Hubris

Have you ever mailed a letter, sent an email, left a phone message and then had that sinking feeling that you just put something out into the universe that is going to come back and bite you?   Wednesday's workout blog was my inadvertent "reply to all" in the workout world.   I was so impressed with myself for moving to the longer intervals that I convinced myself that it was because I was so ready to move on that forward motion was inevitable.

You can hear it, can't you?  The universal chuckling has been echoing my head since Saturday's extremely effective lesson in humility.   Saturday was a beautiful morning, sunny and clear.  Despite the predictions for warmer weather, it felt chilly so I put on my trusty turquoise and headed over to group 3, my five and one compatriots.   I felt a small tickle of unease when I realized our route for the day because it contained lots of hills.  Still, hadn't I been magnificent on Wednesday?  How much trouble could a couple of hills throw at me?  I have no problem walking when I need to, so I'd walk more.  How bad could it be?  

I think the voice in my head was trying to kill me.  Every time I hesitated, it whispered, "You can do this.  C'mon.  It's just running…  It's just a hill….  It's just a little cramp…."

Natalie, the NOBO coach, had been very clear in our early meetings.  "Listen to your bodies, people.  Learn what the signals mean."

Listening to my body is a critical skill for me.  Running with Dysautonomia sometimes feels like running with a time bomb sitting in my chest.  Because my body is often unable to regulate it's response to physical stress, minute changes in circumstance can have enormous implications.  Mild dehydration can start a chain reaction that sends me to the hospital.  The famous twenty degree temperature change runners dress for when they head out can be the difference between functionality and collapse for me.  Even being overtired can make it difficult for my muscles to move as expected. 

However, because I knew that I was Wednesday night superwoman, I overdressed and tried to run up the hills.   Interval one wasn't bad.  Of course, it was also flat.  I'm a big fan of flat.  By interval two, it was warming up and I was slowing down.   Interval three hit at the same time the first big hill hit.  I could say that I walked it but let's be honest.  There was trudging going on.   I had faded from group three to group two.  By interval four, group two was way ahead in the distance looking like an irritatingly perky mirage.   

I gave up on intervals. I stopped paying any attention to groups.   I jogged whenever I could muster a little more energy and then walked again. I took ridiculous comfort in long stop lights that required me to stand semi-still.  I took comfort in the fact that there were a number of people walking near me. Of course, I think that some of them may have just been taking their dogs to the park.  

Sometime in the last half mile of the loop, my breathing slowed and my brain rebooted.  It occurred to me to take off the extra layer of insulation.  The difference was amazing.  I remembered that Felicia had suggested breathing in a pattern when I struggling because that would help me focus on the path instead of the struggle. 

I didn't run into the parking lot in triumph at the end of the workout but I didn't sit down and give up either.  I walked a lot of that two and a half mile loop, but I jogged some of it too.  The shakiness that stayed with me much of the day on Saturday was a reminder that this is a process.   I still plan to try and run with the more challenging group on Wednesday night, but I'll pay attention to the tickle of unease when I feel it and step back if I need it.  After all, I've provided the universe with enough amusement this week.