Triggered memory

I haven't been excited to think about running lately.  I'm finally getting that urge to get out there back, and I can't really get out there as much as I'd like to or push myself as hard as I'd like to.  I'm facing a still-painful knee and more PT before it's going to get better.  And then once the pain does disappear, I'll be staring at a few weeks and months of tough runs to get myself back to where I want to be.  I'm still running.  But it's not the kind of running that I'm used to.

So instead I'm going to discuss something else.  Something random that occurred to me in a cab ride on the way home Saturday night.  It's a bit of a revelation to me:

Sometimes, albeit rarely, I find that I miss New York City.

And it usually happens when I'm sitting in a cab by myself in the middle of the night, headed home.

I miss NYC but not with the nostalgia of a former home or the desire to live there again. I miss it with the heartache of a love that has been lost and won't be found again.

And as odd as it sounds, I fell in love with New York City in a cab.

Picture this:

3 (or maybe 4 or 5) AM, the city is dark and as quiet as it allows itself to get.  You might have had a fun night.

Near the end of days (Spring 2008).

Or maybe you didn't.

But either way, you're exhausted, a little too intoxicated, and all you want to do is click your heels and be home in bed.  You're probably a little bit sad and as much as it hurts to admit it, lonely.  So you catch a cab.

Because the thought of tackling the subways alone at 4AM seems daunting
and a little bit scary.   (Early days circa 2003/4? when the idea of straightening
my hair still seemed fun). 

Because you're so tired, the minute your bottom hits the seat of the cab, you slump down low, knees hitting the back of the barricade in front of you, head pushing back against the seat.  And because this was before the days of smart phones, you find yourself with nothing to do but gaze up and out the window, contemplating the woes of your always-overwhelming NYC day.

As you look up, you begin to notice the tops of the buildings as the towers blur by.  Cruising through the streets of midtown, you begin to sit up a little, watching the scenes that speed through your little window frame.  Then suddenly, you're entering Time's Square, and since you're in a cab in the middle of the night instead of being suffocated between crowds on the sidewalks in the middle of the day, you actually feel a little awe struck by all the lights.  And you realize that the woes of your day are the last thing on your mind.

You continue south, encroaching on the Village.  And as you get deeper into it, you watch the buildings change.  They grow smaller, look a little older, express more character.  You imagine being here in the 80's.  When the subways were covered in graffiti, the world was a little bit rougher and life may have been tougher.  When Roger and Mimi were struggling through their AIDS-tainted romance and Mark was video-documenting everything with his hand crank camera (because the 80s in NYC were exactly like Rent).  

You swing by Washington Square Park, marveling at the well-light arch, wondering why haven't ever researched more about the amazing things that happened here.

This isn't the arch at night, but you can use your
imagination here.

Continuing south, briefly through Soho, the cab takes a turn onto Delancy to head east.  And it's here that you picture what it was like before there was an upper Manhattan.  Before there were numbered streets, when the gangs were in charge.  Gangs that survived at the tip of a knife, not the barrel of a gun.  Your mind jumps from Newsies to A Winter's Tale to Gangs of New York in a disjointed lightening of scenes.

Then you feel the rise of the cab as it climbs onto the Williamsburg Bridge.  You jerk your head around and take in the sight of Manhattan as you leave it behind.  And here, you aren't consumed by history, but by the future and all that it has to offer.  Because that is the promise of the city as you stare at it's skyline.  It sucks people in and promises them a future where dreams are fulfilled, stars are born, and lives are lived full to brimming.  When you can't see it anymore, the cab slips off the bridge into Brooklyn.

You slide back down into the seat.  Knees touch the barricade in front of you, head slumped back against the seat.  You smile.  Because in the last 20 minutes you realized exactly where you are.  You are in New York City.  A city that lives and breathes it's own life.  Full of the past, the future, and all the hopes, dreams and lives found in between.  And whether those lives were happy or sad, whether those dreams were reached or abandoned, it doesn't matter.  You are here.  And that's kind of amazing.  

At this moment, in the early morning as the sun begins to rise and you are ready for bed, you are in love with New York.  And you can't even really articulate why.  You sink down deeper in the seat, staring at the lights out the window and enjoy this moment of love.

College visits, 2001 (first time in NYC).

Then the cab stops, you dig out some cash, and step out into the cold.

And the moment is gone.

You'll experience it again.  A few weeks from now.  A few months from now.  And every time you do, you'll be amazed the you live in this city.  Even after 6 years, it won't cease to amaze you.

Your dislike of the city will eventually outweigh these brief moments of love, and you will leave.  Kind of like this: 

You won't regret leaving and you won't want to go back. 

But for the rest of your life, wherever you are, on lonely cab rides in the middle of the night, when you've had a little too much to drink, you'll remember 4 AM cab rides in NYC.  And nothing will ever compare.

It will be those moments, those seldom and often forgotten brief moments, when you'll remember that you were once in love with NYC.  And it will be in these moments that sometimes, on rare occasions, you'll miss New York City.

It will make you a little sad, but you'll be happy for the sadness.  Because you lived there once.  And New York City will always be a part of you.  As much as you hate to admit it.

(And that will be why you'll cross your fingers every year for the rest of you life the day that the New York City Marathon announces it's lottery entries.  Because it all come back to running, right?)

Amica Seattle Half Marathon Recap

I've said it many times before, and I'll say it once again: you never know what challenges or surprises a race may bring.  This Sunday's race was no different.

Weeks before the Seattle Half Marathon was on the horizon, I knew that it wasn't going to be the power-through PR race that it's been for me the past couple years.  It was two years ago in this race that I gave it my all on a rainy morning and finally clocked in under the 2 hour mark.  Then last year, with the ego booster of a PR at the Nike Women's Half Marathon just a month and a half before, I rocked through the hills, leaving everything I had in me out on the race course and clocking a time almost 7 minutes faster than the 1:59 I had eked out the year before.

This year was nothing like those last two races.  When I woke up Monday morning, a week before the race, I looked at the challenges put before me (some I set before myself, others unavoidable):

1)  A month and a half of very little running. When my knee started giving me troubles in mid-October about a week or so after the Portland Half, I decided to stop running for a while.  I was mentally, and obviously physically burnt out.  I took up hot yoga for a bit and ignored my running shoes for longer than I have in quite a while.  When I started coaching Spring season for TNT, I got back on my feet a bit, but not much.  I had few runs outside of coaching runs, and when I did they were less than 2 miles and very slow.

2) A bum knee.  Things with the knee have been touch and go lately.  The pain is barely noticeable some days, bearable on other days, and somewhat debilitating on others.  I've been choosing whether or not to run/how far to run based on how it's feeling throughout the day.  I've seen two PTs, and neither have suggested a complete break from running, so I'm still trying.  I've been doing my butt exercises and strengthening my hips according to the PT's orders, but things are progressing at a snail's pace.

3) Tired muscles.  Here's the self-inflicted challenge.  Sunday morning, a week before the race, I decided to go on my first trail run (a birthday run for a fellow TNT coach).  Keep in mind items 1 and 2 above, then imagine me on an 8.5 mile trail run with a ridiculous amount of elevation gain (we summitted 3 mountain peaks), and then just as much elevation loss.  The downhills killed the knee, and my muscles worked harder than they had since my half-Iron.  I woke up Monday morning feeling pain on a level with post-first marathon pain.  Then Tuesday hurt even more.  I hobbled through the week and could still feel soreness when I ran with my elementary school running club kiddos in the Seattle Kids Marathon Saturday morning before the half.

