I’ve heard people say that you can read any number of books whether fiction or non or self-help, and they might be interesting but they won’t actually get you out of your rut until you are ready. This has been said about addictions, too-that you can quit 62 times or 3 times or 17 times but when you’re actually ready to be done, THAT will be the number that does the trick. If there was ever a reason to just keep trying, that’s evidence enough.

Last summer I was driving across Colorado from California, listening to a podcast interview with a fascinating woman named Steph. She’d been a monstrous skiier in the footsteps of her father and reinvented her life with a record-breaking year of travel and vertical descent, then wrote a book about her transformation. Not into a world-class athlete, but into a woman who had integrated her feminine and masculine sides into a whole and happy person. She was unhappy with her life before but had not hit any kind of rock bottom, and that hooked me. So many transformation stories seem to require that hard reset, that desperation borne out of hardship or trauma. Not Steph’s. She validated the “this isn’t good enough yet” life reboot.

By fall, I was also ready. 365 days ago I took a leap of confidence and joined Steph’s 3 month coaching program called the Great Big Journey. It promised nothing short of lifechangingness. That is, of course, if I put in the work and showed up and created and discovered what I needed for kicking myself out of ‘good’ into ‘amazeballs’ (my depiction, not hers).

Within a few weeks I was making connections between my history of authority-based relationships and my inability to choose something-anything-to steer my ship towards, whether work or love or location. Something had to change or I’d be in the same place at 54 as I was now at 44. And 34. During phone calls that alternated between frantic notetaking and impromptu crying, I found new meaning and some ways to find my goals.

But I still needed to act. Self reflection and self awareness are (a little too) fascinating on their own but they do nothing if I wasn’t going to actually DO something.

And do, I did. I rekindled old friendships that I couldn’t maintain before. I fell in love with one of them and had my heart spectacularly broken, and yet I reveled in it all. I became a poet, a bit of an extrovert, and a lover. In that same window of time I moved to Salt Lake City and those “little” changes set me down yet another new path of joy and connection.

Is everything perfect? Fuck no. Fear is managed, not extinguished. Love exhilarates and blinds at the same time. And work… well, work is still a perpetual mix of creativity, grinding away, and timing. I’m an amazing writer and my clients are out there to be found and cultivated.

But what has changed that still sticks with my enriched life? At least this:

• Nearly overwhelming ability to feel my full range of emotions. Sounds boring or like a skill that everyone has, but it’s not. I didn’t let myself feel anything too deeply for 40 years. That’s a scary process of unlearning.
• Less dependence on authority relationships, particularly with the men in my life. I have more than enough ability to make decisions and take actions with my own authority. And my relationships are closer to equal partnerships than ever before.
• Many more friendships, and the deepening of all of them. Exactly one year ago I had one, possibly two friends that I would be able to call in a moment of crisis for understanding and an ear. Now I have a half-dozen, maybe closer to ten. That alone is a massive shift. It’s evident in my interactions with all my friends, this connection and commitment.
• Despite the trepidation over work and finances and the ups and downs of feeling your feels and the risks of love and loss, I am HAPPY.

I’m at the rear counter of a curio shop, ordering a mocha latte for my aunt Dolores. The owner, a woman in her 70s, is describing the size options to me in a not-abundantly-clear fashion. The small sounds rather small but is not terribly expensive though a number is not given. The large is $15 for newcomers, less for repeat customers. And two are, of course, $30. Because I am who I am even in my dreams, I order one small and wait for the cup.

My aunt and other traveling companions, who may or may not include my mom and other family members, are outside, admiring the small town views of rural highways and endless land. Before I went inside, we were remarking on how each house had two addresses plainly written on their exteriors or mailboxes. It kind of looked like this, for each and every house we spied while walking around town:

A house, with divided addresses, cannot . . . exist?

This was a curious practice; I suspected part of the reason my aunt pressed some money into my hand and told me to go fetch her a latte was so that I could ask the locals in the shop what was up with the house addresses.

