When The Troops Come Marching In: Part I

“The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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This is for them...

After a winter of hard training, challenging weather, nipping burgeoning injuries and illnesses in the bud, succumbing to other injuries - We all converge on Colorado: Me, Cecilia, Sandra, Esther, Jeni. All of us have trained through a hard winter cycle, all preparing for the Colorado Marathon or Half Marathon.

And now the time is here.

My original plan was to run the Marathon, but as many already know, I did a butthead, and hurt myself. After missing Boston, my goal race, I am unwilling to mess myself up for any of my other planned races. Over the past few weeks, weeks where I have been (conspicuously?) silent here, I've been trying to allowing things to sink in, gel, ferment, sort out - because I try to learn from the bad and the good - I have become aware of a fair amount of judgement thrown my way - either to my face, passive-aggressively, or behind my back - "How can she be a good coach when she injured herself?" It's a natural, and ummmm, stupid question for anyone who knows that there are ALWAYS risks when one pushes their limits. I'm no more immune to this human frailty than anyone else - and so I got hurt because I wanted to see where I could go. This was not a case of hubris, but simply seeking my best...and I'll be back, and I'll probably (most certainly) hurt myself again. Them's the risks. Learn, move on...learn some more... I hope I'm smarter now or that really would be a stupid shame. But it's easy to just ignore the lessons and foist abuse and blame on one's self and others.

I mention all of this because, due to my injury, my role this past weekend shifted from being primarily a fellow runner in the race to, first and foremost, a coach and friend supporting the other runners.

This is gonna be interesting.

And so they arrive - from Wisconsin, Illinois, New Jersey...And the fun begins.

We've all been training together, all winter long, virtually - following each others ups and downs, successes, fits of angst, PRs, weather challenges, schedule upsets, injury and illness scares - and now we are all here - Friends bound together through running first, and now through much, much more. We all 'met' each other on Facebook through  Women Who Run The World, a group I started back in January 2012 (Cecilia and I actually met the old-fashioned way).  And While I've had the chance to run and hangout with most of these women, this is the first time we are all together in one place. 

And it works. We work - like beer and pizza :) We all just go well together. It's almost magic...

So, after a relaxing first afternoon/evening of good food (thanks to Cecilia's Culinary brilliance!) and a little beer, and a nice easy jaunt on the trails behind my house Saturday morning, we pack ourselves up and head to Fort Collins. The car is bubbling with pre-race anticipation - and a healthy touch of nervous energy.  

It's at this point that I first realize that this is a very different sort of experience for me. I'm nervous - very nervous - not in a bad way, but in an "energy jumping under the surface of my skin" way - and it isn't about ME this time. It's all about THEM.  The control freak in me is having issues...

We walk into the expo and the place is just vibrating with energy. And now I'm feeling envious, jealous, out of sorts...I just want to run (and I am running, it's just not what I had originally planned)! God, I just want to run. But my purpose here is different. I'm not okay with that yet. I'm trying to get comfortable with it all, but I'm not there yet.

We then have a fabulous dinner at the Rainbow Restaurant (Thank you, Lisa Roehm-Gensel, for setting that all up!). And, bonus, I get to have a beer because I'm not actually racing in the morning. Okay, that is a plus. Of course everyone else has a beer too, but I'm usually too uptight the night before a marathon to actually allow myself one. Oh, and then I have another. What the hell anyway.

Then back to the hotel, splits are written on arms, teeth brushed...and...Zzzzzzz. And I did actually sleep a little, another bonus since I never do much of that before a marathon.

3 a.m. and Sandra's alarm starts singing "Wake up, wake up, wake up, it's a brand new day..." loud and clear along with Jeni's 'nuclear accident warning siren' sound alarm! Ahhheeee. And, I'm trying to keep it on the down-low, but I'm hacking, just a bit...Shhhhhhh. Don't tell anyone.

We eat a bit, drink copious amounts of coffee and pile into the car. I drop Cecilia, Esther and Jeni off outside the parking garage so they can catch one of the last marathon buses. I wish them strong legs and lungs and say for the umpteenth time, "Please, do not go out too fast". Then hugs and they shut the doors, disappearing into the anonymous darkness. I take a deep breath, look at Sandra, "I feel like I just dropped my kids off at college. It's out of my hands now."  It's about 4:30 a.m. We park the car and catch our bus to the half marathon start.

