Jordan and I are running farther than we have ever thought possible. But holy crap, it feels like we’re running on sand in a jogging-sized hour glass; we just can’t keep up.

Although we did run 13 km on Sunday.

To the “us” that existed just a few months ago –eating discount-priced boxes of Will o’ Crisps on the couch– 13km would have been a running miracle. To the “us” that exists right now (still eating discount-priced boxes of Will o’ Crisps), this is 8km shy of where we need to be in order to get where we said we’re going. Namely, able to run 42km in 4 and 1/2 months.

We’re signed up to run a half-marathon in 13 days. I don’t think there are enough Will o’ Crisps in the world to keep the pre-race jitters at bay in my mind. Especially seeing that we honestly don’t know if we can run that far. Well, I honestly don’t know if I can run that far. I strongly suspect Jordan and his strong, lithe legs can take him there and back.

Running a 10km race was an exaltation. It was within reach. It was sunny outside. There was music and dancing and people clapped for you at every water station. It essentially was a dream. But this training for 21km has taken a darker turn, a little swerve into the unknown and pits of learning when things feel really hard and it seems like you won’t see the light again. I forgot about this time, crossing the 10km finish line like I was Oprah being serenaded by Dolly Parton, high fiving parents waiting for kids and kids waiting for parents like they were all my extended family.  I forgot about the months of me running 2.5 minutes, walking 1 until I could slink my way up to running 5 minutes, walking 1, until I could manage running 7, walking 1 and so on. I forgot about the frustration and impatience welling up in me like a geyser. I forgot about my insecurities and me trying to control everything as we ran along new streets. I forgot about Jordan encouraging me to run just 3 more minutes with the promise of a back massage and chocolate cake and he’ll do the dishes. Learning to run 10km was a long haul but not to mention worth it.  The surge of confidence that flooded my veins alongside race day adrenalin felt new and amazing. Here I was doing something I never ever imagined I could do. What else could I be wrong about that I had previously thought impossible?

Hopefully my ability to run the 21km. haha.

No, seriously, this is the beginning of something I didn’t bank on when we signed up to fundraise and train for a marathon. I thought I would change my fitness and maybe even my pants size, but not my mind. I think this will be the greatest gift in this whole experience, to learn I can be wrong about everything. And to trade in those old thoughts along with my old running shoes, for a pair with a little lift and a lotta soul. That’s the big-picture. But my daily snapshot feels like like I’ve rested on my 10km laurels a little too long. We don’t have the luxury of the far-away future anymore. We need to be training well and smart and on the ball now to try and up our chances of not getting injured, discouraged or both.

I recently went to a running clinic and we were all asked to introduce ourselves with our name and our goal time to finish a marathon. I said, “Laurie and whatever it takes for me to crawl across that finish line.” I went home later that night and thought about it. Why do I cling to the lowest expectation possible in any given situation? Yah, running a marathon is amazing. But here I am saying I will crawl over the finish line around people of all varying abilities saying they want to qualify for this or make it in under 5 hours or be able to run with their shoulders back and a smile on their face. Have I been aiming too low my whole life? And what is that about, automatically assuming I can’t before I can?

There was a time when running for 3 minutes straight felt impossible. Could there very possibly be a time when running 21km is within reach? And I am I willing to change my mind enough to find out?

Jordan and I's feet slapping the pavement as I huff and he hangs back a minute to run with me

Jordan and I are at an all-time personal best right now: regularly running 25 minutes, walking 1 minute, running 25 more at least 3x’s a week. Even uphill. Even in the windstorm. Happily in the rain. (Not as happily as when it’s gorgeous and summer outside and we can dog-stare to our heart’s content). (Sorry for the extra parenthesis but when I type “dog-stare”, I really mean it. Looking at dogs lifts our dragging, sweating hearts high- Jordan sometimes goes extra bold and reaches out for a quick pat as we run by, I usually say “look at that little guy, awww” Especially if the dog is big. If anyone is interested in running, do it just to see all the dogs out and about licking things and each other).

