High on Accomplishment

10 Comments March 7, 2016 drworobec

Two days ago, I ran in Burlington’s Chilly Half Marathon. This was the 20th anniversary for the event, and I’m guessing that I’ve participated in six or seven of those twenty. The Chilly Half is a staple in my life. There have been years when I was fit and fast, years when I struggled just to finish, and years when I ran with friends for fun. Sunday seemed to be a combination of all of the above.

Approaching this race, my mindset was different than ever before. This time I was running for only me, ignoring the self-imposed pressures of race times and previous bests. My dear friend Michaela was set to be at my side, but unfortunately got sick the day before and couldn’t make it. So I ventured to the start line solo, took a picture to offset some nervous starting corral energy, and off I went with the pack.

I started much faster than I’d planned, getting caught up in race-day adrenaline and swept along with the thousands of footsteps around me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I heard panic in the voice from my running app as it announced my pace per kilometre. In hindsight, that panic was likely my internal dialogue, as I knew I could not hold onto the speed I’d started with. I have lots of racing experience and have probably completed upwards of thirty or forty half marathons; going out too fast is not an error I make often, but one that I know the full ramifications of. And sure enough, I paid for it: my right foot went sporadically numb, my chronic hamstring injury reared its ugly head, and my obliques were screaming from those awful toes-to-bar in my CrossFit Open workout two days prior. Kilometres six through nineteen were a blur of self-talk…..

“Breathe in. Breathe out.” “Keep going.” “Hold this pace.” I read signs and repeated them in my head to the cadence of my footfalls: “App-le-by Line. App-le-by Line. App-le-by Line.” I did the math over and over: “If I slow two seconds per kilometre for eight kilometres and then pick it back up for the last two, what will be my finish time?” “Just get to the turnaround.” “Just get to the next kilometre.” “You can do it.”

But this post isn’t meant to be a race report. To write a race report, you must race, and that’s not how I approached Sunday; I was over-scheduled, under-trained, and certainly not prepared. Instead, this post meant to tell you what happened after the race. I finished in 1:42. My personal best is 1:23 (in 2004). This means I ran nearly one minute per kilometre SLOWER than what I used to run. And yet, it’s hard for me to remember a running moment I’ve been prouder of than I was on Sunday.

You see, this was waiting for me:

My kids. My friend’s kids. The medal, the music, the energy, and they were caught up in it all. My children have been to dozens of finish lines to cheer me on, but this one seemed different. Their excitement and pride shone through their smiles, bigger than ever before, and I could physically see the impression I’d made on them.

The truth is, I talked myself through that entire 21.1km. I finished through sheer will and stubbornness. And that’s why I keep running, keep racing, keep coming back for more: the runner’s high. And really, the runner’s high is just fancy lingo for a sense of accomplishment.

On Sunday, my children got that runner’s high too. So all my struggle was worth it.

And this is my passion, movement.

Leave a comment February 23, 2016 drworobec

I attended a three-day seminar this weekend, taught by Dr. Craig Liebenson, a great thinker and leader in my profession. It was entitled “Prague School to Athletic Development; Functional Assessment and Core Training.” This is core rehabilitation at its finest.

But what really struck me about the course was the passion it brought about in me. Not passion about core rehab necessarily (although I did learn a lot on that front and will certainly be bringing some new and refined tools to my practice life), but rather, passion about movement. I believe in movement. I believe so deeply, so rooted in my fundamental values and understanding and conviction, that we were made to move.

The first topic Dr. Liebenson spoke about was what he called an “Inactivity Crisis.” Society is in the midst of an inactivity crisis, complete with sitting to commute, sitting at work, dropping physical activity levels, soaring obesity and heart disease and back pain. “Use it or lose it,” he said, referring to our body’s movements, and my heart and my mind and every part of me was silently nodding, screaming, jumping “EXACTLY!”

I can’t state it more simply than that. We need to move. And this is my passion, movement.

I plan vacations around outdoor activities. I find a gym in every city I visit. I enter races and competitions because I like the challenge. I would rather go for a walk than watch a movie. My favourite girl’s nights involve a workout. I chose to become a chiropractor because I wanted to work with athletes. I believe so strongly in movement and fitness and physical activity that I’ve centered my whole life around it. Movement is my common thread.

Kids who are more active get better grades. Adults who are more active lower their risk of cardiovascular disease, obesity, and depression. Seniors who are more active have fewer falls, take fewer meds, and have a better quality of life. Movement is a lifestyle, not 30-minutes three-time-a-week. It’s more than that. It’s a choice, a necessity, a responsibility.

I want my body to age well. When my crow’s feet deepen and my skin sags, I want to be able to get myself up off the couch. I want to be able to lift my own groceries and make my own meals and play with my grandchildren. And while movement isn’t the be-all-end-all guarantee that I will get to do these things, it’s a step in the right direction.

So how can I end this post without sounding like I’m ranting? Like I’m pointing a finger, being holier-than-thou, and standing on a soapbox? Perhaps I can’t. Perhaps I’ve already made you uncomfortable, made you introspect, made you think. If so, I’ve done my job. I’ve always said that this blog comes from my genuine, heartfelt beliefs. And I genuinely believe in movement.

“Just a few generations ago, physical activity was a constant part of daily life. Now we’ve done away with it so thoroughly, physical inactivity actually seems normal. The social and economic costs and consequences are unsustainable.” ~designedtomove.org

The End.

But you should watch this video: http://designedtomove.org/.

I Can’t Think of a Better Reason

3 Comments January 26, 2016 drworobec

I’ve been running a bit more lately, as I’ve registered for two half marathons this Spring. My first race is on Sunday, March 6th- it’s the Chilly Half Marathon in Burlington, and it’s got a start line that I can now walk to, since my family’s move this past Fall. I registered myself based largely on that fact alone; a pedestrian life makes me happy. My second race is at the end of May- another half marathon, this time a women’s-only in Toronto, that I’ve entered with two dear friends.

But as the date of my first race draws closer and my confidence starts to dip, as it always does before a race, I am shifting my approach and calling it a training run instead of a race. I’ve been less than perfect with my long runs, and since I’m only running once/week, that’s an important piece that’s been neglected. I have been consistently going to the gym four times per week, and throwing in some hot yoga for good measure, but the actual running mileage on my legs is very low. When I was in my prime long-distance-running years, I was logging 100km+ each and every week. I ran for the University of Calgary’s cross-country and track & field teams, and following that, running helped me to channel my energy through the intense demands of my Chiropractic degree. I got on some podiums, set some personal bests, and even won some money. I ran against the clock, against my strive for perfection, against my constant drive to be faster and better and better and better.

I still approach most things in life like this, and I’m nothing if not self-motivated. But now I’ve learned to control it. And the deep, dark truth is that running, or more accurately, racing, doesn’t always bring out the best of my psyche. There’s a fine line where my self-imposed pressure can become unhealthy, and black-and-white race times have the ability to play with my head.

I had my first child in 2009 and ran a 10-mile race ten weeks post-partum. In hindsight, this was a terrible decision, as my body was completely unprepared for that intense energy demand. But I needed to get back out there, I needed to feel like me again, and a big part of me is running. And from this race, I gained a positive despite the physical negative; that 10-miler changed how I saw myself. It showed me that running can be a subtitle in the story of my life, rather than the headline.

Throughout the past seven years, the expectations I’ve placed on myself and my running has exceedingly changed. I’m realizing that people don’t care about my race times. People don’t care if I win my age group or run a four-minute kilometre or (gasp!) have to slow down. People don’t care that my half marathon will be more than twenty minutes slower than my personal best and that it will likely take me three full days to recover.