Amanda Wowk

Running has been a part of my life as far back as I can remember, though my true passion for running developed after the formal structure of collegiate sport gave way, and I transitioned to distance running.  One might imagine my love for the sport stems from its immediate and continuous physical benefits.  However, I’ve used running as a means to not only build outward, physical strength, but to quietly build inner strength as well.  Each time I lace up and set out, I use the run as an uninterrupted problem-solving opportunity.  With each stride, I remedy relationship woes, clear my head of unwanted stress, and drive out the inner demons lurking the corners of my mind.  No matter the distance covered, I arrive at the finish, elated by the same feelings of satisfaction and release.  Running provides a stillness of the mind that I couldn’t find elsewhere.  Over the course of my adult life, I’ve moved states and countries, and I’ve found that running has enabled me to foster friendships, endure loss, and celebrate seemingly unattainable triumphs.  Because of running, I’ve discovered two personal truths: I am capable of giving up, and I am capable of refusing to.  I also know that these truths are universally relatable, and as runners, we like to connect with others who understand this.

When I moved to New York City in the spring of 2014, I settled on an apartment that granted me easy access to the East River running path and Central Park.  The options gave me ample opportunity to suit my needs: I could squeeze in quick morning runs along the water, or head out for longer training runs over the rolling hills of the park. Admittedly, prior to my move, I had been a spoiled runner.  I’d spent the seven years prior in South Florida, gliding effortlessly over flat courses and training outdoors, year-round. I was fortunate to have found multiple avenues to enable my running in New York.

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And then, winter set in, and my roads to run slicked over with ice, snow, and slush.  Darkness fell too early, lingered too long to run outside, and the thought of an indoor run invoked more stress than relief.

So what was a New York runner to do? ‘Try yoga,’ a friend suggested.

Yoga?! I guffawed.  It was no secret that as a runner, I had considerable work ahead of me to strengthen my core.  But it wasn’t the physicality of yoga that intimidated me.  It was the idea of sitting, standing, stretching and balancing in one place that frightened me.  How was I to locate the same hard-fought answers I found while propelling myself forward in an environment that demands that I remain still?  How would I manage to find this stillness if I wasn’t covering any stretches of ground, if I wasn’t searching anywhere new?  I’d have only my scheming mind to explore; it would be a detrimental disaster!

But what other choice did I have?  With winter winds howling, I cautiously heeded my friend’s advice.  At the very least, I reckoned, the one-time class would soothe and stretch my muscles, and I could return to the icy roads with recovered limbs.  I arrived in the warmth of the quiet studio, expectations low.  I rolled out my mat, and mimicking the others, laid down in my first savasana.  In the quiet of that very first posture, a creeping fear blossomed: what if I wasn’t any good at this?  The teacher beckoned us to rise.  I took that opportunity to peer around the room at these calm, limber women in their finest lululemon gear.  More fear blossomed.  I didn’t fit in here.  I was a clumsy imposter.  So much for finding balance in body and mind; both of mine were an outrage here.  I swore to myself I’d make it through this episode of self-embarrassment, and then return to what I was good at.

It was then that our teacher began to speak about the individuality of our practice, providing the room with her reassuring coos of guidance.  She emphasized the power of being centered, of focusing on each posture, of minding our breathing.  She coached us to tune in.  With our eyes now closed, she encouraged us to be mindful of why we chose to come here today.  That for each of us, the reason would be different, but reminding us that no matter our questions, the answers we sought were inside.

Her lesson suddenly resonated with me.  I began to focus on each breath, letting it taking me further inwards until inwards was the only place I fixated on.  Mentally, the fears of not fitting in melted away because the only person in the room that I focused on was myself.  Physically, I could feel my muscles burning as I held a new pose, and the anxiety over losing my pace on the roads drifted off with each stabilizing stretch deeper.

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 Because of yoga, I had stopped needing running as I had before.

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By the end of the hour, I was hooked.  The inner tranquility I felt was far greater than I’d ever expected.  I signed up for another session the very next day.  Class by class, position by position, I learned that any problem I formerly solved via running, any remedy I sought, any unwanted stress I alleviated, any inner demon I chased, I could set down on that yoga mat, and sit with, stretch, balance, and breathe through until it melted away. 

My brilliant friend smiled when I shared this news with her.  The yogi in her confessed that she knew where the answers had lingered all along, but as a runner, she saw that it was a journey I had to make on my own.

The spring returned.  With anticipation, and slight nervousness, I laced up my shoes for my first outdoor run.  Unexpectedly, I found that as I settled back in to my natural pace, both my performance and my temperament had improved!  Because of yoga, I had stopped needing running as I had before, and by relinquishing it of its previous duty, I had granted myself a new freedom.  It wasn’t the labels that defined me – runner or yogi.  I was free to be whomever I chose, because regardless of the activity, I was capable of giving up, and I was capable of refusing to.  And that choice is what would truly define me.

Through her love for travel, and an enchanted six months living in Edinburgh, Scotland, Amanda discovered her calling to story-tell.  In pursuit of her writing dreams, she chose to make a cozy corner of Manhattan home.  When she’s not running loops of Central Park, you can find her tucked away in a wine bar, working on her first novel.  

Follow Amanda on her blog at www.amandawowk.com and on Twitter and Instagram @amandawow_k.

 

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