Come with me.

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The sweetest moment happened to me in the early hours of Sunday morning.  Two days later, it’s still making me smile, so I want to share it here with you.

I had my alarm set to wake me at 6:30am, wanting to get in a run before the rest of my household was up, so as not to miss precious weekend family time.  In my mind, I was planning for a fast 8km, much of it at tempo pace, as I’m doing a 5K race on Friday and haven’t tested much speed since my shortened half marathon four weeks ago.  I was looking forward to the glassy lake, music in my earbuds, and to feel the burn in my lungs.  This run had been scheduled into my online calendar many days prior, and as I often do before a run, I had visualized my route and mentally prepared for the welcomed discomfort that a hard effort brings.

My alarm beeped softly, and sunlight was already streaming into the bedroom, a nice change from the cold, dark Winter pre-dawn runs only a few months prior.  My four-year-old daughter was snuggled up against me; as I’ve mentioned before, since our move last September she’s taken to crawling into our bed halfway through the night- something I cherish and know won’t last forever.  As I snuck out from underneath her embrace, her sleepy eyes started to open.  “Where are you going?” she whispered.  “I’m going for a run,” I replied. “Go back to sleep, it’s too early to get up.”

Now, she often stirs when I head to the gym at 5:30am and a simple “go back to sleep” puts her right back into dreamland.  But this time, her eyes welled up and as she laid back down I could see her little mouth turning into a soft whimper.  She began to suck on her fingers for comfort, something she’s done since she was a newborn.  She was crying because I was leaving.  My heart broke.

“Do you want to come with me?” I asked. “Yes,” she nodded and pulled back the covers, her bedhead on full display and her little body still warm from slumber.  In less than five minutes we were out the door, with a Chariot full of breakfast snacks and a little girl in pyjamas.  It was a sunny Summer morning, and because we were so early, we got to enjoy quiet streets and sleepy houses, with bunnies and robins abound.

I changed my run plan from push-the-pace to savour-this-moment, and savour it I did.  We did that 8km along the lake, as I had originally planned (and we got the glassy lake that I love so much), but my heart rate stayed low and my heartstrings pulled high.  I stopped to open snack containers, to play at the park, and to point out the geese and the paddleboarders.  We talked about every thought that popped into her head, every bike that rode by, and every seemingly-mundane thing that fascinates a four-year-old.  It was quite possibly the best run I’ve ever had, and my runner’s high is still going.

Running with my kids is not new- there are thousands of miles on my running stroller I’m sure, and they are both very used to joining me.  But this time was different because our family is at such a time of transition.  You see, this smart, inquisitive little girl is heading to full-time Kindergarten in September, and I’m having a hard time with it (see my previous post on the topic).  She’s growing up and gaining independence, and the days of me pushing her in the running stroller, the days of her sobbing to join me on a run, and the days of her sleeping beside me are numbered.  I’m hyper-aware of this the second time around.

Have I mentioned that I’m an emotional sort?  Add in life changes, my children, running, and a glassy lake, and I’m done for.  But my tears were happy ones, they are happy ones; it’s just that sometimes the love and gratitude overwhelm me.

So if you saw a crying mother and a chatty little girl zipping along the lakefront on Sunday, that was us.  “Run fast Mommy,” she said.

I will, sweet girl.  Come with me.

Integrity.

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We went for a hike yesterday, on Victoria Day.  It was a gorgeous holiday Monday, and the first solid taste of Spring warmth that we’ve had, with April and May being cold and wet thus far.  We went with great friends of ours, so we had three kids with us, all in the four to seven age range.  And as with most situations as a parent, some teachable moments presented themselves.

The conservation area that we went to was very busy, full of crowds of people, dogs, and picnic baskets.  We hiked along the trail, admiring the views, and listening to the chatter of our children as they ran back and forth, finding walking sticks and leaves, weeds and wildflowers.  We searched for chipmunks, talked about the plants lining the path, and stopped for a picnic lunch under the shade of a tree.  The ultimate destination of our hike was a waterfall, which made for great motivation to keep little legs moving forward and not lagging behind.

The trail led us towards a lookout platform, whereby we could see dozens of people at the base of the waterfall, sticking their feet in the cool water of the stream and admiring the force of the water as it cascaded down.  “Let’s see if we can get down there,” we agreed.  The kids were anxious to explore, and when I had read about this spot online, people talked about the ability to get up close and walk behind the falls.  It was something I’d mentioned to our children in the car on the way there, and that adventure was a big reason that they were so excited.

We continued along the path toward where we thought the access point to the base would be; but when we got there, we found that a black metal fence surrounded the entire area, and the stairs that led to the base of the gorge were roped off.  “No fence jumping” yellow signage was everywhere, and “Danger: stairs are unsafe” was clearly marked behind the double-barricade at the staircase entrance.

“We can’t go down there after all,” we told the kids.  “It’s not safe, and look at the signs.”  Yet as we explained the whys and why-nots to our disappointed crew, we watched dozens upon dozens of people jump the fence and go around the barricades.  The pathway that they walked, along the outside of the “no fence jumping” fence, was no wider than two feet across in some areas and traced the edge of the gorge’s 79-foot dropoff.  My heart raced as I saw women in wobbly high heels and preschoolers holding their parent’s hands trek precariously along this narrow route and down the “Danger: unsafe stairs” to the waterfall’s base.   There was a steady stream of people doing this, and we were the clear minority by choosing not to.

To their credit, the kids took this turn of events well.  They were mostly content to watch from the lookout, to have a snack by the bridge, and to climb trees.  But my seven-year-old did press the issue, and I found myself in a “I need to handle this well” parenting moment.  He’s an adventurous, curious boy who loves nature and exploring, and to miss the chance to go behind a waterfall when hundreds of others were doing it right in front of him was a hard lesson to learn.

In hindsight, I’m sure he and I could’ve made the trek down safely, and I bet some of you are questioning why I didn’t let him have that chance.

It’s because I don’t think that was the right lesson to teach.
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And this is my passion, movement.

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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.

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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/.