It is freaking cold and dark at the starting area - and we have an hour to kill - and some dill-weed stole all the toilet paper from the port-o-potties! Seriously bad GI karma raining down on those poor souls for some time I pray.

As the sun begins to come up we start getting ready to run. My toes are completely numb but I know that won't last, so I strip down to as little as possible, teeth frantically chattering. I add on one toss-away t-shirt. And then we're off and all is well with the world again because I'm running at last, checking in with Sandra...in my element. This is not my race, this is Sandra's race, and I actually really enjoy that thought.

Supporting someone else is difficult business - My usual approach in this situation is to sit back and let the other person do the directing. I usually spend that first miles saying "Slow down a bit" or "Do you know you're going x:xx?" etc. Then it's really the last miles that get testy. And these do. Sandra is feeling nauseous probably from dehydration (these mid-west folks do not understand that when I say drink I mean DRINK!! Colorado is VERY dry) and so I covertly keep a sharp eye on my Garmin. We are a bit ahead of pace and I don't want to lose that, but I also don't want to precipitate a meltdown, so I back off for a mile. Then we pick it up again. Two miles and change to go. "You're pushing it" is all Sandra says. "uh huh" is all I say, and she stays with me. At the last water stop, less than a mile from the finish I ask, "Do you want anything?". "No" she responds. "Good", as we continue to press on. 

And as we turn onto the road to the finish, the last .3 mile of the race, I know she feels sick, she says she thinks she's gonna pass out, I say, "You're almost there." and she pushes it toward the finish. I look at my watch as we cross the mats...she grabs onto my arm for a moment of stability. And she has a new PR, at altitude no less. 

Medals...hugs...congratulations. A silent sigh of relief and satisfaction from me. A smile of deep satisfaction shows through her fatigue. THIS is it for me. THIS is why I do what I do and it matters as much to me as my own hard fought for successes.

Now comes the waiting game. We have an hour and a half before anyone else will be rounding that corner heading toward the finish - and I feel more anxious than I ever could have imagined. I am not the praying sort, but I'm praying now. Just in case...

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” ~ Anais Nin

The Boston That Wasn't...Regrets and Revelations

I need to write this for me, and it is in a sense, my way of sorting things out and putting things in proper order. I know everyone's out there writing comforting, empowering, deep and meaningful stuff...I'm not there yet. Please forgive my ongoing Boston obsession and related issues. It will end soon. Or not...

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I'm lying on the table at In Motion Rehab connected to the e-stim machine. This is where I've been everyday since injuring myself 10 days ago. My hope had been to get to the start of the 117th Boston Marathon, but my body had other plans. And so instead of running from Hopkinton to Boston on that pitch-perfect New England spring day, I 'run' 7.5 miles on an indoor track in the midst of a spring blizzard in Boulder - 13 laps to a mile - and I'm feeling pretty damn sorry for myself.

All I think that whole day is: "Dammit. I shouldn't be here!"

And as electricity pulses through my posterior, I hear about it. I hear Gene and Luz and Heather talking in the other room - there's a tone of disbelief, as I piece together what they're saying. Henry Guzman calls the office. His Lennox Hotel window overlooks one blast site.

Two bombs have just gone off near the finish of the Boston Marathon.

Instantly pictures of blood covered sidewalks, disembodied limbs and chaos begin circulating through the internet. I drive home through heavy snow, sobbing and shaking with grief and disbelief...

And that's been my general state all week. I have been unable really to deal with much this week. After the injury, then the loss of my 16 year old dog, the difficult days before Boston when I felt I should be there - and feeling that life is supposed to be good right now - and it isn't...and now this??? Enough already.

And for the rest of Monday I am inundated with calls, emails, messages, texts...neighbors knock on the front door - Some are friends who think I'm in Boston and check to see that I'm okay. Others send well meaning and heartfelt messages - "I'm so glad you aren't in Boston."..."You weren't meant to be there. You are where you should be."...

And all I can think, ALL I can think is, MY god. I wish I was there.

