T.C. Slonaker's Blog, page 9
April 10, 2012
How Not to Hate Running
You probably are not going to want to read this if you are not like me. I am a runner. Clearly, I am a minority. I am aware of that. Do you know how I know? Because I used to hate running. I loathed it. And likely, you were right there with me, dreading having to run whatever requirement gym class had designed for us. In school, I was a decent field hockey player, but I was cut from the team because I hated running.
But that is when things changed.
You don't tell me I can't do something. Even when truly, I can't. I began running for the <> fun of it. OK, I will admit. I don't know if it was ever fun.
But my dad told me that the only way to be healthy, to stay in shape, to be fit, was to run. So I picked up that Walkman and a few tapes at age 12, and started mile by mile.
At this point, I run 20-30 miles a week. And now, I love it. I am not sure if it is the actual running I love, or the fact that when I am done, I have run. Could also be some special hormones too.
No matter. If you run or if you don't, you win! I would like to tell you about the things I am getting from my runs, through this blog. Here's the first one.
Running 3 miles uphill is tough. No way around it. But it must be done to get over that hill. And if you run, you get through it faster. (I tell myself this often). And then you hit the peak and you fly down the hill. THERE'S a thrill, provided you don't tumble or twist an ankle.
It almost seems too easy to relate life to a hill. But the only time we do it is when we talk about being "over the hill." And somehow that is supposed to be a bad thing.
The hard part (barring injury), is pushing yourself up. There is no easy way to go up. There is pain involved. And it takes time. Life was not meant to be easy. It was given to us to learn. Enjoy it through the pain, knowing that once you are over that hill, it's all downhill
But that is when things changed.
You don't tell me I can't do something. Even when truly, I can't. I began running for the <> fun of it. OK, I will admit. I don't know if it was ever fun.
But my dad told me that the only way to be healthy, to stay in shape, to be fit, was to run. So I picked up that Walkman and a few tapes at age 12, and started mile by mile.
At this point, I run 20-30 miles a week. And now, I love it. I am not sure if it is the actual running I love, or the fact that when I am done, I have run. Could also be some special hormones too.
No matter. If you run or if you don't, you win! I would like to tell you about the things I am getting from my runs, through this blog. Here's the first one.
Running 3 miles uphill is tough. No way around it. But it must be done to get over that hill. And if you run, you get through it faster. (I tell myself this often). And then you hit the peak and you fly down the hill. THERE'S a thrill, provided you don't tumble or twist an ankle.
It almost seems too easy to relate life to a hill. But the only time we do it is when we talk about being "over the hill." And somehow that is supposed to be a bad thing.
The hard part (barring injury), is pushing yourself up. There is no easy way to go up. There is pain involved. And it takes time. Life was not meant to be easy. It was given to us to learn. Enjoy it through the pain, knowing that once you are over that hill, it's all downhill
March 19, 2012
Why I Can't Start Writing Until I Play Games First
I will admit now to you, my faceless audience, my “fondness” for the game Bejeweled Blitz. I cannot start writing until I have payed a few games. (The reason for this, I have decided, is because it is a way of organizing and uncluttering things. Who can writing an organized thought when her mind is all cluttered? And even though they are only vitual messes, once they are disposed of, I feel my mind is straightened out enough to unwind my story. But that is a different tale!)
Bejeweled is a timed game. But even more than that, there is now way to “undo” moves that have been done, like one can do in many other games. This frustrates me, but has worked a life lesson into me at the same time. If I sit and ruminate on the move I could have made (that would have been perfect and earned me so many points!), time will tick by regardless. Time spent thinking about that move counts against me will not earn points. I must move on to new moves.
