Rage Running

Last night was a tough one. I was at the tail end of my period - the day when, after nothing happens for 24 hours, suddenly I am bleeding harder than any other previous day. The aches are deep, twisting my uterus in a spiral that grabs at all local muscles - intestines especially.

It’s been a week of bumping up against men, patriarchy, sexism, misogyny. In all kinds of ways, some subtle, but mostly explicit. I keep finding it in my interactions with men, and embodied deeply in the women I know and interact with. I have the great fortune to listen to 28+ stories a week - 28+ people sharing whatever is in and on their minds at any given moment. In addition to classes, it just so happens this last week, I heard and read a lot of difficulty, abuse, rape; or obliviousness about those incidents. It’s fatiguing, exhausting, actually, and I’ve needed a lot of naps to restore my sanity and energy; that it should all parallel my period seems perfect in some ways.

Last night it all hit a peak. A few messages cumulated into one hour, and I hit the wall. I went to TRE, I went to writing, to meditation, to walking in between thunderstorms and seeing a gorgeous and dramatic sunset. But it was clear none of these things were going to dissipate the energy I needed to expel safely. 

So I ran. It was night, so I ran at home, on my treadmill. I turned up Front Line Assembly, my ultimate rage tunes: “Trying to make music to piss you off” - and pounded out a couple of miles. I stayed mindful enough to make sure I didn’t hurt myself, but I let my feet hitting the rubber give me the release I needed, and often I pressed harder and faster than I would in a regular run. By the end, I finally felt spent.

Texting with a friend and colleague about some of the triggers, I suggested a “rage run” or whatever exercise she could do to get that energy out physically. Honestly, I am not sure what I would do if I couldn’t run it out. I know I would find a way. And I am back to reminding myself, partly in this post, to run more frequently, so it doesn’t build up to this. Prevention runs, not just prescription runs. 

Rage is powerful. It gave me tremendous clarity and a “feather breaks the camel’s back” quality last night. But left in my body, it turns into similar coils as my menstruating muscles. It disturbs my mind, my digestion, and turns from clarity into righteousness and wild aggression. Finding a way to work with it - art, movement, expression - is essential to digest it and transmute it.