If I had started blogging in my 20s (were blogs even around then??), I would’ve liked to have Melanie W’s voice.
Mel sounds like I did in my 20s, with posts like: How to Run with a Hangover and Today I Googled Motivation.
Now that I’m in my 30s, I sound like: How to Run After Being Up All Night with a Puking Child and Today I Googled Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.
See? Mel is so much hipper.
Here’s a post of hers that I especially like:
There was a summer morning last year that I woke up in a bad mood. A mood that meant it would be “one of those days”. Do I normally remember a bad mood morning a year after I have one? Definitely not. But this one morning ended up kind of cool.
I decided to go for a run, and headed out of my Brooklyn apartment determined to get in at least four miles. I convinced myself that four miles was what I NEEDED to achieve if I was going to turn my day around. It’s funny that I gave myself that ultimatum. It was a really hot morning that day. Four miles or bust? Why? It was that tendency that people have–when something is going wrong, you look for other things that are going wrong, so you can beat yourself up and complain all day that nothing is going right. Horrible idea, mel.
So, creating my own unnecessary downward spiral for the day, I set out on the four mile run. I remember the heat was getting to me, and around mile 2 I was huffing, with my head leaning to right in exhaustion. That’s a weird thing I do when I’m running to the point of “oh man, I can’t go any further” (my high school track coach used to yell “left! left! left!” when I ran past her in races to try to correct my head lean; didn’t work.). At this point, I was on Marcy Avenue, running parallel to the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The two mile mark meant I was at the midway point to turn around and rack up the 2 miles back for my grand finale of 4. But I was hurting. I was ready to call it quits and walk home. Run fail. Day fail. And my day hadn’t even really started.
With my head cocked to the side, I struggled to continue running down the street, passing by people who were walking to the train, walking to work, walking their dog. I thought to myself, I must look like an idiot. I kept pushing though. Looking ahead of me, there was another person coming up; a kid with a backpack on his way to school. As I approached him to pass, eyes straight (no eye contact when you’re running and hurting!), he stuck his hand out for a high five. And I stuck out mine.
A huge grin came over my face. Right on, dude! Thank you! I stopped at the corner and looked back, but he didn’t turn around. I’m not sure why I thought he would, this wasn’t a love story scene. But I’ll tell you, that small gesture, that high five, changed the rest of my day. I chilled out. I walked for a little, then finished a slow run home feeling happy. That kid pulled me out of my little run or die microcosm. My day was going to be great.
I love when the smallest things mean something big.
— People Helping People on She Runs Brooklyn, August 11, 2010
[It’s Jen – I’m back] I had a similar running epiphany while on a vacation run in Newport, RI. It was July, the air smelled like beach flowers and I was running on Bellevue Ave past all the mansions. As I glanced down the long driveways, I suddenly happened on this unusual vista (see picture – I think they’re bushes). It made me laugh out loud and zapped my cranky mood.
Martha Beck puts is another way: “When you’re weary, find relief. When you’re strong, find delight.” Hope you have a High Five Moment today – whether you give or get it.