I think it's the mental health aspect of running that's one of the best benefits.

Today I kept thinking, "I can't believe Grandma's dead." Over and over. Earlier I'd received one of the nicest cards from Karen and Rick to share with my mom and sister. I think being away when someone dies allows you to pretend it didn't happen. This week (of course) I've had the urge to call Grandma. It's so hard to believe that I can't ever talk to her again. There's a DVD of the prayer service and funeral. I've been wondering whether or not I should watch it. But today I decided that it might help with closure and reality.

I've been remembering Grandma a lot this last week. Her generosity, her laugh, how she always asked, "How's your love life?" when I called but didn't really care that I wasn't married and had no kids. She was so accepting. How she had told me lots of little truths through the years on our phone calls. And sometimes we'd be laughing like idiots the entire call. I wonder how many people are lucky enough to have a Grandma like that?

She was the most generous person I know. And creative. When I graduated from optometry school, she found an old pair of her super-thick hyperopic glasses and doctored up the case and then taped two Ben Franklins to the inside of the lenses. It was the neatest gift I've ever received. I didn't even want to take the Ben Franklins out. So sweet.

When Molly called to tell us she died, I thought, "Now it's just us." Meaning my mom and sisters and me. Grandma always seemed like she was in our family of girls. She just fit with us.

It's hard to believe she is gone. No more hugs. No more sneaking in her back door to surprise her on our way through town. No more talks about life.

I guess I'll take Grandma's advice and be happy that I had her in my life for 33 years. And that we were so close to her. She was a treasure to have around and someone who I'll look up to for the rest of my life.

To Grandma Hazel, who danced on tables and laughed right up to the end, I love you.

The essence of running and of life 村上春樹

"People sometimes sneer at those who run every day, claiming they'll go to any length to live longer. But I don't think that's the reason most people run. Most runners run not because they want to live longer, but because they want to live life to the fullest. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life- and for me, for writing as well." -- Haruki Murakami, from "What I talk about when I talk about running"


I've been in a mental eddy lately. The main thing that keeps me going is exercising. Of course I want to be in better shape, but Haruki has written the essence of my fitness aspirations, as well as the essence of my entire way of life. It explains:

Why I'm living in Germany (and NZ and Portland...), why I've tried so many different relationships, why I travel anywhere once, why I read as if my life depended on it (on any topic, though give up if a book bores me), why I try to spread my energy around, why I'm open to new experiences and ideas (even those things I thought I'd never do), why I try to see the positive in everything (even robbings) and move on, why I did my doctorate (you just keep going to school and they keep giving you degrees), why I wouldn't sleep if I didn't have to, why I live like I do... all to live in the fullest way possible.

I've dug out my old SLR camera and decided that it's going to be my camera now. Strangely, there were photos I took the day I finished the Auckland marathon on the SD card, as well as some of my old journal, my friend Ursula on her birthday and my feet. Random shots. It reminded me of how I like the art of photography for more than just documenting trips.

My brain is swirling with ideas, day and night. Each morning I wake up wondering where I went the night before. I guess I will try to enjoy this odd time in my life. Soon my sister will be here and we will be caught up in the Sara and Carrie show, which is always a good time.


Watching a wacked film (though filmed in Portland, so was heartwarming):
"What the bleep do we know?"

Training plan

I've finally decided I would commit to a plan. Ok so it might have been helpful to do this earlier on, but... I am sort of a half-assed planner. I plan, but I like flying by the seat of my pants.

It goes something like this:
Mon: spinning class, stretching
Tues: med paced run, stretching
Wed: spinning class, stretching
Thur: long run (aka death night), stretching
Fri: weights, yoga, stretching
Sat: army training
Sun: weights, yoga, stretching
(Rest can be any of the days that I feel like I've done enough. But I like going to the gym, so...)

I've decided if I'm working for the army, I want to qualify with 100s on my fitness test for my sex and age group. That means 2 miles in 15:54, which I almost did today (I included three minutes of slower running as a warm-up, so didn't quite make the mark.) 76 sit-ups, which I SUCK AT, and 45 push-ups, which I will think will be doable fairly soon. The sit-ups and push-ups have to be done in two minutes. I have a lot of work to do.

They're having this weigh-in weight loss challenge through our clinic which starts next week and ends June 14th. Everyone seems to be signed up, so I figured I should join the club. Then all the girls will go to spinning with me! By the way, getting in shape post-30, sucks the big one!! :) But I keep trying.

I'm also sick of winter. I want to run outside. I woke up this morning and seriously wondered what that white stuff was still doing outside my window. Go away, snow!

Officially registered

For my second marathon.

I figured, why not today, after I finished up the 17.2 miles the other day. And on #$%% treadmill, no less. Which is sort of the devil reincarnated of running long distances.

New goal is to run one marathon per age year of life... so I have to get this one in before June, 0r else my record of one marathon will be broken and I'll have to start over! God knows, a stretch of one should not be broken.

In other news, apparently Kevin Costner has a band and he is playing at Graf Army Post next weekend. I'm frightened about this, but also curious. Perhaps I'll dig out my Giant SLR camera and get some shots. If I can make myself go. I can't help but think that if he's playing at an army post, they're probably not the next Pearl Jam. Darn it! But still, to see him would be another funny story to add to my book of life. And that what it's all about.