Look at that gorgeous group of trail runners.  The pain was worth it.  And,
according to Darren, this picture was taken by the lead singer of Death
Cab for Cutie, who also happened to be out on a trail run that day.

On the Wednesday before the race, I had another PT appointment.  The PT recommended me doing a run/walk for a while until my knee is feeling back up to snuff.  The reason: we run most efficiently at our normal pace.  I'd been doing a lot of runs at a slower pace on legs that aren't as strong as they normally are.  It is better for me to run 5 minutes at my pace, rest for a minute, and then repeat than to try to push through a long run on slow, tired legs.  When I run on slow, tired legs I'm not doing my knee any favors.

I thought about this advice long and hard as I ate Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, watched the Apple Cup on Friday, and ran the Kid's Marathon (just 1.2 miles, not as daunting as it sounds) on Saturday.  Then Saturday afternoon, as I was volunteering in the TNT booth at the race expo, I told Erica that I had decided to do the race at a 5:1 run/walk.  Somewhat surprisingly, she agreed to do it with me (she was also coming off a few weeks of very little running and wasn't expecting any big PRs this race).  While Erica is a wonderful running buddy and supportive friend, she is also one of the more competitive people I've ever known, so I knew this walk/run thing might not go over well.  But she graciously swallowed her desire to run as best she could and committed to tagging along with me.  What an awesome friend.

While this was not ideally how I wanted to be running this race, it was what life had dealt me.  So, instead of being upset or disappointed, I decided to look at it as a new opportunity.  I've heard lots of good things about the run/walk method, and I'm coaching people who are using it.  Why not give it a try myself?

After eating a delicious pasta dinner Saturday night with Erica after volunteering, I headed home and straight to bed.  I didn't prep my race belt.  I didn't take out my race outfit or pin my numbers to my race shirt.  I didn't "dress the chair."  In every aspect possible, I was more unprepared for this race than I had ever been for any other race.

Sunday morning, I woke up, feeling as though this could be just any other long run.  I layered up (it was supposed to be very cold and very rainy), found all my race items, pinned my race bib, and headed to the start line with Erica and Ana.  We broke the 5:1 news to Ana, who had only decided to do the race that Friday.  She also graciously gulped down the news and said she'd give it a try.

We went to the TNT tent to meet up with some other Teammates and hide out inside before braving the cold.

Me, Ana, and Erica, bundled up and "ready" to race.  I wore my sparkle
skirt, because I needed some sparkle strength (sparkle strength
is derived from this amazingly strong sparkly lady--the "therapy" she refers
to in her race recap is in fact chemotherapy.)

Heading out to the start line, it was a lot warmer than we all thought it would be, and the 100% chance of rain wasn't rearing it's ugly head.  The body heat of thousands of bodies at the start line always helps for warmth as well.

Ironman Jason started with us.  Yes, he is wearing a tutu and got a
lot of amazing shout outs from runners and spectators alike for it.

As we crossed the start line, I gulped big and simply hoped that my knee would hold out--telling myself that if my knee made it through last week's trail run, it could make it through this.

The first few miles went quickly.  I had set my watch to vibrate at me for my run/walk intervals, so I kept everyone hard and fast to them.  While running down 5th Ave toward I90, we were hit with some pretty strong sideways gusts of wind (one so strong that Erica lost her hat), but that was the worst of the weather we saw through the entire race.  The impending storm never showed up.

Once on 90, as we made our way toward the tunnel, Ana sped ahead of us.  The walk breaks were hurting her hips, so we shooed her ahead of us.  Some luckily timed walk breaks got Erica and I through the tunnel (and the TNT cheer/water stop) and down the steep, slippery hill off 90 onto Lake Washington.  Taking the left onto Lake Washington, I knew that we had the biggest hills looming up ahead of us.

My knee had started hurting a few miles in.  It wasn't too bad, just a dull ache, but it was certainly there.  Also, we had really upped the pace on some of our run intervals and my legs were feeling like lead.  My initial instinct, as we ran through Leschi, was to get mad at myself for being tired and hurting.  But it wasn't my fault.  Not being tired and not hurting was never a part of the plan for this race.

So instead of turning to frustration, I slowed down and looked around.  The Seattle half is a beautiful race.  Although it's hilly, it's a great course.  And the energy of the other runners on race day cannot be beat.  I decided to absorbed it all.  I was out there running--doing one of my favorite things on one of my favorite race courses.  I pushed the negativity deep inside and ignored it.  This day was a good day.

We hit the start of the big hills, taking a left up Galer (super steep 2 block hill) and then a left onto Madison.  A walk break hit at the bottom of the Galer hill, which I sincerely appreciated.  Erica, who likes powering up hills to get through them, sped up ahead of me and waited for me at the top.  We ran the Madison hill together (which seemed easier than it ever has before even though I didn't get any walk breaks on it) and continued down through the Arboretum.

When we hit the big hill to go up Interlaken, Erica powered up it again to wait for me at the top.  I told her I'd probably walk most of it because my knee was hurting, so she knew I'd take a little longer.  I made it to the top, physically feeling surprisingly ok (except for the knee) and looked around for Erica.  When I didn't see her, I figured she'd run ahead to the TNT mission mile, which we knew wasn't too far ahead.

When I got to the mission mile, I slowed down a little to look at all the remembered angels we were running for.

Heather, Erica's sister, was one of the first signs I saw.  The butterfly I wore
on my shoe that day was for her.

I asked every teammate and coach out there on the course that I saw whether or not they had seen Erica.  When they kept saying no, I finally figured that we must have missed each other at the top of the hill and she had waited a while longer at top.  I hoped she hadn't waited too long.  

For the rest of the race, I waffled back and forth between enjoying the beauty and expecting Erica to catch back up to me at any moment.  When we finally saw each other again at the finish line, I found out that she had waited for me for 10 minutes at the top of the hill before she decided to keep going.  And then she felt guilty the rest of the race, worrying that she had possibly left me behind injured on the hill.  Again: best running buddy ever.

In the final miles of the race, I settled into paces that felt comfortable.  I saw Ironman Joe, who ran with me for a bit, reminding me to take it easy, especially on the downhills.  For once, it was advice I had already been following and took easily.

I cruised through the final couple miles, sticking to my 5:1 interval and feeling pretty great (other than the knee pain, which had dulled a bit since the middle miles).  I crossed the finish line in the stadium at Seattle Center in 2:09.  The last two times I had crossed that finish line, I was exhausted, drained of all energy, and dizzy.  Not this race.  That's not what this race had been about.

Obviously, finishing 21 minutes slower than my PR, this was not my best race.  And as Erica reminded me later, nor was it my "worst."  But when I thought about those 2 halves I had run that were worse, "worse" wasn't really the adjective that fit.  In 2008, I ran my first half marathon in a 2:16.  This was in no sense of the word a bad race.  I was more proud of myself than I had ever been.  Then the Goofy half, Erica and I strolled through in a 2:30.  This was fully on purpose and in preparation for the marathon we were running the next day.  And it was in no way my "worst" race.  In fact, to this date, it was the most fun I have ever had in any race.

