That Wild Creature Called Yearning

“There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up the pen to write.”  ~ William Makepeace Thackeray

It's been over a month since I've written anything...anything at all...and it's not for the loss of anything to say but rather all the things swirling around the drain of my mind and clogging it full of gunk. Around and around thoughts race through my head in great, tail biting circles. So many thoughts. So many things to say. Nothing gets out but garbled gobbly-gook.

After a very trying spring, emotionally and physically, I slowly began reclaiming myself. I never would have guessed that it would take me this long. So much yearning remained unrealized, unquenched. What to do with it all - with all that yearning.

“The swallow that hibernates underwater is a creature called yearning.”  ~ David Quammen

I became like Pandora desperately holding the spirits in, not because they are evil, but because they are all just too much or too untamable - obstreperous little beasties. And yet in reality it is I who was shut-up in that box. I peaked out from time to time, a slice of light burning my eyes, quickly shutting the top afraid something essential might slip out.

And yet all that bottled up gunk struggled to get out and pushed and pulled and poked me in the eyes. And I held tight to the lid against the unruly beasts of my own making.

In May I left my teaching job of 16 years (ah, the fear and trembling!), and I thought, in all naive innocence and wide-eyed excitement, that this would somehow liberate me - body, mind, and soul to follow my proverbial bliss. But alas, that only began the insanity as I threw myself head first, with great gusto, into the trials and tribulation of growing a new business, pursuing ongoing educational opportunities, and training for my first 50k. All of this left me frazzled.  And wanting...wanting more...yearning...wanting it all NOW.

“The ancestor of every action is a thought” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

And during this time I did force myself from the box to do and not merely think. I ran the Estes Park Marathon, which remains a blur of unthinking doing, and quietly kept plugging away at my training. Then last week I went through an intense week of USATF training - something that demanded a different part of my brain and body - and through all the sleep deprived stress of that week something was pulled away from my eyes. I noticed something as I walked to my biomechanics exam - completely terrified of failing - I realized that I was completely THERE again. Why then? I don't know. Perhaps a yearning was satisfied in the challenge that required doing. And the box burst open on that cool morning in Hayward, CA. And my beasties did not flee. They stayed by my side and I made peace with them. For now...And I did not fail.

Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain.  ~Carl G. Jung

And now I realize that all that thought was necessary - all that being stuck in my own head had a reason. It's happened before and it will happen again, but you never really recognize what's happening until it is past.

Running is, in essence, a solitary endevour, even when we run with others we are ultimately on our own and it is all up to us (I can't help but notice that it is a lot like dying in this regard). We can use others to help us through this aloneness (and I don't mean loneliness) and they may serve to distract us from this nature of running, but it either happens because of us or it doesn't. And this is what makes running both liberating and terrifying. It's completely in our own hands.

I think we all go through these phases of turning inward - and they are necessary and regenerative - but at the same time they feel somehow wrong and alien and disconcerting. And yet, like any metamorphosis, we emerge a different person in some important respects. But the fact remains, that that metamorphosis is somewhat painful, unnerving, disorienting and weary-making when we are in it's midst.

 

My 50k, Great Cranberry Island, is now a week and a half away and I can actually imagine doing it now. Perhaps I needed that to hit me before all the bottled up stuff could be set free. Or perhaps I'm open to the thought that it might reveal something I do not yet know...

“I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of.”~ Michel de Montaigne

**************************************************

Appendix: It was brought to my attention after publishing this that my title sounded like something written by David Quammen (who I'm afraid to say I've never heard of - hate to have to admit these things), and so I will give him credit (and edited above with said quote) instead of changing the title. Though I didn't get it from him, he said this first - so I'll credit him for sending it out into the ethers, where it must have seeped into my gray matter. So be it. I see these yearning creatures much the same as the wild things, gnashing their fearsome teeth.

Running Naked

A Summer Challenge: Run, Sans Technology, Once a Week

“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.” ~ Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland

I listen to Lorraine Moller tell her story about running the marathon at the Barcelona Olympics where she won bronze. It was hot - super hot - 95 degrees Spanish HOT (everything's hotter in Spain ;). Standing at the starting line waiting for the gun, she glances at the watch attached to her wrist. Telling the story, her eyes tell me that she is startled by the very absurdity of this thing strapped to her wrist, in these conditions, for this race of races for her. She starts waving her hand about, "Why am I wearing this thing. I'm here to race." And she mimics unsnapping the band and tossing it away. The gun fires they are off to race.

I thought back to this story a few weeks ago when I pulled my car into the parking area of the Boulder Rez for the Boulder Distance Classic 15k and realized, to my absolute horror, that I had forgotten my Garmin. The feeling of helpless dread quickly spread from my brain out into every cell of my body and I felt a little sick to my stomach and weak in the knees! I did some quick math calculations to see if I could possibly drive home to get it and return on time for the race. And then I began reeling in the panic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 
I never used to wear a watch, never mind a GPS. When I raced a lot in back in the 1980s, race volunteers usually stood at mile markers calling out times. This predates chip timing, so there was only 'gun time'. So, your official split time was the time called out. Period. Back in those days I had a standard Timex 'running watch', no GPS, and I knew roughly where mile splits were for some routes I commonly ran because I DROVE the course - No internet mapping sites back then either!!

