I go on my walk/runs and try to think of an interesting topic to chime in here. Really, I’m not doing anything extraordinary at present. Maintaining a low level status quo.
It was nice today. Mid/upper sixties. Humid. Enough to break a decent sweat. There are still leaves lingering on the trees here, but yesterday’s rain pushed a lot of them to the ground, making for slippery sidewalks where the landscapers haven’t come along with their weekly leaf blowing. And, like I said, the air was humid.
I like running in the humid air. Just as I like running in the really cold air. It forces my breaths to work harder. It pushes me to concentrate and force my diaphragm to put the oxygen into my stomach and take the pressure off my lungs. Then, at the end of the day, I go to sleep with those deep breaths without even thinking.
And then it occurred to me as I was really pushing towards the painful wall, I’m not having those nights of deep breathing any more. It’s one of the things I like most about running, feeling the oxygen move deep within me. And I don’t think I’ve had that state of relaxation very much in recent months.
So… what that means is I’m not pushing myself enough. But on a completely different level, I’m holding my breath. I realized back when I have been at the height of my running habits, that breathing is connected to feeling. The more I let myself breathe, the more I let myself feel. I’ve been tensing onto that diaphragm muscle and stifling the breaths because I’m trying not to feel.
I’m not really startling myself with this self acknowledgement. There are a lot of stresses in my present with which I would rather not deal… because either I know there is no good stressing about them, as they are out of my control. Or… well… I know someone always has it infinitely worse than me, so why complain? I really, really don’t want to whine when I know, in spite of the stress, my life really ain’t that bad.
But I’m holding it there. In my stomach. Supposedly it’s a proven fact that women produce a stress hormone or something that collects in the form of fat in our abdomen. But again, I feel like that is a lame excuse to not take responsibility for my poor behavior. Seriously, there have been too many apple pies this fall.
But… still… at the end of today, I am cognizant of the shallow quality of my breathing. That whatever I choose not to whine about is stopping me from breathing in all of it. The good, the bad, and the mediocre. I need to do more of what I say I must. Just take the time to stop and breathe and be. And maybe… maybe it is that simple.
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