In terms of time, no this was not a great race.  It was not a soul-testing, will-pushing race.  But I hadn't expected it to be, and I was not disappointed in myself in the least.  I ran smart.  I was taking care of my body, my knee, and being realistic about what I could handle endurance-wise.  I didn't finish with that wonderful "I gave everything I had" feeling, because giving my all that day wasn't what was healthy for me.

I'm patting myself on the back.  Look at me making smart choices about my addictive running habits.

Sunday was a great race.  It was a race unlike any other.  A race that I ran/walked, that I tried hard not to push myself in, that I didn't hit a wall in, and that I enjoyed every minute of.  All in all, I'd call that a success.

Happy finishers.

And now, I'm ready to focus on getting healthy again.  I will take it easy and I will run smart.  Because for my next race, whenever that may be, I'm beginning to crave to good fight again.  I'm ready to re-test the limits of my soul once more.

The desire to run is officially back in full force.  It's about time.

A lack of control

This week has been a trying one.  I've been fending off the second round of a cold I had 2 weeks ago.  My knee still hurts.  I haven't made it to yoga as much as I'd like to.  And life in the classroom has been a challenge, to say the least.  I haven't been sleeping very well, and I'm counting down the days until Thanksgiving Break...even though the weekend seems to be filling up with more plans than I'd actually like to have.

When I have weeks like these, what bothers me the most is how I feel as though I completely lose my sense of control.  Which is kind of a big deal to me.

I'm a person who needs to be in control.  And when I feel as though I've lost it, circuits in my brain go a little haywire, throwing my emotions, stress level, and ability to focus completely out of whack.

It feels very much like this inside my head.

I realize that having an obsessive need for control is not always the healthiest way to live, but I typically try live with this desire in only the healthiest of ways.  I find that the majority of the time, it works out pretty well for me.  And we all have our faults, right?  This is one of mine.

So when weeks like this happen, when all that surrounds me seems to be spinning into chaos, I have to slow myself down.  I have to decompress, take a deep breath, and remind myself of the things that I can control.  Because, in my life, while there are a lot of things that I can't control, there are also a lot of things that I can.

I can't control which children walk through my classroom door each morning.  I can't control the home lives they come to me from.  I can't control the social, emotional, academic, or physical problems they carry with them.  I can't control whether or not they are sick, or if they got enough sleep last night.  I can't control if they are bathed, or fed, or if they did their homework.

But I can control my reactions to all the baggage they bring with them.  I can stop telling myself "If only things at home would just get better," because more often than not, that won't happen.  I can try my best to make the classroom environment a safe, welcome place for them.  I can try to teach them the best way I know how, working together with children through any struggles that may arise.  I can choose compassion over frustration and anger.  I can choose to smile, even when smiling is the last thing I want to do.  I can choose to try my best, because that's the best I can do.  And when I finally leave the classroom at the end of the day, I can choose to leave those children and all their baggage behind me in the classroom.  Because as much as I love them, I love myself too.  And I can't spend all my waking hours worrying about all the parts of my job that I can't control.

I can't control this slowly creeping chest cold.  When I wake up in the morning, and my throat hurts or my nose is running, I can't snap my fingers and make myself better.

But I can control how I deal with it.  I can drink my Emergen-C twice a day.  I can sip hot tea all day long.  And I can try my best to get enough sleep to let whatever it is that's trying to sneak up on me pass through my body as quick as can be.

I can't control my still-painful knee.  I can't control the pain that radiates down the outside when I run, and sometimes even walk.  I can't make the pain go away by getting angry or frustrated with it.

But I can try my best to work through it and treat it nicely.  I can be a good girl and go to the doctor (PT appointment #2 coming up this weekend).  I can ice it (currently in progress).  I can foam roll, no matter how much it hurts.  And I can choose to run as best as I can, accepting and being happy with what I can do now.  Because I can still go out there and run.  And that is a gift.

I can't control the fact that running as much as I want to isn't a possibility right now.  Running, my solid rock, my stress reliever, my center for control when I feel I've lost it, can't be a huge part of my weekly routine right now.  I can't control the fact that after over a month of little to no running, I feel winded after just a mile or two.  I can't control the fact that running more than 2 or 3 times a week is all I can do.

But I can control what I do instead.  I can keep at it the few times I do make it out to run.  I can rejoice in the fact that those short, easy runs are perfect for getting Lucy back into running shape.  I can find other ways to relieve stress and find my center.  Like yoga.  And writing.  And wine.

And petting this lady.

There are a lot of things in my life I can't control.  Probably about 75% of what happens in my world is out of my control.

But I can control how I react to and deal with those things which I can't control.  I can choose to accept what life throws at me.  I can choose to see good where it doesn't seem like there is any.  Because there is always something good.  No matter how small.  I can choose to let the little things roll off my shoulders.  I can choose to let them go.  I can choose to not get upset about things that I can't control.  Because, obviously, I can't control it.  So why waste all the energy getting frustrated or upset?  The question is, what will I do next now that I'm faced with this situation?  And I choose to breathe deep, relax, and move on from here.  Because there are really only two choices: to get stuck or move forward.  And I choose to move forward.  Moving forward is what I do best.

In the wise words of one of my favorite authors:

~Kevin Henkes

Connections and crossed paths

Remember Donnie Darko?  Aside from the creepy rabbit, I loved this movie.  Especially the ending.  When the world slows down and suddenly Donnie can see all the paths we leave behind.  He can see the strings of our movement through the world, and how they are all infinitely connected.

Can you imagine being in the middle of a dark movie theater and having
this guy suddenly appear?  I would run screaming and crying like a child.

As a poetically philosophical, slightly depressed college student, I loved to think about those paths.  I'd walk the streets of New York City, imagining all of the crossing paths of the people that passed me by.  It comforted me to think of all of the infinitesimal ways that we are connected, even when we don't know each other and fail to notice or acknowledge one another on the street.

I still like the idea that everything is connected.  What we do in this world, the path we take and the choices we make are a result of these connections and become the catalyst for others.  Nothing, and no one, exists in isolation.

So what got me thinking about all of these connections this week?

One guess.

Running!

Surprised?

Last Thursday, after a painful 2 mile run with the Lucy dog, I finally sucked it up and made a physical therapy appointment.  I should have done it sooner, but I'd been secretly terrified that I was going to be told I had a stress fracture (like I did 3 years ago) and would be out of commission for a while.  I didn't want to be out of commission.  But another painful Saturday run only confirmed my decision was a good one, and I strolled into the office just before my 2:30 appointment.

My hour long appointment started immediately with stress fracture talk.  The PT seemed to be slightly concerned that the pain was in the same knee.  She pulled out an ultrasound, which apparently is a quick and easy way to diagnose the existence of a stress fracture.  The vibration causes a deep, sharp pain in the area of the fracture, if there is one.  I held my breath as she turned the machine on and touch it to my knee.

