Update: 30 things to do before I'm 30

T minus 3 days until I'm 30.  And seeing as there won't be a lot more checking things off the list between now and Thursday morning at 12:16 AM, I'm going to go ahead and file my progress report.

Almost exactly 4 months ago, I made a list of "30 Things I'd Like to do before I'm 30 that I've never done before." 

I feel like I could have come up with a more concise, clear name than that.  Oh well, what's done is done.  And here is how I did.

Progress Report: 30 things I'd like to do before I'm 30 that I've never done before

1)  Do a half Ironman.  Check.

Remember this?  It was awesome.  Find the recap here.

2)  Get my tattoo.  Fail.  I got a great recommendation for an artist but never followed through.  This will happen someday.  I have no excuse for not doing it other than lack of time commitment.  And that's a poor excuse.

3)  Take a cooking class.  Check.  Sierra, Erica and I had a fabulous evening at Hipcooks one evening before the holiday break learning how to cook and enjoy delicious Thai food.  

Look at me, cooking Thai food!

Then 2 evenings later, Sierra and I remade the fantastic meal (or at least the parts of it we really enjoyed). 

It tasted even better when we adjusted things to fit our own flavor palates.

 And since then I've incorporated some of the tips and flavoring techniques we learned into my bi-weekly peanut/soy sauce meal.  It has now morphed into a much tastier dish (not that it wasn't tasty before, but now it's even tastier) with the addition of lime, brown sugar, fish sauce, thai chilies, and garlic along with other ingredients that have incorporated their way into the meal in the last 2 years (rice vinegar, mirin, ginger, sriracha).  It's not quite the "quick and easy" one dish it used to be, but it's fabulous and still doesn't take very long.

4)  Volunteer at a women's and/or homeless shelter.  Check.  After seeing this item on my list, Coach Nadine contacted me and let me know that she had contacts with an emergency women's and children's shelter called Mary's Place in downtown Seattle.  Every Sunday at Mary's Place, a group of volunteers both cooks and serves dinner to the women and children at the shelter.  After recruiting Erica and Dorothy as well, we spent an afternoon cooking a taco bar at Nadine's house and then carted it downtown to serve at the shelter.  It was a great day.  So glad I put this one on the list.

Chop, chop, chop.

Nadine and Erica, chicken shredding extraordinaires! 

5)  Take a road trip somewhere new.  I was going to cheat and count the road trip home from Portland with my mom, Erica, and Ana for the Portland Half.  But after last weekend's slightly nerve-wracking drive up to Mt. Rainier to go snowshoeing, I don't have to cheat anymore.  Me, Erica, Ana, and Amber all piled into Ana's little car and drove 3+ hours to Mt. Rainier and back.  The driving trip included a stop to put on (and then take off) chains on Ana's tires--a first for almost all of us.  It also included my first Dairy Queen stop in years.

6)  Publish a short story to the blog.  Check.  I published one of the stories I wrote for my fiction writing class over the summer.  It was based on a prompt: "You're in a box on wheels going down a hill..."  I got a lot of good feedback on it from my classmates and professor, so figured it was safe for publishing.  In case you missed it, it's at the bottom of this post.

7)  Ride the Ducks in Seattle.  Check.  I roped my mom into playing tourist with me during the weeks she was here for the Portland half marathon.  It was fun.  I'd do it again.

We're on a duck!!

8)  Run the Golden Gardens Stairs.  Fail.  I don't really have an excuse for not doing this.  Although I have been injured for several months, so I could pull that card.  However, I am signed up to do the Big Climb as a part of Team Yanni to benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society on Sunday, March 23rd.  During that race I will climb a whole lot more stairs than exist at Golden Gardens.  I'll be climbing the Columbia Tower in downtown Seattle, which includes 69 flights of stairs, 1311 steps, and 788 feet of vertical elevation.  So there's that.

***By the way, I'm hoping to raise $500 for LLS for this event, so if you'd like to donate to support me, Yanni, and the amazing organization that is LLS, please donate generously on my fundraising page.

9)  Do a mud run.  Fail.  There wasn't one that worked out time-wise.  I wanted to do LLS's Pineapple Classic, but it fell on the same morning as my first Team in Training practice for Spring Team.  And being a coach, I didn't really want to miss that.

