Running in the rain

Running in the rain used to be one of my favorite things to do. I start out and it’s cold and the drops are like cold spikes against your skin but as I go, I warm up, and the drops are soft and cooling against my skin. There is something to be said, too, for being out in the rain without layers of clothes against getting cold or wet, with my legs bare and shoes soaking wet and to still be running in it.

I say it running in the rain used to be one of my favorite things to do but then I got Lyme and couldn’t withstand getting cold, much less wet. My doctors ordered me to stop running because the blood-brain barrier becomes permeable to the Lyme spirochete with cardio. I didn’t run for eight years. I wrapped myself up in 700 fill down vest in 90 degree weather. I lived small and tight and cautious.

I started running again, a year or two ago, but I’ve been running as sporadically as I’ve been writing this blog. Then the rains came. The first storms had me running to buy rainbows, umbrella, rain gear to bike in. Clothes that would make me impermeable to the wet and cold. The next storms came rolling through and I went out walking in it, hesitantly. Would I get sick? Would my body collapse under the strain of cold layered over illness? Would this be the one thing too much that would knock me by the wayside? Nope. I’ve apparently tip the scale back from collapse to resiliency.

Then storms came through again this week and I went out running in them, without layers of ranger. Just me, shorts and the rain. Rain soaked my hair and ran down my back, my legs were spattered with mud and my shoes go so wet that I didn’t hesitate to run through puddles. I heated up and the rain was a welcome cooling.

My shoes are still drying in the hallway from yesterdays run and my tulips are blossoming in my window box.

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Pain is your body in conversation with you

Pain can be scary. It’s uncomfortable and also indicative of something not right in the body but when it has no obvious source—not a burn nor a fall nor an accident, but just shows up, seemingly out of nowhere, and lingers, it can trigger fear and anxiety, interrupt sleep and make it harder to cope with let alone heal. Especially if you don’t know what to do to fix it.

 PJ-BB600_HEALTH_G_20110704185119I am no stranger to the downward spiral of pain creating fear and anxiety and disrupting my sleep. It begins with pain, becomes more pain and then fear that my body is disintegrating shows up followed by anxiety: am I injuring my body more? The fear and anxiety, I’ve noticed, usually cause the pain to intensify and spread. Lyme is a really painful disease. There were weeks when I couldn’t even walk for the pain in my knees and days when I couldn’t do anything but lay on my back for the spinal pain. At the time, I never knew what set the pain off and, until I was diagnosed with Lyme, no doc or PT I saw could figure out its cause either. The joint pain was so rough that it felt like, just by using my joints, I was contributing to their deterioration. For a dancer and athlete, this was a heartbreaking thought. I gave up so many activities I loved by the time I was twenty and just hoped that I would still be able to walk when I was thirty.

These days, my joints are stable, move fluidly and never even ache but I fully understand what so many of my clients are going through when they come to me because of pain and fear or with anxiety about “What is happening to my body?!”

When pain comes from a straight forward injury, it’s easy to understand and, as tough as it is to deal with it, you have a pretty good sense that the body will heal and the pain will pass. When pain comes from layers of muscular imbalance, skeletal misalignment, compensatory patterns, and inflammation, it can be hard to get to understand the root of it and hard to see an end in sight.

I try to disarm people first. By which I mean, to get them to unload the emotions around pain. We immediately jump to evaluating whatever state we are in: if we’re happy, that’s good. If we’re sad, that’s bad. If we’re in pain, that’s bad. What if, I ask my clients, you could just experience the pain? It is simply a sensation and assigning a negative judgment to it makes it worse. Uncomfortable, yes. Scary, possibly. But bad? No.

In fact, pain is an incredibly useful tool. It is your body in conversation with you. This hurts, it is saying, stop what you are doing because it’s not good for your health and survival. Pain if you touch your hand to a fire–you can see the immediate need to pull your hand away so you don’t burn it off, but pain in the low back from a lifetime of sitting isn’t necessarily as clear a direction. Pain will get you to stop and take a look around and see what isn’t working in your life, where you’re forcing yourself through situations that are hurting your body and make changes. The real trick is, do you stop and listen when your body speaks up? Are you learning how to listen to your body? It is yours, and you’ll be with it your whole life. If you listen now, you’ll be in better shape in the long run.