No pain!  Phew.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then we proceeded through an hour of connections to determine where this pain was coming from.  Because if there's one thing I've learned about the human body from running, it's that the source of the problem is typically not where the pain is showing its ugly head.

The PT started at the left outer knee (where the pain is), and worked her way up, deep massaging tendons, feeling for connections.  Before too long, she was measuring distances between my hips, knees, and ankles.  The first thing she noticed was that my pelvis was slightly tilted on one side.  A quick seemingly-chiropractic push readjusted it.

Then she started interviewing me.  "Did you fall down?"  No.  "Are you sure?"  Yes.  "This sort of thing usually happens from a hard fall or sharp impact."  Interesting.  Can't think of anything.  "Have you been in a car accident?"  In my in-the-moment, thinking-only-of-the-recent-past brain, my response was: No.

The PT kept following the connections and wound up finding an extremely tight knot of tendons in my upper right glute.  This didn't surprise me.  That spot always hurt.  For the past couple marathon seasons, after any long run or hard work out, that knot seized up for about a day or 2 after the workout.  I'd sit in the car on my long commute down to Federal Way or on the couch while watching Hulu with my knuckles dug into the spot, trying to release the pain.

But I didn't think anything of it.  This was just post-run tightness.  It always happened.  But as she massaged the tightness out of the space, I realized that I don't think I've felt that spot be completely pain free in my recent memory.  I was just used to it.

And as she kept probing me--"Are you sure you didn't fall down, or step off a stair wrong and impact the floor strongly or something?"  Apparently my tendons were "protecting" themselves from some sort of traumatic event.

Then I remembered this:

April 2010.  I totaled my little Civic on the way to work.

But that was well over 3 years ago.  Which is why I hadn't thought of it.  But Ms. PT's face brightened up when I mentioned it.  That was the most likely culprit.  She said on average it takes about 2 years for injuries like this to show up.

So let's connect these lines:

1)  In April of 2010, 2 months shy of my first marathon, I totaled my car on a dark rainy morning in the middle of Federal Way.  No one, including me, was injured.

2)  Between 2010 and late 2013, I go on to run 5 marathons and 10 half marathons.  Sometimes I get pains in my right upper butt/hip area.

3)  Late October 2013, my left outer knee starts hurting.

4)  Mid November 2013, a PT suspects that my knee pain stems from the pain in my ass, which is probably a lingering injury from a car accident I had 3 and half years ago when my pelvis was unknowingly tilted slightly askew.

Connections.  Some long, stringy pathways that have been winding and twisting their way along for years. 

The final verdict?  After some deep tissue massage and learning some recommended daily pelvis strengthening exercises (that's right, I need to strengthen my pelvis), I was told to wait 24 hours to try running again then come back in a week.

And after that, I started contemplating connections.  And how while some connections are not so good, others can be great.  Like this one:

1)  Early October, Lucy gets her first "senior citizen" check up at the vet.  The vet recommends some glucosamine to give her joints a kick start.  Just a suggestion since she's lost interest in running.

2)  Late October, my knee starts hurting and I stop running.

3)  Early November, Lucy seems a little more energetic.  And I decide to start slowly reintroducing running into our routine.

4)  Neither of us can or should run much more than 2 or 3 miles until we find our stride again.  Which is perfect: we can grow our endurance back together.

5)  Mid-November, we are both out there running together again for the first time in over a year.

Drying off after today's soggy run.

Circumstances crossed, paths made connections in unforeseeable ways, and now Lucy and I are re-attempting running together again.

Today we ran, and while my knee still hurt after about a mile or so, I was a happier runner than I'd been in a while.  Because I had my running buddy back out there on the roads with me, even if she was still slightly unenthusiastic about it.

Turns out, I missed her.

And if getting my running buddy back is the biggest thing that comes out of the knee/pelvis/pain in my butt issue, I'll take it.

It's a connection I'm more than willing to acknowledge and embrace.

Hello old friend

I wanted to run today.

That may not be surprising or earth shattering news to you, but for me it is a massive step towards a path I've been hoping to jump back on for a while.  The mere fact that I wanted to run today means that I might actually be mentally ready to quit this hiatus I've taken from running the past few weeks.

And for me, that's kinda of a big deal.

The past 3 weeks have been, frankly, weird.  I haven't quite felt like myself.  And I've felt a pretty big gaping absence in my life.  I knew exactly what was missing and why I wasn't feeling quite "me," but that didn't make the desire to get out there and run emerge from the recesses of my mind.

I may be sounding melodramatic here, but running started to fade and disappear and feel like an exercise that other people did.  It started to feel like something I used to do, in a different life.  One night late last week, I caught a side glimpse of my race medal rack on the wall and all the race bibs plastered around it...and they didn't feel like mine.  I didn't feel connected to them anymore--as if they were someone else's left behind from another time.

Who put those there?  Certainly it couldn't have been me.

I'm a person who has worked really hard learn how to live in the here and now.  To appreciate where I am and what I'm doing today, and not linger too long on what happened yesterday or may happen tomorrow.  And as I stared at those medals on the wall, I realized that I've truly embraced that "no day but today" mantra (yes, that's a Jonathan Larson reference).  When something disappears from my life, even if only for a short few weeks, it seems as though it doesn't exist anymore.

Running has not been my here and now lately.  Instead I've been hot yogaing my butt off.  Which has been great, albeit different.  Six sessions in the last 2 weeks have been interesting.  It's certainly not easy.  Some days, it feels like I'm making a lot of progress with my flexibility and strengthening.  Then other days, it seems like I can't even make it through half the class.  But I'm growing to enjoy it, now that certain parts are coming more naturally and I don't feel completely lost.

But like I said in my last post, yoga isn't running.  I would love to continue doing weekly yoga, but it could never take the place of running for me.

Last week, as our first Spring Team TNT practice loomed closer, I began to get nervous about running again.  Was my knee ready?  Was my mind ready?  What if my 3 week hiatus wasn't long enough?  What if I still don't quite love running right now?  What if, what if, what if?

Those certainly aren't "here and now" thoughts.

However, Saturday morning arrived, and as I pulled myself out of bed at 6:30am, it was excitement and not dread or fear that I felt.  I wanted to get out there again.  And I think the biggest relief of it all was that there would be no pressure on me from myself.  Because right now, my Saturday and Tuesday team runs are no longer about me.  They're about all the people I'm coaching.

Coach Erica and Coach Tessa, ready help TNT teammates reach race day
safe, injury-free, and happy.

I wanted to get out there and run on Saturday because it had nothing to do with my own mental games.  It was about my Teammates.  And once I was out there, walking and running alongside old friends and new friends, I began to remember why I like being out there.

Just a little bit.

After practice was over, and Team brunch was had, I got home and wasn't feeling quite ready to take my running clothes off.  It had been a while since I'd donned those running tights, and I wanted to see what else we could do together.  So, remembering my one-month no-numbers pledge, I took my watch off and leashed up Lucy.  That's right!  I decided that Lucy was going to give running a try again too.  We could both start back up together.  I knew she'd keep my pace slow and manageable, and I also didn't want to push her much further than a mile or two since it's been so long.

Slow and steady, we went out there and ran.  It was probably no more than 15 minutes.  No more than a mile and a half.  And my knee didn't feel great.  And Lucy was dragging a bit.  But we got out there and ran.  Because I wanted to.  And it felt good to have my pup by my side again.

