The Lemonade Stand: Baby’s First Runbirthday

“You can spend days, weeks, months, or even years sitting alone in the darkness, over-analyzing a situation from the past, trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could have or should have happened. Or you can just leave the pieces on the floor behind you and walk outside into the sunlight to get some fresh air.” – Marc Chernoff

On September 5, 2012, I walked out of my apartment a very lost and damaged human being, and took off running down the street towards Who-Gives-A-Fuck; having no clue what the hell I was doing. Roughly 0.2 miles later, I was walking. I was sweating, breathing heavily, and walking slow. When I caught my breath, I started running again. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t a runner. All I knew was that I really wanted to get to Who-Gives-A-Fuck in a hurry. I wanted to get anywhere else as fast as I possibly could. So, if I could run, I did. When I couldn’t run, I walked. But for twenty-something sunny afternoon minutes and almost 1.5 miles, I did not stop.

When I got back to my apartment, sadly having not found the door to that wonderful world of Who-Gives-A-Fuck, something was different. I knew it immediately. I didn’t know what had changed, or what it meant. But I knew I was transformed. And that feeling was indescribable. I was reborn; a new man; right then.

Like any newborn, I didn’t know shit. I was moving on instinct; alone in a world I didn’t recognize and with so much to learn in order to survive in it. I had to grow up. But what did growing up even mean? At the time, it meant trying to find a light in the dark, warmth in the cold, or at least comfort in the absence of both.

I’m still working on that.

Hey, gimme a break. I’m only one.

On September 4, 2012, there was only one thing I knew for sure: I felt like total shit. I had never felt so physically and spiritually suffocated by pain in my life, or more incapable of dealing with that hurt. I was dead. I don’t mean that I was sad and wanted to die. I didn’t. I mean I was already dead; cold; lifeless. The fire: out. The fact that I was even making it through my work day still amazes me. I don’t think I said more than two words to anyone for days, and can’t remember if anyone had spoken to me at all. Dead.

In the days after my rebirth on the road, my new still blurry vision and simple newborn mind was now sure of a staggering two things. 1) When I wasn’t running, I felt like total shit – as described above. 2) When I was running, I didn’t feel like total shit. And with that simple and lone understanding of my new world, I began to run as much as I could.

“Sometimes you have to kind of die inside in order to rise from your own ashes and believe in yourself and love yourself to become a new person.” – Gerard Way

It’s interesting to me looking back at those days because I started tracking my running from day one. I do not know why. I was living entirely on raw impulse. I ate only when my hunger got strong enough to cut through my thick mind-fog. I was drinking water less aware of my need for it, and more because it was the only thing conveniently piped into my home. I slept whenever I was remotely still because why not be asleep. I wasn’t living. But even in my undead zombie-like state I was still marking each run on a calendar on the wall. Eat, drink, sleep, run. The answer is in there somewhere.

100_6694I started putting little check marks on that calendar for every day that I’d run. When I joined a gym two weeks later, I started adding a “G” to the square for each day that I would workout. Seven weeks after my first sloppy trek outside, I started recording the length of each run, and eventually adding the time as well. Without a whole lot of foresight, my numbers-nerd personality was starting to track my pace. Why? No clue.

I didn’t know it at the time, but what I was viewing as a simple activity to ward off a mental breakdown was becoming the first part of a personal experiment in wellness. The foundation of my “Me” experiment was unfolding without my full understanding. I knew running made me feel less shitty. I liked feeling less shitty. So I needed to run more.

“What do I have to do to be able to run more?”

“I have given up many things in this becoming process. None was a sacrifice. When something clearly became nonessential, there was no problem in doing without. And when something clearly became essential, there was no problem accepting it and whatever went with it.” – Dr George Sheehan.

Seeking the answer to that simple question has cascaded into areas I could have never predicted.

For several weeks after my first run, I went out almost every day. And after noting no perceivable improvement in performance, it was time to read. I started with online resources, and within days had purchased my first Runner’s World magazine. Of course, I subscribed immediately after reading it. I researched everything from running form, to proper dietary fueling, to cross training, to strength training. What do I have to do to run more? I wasn’t sure, but I was damn sure going to find out.

I learned that new runners should not run every day; that without rest days, the newbie body cannot recover. And running on sore, overworked muscles leads to injury. Injury means no running. And the idea of not running at the time left me paralyzed with fear. It still does. So, after almost four weeks, I finally started taking regular rest days. Surprise! My running improved.