During a roughly 18+ year hiatus from racing, I ran routes based on estimated distances based on how long they took me and what pace I guessed I was probably running. Many of these routes are trail runs so I couldn't drive them to measure them. Turns out, running now with a GPS, I was pretty close in my estimates - though almost all the routes I ran I underestimated the distance slightly. For all that time, from about 1990-2009 (when I started racing again) I did not keep track, in any systematic way, of my mileage though I knew I was running about 45-50 miles a week just because I wanted to.

Back in my 20s I became obsessed with my running journal and the weekly totals that I marked down each week became a measure of my self worth. A year after I quit racing, my nutty new age roommates had a bonfire/ritual where we all brought things to burn, things that we wanted to leave behind - to rid ourselves of - I burned one of my running journals. Today I deeply regret that. I wish I could have that one back. Many of my PRs were recorded there. Many of my demons revealed themselves there. The journals I still have I now use for understanding. Alas, at 26 I thought I had a clue. I had no clue. And I now realize that I probably still have no clue.

When I started racing again in 2009 I was still pretty old school - I only drank water on long runs and I still had my trusty Timex watch. But I did now have MapMyRun and the USATF mapping site. Training became a bit more precise - but not much. When I did marathon pace long runs I had to make a mental note of where on my route the faster sections started and ended and where the mile marks were along the way. This, I had to admit to myself, was not ideal.  And so in 2010 I got my first Garmin. And the world of exacting training began. Would I now slip down the rabbit hole...?

I have tried not to fall into the abyss. I have continued running some runs without any watch or GPS. I will run routes I know well so that I am confident that I will get home when I need to be home, but otherwise I have no clue what my pace is. I just go out and run what I want to run. These are runs that are usually very easy recovery runs - where I don't really need to see that I'm moving at a snails pace. These are runs for me. I don't need to share them with my friends when my Garmin automatically uploads and shares with all and sundry...these runs are for ME, the animal in the world.

But racing without it???? Can I still do that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat: "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."
"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, or you wouldn’t have come here.”  ~ Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland

Runners have a tendency to get very caught up in the numbers and graphs of running. We record miles over days - weeks - months - years - a lifetime, pace, elevation, heart rate, calories, number of donuts burned, gas saved - we love the objective numbers. However, we can also get too caught up in that. We can lose the run in the numbers. We can lose the experience of it...the feel of it.

“Abundance of knowledge does not teach men to be wise.”~ Heraclitus

But, there's other important benefits we may gain from running naked - a GPS, while a very useful training tool, can also interfere with our internal sense of effort - the FEEL of running. Some runners become so dependent upon technology, that they have no sense whatsoever, of what they are running without the feedback. And that is when the technology takes over and we lose ourselves. Part of running 'maturity' is learning what that FEEL is all about.

I've heard runners wonder out loud if a run even exists if it's not recorded somewhere. Well, every run is always recorded, in your neurons and cells. Why would that be seen as any less 'real' than having it 'recorded' on some computer chip somewhere?? With each run new neural pathways form in your brain - it doesn't matter if you've run the same route a million times - no run is the "same" run. As Heraclitus correctly noted;

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, I run my 15k - a distance I had only ever run once and recorded only in that journal that will forever remain ashes -  And I 'just' run it according to how I feel. Since I'm rehabbing an injury my aim is to make it a fastish training run and a test run for the ol' butt sprain - and so I run based on how I feel. Rationally I think a nice 8:30 pace would be about right. I have no idea what I'm running. I just run. I cross the finish but forget to look at the clock. I have no idea until the results are printed out. My pace was 8:10. 

I have no doubt that that race would have been different had I had my Garmin. Faster or slower the same??? I don't know. But the EXPERIENCE of the run would have been qualitatively different. I learned something important that day. I will do that again soon. On that day I just ran and I felt the run and I was the run.

Once a week, leave the technology behind and run like a child, just as you please.

 “We are most nearly ourselves when we achieve the seriousness of the child at play.” ~ Heraclitus 

When The Troops Come Racing In: Part 2

Building Castles in the Sky... 

 

“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” ~Henry David Thoreau

...Waiting...waiting...waiting. Look at my watch, calculate time...distance...where are they now. I visualize where each of them are right now. I know this course well. I can see in my mind's eye where each one should be right now. My brain is churning.

Ambitious and important goals are chased today - some may call them 'castles in the sky' - because they are somewhat audacious - they are big and bold and fierce. They require a certain courage just to allow oneself to go after them - to speak - to others, to oneself - in one's head. They are scary, anxiety producing, and exciting. They make the blood hot and the stomach unsettled.