10)  But a toaster.  Success!!  It may have taken me months from way back at the beginning of the summer when I massively burned my arm on the oven door and finally admitted to needing one, but it happened.  And not only did I get a toaster, I got a toaster oven.  If that doesn't make me a grown-up, I don't know what ever will.

I also got a crock pot and a wine rack.  And my mom took me shopping to
get them all when she was in town.  Darn, I think that takes away the
"being an adult" aspect of it all.  It's ok, I don't really want to grow up anyways.

11)  Take a dance class.  Super fail.  I chickened out.  No excuse.

12)  Get 8 hours of sleep every night for a week straight.  Impossible.  I don't know why I even thought I could do this.  Crazy.

13)  Get rid of horrible commute/be brave and start a new job.  Been there.  Done that.  Still setting into life as the new girl at school, but couldn't be happier that I made the change (as much as I miss all my LDFers).  Having a 15 minute commute can't be beat.

14)  Walk a dog at a dog shelter.  Check and check.  Coach Nadine hopped on board with helping me out with this one too.  I got connected with Seattle Animal Shelter and got approved for their Get Fit with Fido program.  This is not just a program where I walk dogs, but one where I will run with dogs.  Two of my absolute favorite things in the world: running and dogs.  I took the 2 required trainings (Shelter 101 and Safe Dog Handling) and am currently working my way through my 6 required shifts of dog walking before I can start running with the pups.  And I have yet to bring home a friend home for Lucy.

I think she's still perfectly happy as a spoiled only child.

15)  Make a delicious baked item.  Kind of check.  I got inspired to make chili in my new crockpot a few months ago.  And I can't have chili without cornbread.

It was delicious and it required baking.  It even brought
back some nostalgic childhood memories.

I had planned to do better than this, but it's all I've got and I'm counting it.  Although I have been saving frozen bananas for weeks now, hoping to get my hands on a good banana bread recipe.  Got any?  I'll make it when football season is over and I have my Sundays back.

16)  30 random acts of kindness.  Check.  I might be cheating a bit on this one too because I never deliberately performed 30 random acts of kindness.  However here's the thing: I'm a first grade teacher.  And I think that I can safely claim that I perform 30 random acts of kindness per day for my little ones.  Whether it's teaching them something new, reteaching something they didn't get yesterday, or zipping up a coat, they get to absorb every ounce of my heart, patience, and kindness between 8:30am and 2:55pm every day.  So I'm going to say that counts.

17)  Be a coach for TNT.  Did it and doing it.  And loving it.

Me and my white board are ready to go every Saturday
morning.  Stick people sketches and all.

18)  Go to the top of the Space Needle.  Check.  This was another part of dragging mom along for "pretend to be a tourist in Seattle" day.  Although mom really is a tourist here.  I just don't think she particularly enjoys doing touristy things.  Nonetheless, she smiled through our day of tourism.

The view from the top.  It really is a beautiful city I live in.

19)  Hike to Camp Muir with Yanni.  Yanni was a little bit busy ninja-fighting cancer and running marathons.  She's kind of awesome.  I hope we get to do this someday soon.

20)  Cook something new.  Check.  I bought a crock pot and cooked about 5 new recipes until it disappeared into the cupboard a month ago and I haven't seen it since.  I also cooked my delicious Thai dinner.  Yum.

21)  Make a list of 40 things to do before I'm 40.  Quarter-check.  I started the list, but it's actually kind of hard.  I currently have 10 items on my list.  Most of them are items from this list that weren't accomplished.  Others include: falling in love, starting a family, and becoming an Ironman.  I have a lot of work to do in the next 10 years.

22)  Run one more half marathon.  Double check.  I ran alongside my mom who sped-walked the Portland half marathon in October.  She walked so fast that I had to run to keep up.  

I realize I used this picture in last week's post.  But it's relevant again.  And
look how happy mom is.

Then I somehow made it slowly but surely through the Seattle half marathon on a bum knee.

I PR'd the last 2 years in this race.  It was not in the cards this year.

With those 2 added to my list, here is my race count as I turn 30:

5 marathons

11 half marathons

1 half Ironman

1 sprint triathlon

many other 5K-10Kish races

I can't say I'm ashamed of those numbers.

23)  Try a new sport.  Double check on this one too!  In November, I went on my first ever trail run to celebrate Coach Jeff's birthday (yes, trail running is a different sport from regular running).