Those rest days became dedicated cross training days at the gym. I originally joined the gym in case it was raining and I really needed to run. Little did I know that I would rather run outside in the rain or snow than inside on a treadmill. But cycling and weight training at the gym gave me another way to get my blood moving every day. It’s definitely wasn’t running, but in a pinch, a solid workout would even help with that “feeling shitty” thing I deal with. Both running and gym workouts were becoming sweat-meditation; “sweatitation” that I valued greatly. I still do.

As my activity levels continued to increase, my diet became a serious bastard to figure out. I needed to eat more, but I rarely felt hungry and only wanted to eat what I really needed. I had already cut out processed food. If I didn’t know what was in something, I didn’t eat it. I felt better instantly, and had noticeably more energy. In fact, as I’ve kept cutting out this food (meat, pasta, dairy) and adding that one (a lot more whole raw fruits and vegetables), I’ve ended up with an almost vegan diet. And I feel great. I’m running better. I’m getting stronger. And I am recovering faster. Food is supposed to give us energy. It is supposed to make us feel good, not make us want to take a nap.

“Learning about what you’re made of is always time well spent.” – Henry Rollins

Because I was consciously using running and exercise as therapy during that difficult time, I’d obviously become somewhat aware of the connection between physical and mental health. That connection is something that I probably would’ve accepted long before I actually explored the reality of it. It just makes sense to me. And with every step made towards a healthier body I also noted increased occasion of spiritual clarity.

It should be noted that “clarity” is not always a pleasant experience. There is a reason some people seek to numb their perception of themselves. Clearness of vision is sometimes just that break in the clouds we need to see all of the mistakes we’ve made, all of the negative habits we’ve collected, all of the toxic people and practices we’ve allowed to settle into our lives. Seeing these things just created new obstacles to traverse if I’m ever going to become my most authentic and whole self. But I can’t clean up messes I can’t see, so clarity is a positive thing, even if uncomfortable.

As I enjoyed strides towards better physical fitness and continued to research, discover, and experiment with different ways to improve those gains, it became increasingly clear to me that keeping a strong body was not the be-all, end-all solution to mental wellness. I’d experienced the direct connection between the two. But I was only actively working to improve one side of the equation, foolishly assuming that being physically fit would magically drag my spiritual self into a healthier well lighted place as well. It doesn’t work that way. If a strong, well-tuned body was the secret to mental health, then professional athletes would be the most balanced and spiritually centered people on the planet. You won’t have to search the web very long to debunk that idea. Cough, cough…Aaron Hernandez.

The spiritual self needs to be cared for and exercised as much as the physical self. This is an area that I have only recently started to explore. And as I approach this new thing with a beginner’s mind, I’m again researching and finding my way anew. Different people find balance in varying ways. I’ve adopted a daily meditation practice, and so far noticing small but appreciable benefits. I’m a newbie with a ton to learn, but I already feel less stress, calmer of mind, and generally more present. Life seems to move a little smoother and I seem to handle the bumps better. It’s new, and we’ll see how it goes, but I’m going to keep doing it. I think it is going to help me find some kind of balance. It’s the least I can do.

“When I crashed and found the wherewithal to get back on the bike and finish; that was what I learned about myself. If that hadn’t happened and everything had gone perfectly, I certainly wouldn’t have learned as much about myself as I did having to struggle with misfortunate and setbacks.” – Rich Roll

While catching up with a friend way back in February; discussing how my training was going and chatting about some of the other positive changes I was starting to observe, she noted that I may not have made any of those adjustments, or even started running at all, if I hadn’t experienced such a painful loss last year. I quickly replied “It’s lemonade.”


“It’s the lemonade” I repeated. “My running and working out is lemonade. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. All of this is just lemonade.”

She was not trying to make light of my feelings or to rationalize the true tragedy of my loss, but instead was simply recognizing it as a catalyst to this new phase in my life.

I don’t care for lemons. I don’t want them in my water at restaurants. And I don’t particularly like lemonade either. But no matter how shitty the realities may be, I refused to continue approaching so many things in my life with the internal negativity I’d ignored (or even embraced) in the past. I would love an occasional cantaloupe or some fresh blueberries, but if those sweet luxuries are not in the cards for me, then I will continue to seek out and develop the world’s greatest lemonade recipe. I might not be able to control a lot of the things that happen around me or even how I feel about those things. But I can certainly control how I respond to the hand I’m dealt.