So for the past several days I've been trying to sort through what I've been feeling - and why I've been feeling it. I haven't slept more than 3 hours a night since first injuring myself back on April 3rd. My brain won't ever turn off. I wake at 2 a.m. and lie in bed until 6 a.m. thinking - pointless thoughts, regrets, churning and churning, chaotically, over and over and over. Nothing sorted. Nothing resolved. Just gunk. Gunk.

And then yesterday I get out of bed after another sleepless night and find myself, at last, completely unable to deal. For the first time in 16 years of teaching I realize that I need to take a "mental health day".  Lecturing all day just is NOT going to happen. I can't even imagine trying to discuss philosophy today. No way. All I can muster is slumping on the couch wondering what the hell is going on?

And so I spend the day trying to sort through the flotsam-and-jetsam of my thoughts and emotions. And here's where I arrived...

Not being in Boston was hard at first - I tried to stay away from the internet all weekend because everyone's posts made me burst into tears - and then even harder after the horror struck. I kept thinking "Damn. If I had had plane tickets that I couldn't cancel then I probably would have just gone. Damn you Southwest and your flipping liberal cancellation policies!!"....and a plethora of other nonsensical garbage flows through my mind. If only...if only...if only...

Between the debacle in NYC in November and Boston now - I can't help feeling fairly doomed on the running front. And that's when I realize the connection. The NYC Marathon, as I tried to convey months ago, left me feeling bitter and angry - New Yorkers and runners around the country called me, and all the other runners there, selfish and disrespectful. Even though I knew why I went (to help my family in NJ and to support my NJ friends who planned to run) I deeply regretted going. Flying home from Newark I wished I had never seen what I had seen: the destruction of where I grew-up, and the fierce animosity directed at runners - from both runners and non-runners alike. I saw a mean side of New Yorkers and runners that proved hard to shake. I felt very alone through all of that.

Now, fast forward to Boston - All I wish is that I was there. Now of course the two situations are importantly different, and I'm not trying to equate a natural disaster with human evil - but what suddenly dawned on me was this: I'm now grateful that I went to NYC. Oh, it sucked, and the NYRR handled the race and the 'resolution' horribly - But I did what I could do and that's all I can ever do. And if I hadn't gone, I may have had similar regrets I now have about Boston.

So, now, short of death, I will be back in Boston for 2014, AND I even want to run NYC again.

Running the Risks

"Run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up." ~ Dean Karnazes 

So, on Wednesday, April 10th, I withdrew from the 117th Boston Marathon. I also put my 16 1/2 year old Aussie-Samoyed mix, Willa, and my most loyal and steady running partner ever, to sleep after 6+ months of doggie hospice.

It's been a bad week. It's been a very, very bad week, and I don't see much light at the end of the tunnel right now. I know there's light there, but I just can't see it yet.

Right now I should be getting ready to travel to Boston. Right now I should be feeling excited and nervous. Right now should not be what it is - but that's what it is. This reality is not what I had in mind.

Many people have commented that Boston isn't the big deal. Boston will still be there. It's just running, after all, and there is more to life than running. All true statements.

But losing my best friend??? Now that IS the big deal.  She was my steady running partner for 12 solid years, through all types of weather, day in and day out, 50 miles a week for 12 stinking years (and she still ran with me more sporadically until about a year ago)!  That loss is the real loss.

But here's the thing: I know Willa lived a good, long life. The last year has been rough, for her, for us, and we tried to do everything we could for her. The degenerative, incurable disease that hit her seemed just so unfair - but she maintained an amazing, positive attitude through it all - she rolled with it. She enjoyed what she could still enjoy, and accepted her lot in life in a way that I don't think I ever could. I admire that determined, strong, stubborn, willful beast for her ability to stay positive when she could no longer walk. No longer run. No longer do much of what she enjoyed. And yet, she seemed to still find something worth living for. I saw it in her eyes.

But then, something turned. I don't know what it was. There was a new level of frustration she seemed to show. And at 2 a.m., in the darkness of a restless night, as she and I tossed and turned, and thrashed, and gnashed our teeth at the unfairness of the universe, I realized that the time had come. I really don't know why it hit me at that moment - but my heart began to beat out of my chest, and I sobbed for the next 3 hours, having made the decision.