But back to the running. We’re doing it. Something consistent is happening and it’s not just arguing who needs to sell tickets and where for our next fundraiser.  We start off worried, discussing errands and what-ifs? What if only people from your office show up and it’s awkward and they hate us? What if those prizes don’t come through? What if people want their money back? What if we can’t actually raise this much money? But then something miraculous happens as we continue to run… we stop talking and the ‘what if’s’ fade into the greenery and bright pink flowers around us. Sometimes we even laugh at our anxiety-ridden scenarios, being so bold as to say, ‘yeah and that guy from Ben’s Folds Five may show up too!’ or ‘hell, Douglas Coupland may stop by, donate a huge green plastic army man and do a poetry session by reading his fantastic tweets!’ Or ‘Van Halen will come in here, bowl a perfect string and give us all the old spandex from one of their world tours, talk about prizes!’ By the end of the run we’re mellow, breathing again, noticing dogs and flowers. Saying hi to people. Secretly trying to high-five the joggers and pat the dogs. Laughing at our precarious job situations, student debts and follies.

And that’s a proud moment. A: “look ma,  no drugs!” moment- one where we can cut through our own tightly wound crap and get mellow on our own! And in our society’s frenzy-forward days, I think mellowing out is something to be proud of… especially for me. I’ve been told if I were a dog I’d be a bordie collie cooped up in a small closet meant for tax files. I’ve been chasing my own tail since I was three.

But it’s amazing what a run can do. It can be really freeing. See you later, closet!

We’re at the point now where running for running’s sake is within view: just off the horizon with some leisure boats and wind surfers.  It’s still a push to get us out the door but it’s becoming more automatic. Less of a negotiation, more of a commitment. I’m starting to trust it, the running, that it can happen on its own as well as with my feet.

So, here’s a few other things we’re noticing: 1) neither of us are losing any weight. Not yet anyway. We find this surprising but could also have to do with the decadent Indian meal we had for Jordan’s mom’s partner Rhoda’s birthday followed by a ship-wreck size of cheesecake. And having the odd twenty beer with friends. But seriously, if this was 10 years earlier, I’d be able to run on a steady diet of Mr. Big bars, tofu and mountain dew and have to buy a belt, so it’s interesting what we hold onto as we age. And how gross a Mr big bar with a side of green pop would be now, but gross in a fantastical way.

2) People are forgiving and kind. We dread the fundraisers and asking for money. Yes, we believe in the cause and yes, we want to change our own lives and are committed to doing so, but asking for money and throwing wacky fundraisers is scary. And then combine the two and it’s even scarier. So, we’re trying to make them fun, what-would-we-like-to-go-do-things, like a party in the living room or kitchen. And we bring as many cupcakes as we can. And everyone so far has been more gracious than we deserve. And we get excited about them too. Especially when they entail costumes.

3) We need to stretch for real. No kinda-stretching while watching the tail end of an episode of The Office we started last night. No, pretending to flex our feet while cooking dinner. We actually need to consciously stop what we’re doing and stretch for about 10 minutes after a warm up walk and then after the run. If we don’t, we’re 80. And we’re an 80 that made a life out of eating Mr. Big Bars, tofu and Mountain Dew in the tax closet with the border collie.

4) Cramps. I have a few that are recurring buddies which show up after about 20 minutes of running. Luckily so far, they rotate so I haven’t had the pleasure of getting them all at once. My new creaky friends: the ribber:  a cramp right under the top tip of my right rib; the blade: a cramp under my right shoulder blade; the bitch: a cramp right smack dab in the centre of my chest, off of my breast bone; and one that turned into five jabbing bolts of pain all around my belly after eating a peanutbutter sandwich too close to running, yuck. This one doesn’t get a name unless of course it’s ’stupid’.

The interesting thing is, I can usually run with the cramps and out run them. I have to accept them, which usually consists of me cursing and hollering out to Jordan up ahead that the “ribber” for instance is back. Then feeling sorry for myself and cursing some more. Then I slow down, try to relax and keep going. And to my amazement, this has worked. I’m only running max about 50 minutes so far, so it’s not like I’m in the 4 hour of continuous running marathon sector or anything where out-running a cramp might be crazy, but my little stints so far have given me such hope. I thought when you got a cramp it meant throwing in your towel and your short shorts too. But so far, it means patience and running/breathing through it.

Jordan doesn’t get cramps. But his right hip will tell him what’s what sometimes and this scares him. Not as much as throwing a fundraiser, but close.

5) That we like ourselves more after a run than before. I’m not sure if it’s all the oxygen or getting to see the ocean or people or dogs or all of that, but we feel more connected to something. To everything. And that makes us feel much better. (Even about the fundraisers).

We’ll post an update as soon as we push up a time slot/get further with fundraising! Thank you so much for reading!

