Run rain run

 

Yesterday I ran in the rain and now my husband and both of the kids' bus drivers think I'm crazy.  The one with the crochety voice, snarled lips, lap blankets and who puts the heat on when it's 70 degrees out especially.  I've run in the rain before, my husband even ran in the rain that morning, but somehow when I do it it's weird and to that I say, poo.

 

My little blue jacket was a wise investment and kept me perfectly dry underneath, 'cept for the sweat.  My hands and feet were soggy but once I got going the water was no problem, I was focused, stopwatch in hand, repeats the goal. 

 

I have a stack of new books thanks to friends and I'm hopping from one to the next, feeling incrementally inspired as I go.  I also have a plan and in the wise words of my friend, Larry, "plan your run and run your plan".  Larry, I'm trying.

 

What's a little weather when you read a book about a guy who has run through every kind of storm, or when you read about your friend's adventure race in Borneo where she wound up with staph infections, 400 leech bites and lung flukes afterward and shrugged it off like the rest of us would a bad haircut?  I've started Chi Running and am thumbing through Run Less Run Faster on loan from Clair as well as The Runner's Diet so I can learn what I'm doing wrong there, I'm sure there's plenty.  And then there's a little book about healing, for the inner me, something I can only take in small doses but it's time and it's a good accompaniment to my daily meditation.

 

Whatever comes of all of the reading/running/biking the silver lining is this:  I am fully distracted and not perseverating on how much I dislike winter.  I dare to say I am finding just as much opportunity in winter as summer and if the weather gets a little hairy there's always the treadmill. As I write this I also see I'm not alone in my pursuit of wetness and fitness, that Clair also plans a full on dreary, rainy, winter run today and to that I say, it sure is good to have crazy friends.

 

 

Currently reading, not knitting

I'm reading this book now which is pretty good for me considering the fact that when I discovered knitting I all but stopped reading books. Entirely. But the books are creeping back onto the shelves and I'm thankful for their return. I don't read anything and everything anymore like I used to, no, now I want the books I read to mean something to me. To make me think, to inspire me to take a closer look at the way I do things or the way I don't do things or to consider doing things I'd never considered before. I sound like a book snob, I know.

Luckily, I stumbled upon this one. I mentioned it a while back and gave you a link where you can hear an exerpt. For those who didn't click on it before or for those who want to hear it again, here it is.

As I read I'm constantly wondering if I know what the author means, if I really even understand any of what she's trying to say, but when my throat closes up with a big lump and I have chills all over I know it means something to my life, but I'm not yet sure just what. Yet.

All I really know is what occurred to me today after reading a few chapters while I was changing into my running clothes. She says in some sort of way that you must tend to what you want to see flourish. You must give it attention, as the sun gives the garden, day in day out, without fail, without complaint, because that's it's job. It's an easy concept to comprehend and even one I thought I was doing a pretty good job of, toward my kids, toward my husband, toward the house, the laundry, my job, the dog and yes, even the garden.

But what occurred to me is that I also have to tend to me. I need to give myself attention. This isn't what you might automatically think, especially if you watch shows like "What Not to Wear" and "Oprah" and the like (by the way, I like those shows, no offense). I'm not saying I need more pedicures (I've never had one in my life), or more "me" time, or girls weekends or shopping or spa treatments.

Rather, it's what happens in the quiet moments inside my head, during and in between the homework and the housework and the work work and the rest of it that I could improve upon. It's the messages I'm sending myself that need tweaking, it's the inside me that needs tending to.

If you get the book it's worth the read, I promise. I plan on starting it over just as soon as I finish.

Lost

I've been puposefully absent the past few days, finally giving in to fatigue and forcing myself to slow down, stop my feverish pace and once again pick up a book and read. Since beginning to knit my books have fallen to the wayside, replaced by fiber and needles and determination.

How good it feels to pick up a great book again, get completely lost in its pages and finish it, amazed by its timeless lessons. Such is the case with "Gifts From the Sea" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh (yes, Charles' wife) written in 1955 but so true and relevant to life today that I had to mark nearly every page. Ahem, this looks like a problem....and probably something you'll be hearing more about later.

On the table

On the table there now sits a copy of "The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success" by Deepak Chopra. It was a gift given to me by my in-laws several years ago, but I didn't read it. I don't think my brain was ready to accept or process what it has to say until now.

Here's just a quote I thought I'd share. It's one that's been resonating with me for the past few days.

The more you give, the more you will receive, because you will keep the abundance of the universe circulating in your life. In fact, anything that is of value in life only multiplies when it is given. That which doesn't multiply through giving is neither worth giving nor worth receiving. If, through the act of giving, you feel you have lost something, then the gift is not truly given and will not cause increase. If you give grudgingly, there is no energy behind that giving.