“The human capacity for burden is like bamboo- far more flexible than you’d ever believe at first glance.” – Jodi Picoult

The human animal is incredibly resilient. No matter how far gone we might think we are, or how low we feel, very few things are unrecoverable. We can lose the weight, learn the new skill, move more weight, prevent and cure diseases, and just fucking feel better if we dedicate our energy to our own wellbeing and focus on our goals. We can do anything.

In the last 12 months, I’ve become healthier than I have ever been. I eat better and exercise more than I ever have. I stopped smoking cigarettes after almost 15 years. Along the way, I’ve gone through three pairs of running shoes. I’ve logged 730 miles on the road, run nine races, including two half-marathons (each under two hours), and I’m in week 14 of my training plan to run my first full marathon later this fall; with bigger plans beyond that. And while I believe that weight is a sometimes distracting and over-celebrated metric in the pursuit of true health, I’ve lost 70 pounds too.

And my run journal is still growing strong as well.


I’ve made a lot of lifestyle adjustments this year and discovered a confidence in myself that makes my hunger for change even stronger, the slow pace of it even more frustrating, and that frustration can be incredibly distracting. I’m finally learning to make the effort to live in the present, aim at the next step instead of the goal, and accept that stumbling is part of traveling.

Am I still lost? I don’t know. Technically, I know where I am. But the vast majority of the time, I do feel completely out of place in the world. That’s an odd sensation to walk around with every day. But I’ve made my decision in the “yellow wood” of that Robert Frost poem, and I have faith that I’ve chosen wisely. I’m confident that if I continue to run along this healthier path up the mountain, that I’ll eventually find the place where I belong and fill the void that still stings inside of me. The answer is up there somewhere.

Am I still damaged? Eh, I can’t tell anymore. Unfortunately I pick scabs, heal slowly, and wear thick scars. I think I’ve just acclimated to whatever this new grayer feeling is and don’t know how to describe it. I’m not damaged. I guess I more “haunted.” I probably always will be to some extent. It is what it is.

After only one year, I’m not even a toddler in this new healthier lifestyle, but I’m up on my wobbly legs, moving slow, and looking to get into all sorts of shit. Look out world! I’m only going to get faster.

This is one of my favorite songs by my friend Derek Smith. He’s one of those guys that drive negative people nuts with his positivity and general good nature. I like knowing him. And I appreciate that he plays this song for me almost every time I get out to see him live. “I took a gamble on this thing called love. I got just what I paid for, but not what I dreamed of.” I hope to someday look back on this time from wherever my “Best Years” are found and just laugh at my silly ass. Happy Thursday, it’s my rebirthday.


My Chrysalis Self

“I promise you nothing is as chaotic as it seems. Nothing is worth your health. Nothing is worth poisoning yourself into stress, anxiety, and fear.” ― Steve Maraboli

I woke up this morning with a sore throat. That is something that would ordinarily freak me the hell out, having me drowning myself in orange juice, and pounding vitamin C because I have a tendency towards strep throat that is so awful and unrelenting that I popped a Ricola as a preventative measure just for typing those words into this sentence. Not kidding. It was honey-herb flavored and so far it’s working.

I wasn’t as worried this morning however because I was really letting shit get to me yesterday and I also know that sore throats are how my body responds to me being overly stressed. I know it sounds weird. But when I get stressed out, I get a sore throat. It’s usually the undeniable sign that I need to make some adjustments, whether they be in attitude or behavior.

I think everyone already knows that stress is bad for us. It inhibits the immune system, negatively affects our ability to achieve quality sleep, reduces the body’s capacity to regulate inflammation, and even affects how the body metabolizes food or responds to exercise. You have to love the fact that insufficient or low quality sleep increases your stress levels, and increased stress levels make it harder to achieve deep regenerative sleep. In short, stress sucks.

My back has been bothering me for almost a week now too and I’m starting to wonder if that is not stress related as well. I’m falling apart dammit.

Not really. I’m just annoyed. But eventually those two things start to feel about the same.

“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” – Maya Angelou

What’s stressing me out? The same shit that stresses everyone else out. I’m not special. Work, finances, general dissatisfaction with any number of things in my life. The details are unimportant. I’ve been a little busier at work lately. I’ve got a few too many financial and/or schedule obligations coming together at the same time. And because so few of these things are particularly fulfilling to me personally, I’m under-motivated to deal with them. They’re all just chores. I hate chores. I’ve got goals I want to achieve and plans to accomplish them, but I have to get through this current bog of inconvenience first. And I’m impatient.