Life is a timed game. There is not enough time to think about what could have been. Spend your time thinking about how to make the rest of your time count for the best score possible. Wait! Is there a score in life? Oh, that is a blog for another
Bejeweled is a timed game. But even more than that, there is now way to “undo” moves that have been done, like one can do in many other games. This frustrates me, but has worked a life lesson into me at the same time. If I sit and ruminate on the move I could have made (that would have been perfect and earned me so many points!), time will tick by regardless. Time spent thinking about that move counts against me will not earn points. I must move on to new moves.
Life is a timed game. There is not enough time to think about what could have been. Spend your time thinking about how to make the rest of your time count for the best score possible. Wait! Is there a score in life? Oh, that is a blog for another
February 20, 2012
Sweating Tears of Ice
Here in my first post, I would like to explain to you how I came up with the name of this blog.
It was a strange phenomenon. This has been an unusually mild winter in Pennsylvania, and I have now become accustomed and spoiled by getting to take my Sunday afternoon long runs outside. So one week I was determined to continue my trend. It was just freezing out, and I have plenty of cold weather running gear, so why not? It was the middle of January!
Snow the previous day still lay fresh on my favorite trails, so I was forced onto the more dangerous roads. Wearing asphalt-black pants and a dirty-snow-white fleece. A new threat of precipitous weather brought heavy grey clouds. And therefore, I left behind my sunglasses.
Wind. Oh, that bitter wind. Just in my first few steps, it hit me. Clear in the naked face. My body spit back the only protection it had, warm salty tears. But just as the tiny drops of water hit the air, they froze right to my cheeks. In steps that followed, some of these drops escaped to the air in their crystalline state. And as I kept moving, those tears that stayed on my face made it all the way to my neck on a liquid trail. The warmth of my body was picking up with the output of work I was doing.
I won't lie, that was not a run I look back upon with fondness (even though I recall putting up a decent time on that 7 miles, just to get through it). But I spent that hour plus thinking about how my body was working to fight the elements.
The place in my life is similar. I love what I am doing. I love where I am. Just as I love running. Being a mother, a wife, a writer, and a daughter of the King are all what I have always wanted to be. But that doesn't make it any easier. There is more work involved in all of those jobs than I ever expected. Nothing comes easily. But I have been made into a person who will happily do what it takes automatically to succeed at these important tasks.
The tears will come. And the world may blow a cold wind upon them. But as long as I keep moving, and push through it, my body will adjust. The ice will melt from the heat of my passion.
It was a strange phenomenon. This has been an unusually mild winter in Pennsylvania, and I have now become accustomed and spoiled by getting to take my Sunday afternoon long runs outside. So one week I was determined to continue my trend. It was just freezing out, and I have plenty of cold weather running gear, so why not? It was the middle of January!
Snow the previous day still lay fresh on my favorite trails, so I was forced onto the more dangerous roads. Wearing asphalt-black pants and a dirty-snow-white fleece. A new threat of precipitous weather brought heavy grey clouds. And therefore, I left behind my sunglasses.
Wind. Oh, that bitter wind. Just in my first few steps, it hit me. Clear in the naked face. My body spit back the only protection it had, warm salty tears. But just as the tiny drops of water hit the air, they froze right to my cheeks. In steps that followed, some of these drops escaped to the air in their crystalline state. And as I kept moving, those tears that stayed on my face made it all the way to my neck on a liquid trail. The warmth of my body was picking up with the output of work I was doing.
I won't lie, that was not a run I look back upon with fondness (even though I recall putting up a decent time on that 7 miles, just to get through it). But I spent that hour plus thinking about how my body was working to fight the elements.
The place in my life is similar. I love what I am doing. I love where I am. Just as I love running. Being a mother, a wife, a writer, and a daughter of the King are all what I have always wanted to be. But that doesn't make it any easier. There is more work involved in all of those jobs than I ever expected. Nothing comes easily. But I have been made into a person who will happily do what it takes automatically to succeed at these important tasks.
The tears will come. And the world may blow a cold wind upon them. But as long as I keep moving, and push through it, my body will adjust. The ice will melt from the heat of my passion.