The morning after a 14 mile run

Finding a new Runner's World in my CMR (Community Mail Room) box is akin receiving a prize in the mail. I've been getting Runner's World magazine again for the last four months. It's one of the few magazines I read cover to cover, over several days time, savoring the words. For a thin magazine, there's lots inside.

I feel a little like an impostor as I read it, soaking up the tips, reading human interest stories of world-class athletes and new runners. I've never thought of myself as athletic. I think I'm smart, I'm capable, but I'm not athletic. It's been the least of my abilities in my life.

Today I was thinking I should think differently. I've always loved running and biking, even if I was really never much of an athlete in say, high school, which of course is the prime of one's life, right? Not mine.

The sun is out, the snow is melting and all I've been thinking about the last few days is how I can't wait to get my bike out again. I even had a dream with my orange bike in it last night.

So I think I'll try to retrain my psyche this year. I'm going to decide that I am athletic. I have strong legs. I can carry myself on through all sorts of exhaustion and pain. And though I might try another marathon, with a time goal of 4 hours 30 minutes-ish, which is nothing special, it is special to me. I'll be running in Prague on May 9th. And perhaps Venice in October, depending. And very soon, I expect to be bike-commuting to work. At six miles each way, that's really nothing.

Here's to spring!

Buying gas

This morning I spent with one of my assistants, Specialist Rhodes. She was trained in ophthalmology and has come with high regards from all the other optometrists in the area. There was quite a lot of shock all around from the events at Fort Hood in Texas this morning. Since I still don't have computer access at work and live off post, I hadn't heard by the time I reached work.

It's funny business working in the military but not being military. It's sort of like infiltrating the group, but having no what it really means to go through all the training they did. The benefits of the military are pretty decent, especially since I didn't have to join to get them.

However, this afternoon I spent nearly two hours getting a gas card and trying to buy gas. There were just lots of people in line. I thought, "So we're saving money with this, but all the time it's taking. What a waste." Then I guess life is just time, and is time in line really wasted? An existential question for a mundane activity, but it's what I was thinking as I waited in line to pay for my gas.

The whole proceeding went like this... I bought the car yesterday. I had it inspected (which is good for one year), registered it, and then had to wait 24 hours for it to get into the system so I could apply for a gas card. Today, I then went to the furniture store (not a typo) to get my gas (ration) card. The line wasn't particularly long, but it took about forty minutes or more to get to the front, where I was issued a card which allows me to buy 200 litres of gas per month at a subsidised rate, which is $3.10 per gallon at this time. It varies by week. Next I had to go to the front register, wait in line again to add money onto my card so that if I'm out on the economy (meaning Germany) I can purchase gas at the subsidised rates as long as I use an Esso.

I figured I should get some gas. Since I had the card. I got to the station. Pulled up on the wrong side of the car. And went to show my ID, gas card and car registration to the gas station attendent. There was a line. After I showed my IDs, I moved my car to the other side and waited as a man with a Smart car washed his windows (not bothering to move the car even though he was done filling up). Finally after filling my tank ($35 for 45 litres), I stood in line again to pay, where I had to swipe both my gas card and my debit card to pay for the gas. Now you understand how it took me two hours to fill my tank for the first time.

In other news, I've returned to the gym and took up running after one year off post-sick-Auckland-marathon. It feels good and I want to run every day, but I'm making myself ease into it. I may try another marathon yet. It's good to know I haven't lost my love for running. I thought I had! Perhaps the Prague Marathon will call to me. I wonder if they have kolaches at the finish line? Well at least there's a Turkey Trot at the end of November. I know I can handle that.



The pretesting room in my office. And our in/out board. I didn't write my name on there but I approve. :)

That's Bernie in the bakery by my pension where we used to meet before work before I got my hooptie.

30KM - thought I might die, but obviously I'm writing this, so still here...

Yesterday was long run day (dread) and also mileage increase day (double dread), so I’d mapped out a plan online a few days ago. 18.79 miles (30.2km) covers a lot of ground in Auckland. I mentally prepared by sleeping in with dreams of flying (why can’t we do that in real life again?) then procrastinated at the coffee shop until starting my tour around 2:00. I thought I might die a couple times but mostly I was just having a good time thinking, not even really noticing that I was running. In times of desperation, I played the alphabet game in my head- name something starting with each letter of the alphabet - a band, a male celebrity, countries, etc... this can waste a fantastic amount of time. The last 30 minutes, I started talking to myself. Repeating “Rock-Star!” over and over can be quite motivating. I’m sure the people I passed would agree.

After the nice little jog, I had a ridiculously long shower (sorry environment), only getting out after I'd slicked up the floor so much with Origins Salt Scrub that it was a danger to my life to stay in any longer.

Anyway. I survived. And I feel really good about it.

I’m on the fence about everything else in life. I guess it’s good to have one goal to work toward. I can check the marathon thing off my list and then figure out the rest of my life. Right. I’m sure it will just all fall into place as soon as I cross the finish line. Hee hee…

Possibly this is the post-runner’s high causing delusions of grandeur along with other ailments.