It’s all selfish and self-inflicted. Because I’m seeing too much energy and expense being spent in directions unfulfilling to me, I’m letting that dissatisfaction stress me out. But none of it is insurmountable or infinite, and I should be focusing on the path beyond these hurdles and how eager I am to run down it. It’s all about perspective. And mine is clearly a little askew right now.

“Running made me free. It rid me of concern for the opinion of others. Dispensed me from rules and regulations imposed from the outside. Running let me start from scratch. It stripped off those layers of programmed activity and thinking. Developed new priorities about eating and sleeping and what to do with leisure time. Running changed my attitude about work and play. About whom I really liked and who really liked me. Running let me see my twenty-four-our day in a new light and my lifestyle from a different point of view, from the inside instead of out.” – Dr. George Sheehan.

I saw the above quote in the current issue of Runner’s World and it immediately spoke to me. I felt like it summed up so many of the things I’ve expressed less eloquently both in private and in this blog. It’s full of the enthusiasm, strength, and self confidence that come with personal growth. But it is also essentially about what can be one of the most difficult and daunting parts of that development; change.

I’m not sure that it should be, but I believe that change is sometimes the scariest thing each of us has to experience in our lives. Reluctance to it has almost become an accepted, or at least understood, part of the current idea of human nature. I’ve done no research on this, but it seems that so many people strive for some sort of norm; a static condition that can be adjusted to and made comfortable. How many people are working jobs that they hate while making no effort to find another one? How many people are dissatisfied with their health but make no effort to improve it? How many people simply accept a dissatisfying situation because changing it seems too difficult or just plain scary?

I work with people that will complain about someone else getting a promotion that they wanted, only to later let it slip that they didn’t even apply for that position. What? How can someone complain about not getting a job that they didn’t apply for? Was the job they wanted supposed to come ask them to come aboard? Has the world ever worked that way? Maybe complaining itself has become that static world they’ve found comfort in. I’m not interested in that world.

But I have been guilty of similar inactions. I’ve owned cars with such ridiculous mechanical quirks that only I knew how to drive them. Sometimes that was due to a lack of funds to fix the issue. Sometimes it was laziness. Most of the time it was a dream team of the two together.

But I am in no way stressed out in anxiety or apprehension towards any of the changes that I’ve made in the last several months. On the contrary, I’m eager and excited to continue on the path I’m on. I’m stressed at the things I view as standing in my way. The longer I travel in the direction I’m moving, the faster I want to go. The more I learn about myself and my potential, the more I want to discover. I may have spent decades building the world’s strongest and most impenetrable wall around my chrysalis self, but I want to spread my wings and free myself of that cocoon. And having to spend so much time and resources fulfilling legal (taxes, bills, etc.) and previously made personal obligations just frustrates me. And this week, I let it get to me way too much. It’s just another battle to be won. No biggie. I know I can do anything.

“But I think that at the most basic level, every one of us who runs does so because, deep down, we crave that little daily battle — against busyness, distraction, adversity, self-doubt — that every time we lace up our shoes, push ourselves out the door, and run, we win.” – Matt Frazier

Over the next couple of months, as I get through this temporary time of annoyance, I know my appreciation of running will be reinforced and strengthened. It is still that one thing that I know will always make me feel better and give me the meditative release I need when I feel overwhelmed.

I was talking with a friend recently and explaining to her how I knew I had changing even more than I might have realized. There was a time not very long ago when a stressful day at work would have elicited a comment similar to “Ugh, I’m definitely going to need a beer after this day.” It was just something I would say. Sometimes I would actually meet some friends after work for a beer (or six), sometimes I’d pop a top at my house, and sometimes I wouldn’t even bother.

Last week while getting increasingly frustrated at work and desperately wanting to get the hell out of there, I put my face firmly in the palms of my hands, pressed my fingers into my temples, and simply grumbled “fuck, I cannot wait to go run.” As soon as I said it, I felt better. Obviously I already knew that I loved running. And I was totally aware of its therapeutic affect on me. But in the same way that I sometimes forget that I’ve lost weight until I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I hadn’t quite realized how unconscious and truly ingrained in me it has become. And that realization really reinforced the feeling that I’m on a good path, even if that path still has the occasional mud puddle or downed tree limb.

I may not necessarily be happy all the time. I might have some shitty days. And I may vent my frustration in unconstructive and juvenile ways sometimes. But I’m happy with who I am and what I’m doing. And I truly cannot wait to see what other changes are to come. If I’m smart, I’ll accept that I have to wait and realize that there just might be something to learn in that too. We’ll see.