Pushups?

I did five pushups this evening.  I’ve been off running for two weeks now, with tendinitis in my foot, and although I’ve done a bit of biking – commuting, is all – nothing for me tops the pleasure of rolling out the door for 6 or 10 miles and checking my watch to see how close I am to my goal time – per mile, per route, per plan.  I miss my marathon training like crazy.

Last night I was chatting with a good friend at a gig, and brought up my frustration at being off my feet.  She said she’d gone through the same thing, stopped running a year ago, and recommended pushups.  I said she was crazy.  She pointed out that you could count them, and improve your number every day.  And I said she was awesome.

Why did that simple statement make all the difference for me?  Running has been my dream sport for years not because I am a good runner, or fast, or apparently able to do it without injury.  What I love is the numbers.  I can go out for a run and push myself to achieve more than the day before, and I can know that I did it by the numbers on my watch, or in my training log. When winter weather keeps me off the streets, I can enjoy a treadmill all the more because the numbers are all there right in front of me.  My pace, the seconds, the tenths of a mile just ticking off digitally before my eyes.  If I ran with no goal, no measurement device, and no idea of what I did yesterday, I’d still enjoy the endorphins and the experience – but I’d probably stop after ten minutes.  In the absence of that personal drive to top myself, or to hit a certain pace for a certain time in my plan, the exercise itself wouldn’t be exciting.

But pushups, now.  I could work up to ten in a row.  I could do two sets, or work up to three.  I’d be able to feel and see myself getting stronger.  I could get a little better every day and I LOVE doing that!

Years ago I commented to my father, the marathoner and superman, that running gave me an outlet for my obsessive need to analyze and improve my own performance – a thing to work on that was low stakes.  Zero stakes, compared to playing the oboe.  After all, every time I play in public I am heard, and judged, to an extent, by my colleagues and bosses if not always by the audience, and I really can’t afford to play badly.  As a freelance musician, my career is on the line with every appearance, and a few bad ones can drop me down a call list pretty fast. 

When I run a race, though, the only one who cares about the result is me.  I’m not naturally fast and won’t ever challenge the front runners, but I can compete against myself to my heart’s content, and enjoy the challenge with no negative results.  Except, I suppose, irritating injuries which then keep me from running. 

Hence, pushups.  Let’s see if I can’t get strong while I’m waiting around to get healthy.

I love my life.