8+ miles, a couple thousand feet of elevation.  A not-so-
healthy knee.  Maybe not my smartest choice.  But it was
lots of fun!

Then last weekend, I went showshoeing for the first time at Mt. Rainier (hence the road trip to Rainier mention in #5).

Ladies in snowshoes.  That was the most snow I've seen
all winter.

We drove 3+ hours to go snowshoeing for 2 hours and drive home for 3+ hours.  But it was a beautiful day and my first trip to Rainier.  All in all, totally worth it.

24)  Try a new cuisine.  Inadvertent fail.  I actually thought really hard about this one.  As I thought about planning a small birthday dinner for Thursday night, I looked up restaurants for cuisines that I haven't tried yet.  And to be honest, I couldn't really find any.  From Ethiopian to Korean to Scandinavian to Greek, there aren't a lot of options our there for me to try that I haven't already.  Maybe I didn't get creative enough, but I actually put effort into this one and came up empty.

25)  Watch a meteor shower.  Fail.  I totally forgot about this over break.  Oops.  It's going on the 40 things before 40 list.

26)  Volunteer for Make a Wish.  Another fail.  But also not for lack of trying.  I looked up information and volunteer applications on the Make a Wish website, but had to push this one to the side.  With the time commitment I'd already undertaken for volunteering at Seattle Animal Shelter and coaching for TNT (and the whole teaching thing), this just wasn't a commitment I could logistically make.  It'll go on the 40 things before 40 list too.

27)  Originally empty but later filled with: For 30 days, write down one thing each day that you are thankful for.  Check.  Here's my little red book as evidence:

I faithfully wrote in this little guy every night for 30 days.

A random snippet of things I was thankful for in the month of October: random unsolicited compliments with no expectations attached, cross-training, clean sheets, the Portland Saturday market, squeaky Lucy yawns, great friends, TNT, lazy Sundays, and perspective.

28)  Left empty until about 2 weeks ago, turned into: Go to a casino.  I spent my New Year's Eve at Snoqualmie Casino.  Most people find it unbelievable that until then I had never set foot in a casino.  I walked in the door with $40 and walked out with $190.  I also got to dance care-free a for couple hours, part of the time with a tall cute boy who made me feel pretty for just a little bit.  Not a bad way to start the year.

Every now and then it's fun to get dressed up, put on a pair of heels, and
feel pretty for a night.

29)  Also empty when the original post was written, but turned into: Rediscover why I love to run.  Check.  It may have taken a knee injury, a few weeks off from running, and then some weeks of forced reduced-distance and reduced-intensity running.  But finally, after what feels like a really long time, I come home from work most days and want to run.  I'm beginning to need to run again.  And in turn, I'm beginning to feel more like me again.  Funny how those two things go so closely hand in hand.

30)  Skydive!!  Sad fail.  After my original post, I only had a couple weeks of good Seattle weather to try to do this and it didn't work out.  Then the weather turned and won't be back up to par for skydiving again until the spring.  I am in no way giving up on this one.  It will happen.

So there it is.  I'm not really sure how I did.  I accomplished a lot of the important ones, but failed at a few items too.  And some I fudged in order to give myself a check.  I'd like to say I give myself an A for effort at least.  And many of the ones I missed, I still plan to do at some point.

So now the question that's left is: How do I feel about turning 30?  I could lie here and say "life is great!" and "I've done so much, who cares about turning 30!" but I'm not here to lie to you.  I thought that was how I would feel when I turned 30, but after a middle of the night semi-breakdown with my sister over the holidays, I do realize that this number is affecting me in the stereotypical way. 

So here's an honest answer:  I'm proud, excited, a little bit sad and a little bit scared.  I'm proud of everything I've done with my first 30 years of life.  I'm excited because I know that I have so much more living to do.  And I know that the best is yet to come.  But I'm a little bit sad because I feel like I'm leaving behind a part of my life that I won't get back.  And leaving things behind is always sad.  I'm also a little bit scared that maybe the best isn't yet to come.  That maybe I won't find want I'm looking for.  Maybe all this optimism won't pay off in the end.

But I don't think the way I feel is any different from any other birthday.  On birthdays we look at our life, where we've been, and where we might go.  And I think proud, excited, sad, and scared pretty much sums it all up.

Here's hoping the next 30 years bring everything I've dreamed of.  And if not, here's to hoping I'm happy with it anyways.

