Soul Places

Befriending the Soul through Inquiry and Creativity

Tag: runner

Falling Off the Wagon

A road to an ease-filled life.
Hungarian Countryside.
Copyright Diane Ludeking 2010


I have fallen off the writing wagon.

No permanent injuries have been sustained but some bruising is showing itself today as I look at my sparse spreadsheet for daily word counts this month.

I realized this week that my running life is a metaphor for my writer’s life (or vice versa).  I began running again a few weeks ago.  I thought that since I had run three miles easily before my last layup (I most likely quit or forget to run for a few weeks), I could pick up right where I left off.  Day three of returning to the run, my foot said, no way!  I simply cannot take it easy to get back into it.  It’s 150% or nothing.

I have hauled myself back onto the sugar eating wagon.

I am an emotional eater so self sabotage has been the cheer most recently.  I can’t run so I will trash my body.  Sounds like frustration disguised as a temper tantrum at thirty-six.  I gain weight as my book gets heavy from abandonment.

I write at 150% or nothing.  I am willing to write poorly, as long as my writing isn’t poor.  Blah!  I love to write accurately and metaphorically.  But I need to love to write poorly.  I love to write.

I begin a walking/hiking health-style today.  I vow to take it easy, to be gentle, even when I want to run (I am Peter Pan, after all, when I take to the woods).  I love to run!  But I need to love my body more by not abusing it.

I aim to bring my eating life and my writing life into alignment by beginning again.  Mindfully.

So instead of strolling down Sabotage Road, kicking the dust up with my lazy gait, looking for the muse-colored wildflowers, I will embrace every moment given to me in an effort to get back on the writing highway, paved with words and metaphors.

How has your creative life been suffering lately?  How are you keeping it alive?  How is your sanity these days?


Your Karma is in the Refrigerator

“Your karma is in the refrigerator.”  Donald Altman, Art of the Inner Meal

I came across this quote yesterday and realized it was the perfect antidote to what’s been on my mind the most these days:

My relationship with food.

I had considered myself a runner up until a few months ago.  A series of minor injuries had put me on the sidelines off and on over the last few years, but three months ago I finally gave up the idea when the injuries became more frequent and debilitating.  Frustrated, distraught and unable to release my anxiety about my body, I consoled myself with almond M&Ms and ice cream.  Yeah, instead of being more mindful about what I ate since I wasn’t running anymore, I did the complete opposite and engorged my self-pity with a bag or pint at a time.  Sometimes everyday for a week or more.

It came as no surprise – well, I feigned surprise – when my fat jeans no longer buttoned.

Forced to take inventory of my current state, I admitted to several unhealthy agreements that delivered me here.  I picked what I thought was the most important one, I ran so that I didn’t have to watch what I ate, and began a different kind of workout.  I did enjoy the high of running as well as the challenge of making it up that hill without stopping, but the healthy reasons for running had obviously become over run with my desire to eat whatever I wanted.  I thought I somehow deserved the treats for my suffering while not facing the real underlying message of I deserve an earlier grave.

My current workout is walking three miles, out in nature whenever possible, as I heal my body and my relationship to food.  I found it so time consuming to walk that distance when I used to be able to run it in less than thirty minutes.  Again, what is my agreement here?  Am I not worth the time to do it right, to find that healthy balance and longevity?  Now, I do my best to eat only when I’m hungry, stop when I’m satiated and break my fast with a green smoothie or fruit, yogurt and granola.  I seek out what my body really needs, no longer falling for the illusion of what I think it would like.  I listen, then I act – the pause in between has made all the difference.