But here's the thing about all of that - We knew that was coming. We knew that was the inevitable end we were going to reach at some time. That is where that path necessarily led. I miss her terribly, but death is part of life.

But Boston - here the path I THOUGHT I was on was not to be. We all know that there are no guarantees with training and racing - We do what we can, but somethings are out of our control. Weather, sickness, injury...these things happen, for better or worse. By all accounts, I was on the path to a PR at Boston. All my training indicated that if the race came on a good day, I would be ready.

And then I turned onto a different path.

And here's the hard part for me to accept - I made that turn. It didn't happen "to me". I made a choice - a bad choice - and in one moment of thoughtless action, 4 months of training seemed to disappear without a trace. I know, intellectually, that that is not the truth - but that's how it feels right now.

And so today, I am not getting ready to leave for Boston. I am not feeling excited and nervous - I am not feeling alive in that electric way I do before a big race - all of that is not to be. I get that we all run these risks when playing this game, but I don't have to like it when things fall apart.

For now, I am in the pit of despair - but this too will pass - and I will again run the risks of training again, because that's just what we do...

Yep! I Sprained My Ass!!!

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on" ~ Robert Frost

It's Wednesday, 12 days from the Boston Marathon and all is well, more or less, with the bod though the mind is having it's ups and downs. My training has gone well with an occasional blip here and there which usually happens at some point during the trials and tribulations of a long marathon training cycle. I've made it through the winter cold, and snow, and sleet, and ice and wind wind wind...And then spring comes. I've made it through a difficult semester with a fairly heavy course load.  I've managed to give reasonably good and rational advice to my runners (though I sometimes don't take my own advice) and they are doing well beyond all expectations. Things are good. What could possibly go wrong now??

Tuesday we have a full April day of deep, good, soaking rain (those storied April showers) - the kind of all day rain that Boulder sees about 3 times a year, and it not only draws out the green world waiting to reveal itself, but it feeds the dry, cold, parched and windburned soul of a tired runner who's ready to sit back and rest - and let it all sink in. And Wednesday dawns moist, and cool - with the clouds clearing away in a light drying breeze, revealing the flatirons and an April bluebird sky.

I'm getting excited about Boston. And then...I SPRAIN MY ASS!!!

How in the world can this happen?? Well, as a matter of fact it's surprisingly easy to do - and as it turns out, it happened because I decided to have a little fun.

Now I have been feeling some hamstring/glut tightness for quite some time. It would be disingenuous of me to say that I've been feeling in tip top shape, but it wasn't something that really got in the way of running. I felt it, the tightness, but it was easy to ignore. Overall, I've been feeling pretty strong and on target for what I aimed to do in Beantown.

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So the fateful day begins with a long circumnavigation of Boulder as Cecilia and I make a hopeful, yet futile, attempt to run at a track other than the Fairview High School track (since we're on the other side Boulder). Boulder is a runner's running town. We have gobs of tracks. But, that day we discover that most of those tracks are locked and closed to the public (Yay for public education! Your tax dollars at work!). So after about an hour and a half we finally find ourselves back at our usual stomping grounds - Fairview. Now, for someone with tight hammies/gluts, this is probably NOT the best way to start a track session. I see this clearly in retrospect. LESSON NUMBER ONE: Do not sit in a car for long periods of time prior to running intervals of any sort.

We start our easy warm up jog around Viele Lake, finishing at the track. My workout is 16 x 50/50 sprint/floats. Cecilia is running 15 x 100/100 sprint/floats. We both head off into our own little worlds and start our workouts. I do my 50/50s right around my target pace of 11/15 - lose count, but stop when I feel my legs getting fatigued. I AM TAPERING! Listen to your body, dangit - I remind myself. I check through my Garmin and see that I've done at least 16, so I begin my cool down jog. My aim is 3ish more easy miles.

Meanwhile, Cecilia is still running her 100s. By the last one, she's feeling it and we are at about the same place on the track as she gets ready to hit the button for her last sprint. I say, "Let's go. I'll finish this one with you." She crosses the line and we're off...

