My First 50k: Great Cranberry Island Ultra

 
The thing about a 50k is that it really isn't a big deal. I mean, if you've run a few marathons (I've run more than a few) then it's no biggie, right? - 5 extra miles.  Baaaaaaa. How can you even call that an "ultra"?

And then it's a week away and the freak sets in. This was a little bit like giving birth (or the anticipation of it) for me. I never took a childbirth class - When I asked my doc if I should, she said, "Well, it depends on how comfortable you are with the whole thing". I spoke to all my momma friends and asked: "Did you get anything out of taking a childbirth class?" The singular reply I got was: "I learned how to breathe in and out", with accompanying demonstrations of the crucial breathing technique. Well, I thought, I already know how to do that. And I thought to myself, well, women have been giving birth since the beginning of humankind, so what's the big deal. Then at about 39 weeks I started to freak. It hit me: "OH MY GOD, this thing has to come out of me!!!". And a 50k felt the same way. It was no big deal, until it was right there and I had to do something I had never done before...

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We land at the Manchester-Boston International Airport at midnight. Exiting the building from baggage claim to collect the rental car, we walk smack into an invisible wall of humidity. I let out a sigh and a quiet, resigned, 'uggggg', and we load up and head for the Econo Lodge.

The next day we head to Maine. The weather is heavy and thick. I know that lower altitude is supposed to feel good. I'm supposed to feel all light and oxygen enriched, but in reality I usually feel the weight of all that extra oxygen. Add to this the fact that my sinuses are in total revolt, and I feel like I'm moving through a world of mud with a fish bowl on my head - And I can honestly say that I am not feeling very psyched.

Two days before my first 50k, and I barely (NO exaggeration) stumble through 4.4 miles of jogging.

So for the next two days I fortify myself with Sudafed and nighttime Ibuprofen. I gotta clear this noggin, and I gotta sleep. NOW. I can not actually imagine running this thing right now.

I chill. We sail out to Little Whaleboat Island. I sleep. Things improve, a little.

 You can barely tell that my head is about to explode and make a big fat mess all over the deck, can ya??

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And then we make our way north, a drive my husband and I used to make so often, from Brunswick to Bar Harbor to climb on Mount Desert. It has been a very long time. So much is the same - exactly the same as it was 19 years ago. That is both comforting and disconcerting. I'm not the same. And yet, I am the same.

We make our way through Southwest Harbor, in a steady rain, to the Seawall Motel situated right at a natural seawall.  It's thick-as-pea-soup foggy out now - and the cool, salty moisture feels good. Except for the gently lapping surf, all is quiet darkness out across the bay where I know Great Cranberry Island sits in wait. I stand on the second floor walkway, and look out where I know the island sleeps. I still can't quite get my head around this...

I wake at 7:30. At this time the air has a cool nip to it. If only we could be running now! The race starts at 11:30 (to allow people to get out to the island and for those who are camping to have time to set up their tents), but the boats only leave every two hours, so I need to catch the 9 a.m. boat. After a frantic search for the ferry dock (small Maine towns like to keep things interesting for those "from away") I jump out of the car in a bit of a fluster bid farewell to my husband and daughter, and trot down to the dock barely catching the boat. 

I'm on the boat with Jill (no longer 'just' a facebook friend) and her boyfriend Brian. Lot's of Marathon Maniacs on board - lots of chatter, introductions, stories shared - and we all know, or perhaps we don't know, what's coming. And I can't help but feel that we are somehow sailing off to battle...And I am reminded of what often plays through my head at these times:

From Shakespeare's Henry V, 1598:

KING HENRY V:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

I know. A little over the top. A little melodramatic, but there's something to it!

And all is peaceful...The calm before it all begins...

We arrive at the island and there are pickup trucks and decrepit island cars and golf carts a plenty to haul our stuff the 1/2 mile up the hill to the start. As we walk up this hill, it dawns on me that soon I will be running up it, quite a few times.

