Heavy Breathing

"The only reason I would take up jogging is so that I could hear heavy breathing again." Erma Bombeck

Last night, I instructed my yoga students to breathe into whatever body parts were feeling, to put it mildly, discomfort. Among the four of us, if you gathered up all the aches and pains and injuries and scars, you could build a human in need of a full body cast. It was, truly, a kvetch-fest.

My muscle of contention was located somewhere in my right hip. With all due respect to yogic teachings, the breathing barely made a dent in the nagging pain, which comes and goes, coincidentally, based upon whether I am foolish enough to attempt a head clearing jog. It's a tough choice: psychic relief versus a functioning hip joint. Sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do.

So, genius that I am, the other day when sun appeared and the temperature soared, I truly believed that a run would be so exhilarating my hip wouldn't even notice. I began running when I was in law school, when I was plagued by uncertainty and a remarkable -- even for me -- lack of focus, and much of my mental and physical energy was consumed by a losing battle with eating disorders. A friend was convinced he could help, and dragged me out every day for a week for a run. I whined, I resisted, but I kept going -- due more to his persistence than my own.

The going was tough at the beginning, but, without a middle aged hip or other naturally deteriorating body parts to hamper my progress, I started to like it. My friend was able to step aside fairly quickly as I developed a bit of an addiction to running. The changes in my body were nothing compared to the changes in my psyche, as running gradually replaced my bulimia. Conservation of addictions, I suppose. Like energy, they don't disappear; they simply find somewhere else to go.

I ran for years. No amount of biking or walking or vigorous weight lifting or even yoga has ever succeeded in replicating the psychological benefits of running, however fleeting. I would solve my problems and the problems of humanity at large; I would write entire lectures for work in my head, and I would beat back the demons of the day.

These days, I choose to face the demons without the crutch of eating disorders and, except for one day about every six months, without running. I rely on a variety of activities to compensate for my old addictions when I need to free up my brain and beat back the demons. I write, I exercise, I eat comfort food without remorse, I play solitaire, and I watch NCIS reruns. Occasionally, I even go out with friends. Whatever it takes.

And, on rare occasions, I ignore my rational self and the perennial dull ache in my hip and lace up my running shoes. For a good hour after my journey, I am feeling no pain.