Now, At this moment I am doing so many stupid things that it's difficult to pinpoint the key point of jackassery that proves to be my ass breaking undoing.

First: I'm done, DONE, with MY workout. Never run another person's run!! Well, Duh!!!
Second: I'm on the outside of the track - because I've been jogging laps. Cecilia is on the inside of the track. As we take off, I cut sharply inside (Why??? We're on the straight of the track!) But I feel that sudden lateral motion - and not in a good way.
Third: And I've made this mistake so many times in climbing, but this is the first time while running - When you feel a little tired do not say to yourself, "Oh, I'm going to throw in just one last _________. "(you fill in to blank with some butthead move). That last effort will do nothing good for you - and it may actually hurt.

And so, with all the odds against me, I try to shoot off the blocks, so to speak, because it seems like fun.

And then I feel the fates kick me in the ass. The pain is sharp, and startling. I've only ever read about these things as some poor sprinter pulls up in the middle of a race hopping to the finish, clutching a torn hamstring or glut. I take the classic - skip, skip, skip...hop, as Cecilia sprints away (this is her fastest 100).

And so it is a long, quiet drive home. Cecilia tries to reassure me that it's probably nothing. As we drive I feel it tightening, throbbing....and there goes a full winter's training. Oh how I want a rewind button. Oh, how I wish I had thought, for just a second, before doing what I knew was a stupid thing to do - but the problem is, running fast can be fun. I was just trying to have fun. Clearly my brain was in my ass that day.

It's now 10 days from Boston. If I can't run for the next 10 days then I guess that's what it's gonna take. Spring has finally settled in here and it kills me not being able to run. I try to comfort myself with the lessons I've learned (and lots of people now are leaping at the opportunity to point out my stupidity - thank you v-e-r-y much!). Yet, there are as many lessons as there are minutes in the day. Will I do this again? No. But I'm sure I will make other mistakes - mistakes that right now I'm not even aware of. 

So I sprained my ass - Well, technically it's my sacrotuberous ligament. I hope it is better in 10 days. But keep in mind that these things can happen to any of us. We are human. Beware of Hubris. I got that lesson - kicked firmly into my ass. But also beware of smugness and too much self satisfaction - for that too may bite you in the ass. 

And now - life goes on. Where will I be in a week - I know not. but I will probably be somewhere, and I hope it's a better place then where I'm at right now.

Now, off to physical therapy...

Some Myths That May Be Killing Your Running: Part 2

Myth Number 4: You can train for a marathon just as well running 30 miles a week as 60 miles a week.

"It is necessary to understand that, while the object of training is to develop your anaerobic capacity to exercise, this can only be done in relation to your oxygen uptake level and capacity to exercise aerobically. In other words, it is necessary to run as many miles or kilometers as you possibly can at economic or aerobic speeds to lift your oxygen uptake to your highest possible level as the foundation upon which to base your anaerobic or speed training." ~ Arthur Lydiard

I started this "Myths That May Be Killing Your Running" (Part I) thing back in November, and I'm only on part 2. Seems this might be a marathon in its own right!! But I'm skipping to #4. Don't worry. I'll go back.

So, I hear this from so many aspiring marathoners, time and again: I like to run 3 days a week and cross train or do cross fit, or PX90, or Insanity, or the butt-kicking workout du jour. Less is more...I have a friend and it worked for her...

Here's the classic beginners marathon program - This is approach is practiced by (uninformed) coaches the world over: Run 10 miles during the week and then a long run on the weekend - up to 20 miles. This is a pretty standard approach for programs like Team In Training - and their program serves as a model for many smaller local training groups. Now, I have great respect for Team In Training and their laudable aims, but their methods are flawed for long term gains and health as a runner. Their aim is to get a runner to the finish, and they succeed remarkably well in that regard. But, that does not mean that this approach works for those who want to run, and not merely finish, a marathon. And again, I'm not judging the "I just want to finish" goal. But I also don't want to be judged because I might want something beyond finishing - and by that, I mean perhaps a time goal or making running a long term part of my life rather then something to check off the bucket list, or whatever. 