Then there's time to kill - it's only 9:30. I get my bib, introduce myself to Gary Allen (RD and head of Crow Athletic, a northern Maine running club of which I'm actually a member), park my self and my stuff in a shady spot on the porch of a church and stroll over to a little cafe for some much need coffee.

Clouds obscure the sun, but each time the sun comes out of hiding it feels like a stab of heat. Please, more clouds.

Finally 11:30 approaches. Speeches are made, the national Anthem is sung, and we're off...

 Thus begins the journey of 7.5 laps of  the island...

And everyone seems to take off like a shot. Here's what I'm thinking: "Ummm, folks, we have 31 miles to go. Where's everyone off to so fast??" You'd think that most of us have been around the proverbial block a few times and know better than to try to pull a jack rabbit start - but no. Everyone's happily chatting along as if this was just a fun little island jaunt. What's wrong with me??  Lots of people are running with friends. I have no friends - well Jill is here somewhere, but I don't know where. I trot along, alone, and the arch of my right foot is screaming at me. Now, I do have a right foot injury (from twisting my foot in a hardened horse hoof print on the trail months ago) nagging me (peroneal tendonitis at the 5th metatarsal attachment) but it's never been that arch! Okay. Work it out. (WTF!!)

We round the first turnaround and I'm heading back, seeing the people coming the other way. I spot Jill and Brian. We high five. A guy with a mohawk yells out "Go Chronic". I chuckle and wave, not sure I heard it right and too surprised to say anything. And the first miles tick along...

During this race we pass over the start/finish line, ummmm, I don't know, 14, 15 times - Oh, I can't possibly do the math. Our names are announced, and as always, people struggle with mine. But as I cross and head down the hill toward the next turnaround I hear my name. Then I hear, "Hey, I'm Facebook friends with you" over the loudspeakers. I wave and trot off.

Any remaining clouds burn off within the first hour and the sun beats down from the blue bird blue skies. The only saving grace is slight breeze that feels like a gift from the gods, though the gods could be a bit more generous!

Again I pass the guy with the mohawk - I hear, "Good job Chronic". Okay. I did hear that. "I can't believe you know that!", I call back. "Thanks". He responds, "It's easier than your real name". Then I hear a runner, 'Jim' is on his bib, call out, "Good job Caolan".

And so it goes, lap after lap after lap after lap. You see the same people, over and over and over. You cheer everyone on. They cheer you on. You get to 'know' them is a strange sense. The Islanders come out. They see how you're doing on lap 2...on lap 6... two women have cheered for me each time I pass their house: Lap 6 "Caolan, you're so consistent, so strong. great job" Ummm, I don't feel that way!

As the 80+ish heat and 75+% humidity begin to wear on me I stop at the table where we stash our stuff and pull out my bottle of HEED, pouring it into a smaller handheld. This is valuable time, time I don't ever allow in a marathon - but hey - THIS is an ULTRA, right? I do this 4 times over the course of the run, but I'm glad I did, even though I now wonder just how much time I "wasted" doing that.

As I cross the mark entering my last lap, I see my husband and daughter. My husband asks how much I have to go. Another lap, I tell him - which of course means nothing to him - but to me it means this is the hard one - the last 4 miles. And this lap is hard - really really hard. At the final turn, I can no longer calculate how far I have to go. I look at my Garmin, but still I'm second guessing it. Is it 1 or 2 miles left. Oh, I give up. Just run.

My adductors are cramping on the uphill, cambered roads - and I'm trying to delay the inevitable. With half a mile to go I suddenly realize that it's not the mile and a half I thought I had left. I see the flags that line the road leading to the finish, and my legs come alive. I push with all I have up the final hill to the finish. 5:04:44.

As usual, all is a blur after I cross the mat. All I can think is: "I gotta get these shoes off NOW". A volunteer runs up to me and loops a medal/belt buckle over my head. Another runs over with my finishers 'rock'. My daughter runs to me, excitedly animated as always asking things I can't quite make sense of. I hobble over to my bags - and stand there trying to figure out what to do first. I can't really move.

