Skip to main content

Lessons From A Sunday Morning Run

I started running with my boys on Sunday mornings at a forestry wilderness park. My husband has been running for years, and I was starting to join him more regularly, so we decided to take the boys out with us to see how they would do. I was hoping they wouldn't slow me down too much to get a good run in. To my surprise, Tony, my seven-year old youngest son, was a lot faster than I imagined. He's got a natural running stride that is light and quick. He ran along side me the whole way, practically running underneath my armpit. Every now and then I get reminded about just how much they have grown up. This was one of them. Running with my sons was a proud moment for me. We passed up bicyclist and hikers who were impressed they could venture out on this rugged six-mile trail at such a young age. I was most content because I knew what an awesome experience this was for all of us to be able to get up on a Sunday morning and run as a family. 

The run was a lot tougher for me though. I struggled to keep up. How’s that for ironic! I felt like a brick running with legs. I huffed and puffed and fought to continue on the up hills, and picked up rhythm and energy on the steep down hills. I always feel best after a good downhill. I widen my arms for balance and allow the momentum to carry me forward. All the while, I watch my step since the trails are filled with rocks, mud, dirt, and uneven ground. I was beginning to feel really strong, powerful, and free like the type of runners who finish a marathon in around 3:15 time. All of a sudden I saw an insignificant rock on the ground about the size of my fist.  I'd passed up bigger rocks all throughout my run, but this one made me slam my whole body into the ground. I hit my pubic bone, the right side of my chin cracked, and mud flew into my mouth. It's like that in life isn't it. We are extra careful during a big crisis, but get blind-sided and rattled by the far less significant everyday routine annoyances. I gasped lying on the floor. I could see only the shoes and calves of my 7-year who was being to rock from foot to foot. I shot back up. I didn't want him to internalize my fall and become fearful of running in anyway. I was up and running along side my young son, but my thoughts were different. I was still mulling over my fall lamenting and agonizing, "Why is it that whenever I start to feel free and like I'm going somewhere I fall literally flat on my face!" But, before I could even finish the sentence, I felt a greater truth speak to me from my heart. True freedom comes from being able to get yourself back up every time you get knocked down. I've come too far not to know this was true. It's a lesson I've been learning my whole life. "I get up each time I fall." I absorbed that thought, shook off any last sentiments, and continued running in stride breathing in deep and enjoying the freedom that comes with taking each new step.







Tobymac - Get Back Up

Comments

  1. Great post and the comparison to lessons learned. I'm glad you got up for your son, a perfect example of a mother's sacrifice for her children--just one of many throughout their lives they won't even realize!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks Catherine! I am so much stronger because I have my boys. They help to keep things in perspective for me.

    ReplyDelete
  3. That is so true: Get up each time you fall. Probably the best advice ever. Good Post!

    ReplyDelete
  4. That is such good advice: Get up each time you fall. And it's true: We teach the young by example, not just words. Good Post

    ReplyDelete
  5. Sounds like fun! Family adventures like that, esp. productive ones, produce memories that last a long time. Wish I was more of a runner. So far, skipping rope remains my go-to exercise, since it lets me stay consistent and out of the weather all at the same time.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Went to Memoir-Writing Workshop

I went to a memoir-writing workshop recently. I don't want to be the girl who cries at the slightest thing but, in this case, I was. They asked the question: who told you, you can't write? We had to state our writing demons, and then write out the dialog between this inner critique and our retaliation to their remarks. Ultimately, it is only ourselves that can hold us back from our own dreams. But sometimes we've internalized the voices of others tell us that we can't.  I'd done this exercise before privately, in my own bed, in my own room, and in my own journal but never out loud. When we were done, we had to go around the table and read the dialog. I was picked the first to go. Before I could even let out a word, my throat choked up, my face turn red, and my eyes began to water. I read and cried. We all cried. I thought I had left all that hurt hidden away on paper somewhere, and there it was strangling me. I can't begin to describe that whole situation with …

Life Hack: DIY Bleacher Seat Cushion

One of the staples I keep in the truck of my car is my DIY bleacher seat cushion.
Its a flat thin recyclable bag with a folded picnic blanket inside.
This DIY is so simple, it seems too common sense to blog about. But I will since it phases me why anyone would buy one of those foam seat cushions I see on sale at sporting good stores and events. This one is on sale for $15!

My DIY bleach seat cusion is way more functional than a manufactured bleacher seat cushion which has only one purpose.

Having a blanket conviently stored inside makes it multifunctional.

 You have a blanket on hand for those chilly early morning meets. And any time we are at outdoor events with my mom or inlaws, I'm prepared for the evening cold for them as well.
 A shade for the afternoon sun.
Fold it length wise for a multiple seat cushion, to reserve extra seat space, or to spread out your legs.
(As a track mom of three sons, I can been on the bleachers for hours. I'm writing this blog from the bleachers.…

8 Ways To Say I Love My Life Show Review

The show, 8 Ways To Say I Love My Life And Mean It, returns to the New CASA Theater in Boyle Heights for a three week run. After winning an Imagen Award in 2009, the show is back with the release of the book that shares its name.

The book, 8 Ways to Say I Love My Life And Mean It, is a collection of stories from 8 Latina authors (Josefina Lopez, Susan Orosco, Nancy de Los Santos Reza, Bel Hernandez Castillo, Laura De Anda, Margo DeLeon, Rita Mosqueda Marmolejo, and Joanna Llizaliturri Diaz) about their journey to self-love and self-realization. Excerpts from the book were woven into 8 heartwarming monologues that inspire and uplift audiences.

I took two of my sisters and nieces to a preview of the show on Friday, November 2, for a girls night out. On our drive back home, we talked about the performances that resonated the most with each of us. I didn't have to ask my sister, who had been sobbing beside me during Pilar of Strength, a monologue written by Margo De Leon and performe…