So, I'm here to say that this is a bad approach - both the "less is more" and the "weekend warrior" approach will not give MOST of us the best result nor the most pleasant experience - whether you are a novice or not. Whether you see yourself as a "one and done" marathoner or have other goals down the road.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news (and please don't shoot the messenger), but the research does not support this approach.  Don't get me wrong: there are many many disagreements within the running/coaching community about what is "best" in training. If there was ONE agreed upon approach then we would ALL be doing it. But things are not that simple.

Aristotle notes that we can only seek the degree of precision that a subject allows  ("Now, what I have to say about this will be adequate if I clarify it as much as the subject matter allows.  For we must not seek the same precision in all discussions..." ~ Aristotle Nicomachean Ethics). Training is messy business. We change our minds. We discover new things.  And so we must rely on the information we have, the research and the experience - Not our personal experience alone (hasty generalization), though that may matter for us, but the whole of experience.

There's two issues to consider here: 1) Aerobic and metabolic development, and 2) the specificity of training.

The ONLY way to develop your aerobic and metabolic system for running long distances is to run long distances which serves to increase the number and size of mitochondria in your muscles - and mitochondria are THE energy producing centers for your muscles.

So the fact is that weekly mileage matters and the best way to get your necessary/desirable dose of mileage is with regular, easy running. Easy running allows you to run more without getting injured and/or exhausted. Of course, as I've written about before, most of us run our easy runs too hard.  If you only run 3 or 4 "quality", which means hard, runs a week, you are missing out on this essential part of your training. Basically, you're trying to build a house before you have a foundation on which to place your house. 

So, the first step for any sort of training plan is to develop a wide base of aerobic capacity, which you can then build your speed on.  Easy and moderate mileage should make up 80% of your weekly miles. What some may refer to in the pejorative as "junk" mileage serves to:

*Increase and maximize Fat Metabolism
*Increase the number of aerobic enzymes
*Increase the Size and Number of Mitochondria in the Muscles
*Increase Capillarization

But these runs are relatively slow and long - 30 minutes to 3 hours (max). In an aim to get more with less, these sorts of runs get left out of the schedule. These are often not viewed as "quality" runs that are a necessary part of a well developed system. 

And for those doing the low mileage, 'weekend warrior'  approach, they just aren't getting enough of these miles.

To illustrate this idea consider a triangle: Optimal training for a goal event looks like a triangle, and the broader the base the taller the peak can be. The more narrow the base, the lower the peak, or the higher the likelihood that it may topple over.

The left triangle can still go much higher before it becomes unstable, while the one on the right is pretty maxed out at it's current height. The deeper and broader your aerobic base, the higher your peak performance can be.

Quality, runs are essential - Lactate Threshold, VO2 Max intervals, Intense/Short Repetitions - are all necessary to build the peak toward your potential, but if there is no base, then the slightest ill wind will blow it over, and more importantly, during your race you will not have the physiological adaptations to tap in to.

Descartes, the French philosopher famously known for his claim: "I think, therefore, I am", said that the Ancient Greek philosophers, such as Aristotle and Plato, constructed beautiful palaces built upon foundations of mud and sand. Theories many sound beautiful, simple, appealing, but when the evidence points elsewhere, it's foolish to believe what one wants to believe in spite of evidence to the contrary. 

This is what we know now. This is an ongoing search for understanding and results.  And, we are ALL part of this ongoing experimentation and research.

A Monday Minute: Everybody, Do The Flamingo!!

"Our strength grows out of our weaknesses." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson 

Want to be a stronger, happier runner??? Do the flamingo, everyday ;) For most of us our greatest weakness begins at our feet. it's further exacerbated by sitting for hours working, driving, watching TV...

I began a little experiment on myself about 2 weeks ago, after attending the USATF Distance Summit and listening to and talking with Jay Dicharry. He posted a picture of a flamingo (much like the one above) from his book Anatomy For Runners  and presented compelling evidence supporting the view that relying on shoes to solve our foot woos is a bad idea not just for your running but for your mobility for life. Studies indicate that in parts of the world where supportive shoes are the norm, medial knee osteoarthritis occurs at a much higher rates than in other areas of the world. In fact, in areas where supportive, raised heeled, shoes are not prevalent, knee osteoarthritis is rare. Instead, hip osteoarthritis occurs, but it shows up, on average, 20 years later.  Supportive shoes alter how impact is distributed across the the knee, so the impact is subtly moved more medially. Now, this is no argument for barefoot running, and Dicharry is very clear that that is probably not optimal, nor practical, but it does suggest that instead of relying on shoes and other gadgets, we should be working out our feet as much as the rest of our bodies. We ignore foot strength to our detriment.