Something is happening in my training to run a marathon this October. Something is shifting deep inside my chest and it’s not a funny bone. Not yet anyway.

When I first started running 4 months ago alongside Jordan, my partner in sneakers and sweats, I’d find myself angry, overreacting to small injustices -he was running ahead, he didn’t look to see if cars or bikes were coming at roundabouts, he would run longer than the time on the stop watch, he would, he would, he would, he would. I would fume over these small things asking him, “do you know how hard this is for me?”  while sometimes shaking with anger and sweat, beet red in the face, huffing my way up a tiny hill like it was Everest and I was going sans oxygen.  And that was for running only 2-4 minutes at time, with long walk breaks in between!

I’d chide him on not giving people room on the sidewalk when we ran by , I’d feel upset when he’d zig zag and make people go one way then the other and especially if they were carrying a coffee and it was early morning (”they could spill it on themselves! they’re barely awake!”). I was mad when he wouldn’t tell me which way he was turning before he’d turn or when he was going to run out into the street to let an unruly dog and his owner have the sidewalk in peace. Sometimes, I’d even be furious. And if I didn’t perceive these things as slights, well, then I would ruminate on other things. That potential job didn’t call, this person has never treated me well, this person expects the moon, what are we thinking no National Housing Strategy and why do we still have a government we don’t trust? All these orbiting angers and pains, all mixed in with the consistent belief that there was no way I could do this thing, -look at me- I couldn’t even last 2 minutes without becoming medusa.

What an unexpected experience to run right up against this ridgidity in myself, this perfectionist, this negative nag, this controlling-take-myself-so-seriously-I-almost-turn-to-stone, this ego that is more self-monitoring and cruel than a 13 year old who hates you.  I thought in order to have a plump ego you needed to think of yourself as awesome, not terrible, but turns out it works both ways, (why oh why didn’t I choose to think I was awesome all those years back??)

The good news is training for this marathon is making me not only run up against this wall of rigidity, but to run it down, to coax its iron gates just enough to see that maybe 10 minutes of running is possible, maybe 12, maybe 15…and maybe Jordan isn’t one big jerky wack for running ahead, crossing the street without me,  accidentally stepping on someone’s garden and zigzagging without apology.  Maybe I”m the jerky wack for noticing.

So what is that? What is that never ending source of criticism and barf? Well, the more I run, the closer I come to uncovering what it is. I suspect fear. But as I hold my tongue and judgements, something else is happening, I can feel my lungs getting stronger, growing bigger. It’s weird. The more my lungs expand the more my mind does too. That steeltrap of crap is starting to open up. And it’s not all bad in there. I’ve even caught myself laughing out loud thinking about a funny thing a friend did while running up a hill. Up a hill.

Startling, I know.

Even more startling is the fact that I have lived with these rigid, inflexible, iron steel beliefs, on the inside of my lungs and major organs for close to 20 years. All or nothing. You can’t do that. That’s not for you. That’s what other people do. You need to be good at something in order to do it. Who do you think you are. You’re not good enough. Only athletes do that. You look stupid. People think you look stupid. You are stupid. You will never make it. Be happy with what you’ve got. Don’t try for more. Do not try for more. Who do you think you are? You live in a fantasy world.

Yup, I sure do, but not a very nice one. Where are the care bears anyway?

Sheesh.

All those hits of anger at Jordan, all those moments of rage at “being left” or “being unable”, all of them feel like I’m knocking right into the wall. Sometimes head first  -blind spitting fury that it’s there- then peace. If I can keep putting one foot in front of the other, then I can keep softly taking a concrete block at a time from the wall. And maybe just maybe in Greece I can run through it. Or at least run through part of it.

And above all else:  give it a good care bear stare.

You can support our journey here.

Alright, with all the baking talk I fear you may think I have ditched Jordan and I’s Fundraising and training goals and pulled up a permanent seat at the oven.

While it’s true I’m mowing down a lot of goodies lately it is also true that I’m still keeping up the running.

And am starting to look forward to running longer periods of time….maybe even the marathon we plan on running in October.

We start the 8-minute trials this week, running for eight, walking one minute, repeat six times.

But today was the last of our run for 7-minutes, walk for 2, six times. Here are a few pictures from our jog at lunch.

(Notice Jordan has a very stylin’ runner’s jacket and new sneakers. Since getting the new sneakers his right hip feels less like 90 years old and more like 50. But when it’s this gorgeous outside a 50 year old hip feels a lot like 10).