And then I went to a hot yoga class.  And that was rough.

So I didn't do anything on Sunday (except watch the Seahawks and spend the entire day with friends, enjoying the day).  Carpe Diem.

Then this morning, I woke up feeling good.  I had the day off from work (small aside: thanks to all the Veterans out there--I can't imagine doing what you did...you're braver than I'll ever be).  I intended to have a productive day.  Grocery shopping.  Some crock pot cooking.  Laundry.  Vacuuming.  Hot yoga.  A little bit of school work.

As mid-day approached, and as Lucy's desire to get outside and move began to grow, that strange desire emerged.  I wanted to run.  I wanted to lace up my bright pink running shoes, throw Lucy's leash on her, and go for a loop around Green Lake.

But here's where the voice of smart, intelligent, realistic, and logical Tessa came into play.  I decided not to run.  Because my knee hurt on Saturday.  Because I wanted to relish in this desire to run.  Because as a hunger for running slowly grows in me again, I don't want to quash it with a painful, unpleasant run that could result in an even deeper knee injury.

Instead, Lucy and I went for a long walk.  On a gorgeous 50+ degree, sunny fall day.

I live in a beautiful city.

The walk revived me.  I wanted to run, but I didn't.  And I was grateful for my intelligent choice.  Then when I went to hot yoga, I felt better than I ever have--making it through almost the entire class without needing a break.

Tomorrow I will run again with the team.  I'm excited about it, but still slightly concerned about the condition of my knee.  I might actually break down and make a PT appointment this week.  I figure it couldn't hurt.

Whatever happens though, here's what I know:  Today, I wanted to run.  And even though I didn't actually get out there and do it, I felt more like myself than I have in months.  And I may not be able to run as much as I want to in the next couple of weeks.  But I am thoroughly comforted by the fact that, today, I wanted to run.

And for now, that's going to be enough.

This is not the post I wrote yesterday

I've been feeling uninspired lately.

I've been unmotivated, lacking in energy, and generally unexcited about life.  I've turned down social outings with friends every night so far this week, preferring to hermit in on my couch, trying to snuggle with my dog and disappear into a book or my Hulu queue (someone else's world, as long as it wasn't my own).

And up until yesterday, I simply couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I got home from a 10 hour day at work day, and after deciding that I didn't have the energy for a laid-backed wine and pumpkin carving night with a few of my lady friends, I thought about the fact that I was overdue for a blog post.

So, I sat down to write and instead wasted over an hour playing on Bitstrips for the first time...with this as my final product:

Caption:  "Tessa wonders if the world is upsidedown or if it's just her."

Then, when I couldn't procrastinate anymore, I finally started writing.  And what I ended up with was probably one of the shortest, saddest, most uninspiring posts I've ever written.  When I was a half hour into listing all of the possible contributing reasons for why I've been in the slump I've been in, I stopped writing.  And I reread my depressing list.  And suddenly this blog-writing thing proved it's therapeutic value once again.

And I realized how stupid I've been these past few weeks.

Because the one thing that stood blatantly out in my list of depressing complaints was the fact that me and running in are in a minor separation right now.  DUH.  I wanted to slap myself in the face.

Caption: "SERIOUSLY?!"
(it only took me 10 minutes to find that one)

Of course I've felt lethargic, uninspired, and unmotivated.  I haven't been running. My knee randomly started hurting a couple weeks ago, and after giving it a 4 day rest followed by a painful 3 mile run, I decided to give myself a break from running until November 9 (TNT Spring Team first practice!).

I wanted the break.  Me and running haven't been the best of friends lately.  We've been a little sick of each other.  And frankly, we needed a break.  And I'm still not dying to get out there and run again.  I'm enjoying my break.

But here's the thing I forgot (and the reason I'm so happy that I added "rediscover why I love to run" as number 29 on my 30 things list).  I forgot that while I may be physically and mentally burnt out on the act of running, it is running that keeps me sane.  Running is the place where for an hour a day, I can focus on me.  Just me.  The way I feel.  The way my body feels (whether good or bad).  I focus on my thoughts and my desires and my sense of being.  Being out there running allows me to forget everything else for that moment and just be out there running.  Because running is all I need to do at that moment.  That's it.  No working, no cleaning, no cooking, no Facebooking, no emailing, no Instagramming--just running.

Running is what I do to remind myself that me and this body I'm carrying around are just fine.  We're healthy.  We're active.  We're alive.  And when I'm out there running, it helps me to remember that everything else that's going on in my fairly stable, happy life is going to work itself out.  Running helps me to remember that everything is going to be ok.

In the past few months, I forgot the whole "running is therapy" thing.  I wasn't focusing on how running calms my brain, gives me a sense of accomplishment, and helps me feel motivated to continue through my days.  Instead, I became obsessed with the numbers (remember when I wrote this back in April? I even knew it way back then).  Running became about hitting the paces, pushing the numbers, getting upset if I saw a 9 creep into my mileage paces.  No matter how much my body fought back to tell me it didn't want to beat those numbers, I still pushed it.

But when I started running...when I fell in love with running...I could have cared less about the numbers.  When I finished my first half marathon, the numbers meant nothing to me.  When I finished my first marathon with painful tears of joy, the numbers were the furthest thing from my mind.

I didn't fall in love with running because the numbers kept getting smaller.  I fell in love with running because it made me feel amazing.

Crossing the finish line of marathon #2.  So happy to
just be there.  So proud to just be me that day.

Running is the underlying factor that keeps my life sailing smoothly.  And in the last little while, I'd simply been asking too much of it.

So now, I am still confident in my decision to take a small separation from running for a couple weeks.  For the sake of our relationship and the sake of my knee.

But that doesn't mean I have to take a break from everything.  That feeling that I get from running may not be matched by any other physical activity I've found so far, but sitting around doing absolutely nothing certainly isn't getting me any closer to a faux runner's high.

Therefore, after deciding not to hit the publish button on a post that had zero positivity in it, I instead bought some more spin classes.  And registered for a month's worth of hot yoga.  And kicked myself for thinking that it was ok for me to sit around and do nothing just because my knee was hurting a little and I didn't really want to be on speaking terms with running.

Then tonight, I went to the first hot yoga class I've been to in about 4 years.  In fact, the last time I did hot yoga, I hadn't run a single race.  Not one.  And man, it was tough.  I could never forget that ridiculous camel pose that makes me want to pass out every time.  I had to lay down on the mat a few times, because the heat was getting to me and the light-headedness was becoming overwhelming.  But I kept at it and made it through the whole hour.

And afterwards, while I didn't walk away with a runner's high, I was content with the knowledge that today I did something to keep myself healthy, happy, sane, and energetic.  My muscles are hurting.  And that makes me happy.

5 minutes.  I'm getting faster. Tessa is not worrying about numbers.

I also made a decision.  I decided that when running and I start our relationship again, we're going to start the way we did way back when.  No watch.  No expectations.  No numbers.  Just me (and maybe even Lucy if her glucosamine kicks her love of running back into gear).  One month of paceless, watchless, who-cares-how-many-miles running.