And if they are not reached today they will be soon. Each of these runners comes to this race with their own histories: This is Cecilia's 7th marathon and she has, time and again, been plagued with injuries and pacing problems in previous marathons. Esther is still pretty new at the running and marathoning thing. Jeni ran when she was younger then gave it up for a long time, but has returned with fierce determination. All three are after big PRs and hopefully BQs, at some point soon, though they all really want them today. All three are right "there" based on their training - it is within reach, but it is still a reach. Each has given it her all during a tough winter of training - and whether they reach the goals they've set for themselves, today or at some time in the future, depends so much on factors that remain out their control. Our will and our preparation - that we have some say in. And on that we must rely, and put all we have into the effort.

But this is one of the most mentally challenging aspects of marathoning: Anything can happen in a marathon - Anything. There are things we can control and there are things we can not control...and we must pray for the wisdom to know the difference...

A post from Amy pops up on Facebook: "Cecilia just passed 21 miles. On a 3:45 pace". OMG. OMG. My brain is just about to jump out of my skull. I still have so long to wait. Sandra tries to keep me calm. I now begin pacing up and down, up and down, up and down the hill leading to the finish. My eyes are peeled for the green shorts and shirt. Oh, come on green shorts and shirt...come around that turn...now. And so time passes...crawls the next 40 or so minutes...

And then they appear, green shorts and shirt, like a prayer answered, they appear out of nowhere and I'm startled by the realness of them. Cecilia looks at me and waves me away with a couple passes of her left hand and an almost imperceptible shake of her head. I look at my watch again frantically calculating. I don't know what time she actually crossed the starting mat - I can't yet see the finishing clock, but I start running alongside her, my own tired legs now completely alive...and we run for the finish.

Those last .2 tenths, those 385 yards, I'm screaming and I see nothing but her, and the finish, and finally the clock, 'Go. You've got this! OMG, you've got this..." and on and on I scream. I'm sure she is hating me. But she gives it everything she has. I look at the clock...3:46:xx...the goal is sub 3:45 for the BQ, but I don't let up on her for a second and she does not let up on herself. She crosses the mat, I put my arm around her to steady her, she looks me square in the eye and then collapses like a sack of potatoes to the ground taking me down. I turn off her Garmin (yes, I can't believe I did that) and yell for some help. Some Medics come and take her to the medical tent. She is in good hands, so I run back to my watching post and wait for Jeni who should be coming in next.

I don't know if Cecilia has BQed, but she did manage a huge PR. That much I know. Now the wait continues...Somehow Amy misses Jeni, so we have no news where she is. Oh, what's happening out there. Where is she??? We get an update that Esther has passed 21 miles. She's off pace, but at least we know where she is.  And I know this is so out of my hands...and I am so not okay with that.

Then Jeni appears around the turn. She is walking. Sandra runs to her and I join and we three run to the 26 mile mark where Sandra jumps out and I continue. She is looking at a 35+ minute PR and I really can't repress both my relief in seeing her and my excitement in what she's about to do. She is hurting, bad, I can see that, but she's running again, and again I run toward the finish.

And she crosses the mat with a huge new PR. And she gave it everything. There was nothing left to give. And that is a good race. And she is ecstatic (well, as ecstatic as a totally exhausted marathoner can be).

I jog back to find Cecilia and Sandra. Cecilia sees me and says "My time is 3:44:49"...my mind spins for a moment not grabbing on to what that means, and then I look at her and scream and jump on her. I hug her tight, forcing back the tears welling up.

And then I turn and see Esther running up that last rise. Danica (another wonderful friend who I ran Fox Valley with last year) is running next to her. She is struggling, but she is running strong at this point.

And for the forth time I am pulled toward that finish. She pushes to the finish with such strength and determination in spite of what I know must have been a real test for her. I don't know what she's been through, but I can assume that things did not go well. And after all that, this is what she looks like crossing the mat! (and notice the person who was ahead of her 100 meters earlier, is now behind her - she PUSHED it!!). She finished strong. She finished with a glowing smile on her face.

And THAT is what it's all about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The push when you just want to say 'enough' - the smile when the effort is finally over and you didn't give in to the 'enough' voice in your head, - the sigh of satisfaction at being weary to the bone - the inner battle when things don't go well - how do you make sense of it all?  - This is what we ask for, and the marathon never fails to make it's mark on our soul.

And the foundation is higher and more solid than before. And each effort adds to the foundation and each goal reached and each goal that slips through our fingers changes us forever. And each lesson learned and built upon determines whether our life will be one of big dreams that enliven and excite us, that make us giddy by the mere thought of them, or whether we will take the safe and timid route. These women all went big today.

And I had a very satisfying case of Laryngitis for the next 5 days.

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.” ~ Louisa May Alcott

And there will be a Part 3...because that's what dreams are all about...

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

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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...