Through eavesdropping and some small inquiries, I had an answer. Turns out that there is a nearby town, larger, used for shopping trips and the like by the residents of the small town. The larger town has essentially consumed and absorbed the residential contents of the small town, though the small town seems to be suspicious of this. The two addresses reflect the locals’ shifting realities and inability to accept the larger city’s grand plan. One address is their official location relative to the larger town. The other is the small town address, from which no local can bear to part ways. Hearing this explanation made some sense to me, and I prepared to relay it to my travel partners. Just as soon as I received my potentially-expensive mocha latte, that is.

But before I could see the looks on their faces upon hearing the explanation, I woke up, wondering what was going to happen next. In reality, what happened was I took down some notes about this dream. And then I began musing on this dual-address state, not just of residence but of mind.

How often do we find ourselves with two “locations” in life? We are both children of our parents and adults (or even parents ourselves). We can be both an independent person and a spouse (with or without a new legal name). We can exist as a lover to a stranger and a stranger to our families. And often, for those who overthink our lives, we can exist as a fully realized adult human with accomplishments seen by our acquaintances and friends and yet feel like child who needs to get on with adulting to ourselves.

While our many statuses can act in concert to balance out our life goals or current choices, they can also act in opposition, causing suffering that is unnecessary. We contain multitudes, indeed. Each of these possibly dueling states has a “location” within our minds—and in the minds of those who surround us. Unlike those houses of my dream, we rarely wear both of our addresses at once. One is outside (the parent, the functioning adult, the artist) and one is inside (the dreamer, the child, the wanderer).

To boldly show both of our faces at the same time, both of our “addresses”, to the public at large is a rare act of vulnerability. It can make folks uncomfortable to see the duality freely acknowledged. Like when you see a politician cry during a speech. Or you see a woman breastfeeding in a business suit. Luckily, we live in an era that is starting to accept our many facets. That’s progress. Those examples I gave above might still raise an eyebrow, but they would have been unheard of—scandalous—a few decades ago.

What are your locations? Are they in neighboring towns, or are they antipodes so far apart there’s oceans and earth to keep them separated?

P.S. The original intent for this thread was to dig deeper and explore the history of name-changing for marriage and the cultural implications thereof, but it went in another direction, as thoughts often do. Perhaps I will explore the spousal tradition inquiry in a future post.

I am your new running overlord. Lo, my face is tidy and my physique is admirably skinny.

… and it’s both terrible and wonderful.

Can I be harsh here? Of course I can; it’s my fucking blog.

I recently saw a mention of the possibility of an Oatmeal Generation of runners in the works. This is really interesting, especially given that the bulk of Oatmeal readers are in their early 20s and might not have a history with exercise. If a good portion of them take up running, we could have quite the bump in running participation. It has happened before…

Previous Running Spikes

Running has been through quite a few little boomlets in the past 40 years, either competitive or participatory in their orientation. Some have stuck around for decades, while others peaked and then fell due to catastrophe or just general trends in the larger society. Like the 1970s which culminated in the Jim Fixx apex (and sort of backlash after his death) and the 1980s and 90s Jeff Galloway devotees, and the post-1995 Oprah legion of marathon completers, and recently the Born to Run crowd. The most recent crowd is a harbinger of the Oatmeal Oodles, with a return to running as a natural human activity that brings joy and peace completely independent of competition and even racing.

Go Running, Rah Rah U S A!

The economic impact of running cannot be ignored. It has a noticeably good effect on the overall economy, in that it drives a shit ton of purchases. Just ONE race, a popular 12K event with 50,000 participants, drives an estimated 10 million dollars into the local economy. RunningUSA compiles great statistics about runners in the country, and as of 2012, there were 487,000 finishers of marathons (a slight decrease) and 6.2 MILLION finishers of 5Ks (a 17% increase just over the year before). That’s a heck of a lot. That is a heck of a lot of business for companies like:

• running shoes
• running books
• magazines about running
• social and training groups
• technical apparel
• energy bars
• race-time foods like gels
• electrolyte drinks
• hydration hardware
• sunglasses
• hats, gloves, arm sleeves
• compression socks

Also, to add to that rather significant contribution to the economy, consider that someone who might not even go out to eat that much is likely to want to splurge on a big honkin’ pizza after that long weekend training run, or a few beers, or some oversized bowl of pasta. The running boom just keeps giving and giving to corporations’ bottom lines, with very little overall effect on health outcomes.