But in the meantime, I'm going to do other things to keep myself mildly sane.  Because obviously sitting on the couch is no good for me or the stability of my mind.

It's time to get back out there.

An ode to fall

Autumn seems to have crept unassumingly into Seattle.  I find this odd, because fall usually hits Seattle like a punch in the gut.  In past years, summer has ended abruptly the minute the sun disappears from the sky.  The clouds roll in, sprinkling for days on September's brown grass, and then we are faced with endless 10 day forecasts of 50 degrees and rainy.

But this year, autumn has tiptoed its way in, peeking its head around the corner more than a few times before finally deciding to slowly settle in.  I think I noticed the first few color changes about 3 weeks ago.  But the temperatures and sunshine pushed thoughts of fall towards the back of my mind.  A few rainy days came and went, but sun didn't disappear permanently.

Then last weekend, as I pretended to be a tourist with my mom in Seattle, the chill of fall was clearly in the air.  It was quite cold out on a Ride the Duck in the middle of Lake Union.  And at the top of the Space Needle, dots of red could be seen.

See the 2 ginormous spiders on top of that building?  That's what I was actually
trying to take a picture of.

But even while looking down at the red trees, the sky looked like this:

Blue sky in October in Seattle is not the norm.

The signs were mixed, and while my internal time clock was beginning to scream "fall!", the rest of me was having a hard time catching up.  Then the fog rolled in.  And as I waded through the fog on 6am morning walks with Lucy, coming back home with hair that wasn't just damp, but actually wet from the foggy moisture, I began to accept that it is, in fact, autumn.

And this past weekend, as I relished in the not-often-available chance to sit lazily on my couch for almost 2 days straight, I found myself slightly happy that it was gloomy and chilly outside.  Because, in reality, there are a whole lot of things I love about fall...

I love waking up on a dreary Sunday morning in the fall, making a hot cup of coffee, and curling up on the couch with a good book and my favorite pup.

Yep, that's Game of Thrones #4 I'm reading.  It's slow going, but I'm getting
back into it.

Lucy cuddles a whole lot more as the temperatures begin to drop.  I lose my snoring snuggle buddy in the warmth of summer, but as soon as cooler temperatures hit, she's right back on the couch, sharing my warmth and my blanket.

That's her corner of the couch unoccupied down there, and her
brown towel that has been unceremoniously kicked off
the couch.  I've now been restricted to one squished
square of couch space while she happily takes two.

I love running in the fall.  As much as it feels good to be able to put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to head out for a run, I actually like running much better in the fall.  I am happy to don a pair of running tights, a rain jacket, and a hat to hit the streets.  I much prefer running in 50 degree weather than 80 degree weather.  I like coming in from a post-work de-stressing run with a cold red chill lingering on my cheeks.

I must admittedly say though, that I haven't embraced much fall running yet.  My body seems to unfortunately hate me right now.  Last week, I had an unexplained sore foot for about 4 days, and then when I tried heading out for a run on Thursday afternoon after it was feeling better, my knee pretty much gave out on me at mile 4 (1.5 miles from home).  I ran/walked the rest of the way home in a pain that truly scared me.  I was extremely close to calling up a friend to come save me and drive me home.  Now, on Monday, I haven't run since and have been icing up a storm (a somewhat cruel yet successful method of getting Lucy back to her side of the couch).  Tomorrow I'll attempt a slow, easy run to see how things are feeling.

But, in another truthful admission, I haven't been dying to get out and run these past 4 days as I force a break upon myself.  Which tells me that perhaps I'm not over my burnt-out phase yet, and this little break could be good for me mentally, as well as physically.

I love the way music feels in the fall.  I love music.  When I'm at home, there is not a quiet moment without Pandora, Spotify, iTunes, or my new favorite, Hoopla (free with a public library card, woot woot!), playing.  I love music that grips me and consumes me and and makes me feel things I wouldn't otherwise feel.

I saw the Avett Brothers at Key Arena on Friday.  These
guys are the definition of all-consuming, gripping music
for me.  Especially live.

Now, while I love music at all times, it seems to speak to me differently in the gloominess of fall.  The lyrics reach deeper and the rhythms beat more intensely.  It all seems richer and more passionate when the world outside is slowly shutting down for winter.

I love first grade in the fall.  On a school schedule, fall is a new beginning.  When everything else seems to be coming to an end (summer, sunshine, plant growth, the yearly cycle), the school year is just beginning.  As difficult as it is to face the onset of a new school year, once first grade hits its rhythm and really gets going, the new beginning, growth, and surprising amount of excitement is infectious.  A month or two into school, as we've fallen into our routine, I begin to see all the growth we have ahead of us and my excited motivation to push that growth along increases exponentially.

One of my little ones drew a picture of the classroom at home and put it in the
front of her take-home binder.  That intricately colored and outlined square that
takes up the vast majority of the picture is the carpet that my friends and family
so generously donated to my kiddos through DonorsChoose.org.  It warmed
my soul so much that I had to take a picture.

I love the colors of fall...as much as I love the colors of spring, and yet in an entirely different way.  I love the reds and oranges and yellows and even the browns.  I love the way everything transforms from its bright greens to the brilliant autumn shades.  I love the crunch of those colors as I walk or run down the sidewalk.

I love cooking in the fall.  Especially now that I have my crockpot.  I've made myself chili and corn chowder so far, and I can't wait to experiment with more recipes.  Vegetarian (or chicken/turkey) slow cooker recipe recommendations would be highly appreciated!  Cooking (and eating) in the fall warms me to the soul and makes me feel like all my worries could be swallowed carelessly in the next warm bite.

I love fall wardrobes.  Dresses with leggings.  Boots.  Warm cozy sweaters.  Fuzzy socks and hoodies.  Scarves snuggled around my neck all day long.  Greens, blues, grays, browns.  Muted and understated darks.  Pure coziness to protect against a not-quite-bone-chilling cold.

Fall may have crept its slow way into Seattle this year.  It may have sneakily slithered into the air and into the leaves, but I am ready for it.  Goodbye sunshine.

See you next spring.

Snuggle up and enjoy it.

Portland Half Marathon: The mom rocked it

I haven't always been a competitive person.  I'm more of a "enjoy the game" kind of person.  I do enjoy competing.  I certainly enjoy winning.  And losing isn't exactly the best experience in the world.  But if I lose, I'm not going to go pout in the corner for an hour.    I'll say good job to the winners, and then I'll get over it.

I may also ask for a rematch.

I watch my first graders sometimes and am amazed by the lengths they will go to in order to be the winner.  The cheating.  The inconspicuous "rolling" of the die so that "oh my goodness it lands on 6 every time!!"  And then the tears, the anger, and the frustration that results from being the loser.  You'd quite literally think the world was about to end.  I wasn't that kind of kid.

In my early days, I'd say that my lack of competitive spirit is what held me back from reaching my full potential as a swimmer.  I was good enough to win the races, so I did.  But that's all I did.  I didn't push myself to go faster or try harder.  

I have a very distinct memory from when I was a late elementary school/early middle school swimmer that I think I've shared here before.  I remember swimming a race.  I remember winning a race.  Then I remember getting out of the water to the somewhat perturbed faces of my swim coach and mother.  My mother looks at me and says, "you're supposed to be out of breath when you finish a race."  Message received: when you try your hardest, it makes you tired.  You shouldn't finish a race breathing easy and looking like you just took an easy stroll through the park.