I won't start over, but it's time to reset

I'm not someone who usually puts a lot of stock in New Year's resolutions.  I'm not super comfortable with the idea that the changing of the year, the ticking of the clock, and the movement from one day to the next should determine my motivation to improve my life.

I mean, I get it.  I understand it.  It's a big number that's changing.  It's a metaphorical re-start.  It's a point in time to look at and say "There.  There is where I'll make the change."  And more power to you for it.  If you choose to change your life for the positive, I don't care your reasoning for it.  Do it.  And keep doing it (don't give up when January peters out).

But for me, I've just never been a fan of looking at New Years that way.  I'm the type of person that is constantly evaluating, re-evaluating, analyzing, over-analyzing, reflecting, rethinking, and setting goals (or getting angry at myself for not meeting them).  I do not need nor want yet another reason to examine my life and weigh its successes and failures against one another.  Oftentimes I just get fed up with examining my life.  Sometimes I just want to live it.

This year, however, my bah humbug attitude towards the New Year seems to have become overcome with more optimism than I typically find in early January.  Maybe it's because of the challenges this past year threw at me.  Maybe it's just because of the challenges of the past several months, which seem to be fading away.  Maybe it's because in exactly 10 days, I will be 30 (2014 is a big number, but 30 is way bigger).

Whatever it is, I'm feeling glad that 2013 is over and 2014 has shown up.  I'm ready more than ready to hit the reset button.

Remember way back when we had Nintendo?  Not the stuff we have now.  Not Wii or Xbox or Playstation or whatever else is out there now that I have no idea about.  Real old school Nintendo is what I'm thinking of.

Yeah, this one.  From the days when we were tethered to the box by a cord.

Remember how it worked?  Pixelated graphics, only four directions to move.  Walk or run, no in between.  Duck Hunt was the most amazing invention we'd ever conceived.

I refused to play the actual duck shooting one--I'd only shoot at the clay
discs.  Such a righteous little child I was.

Remember when you were playing these games when sometimes the screen would just gradually start to turn to snow?  You wouldn't notice it at first, but pretty soon you'd start to lose your super fancy graphics to the stripey fuzz of an analog TV.

And the solution to this?  Give the machine a tap.  On the top or side.  Sometimes with more force than others.

Then, you'd keep playing.  Everything would be good for a little while, until things started to succumb to the fuzz again.  Give it a gentle tap (or more forceful slap) and all would be good again.

This would continue.  Minutes of clear pixelated fun followed by some bouts of fuzziness, knock it back to life, repeat.

(Bear with me, I'll get back to the New Year thing)

But sometimes, you'd get fed up with it.  When the fuzzies came more frequently or too quickly, or when the forceful slams stopped working, it was time to give up and hit the reset button.  Lose everything since the last time you manually saved the game.  Accept minor defeat by the machine.  Reset.

And after that, if the troubles still continued, the last resort was to power down.  Shut it off.  Pull out the game and blow on the little metal teeth, reinsert game, and power back up.  But that was only for major defeats.  When the machine really refused to work.

With all that in mind, here's what 2013 was for me:  it was that space of time between when the game hit the first fuzzy point to when you decided to reset.

Last January, things started off working great.  I conquered the Goofy Challenge with more than a smile on my face.

1 weekend, 2 races, 3 medals. Immeasurable fun.

I felt strong starting training for my next marathon after taking a forced 2 week hiatus from running (my meager attempt to avoid burnt-out runner syndrome).  February hit, and I entered what I termed the "February Doldrums."  This was the first little bit of fuzziness.  Not too much though, and with a little tap, all was clear again.

After that, I made it through my March Madness of races: Hot Chocolate 15K, St. Patty's Day Dash, and culminating with a pleasantly unexpected PR at the Mercer Island Half.

Even got an unexpected medal.

April and May were filled with peak marathon training.  There were clear ups and fuzzy downs.  Nothing too drastic.  Nothing that couldn't be quickly knocked back into focus once it got fuzzy.  But, the fuzzy points got a little more frequent.  There were more runs that didn't feel great sprinkled with some really great ones (the great ones being the ones that made it on blog recaps).  The clear spots didn't last quite as long as I wanted.

And then there was June.  The Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon.  And let's just say, that didn't go so well.  You can go back and read the blog recap if you haven't already.  A race recap titled "I got it done" doesn't show a whole lot of enthusiasm about how it went.