Why Are the Oatmeal Oodles Wonderful?

Basically, a new crop of runners could be a good thing because The Oatmeal’s ‘brand’ of running is that of personal exploration, not of competition or acquisition of race medals, despite the economic junk I just threw at you. The good about running? Honestly, running, once you have at least a little bit of fitness, is quite fun. Research backs this up – you create happy chemicals when doing a run that don’t often get the chance to appear in the course of taking, say, a daily walk. Matthew Inman, aka The Oatmeal, is a Born to Run kind of runner. He does it to challenge himself and does race occasionally, but it seems that his joy from running is the foundation from which all other ancillary activities grow. His comic, inspired by the novelist Haruki Murakami’s memoir about  running life called What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, is called The Terrible & Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances. And now, since I began to write this post months ago, there’s an Oatmeal sanctioned/created/endorsed race. A real bona fide honest-to-gawd race. In the spirit of the blobby character who is every runner’s nemesis, it is called “Beat the Blerch“. Now, if Inman had wanted his legion of fans to really emulate him, he’d have started a 50 mile ultramarathon, the kind that he wrote about in an earlier comic. But it’s actually great that this race starts with a 10K. It is a good chunk of miles to bite off, and actually not as painful to race as the more popular 5K distance. There is also a half and full marathon distance for those who want to be out eating cake for much longer (oh yes, the races will have cake). The Oatmeal’s legion of fans is so, well, legion, that the race registration site crashed and entries were sold out in a matter of minutes. No surprise there.

Here’s the Terrible (Maybe)

Running, per se, isn’t the best way to get in shape or lose weight. (This is the topic for another upcoming post.) If these new participants are doing it just for the joy, then, OK, no argument here. But if they associate it with getting skinny and eating all the shit that they want, they’re dead wrong. Sorry, but it’s true. (But hey, at least it won’t ruin your knees. Can we finally put that misnomer to bed?) With all the talk earlier about how awesome this sport is for the economy, it might have a slightly negative effect on individual runner’s pocketbooks. First, because someone has to MAKE all of those purchases, but also there are doctor’s visits from injuries and sick time from work if one gets overtrained or REALLY injured.

No gear, no fear.

And all of those economic perks are a sign of our tendency to overcomplexify everything we do. You don’t need all of that shit. You probably need some shoes and clothes that won’t rub raw spots on your skin when you’re out and about. That’s all runners had generations ago, and they still made those happy chemicals just fine. Getting overly concerned about having all the right gear isn’t unique to running, of course, but it certainly can add stress to something that really should just be plain fun.

A Takeaway, Of Sorts

I embrace any interest in physical activity. I reject the notion that it requires more than a few dozen dollars’ worth of expenditure. I think between those two ideas, we can have a lot of young and excited runners to come in the next decade. Let’s not “Americanize” the very act of running with stuff and stuff and stuff, and we should be just fine.

Real food.

Preventative care: what is it? If I may be so bold, this is it:

1. sleep hygiene *(see below for more details)
2. walking around a lot, some of it outside
3. eat “ingredients”, not manufactured food products

In other words . . . IT DOESN’T COST MONEY. On this list there is not a single supplement or class or equipment to purchase. There are no prescriptions, no chiropractors, no weight loss gurus.

Many systems that thrive in our modern society are those that make money. And those that make money, often spend money on ways to make more money. Diet research and food palatability studies are full of money from both weight loss companies as well as food manufacturers. Vitamins must have paid research to back up their effectiveness (which, incidentally, is somewhere between “negative” and “zero”).

But getting out in the sun, going to bed at a reasonable hour *(between sunset and midnight, without looking at artificial light or glowing screens for at least an hour prior, not using sleeping pills or alcohol, sleeping in a dark room, and rising naturally), and eating things that can be (recently) harvested or killed – ALL of it is kind of simple and doesn’t cost money aside from buying the food ingredients.

Progressive lets you put a dohickey in your car to prove that you don’t drive too fast or brake hard and therefore deserve cheaper insurance. Why couldn’t health insurance companies do the same, strapping Fitbit Force or Withings Pulse or Nike Fuelband on the willing so see how much they get around in a day and how much they sleep? Perhaps someone is already on this. They should be.