As a kid, I didn't get it.  I won the race.  What more did they want from me?  I didn't have that intrinsic desire to push harder and be better (at least not physically, academically was a completely different story).

Then I grew up.  And I found running.  And running isn't about winning or losing (I am willing to admit that I will never ever in my life come anywhere close to winning a marathon or half marathon, or any race distance for that matter).  Running is about pushing harder and being better every day.  Running is about giving all you have to give at any given moment simply because you can.  Running is entirely about that intrinsic desire to make yourself a better athlete and a stronger person.

Running is about everything that I didn't understand at those pre-adolescent swim meets.

And now, I understand it.  I understand that competitive internal drive.  In fact, I think I understand it much better than a lot of other things in my life.  I understand how to keep pushing myself even when I'm tired, even when it hurts.  I've learned how to battle that internal mental battle and come out on top (most days).

So when I toed the start line at the Portland Half Marathon this past Sunday, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't hard to start the race knowing that it would be the slowest half marathon I'd ever run.  It was hard to be there, knowing that many of my closest running friends were looking down the neck of a full 26.2 or of a 13.1 that they were going to push themselves as hard as they could through.

But Sunday's race wasn't about me or my time goals or my constantly nagging internal need to push, push, push.  It was about this lady:

Mom!  And Voodoo Doughnuts!

Mom and dad come down to Orlando back in January to see me compete for the first time in a race, and they got a double one.  They watched me complete both days of the Goofy Challenge and were out on the course for hours, cheering and feeling inspired.  At the end of the fun-filled weekend, they both expressed interest in walking a half marathon.  And I told them that I'd be more than willing to walk it with them.

As soon as they mentioned it, I looked up some races and settled on the idea that the Portland Half would be a great starter race at a great time of year.  Unfortunately, dad had some previous plans that couldn't be avoided, so he had to sit this one out.

But mom signed us both up, and I got her a training plan as soon as I could.  She started training, aiming for a crazy fast walking pace (a 3 hour half).  She sent me her workout averages in the peak weeks of the season, and I was impressed with how fast she was walking her miles.

Then before I knew it, mom was here in Seattle, and after a drive down to Portland, it was race day.

Not my race day, her race day.

And I was ready to speed walk with her.  We meet a few other TNT teammates in the corral (I wasn't officially on Team for this event, but there were a large number of Teammates from Seattle who fundraised for this event and were racing on race day).  I had talked with another teammate of mine, Ceci, who was partially injured and looking to do the race in about the same time as us.  We found Ceci at the start and slowly but surely waited through the start waves of the other corrals until it was our turn.

Me and mom in the corral, pre-race.  Yes, I am that much
taller than her.

As soon as the race started, I realized that I would not be walking this race.  Mom took off at such and speedy walk that I had to jog to keep up with her.  The couple times I tried to stop and walk, there was just no way.  I'd be jogging alongside my speedster of a mother.

The Portland Marathon is a fantastically run event.  The start was really organized, and in the first several miles of the race there was plenty of entertainment.  As soon as you were out of ear shot of one band or musician, you began hearing the next.  There were DJs, bands, cheerleaders, a bell choir, a harpist, and even pirates (with a booming cannon...not the exactly the smartest choice for a race that was in memory of the Boston Marathon, but the pirates were quite funny).  I think some of the entertainers later in the course may have been random Portland residents (think Portlandia) who took it upon themselves to entertain the runners.  All in all though, I found the course entertainment to be way better than any Rock N Roll race I've ever done.

As for the course, I heard that the marathon was beautiful, but I wasn't super impressed with the half.  The longest out and back was along an industrial street next to some train tracks.  I'd have to say that's my only complaint about the race though.  The rest was great.  I'm quite tempted to go back for the full next year.

Happy, blurry, speedy mom out on the course.  My phone
may have had a coating of sweat on it that caused
the fuzziness.

While mom speed walked through the course, Ceci and I matched our pace to hers as best we could and kept on moving.  Because of a few loops and out and backs, we were able to see almost everyone we knew out on the race course that day.  We got to cheer for them from the other side of the road (many of them even twice).  For me, I truly enjoyed being in a position where I could focus the majority of my energy on looking for people and cheering on the crowds.  I wasn't focused on myself or my own internal battle.  I was focused on being there for mom for whatever she needed, and using the rest of my energy as best as I could to cheer others.

As people saw us, we got many cheers for "Tessa, Ceci, and Tessa's Mom!"  Mom decided that the next time we do a race together (yep, she said next time) she's going to put "Tessa's Mom" as the name on her race bib.  I like the idea.

In the final miles of the race, mom would run for a block or two just to mix things up a bit (which she also did during her training).  She never went more than a minute or so though.  But apparently as she picked up a running pace, Ceci and I inadvertently picked up our pace and then had a little trouble slowing back down again once mom was ready to walk.  I didn't realize this at the time, but we were helping to push her along just a little faster than she felt comfortable doing.

I did put out the reminder that this was race day, so it was ok to push a little harder than normal.  I wanted to be a good, supportive daughter, but the new-found coach in me and the runner in me that draws strength from pushing hard also wanted mom to push a little harder than her comfort zone.

Just before the final two tenths of a mile of the race, mom started jogging.  Ceci and I told her that we had to finish out the race with a run through the finish chute.  So we kept going, even when mom was ready to stop.  We pushed through with a run and crossed the finish line in an official time of 2:50:50.  Ten minutes faster than mom's intended race time.

Just look at that average pace.  There are people out there who
don't even run that fast.

And after the race, as mom "complained" about how hard I pushed her at the end of the race, I had one of those epiphany moments of life coming full circle.  I asked mom if she remembered those swim meet days, when she yelled at me for not being tired at the end of my races.  And I gently reminded her that you are supposed to be tired at the end of a race.  You are supposed to push yourself just a little bit harder.

How selfishly sweet that felt.  Almost like an "I told you so," but just the opposite.  A "you told me so."  A comment a mom once said to her young child that she thought was probably long forgotten.  No, no, no mom, the cards have changed hands.  I am happy to push you now.  You spent a lifetime pushing me to do better and be stronger.  I'm happy to do the same for you now.

Big smiles, despite the push at the end.

After the race, we hung around to cheer some of my marathon friends in.  Then it was back to the hotel to tap into the bottle of champagne that had been chilling in the sink all day (the Hilton in downtown Portland is NOT recommended--no fridge, tiny bathroom, unsatisfying view, all around not-so-great experience).

Notice that the champagne bottle has a regular cork in it.

After the corkscrew broke off in the bottle, mom then challenged herself one more time by spending 30 minutes whittling away the cork and prying it out of the bottle from the broken corkscrew end with just the small knife on the corkscrew.

If you think doing a half marathon is hard, try getting the
cork out of a bottle of champagne with a broken corkscrew
stuck in it.

