Slow Stone Running

Pondering stones & running...

Last week, I stood barefoot on a pair of silver plates and held onto handles like the spaceship steering-mechanism on Galaxy Quest (the Protector).
This machine said I'm carrying 35 pounds I'm not likely to need.

Honestly, I think the machine was fat-phobic. I just might want some of those pounds.
Let's say, 7 of them. That leaves a nice, round 2 stone.

Isn't stone a great word for 14 lbs. of human body weight?
Since we never use the word in the United States, it sounds neutral to me, without all the baggage that words about weight usually carry.

I also like that the plural of stone is...

I picture my 52-year-old skeleton carrying stones,
and the rubber bands holding my bones together straining against stone. And I know––(really know now, since it took 8+ months for my pulled wrist tendons to heal)––that if push comes to shove, stone wins.

So, in the two months since I've started running, I've been going slowly––a 14 minute mile, only a little faster than walking.

(An athletic friend informed me you can't say you "run" unless you're making at least an 8 min/mile.
I say, Way to be pedantic, friend!)

Going slowly is its own challenge.
My first running teacher encouraged me to push myself. The supposed virtue of pushing yourself is an American-held Belief, one as likely (more?) to produce hemorrhoids as heroes.

My second teacher, of a "Learn to Run" class at the Running Rm, suits me so much better.
She took three of us beginners out yesterday morning and told us to SLOW DOWN:
this idea that you should always run as fast as you can for as long as you can is actually counterproductive physically, she said.

Runners who care about this stuff can get all biochemical on you, but I gather you can run right past the spot where you are getting stronger, and right into the area where you are spinning your wheels. Or something like that.

So far (fingers crossed), I have not injured myself, for which I am deeply grateful.

The other day I stopped on the running path to the lake and cried. Just a little.
Because I was having fun, running.