What struck me and stuck with me was when Dicharry said: "Shoes do not stabilize people, people stabilize people." Of course I knew this, but seeing the results of not doing this just drove the point home.

So, my experiment: I teach about 4 hours a day - that's four hours on my feet (one of my classes is 2hs and 5 minutes long) - and I'm what you might call a peripatetic teacher - I walk. I never stand still. But over the past 2 weeks I've been doing the flamingo in class. Yes, my students find me to be a constant source of entertainment, but I'm okay with that. Balance has always been a big bugaboo for me, and I use to chuckle at my klutziness, but no more. Now I'm working on it.

Of course, all things in moderation, and as Dicharry points out in the video below, a little work goes a long way. I'll see how my experiment works out and hopefully I won't topple over while explaining Kant's epistemology. Though that would make for a lively class!

So everyone. Do the flamingo!! Everyday.

The Fluke Factor

fluke

n.

1. A stroke of good luck.

2. A chance occurrence; an accident.

3. Games An accidentally good or successful stroke in billiards or pool.

"I am always doing things I can't do, that's how I get to do them." ~ Pablo Picasso 

I have heard this word, 'Fluke', uttered so often from the mouths of runners who have just accomplished something big - something important - something, at one time, unimaginable: "Oh. Yes, I ran a marathon, but it was just a fluke." "Yes, I did just PR, but it was just a fluke." "I qualified for Boston, but I'm afraid it was just a fluke, so now I need to do it again."...or else... 

The Fluke Factor (as I call it), based on my experience, seems to plague women more than men. I have heard so many women (myself included) cross the finish-line, having just run a strong race, or a personal best, or a new distance, and immediately downplay what they've just done. Others reflect later on their accomplishments and wonder if what they did was just some strange stroke of good luck. 

This thought worms its way into one's confidence and self image - and suddenly the achievement is thrown into doubt. It was all just a fluke - luck - had nothing to do with ME. There is a reason why a fluke is also a parasite. Parasites live off of you, drain your energy, take what they need and leave you with nothing.

So we set out to see if it was just a fluke - can we do it again? - or can we not?  And this thought eats at us. And if we don't do it again, does that mean that WE never did what they actually, really, did?

The other interesting tendency I notice is that we rarely call a bad race a 'fluke'. Nooooo. The bad races are entirely MY fault. The bad races show what I'm really made of. But the good races? Nah. That's all just fickle luck. We berate ourselves for our failures and shrug off our successes.

But this is another problem with really committing to and going after your wildest dreams: When you achieve them, it's as if it can't possibly be true. You didn't really do that! How in the world could you have done that?

Well, I'm here to tell you that there are no FLUKES in running. The beauty and pain and challenge and appeal of running lies in the very fact that it is entirely up to YOU. You have no one to blame for your failures, nor for your successes. It's all about you.

Yes, it is important to have support, and that matters a lot, but no one can run the run for you. We are often more than willing to heap crap on ourselves for our "failures" (and I've written before about how essential failure is for our success and growth), but we dismiss our successes so easily. 

I know runners who think that their first marathons were flukes. That their first BQs were flukes. That all their PRs are flukes. I try to reassure them that this is just impossible - I don't care if you were running with someone - someone who encouraged you, was there for you - that all adds to the experience but doesn't alter the simple (ha, not so simple) accomplishment of having done it.

Now, with chip timing and notification, I get a little jolt of energy every time I cross a mat in a race knowing that the people I care about know where I am. It matters, but they aren't running the race for me, they're just helping to make it a bit sweeter.

It's scary to reach for our goals, but when we courageously go after it, we should at least savor what we achieve. Go do what you can't do, and then accept that you did what you thought you could not do, and relish that knowledge.