All in all, I'd say this was a pretty amazing race.  Not because I pushed myself or PR'd or struggled in the mental battle.  Because I did a half marathon with my mom.  Because my mom got to experience something that is a big, important part of my life.  She got to be a part of the joy of race day, not just from the sidelines, but from the race course itself.  She got to feel the pride of not just finishing a race, but of finishing a race stronger and faster than she thought she ever would.  She got to experience the feeling of pushing yourself just a little more when your body says no.  It's something you can't really understand until you do it yourself.

So thanks, mom.  I know you didn't choose to do this race for yourself.  I know you did this, at least partially, for me.  I know that the training wasn't easy (or always fun), and I know that it probably pushed you out of your comfort zone a little further than you intended it to.  But if I've learned anything from marathoning, it's that the place that exists outside your comfort zone is where you find out just exactly how strong you can be.

Congrats mom!  You rocked it :)

I believe in cross-training

It has taken me 5 marathons, a couple handfuls of half-marathons, and a half-Ironman to finally realize the benefits of cross-training.  But tonight, it finally sunk in.  A switch flipped.  A light went on.  It finally clicked.  [Insert any other "suddenly I realized something" cliche here.]

A visual.  In case you are inhumanly
immune to cliches.  Random aside inside a
caption: I get to see first graders make
this face almost daily.

There are many steps that led up to this atmospheric explosion of brilliance.  I will chronologically review them for you here, in case you would like to be as smart as me.

1)  Do a lot of running.  And nothing else.  Like, for years.  Do nothing but run.  Maybe throw in a couple later bouts of sporadic strength training or boot camp.  But really, just run a lot.  All the time.  Really far.  Then keep going.

Replace the word "swimming" with "running." Sing along.

2)  Get slightly burnt out, but don't admit it to yourself.  Run a lot of races.  Get faster.  Start obsessing about speed.  Kind of forget why you started running in the first place.  Have a really bad marathon.  Realize that running hasn't been very fun for a while.  But don't admit you're burnt out.  That comes later.  For now, just keep telling yourself that you're trying to avoid getting burnt out.  That you're just in a slump.

3)  Train for an event that requires you to do something other than running (but still includes running).  I guess I could just say: Train for a triathlon.  Even though as training begins and progresses, you may feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things you have to do, keep at it.  Swim.  Bike.  Run here and there.  Do two things in one day.  Have really good workouts that don't involve running.  You may not love it the whole time.  It might even be hard.  But that's kind of the way running has always been too (even before the burnt out days).  Sometimes you'll feel great.  Sometimes you'll be glad it's finally over.  But either way, you'll begin to realize that you just might have strengths in other areas too.

4)  While triathlon training, learn about (or remind yourself of) all the cool things that other sports have to offer.  Swimming and biking offer so much to the endurance athlete that running may not have.  As much as you love running--as loyal as you are to running--admit that there are other things out there that have the potential to be fun too.  Remember why you loved swimming as a kid.  Allow yourself to get over your bike fears and dislikes.  Realize that as you train in other things, your running is remaining strong.  In fact, it's getting stronger.

5)  Have an awesome triathlon where running is the least exciting part of the whole thing.  Surprise yourself when its all over and you realize that your favorite part was the bike.  Admit that what was great about the race was all the different things it involved.  Earn a couple medals.

Compete in a race small enough that you can actually place
top three in your age group.  You might feel like you cheated
a little to get that bronze medal.  But you didn't.  You earned
it fair and square.

6)  Stop training (mainly to cure the previously unacknowledged burnt-outness).  Here's where you admit that you are burnt out.  That, with running, you've probably actually been burnt out for quite a while.  But also admit that you are kind of done being on a "training schedule" for a while.  This hiatus from physical activity may only last a few days, but enjoy it.  Allow yourself not to feel guilty that you didn't get out there and run today.

7)  Start running again, but only because you want to.  Have some really amazing life-affirming, love-of-running-renewing runs.  Don't sign up for another big race (well, you can sign up for another race just make sure it's more than 8 months away--9 months did it for me).  Then run.  Just run.  Run because you had a stressful day at work and it makes you feel better.  Run because your internal angst has nearly hit explosion point and if you don't run, things could get disastrous.  Run because you suddenly remember why you loved running before all the races and the burning out.  Run because it makes you feel good.  Run because you need to.  Don't run because you feel like you should.  Don't run because you feel like you have to.  Run because you love to run.

8)  Wake up one morning and realize that today, even though you've had a series of awesome runs, you don't want to run.  Today you feel an urge to do something different.  Ask yourself, "what is this strange new feeling?"  "Do I ignore it and keep running?" No, that's how you got burnt out.  "Do I acknowledge new sensation and indulge the urge?   Yes, yes you do.  [Side note: you may want to check the room before having this conversation with yourself.  Significant others and children could possibly be scared.  If the room is not clear, have this conversation silently in your head.  Much less crazy that way.]

9)  Realize that you have 4 out of 10 spin classes left in the package you bought while tri training, and decide to go spinning.  Visit biking guru Peter.  He misses you.  He wants to know how your triathlon went.  Tell him it was awesome and that you realized at several points during the race that you were so happy you took those spin classes with him.  Tell him that you blew your anticipated bike time out of the water because you learned so much from him.  Watch him smile.  Enjoy the fact that you just made his day (or in his words "that just made my week").  Then get on the bike and spin.  It may hurt more than it did in training.  You may feel a little less strong than you did 3 weeks ago.  But keep spinning for 45 minutes.  Climb the hills.  Make the turns.  Spin the downhills.  Sweat a lot even though it's cold and rainy outside.

10)  Feel good.  Feel really really good.  Pat yourself on the back.  Congratulate yourself at the end of the spin class.  Because you just cross-trained.  And it felt amazing.  Because you just pushed yourself way harder than you would have on a run that you probably would have gone on that day even though you didn't mentally want to.  Because you would have suffered miserably through that run.  You would have counted down the miles on that familiarly worn trail.  You may not have physically been tired on that run, but you haven't quite cured the mental side effects of being burnt out.  Congratulate yourself that you chose to do something different.  To use different muscles.  To maintain all that great work you did while training for the triathlon.  Acknowledge how this cross-training will strengthen your running for the days when you do mentally want and need to get out there and run.  Feel the light bulb turn on above your head.  Realize that cross-training isn't just another annoying thing that all the famous running coaches say you should do.  Actually understand that it helps.  It helps physically.  And it helps mentally.  And since we all know that the mental battle is the hardest one to fight, relish in this new understanding.  Embrace the idea of cross-training.  Smile, because suddenly you feel brilliant.  Suddenly you believe everything those experts keep telling you.

11)  Acknowledge that in the future you will now be spending a lot of money on spin class.  But it will be awesome.  Biking guru Peter is not cheap.  But you feel the desire to dish out the dough.  Because you want to cross-train once a week for the foreseeable future from now on.

Because you have just suddenly realized all the physical and mental benefits involved in cross-training.  And now you are a believer.

Now, I am a believer.

Just follow these 11 simple steps, and you too can be a believer.

Or perhaps you could take the simpler path and just believe what all those experts say.  You might be smarter than me that way.

But if you are anything like me, you have to make the mistakes yourself and learn the lessons through your own actions before you'll believe it.  You have to figure it all out on your own before you will believe what all those others are telling you.

So get out there.  Go do it.  Become a believer like me.