And after that, the fuzziness stuck around for a little longer than normal.  For at least a month, things just weren't right.  Running wasn't what I wanted to be doing.  This time around, it required a big hard slap to clear things up again.  Which, luckily, happened when I ran the Ragnar Relay.

For the first time in what felt like a long time, I had 3 really
great runs.  Including one really awesome 9 miler in pitch
darkness at 2 am.

That little runner's high lasted a little bit.  But I quickly refocused my energies on my quickly approaching triathlon.  I turned my focus from running to swimming and biking.  I could easily ignore my lack of enjoyment in running when I had other things to focus on.  Swimming and biking kept me occupied enough to keep the world clear through the summer months.  As I approached my race day in mid-September though, things started getting a little fuzzy again.  I was ready to be done training.  Aside from my minor 2 week hiatus back in January, I had been training for one thing or another for an entire year.

That little fuzziness was cleared up by the completion of my first half-iron distance triathlon.  I even managed 3rd place in my tiny division.

I may not be a whole iron woman, but I can at least claim
to be half of one.

After that though, things seemed to go quickly back to fuzz again.  I was done.  I was burnt out, trying my best to keep myself motivated to be out there running ("rediscovering my love for running" as I termed it).  But it just wasn't clicking.  By early October when I crossed the finish line of the Portland Half with my mom, I had all but given up on trying to clear the screen.

Mom's first half!  Excited to do this again with the dad in tow sometime in the
future.

And then, just a short week or so later, my knee injury showed it's ugly face.  And since, then, as positive as I've tried to remain about the whole thing, things have pretty much looked like this without much relief:

Lots and lots of snow.  And not the good kind.

I took just about a month off completely from running, and did very little running once I started again.  There have been PT appointments, attempts at other forms of exercise, and many frustrating attempts at running.  There was the Seattle Half on Thanksgiving weekend.

A fun day, but that's pretty much all I can say about it.

After that, I ran off and on through December, hoping every time that maybe this time it wouldn't hurt.  Maybe this time I'd be able to go a little faster.  Maybe this time things would start to feel better.

But it didn't.  Not really.  No matter how many times I tried to knock that stupid Nintendo, the fuzz just wouldn't clear.  I even stopped keeping up with blog posts.  Because I didn't have anything very positive to say, so I didn't really feel much like publicizing it.

Just before New Years though (literally, a couple of days), something happened.  I decided to go out for a run.  I decided to keep following my 5:1 run:walk ratio prescribed by my PT.  And I paid really close attention to what I was doing.  I didn't think about anything else but running.  And here's what happened: I noticed that when I held my body the way the PT told me too (and I was able to now with my newly strengthened core and glutes from a few weeks of daily strengthening/stretching exercises), my knee stopped hurting.  Not completely.  The pain went from a 4 to a 1 (or 2).  There was still a nagging tightness, but when it started hurting, I could adjust my form and make it stop.

Control.  I found a way to control it.  And OMG the world is right again when I can control things.

I went to PT the next day and bragged about my new discovery.  I celebrated with my physical therapist.  I told her that I was finally seeing a light.  It was way down there at the end of a long long tunnel, but it was there.  Sorry to switch up the metaphor.  Bad writer.  I'll stop that now.

Then it was New Years.  I got dressed up super fancy with my friends, drank way too much, had a lot of fun, and celebrate the onset of 2014.

And after a couple more mostly successful runs, here we are.  And here's what I've decided about 2014: it's time to hit the reset button.  I'm not saying that I'm power off, shutting down, or starting over.  I don't need or want that.  But I needed a reset.  Enough of the quick fixes--the little taps to try to get myself back in place.  They aren't working anymore and were just a minor fix anyways.  I need to face the minor defeat and reset.

I have an inkling of a plan of what re-setting looks like for me.  But it's just forming.  For now, admitting that I need it is enough.  Knowing that, I went for a run today.  I kept to my 5:1, but I focused on what I should and enjoyed the struggle it took to push myself just a little faster.  I didn't and won't focus on pace in this reset, but at the end of it all, I was pretty happy to see a couple sub-9 miles even with my walking interval.  I've started the reset.  It's beginning to work.

I'm going to keep working on this reset, and will probably tell you about it at some point.  But not yet.

In the meantime, Happy 2014.  It's going to be a great.

I can literally feel it.

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.