It’s been a while since I wrote anything related to running. There was a good reason for that: I hadn’t been running. One year ago, I was always training for some race, while working towards several goals simultaneously. Running helped keep my mind focused. My goals were clear and defined. I was filled with purpose and completely sure of myself, my abilities, and the path that God was leading me down. I juggled school and family responsibilities. I was successful at preparing to be successful.
Then came graduation, turning thirty, worrying about job prospects, getting a job, and diving head first into teaching. Admittedly, the final transition from the student’s world of the classroom to the professional side, as the teacher of a classroom filled with 3o plus students, was eye-opening. Add extra family obligations, sickness, the death of my grandpa, injuries which led to a forced lay off from running, and I quickly began to feel like I was a mess of mass confusion! I no longer had those clearly defined goals; nothing was giving me that extra drive. I was no longer pushing….I felt like I was being pulled and dragged. The good habits I had worked so hard to make routine quickly began to fade as time passed. In just a few months, my life felt rearranged, like someone else was behind the wheel and refusing to show me the map! It was a struggle just to keep up, so I could forget about getting ahead. I was in survival mode, but I sure didn’t want to stay there. I was definitely in a slump, and as Dr. Seuss puts it, “Unslumping yourself is not easily done.”
Some days, I didn’t know if I was coming or going. The work never seemed finished at the end of the day and my “to-do” list was never-ending and ever-growing. Henry David Thoreau said, “Methinks my thoughts begin to flow when my legs begin to move.” I wanted to move again because I knew my mind would function better and I could deal with things easier if I carved out the time for exercise and returned to making it a priority. For me, as many others, there’s a correlation between mental and physical well-being. They go hand-in-hand, and when one is neglected, the other quickly follows suit. So I’ve been starting over, from ground zero for exercise. Run/walk intervals aren’t very fun for someone who once trained for half marathons. And hearing the words, “Your long-run days are over” has been hard to accept. Two years ago, a long run would have been 13-15 miles. Four years ago, I would have laughed if someone suggested running. Eight years ago, I was having surgeries on my left leg and was told at one point, “You’ll probably always have a slight limp.” So when I look at it that way, I’m more grateful for the ability to run at all. And then I wonder why I expected teaching to be any different. Just like the run/walk intervals are slow and painful in the beginning, so is teaching. It’s not a job that comes with instant results or rewards. It took me 30 years to get here. It may take 30 more to feel only slightly accomplished. 
It has taken me over a month to build back up to a fraction of the distance I used to run in a day. It took the entire first semester of teaching to feel like I could breathe. But I have realized that for me, running is not about time, speed, or distance. It’s about a commitment and dedication to move, to be active, to feel alive. It’s about a determination to resist quitting, even when that would be the easiest thing to do. Whereas teaching, on the other hand, is about time, speed, and distance. It takes time to gain experience. Sometimes I have to slow down and really listen to what my students are saying. And, I have to be willing to go the extra distance for them. As a runner, I won’t quit on myself. As a teacher, I won’t quit on my students. I realized the drive I needed to give that extra push is right in front of me: it’s my students. Entering the professional world of teaching doesn’t mean that I am automatically accomplished. I have to move one step, one day, one class at a time to become more proficient. But I am applying that same level of determination and commitment to the classroom as I do to pounding the pavement. Neither one is easy, nor is the work ever done. While running through a portion of the neighborhood I grew up in, I pushed pause on my i-pod. Only then could I hear the laughter of some boys playing football, the sounds of banging coming from a garage, the sirens of an approaching fire truck, and the crunch of the empty Newport box I crushed on the sidewalk. I realized that even if I were walking, or rolling in a wheel chair (which could have easily been my fate after that car crash), I would still be moving. And isn’t that the point of life? To always be moving? It’s time to rethink some goals, redefine my purpose, and move forward. It’s not about changing careers or locations. I am right where God has placed me for a reason. Moving forward means improving what it is that I already do. It means continuing to learn and gaining experience. Moving forward means resisting the temptation to become complacent and indifferent. (Or worse than that, content with mediocre or cynical). Maya Angelou says that if you can’t change the way something is, change the way you look at that thing. The answer is often inside of you, not in front of you. I was waiting for answers to drop out of the sky, when really, they were there the entire time. I just needed to be patient with myself and remember why I started running and teaching in the first place.
The qoute at the bottom of this poster reads:"Determination is the often the first chapter in the book of excellece." This poster is now hanging in my classroom.
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