I wait for Jill. I talk with the people I've spent this long day with: Jim, Bob, Nancy, Maddy, John, Shawn, Zach and Juli... etc...all people I know now - who I didn't know this morning. 

We make our way the half mile back down to the boat dock. Doug (Welch), the guy with the mohawk, is still running, now with a beer in hand.

 

"How do I know you?" I call out to him. He walks over to me, "Facebook and your blog". "I really appreciate your support today. Thanks", I say. We chat for a bit. We hug, and he trots off up the hill.

And as we wait for our ferry back to Southwest Harbor, I stand in the icy waters looking across Frenchman’s Bay to Mount Desert and the rolling blue hills. And I am tired and hungry and salty and achy to the bone...and happy.

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And that's the story of my first 'ultra'. Does that make me an "ultramarathoner"? I don't know. But it has changed me. And now the story continues...

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face...You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”  Eleanor Roosevelt 

50k at 50: Great Cranberry Island Ultra Marathon

“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”  ~ Andy Warhol

In 5 days time I will be running the Great Cranberry Island Ultra Marathon which is also RRCA’s 2013 National Ultra Championship and the last year this race will be held.

So I suppose that's all a pretty big deal, and yet none of that really matters to me, because I suddenly realized that this little race is a much more personal journey for me.

19 years ago I moved to Colorado from Maine. Most of my prime racing years were spent in Maine. Most of my PRs were set in Vacationland. When I was 26 I stopped racing, just like that - burned out from the pressure I put on myself. When I was 30 I decided to run the Maine Marathon, my first marathon, on a whim and minimal training. It remains my fastest. I wouldn't run another marathon for another 16 years.

Now, almost 25 years after those racing days of my youth, I return to Maine for another first.

And I have just turned 50, and well, running a 50k seems appropriate. It's been a while since I've attempted to do something I am unsure that I can actually do - as in, I never have, so who knows - right?

Time changes everything 

except something within us 

which is always surprised by change.

~ Thomas Hardy

And now I am a very different person, and I am exactly the same person. I love Maine - and it will always feel like my second home, or maybe even my first home, because it was the first place I chose to live - To make my home. No one understood why I would move to Maine, way up north, where it's freaking cold, in the middle of nowhere, with a population equal to one block in Manhattan. Why would this Jersey girls do such a thing? Why? Because that place spoke to me and I fell in love instantly and deeply. The only reason I left was because it is a tough place to make a life as a young person. Educational options were limited, and so I had to leave or forever stay stuck in service jobs. That's how saw it then, anyway. I always planned to go back.

And so this all seems very fitting to return in the month of my 50th birthday, a birthday I tried to ignore. A birthday I shrugged off with the usual glib saying "Age is just a number".  But the reality is no glib saying. And it turns out that the reality is more akin to that tuned in Talking Heads song...it all is 'same as it ever was'...but it is never the same... 

 ...You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the blue again after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground
You may ask yourself, how do I work this?...

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us... 

Letting the days go by, letting the days go by, letting the days go by, once in a lifetime (?) 

It feels right to return now to do another 'first' in Maine.

And all of these thoughts, and my past self and my present self, and I now know (because age has brought some insight from reflection), that my future self, will all be there on that small island ushering in the next stage of this life...

I feel like I am watching everything from space 

And in a minute I'll hear my name and I'll wake
I think the finish line's a good place we could start
Take a deep breath, take in all that you could want 

Some Myths That May Be Killing Your Running: Part 3

I began this back in November, 2012. This is the third installment but deals with Myth #5...

Myth Number 5: Online logging sites/social media offer a new opportunity for measuring ourselves against our peers and keeping us on our (competitive) toes, and offer opportunities for free training advice and that's always a good thing.

Now, as I see it there are two problems here: 1) Competing and comparing oneself may or may not be beneficial, and 2) While there's lots more advice to be had out there than in the dark ages (pre-interwebs), advice can be good or bad.

“Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.” ~ Aristotle

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I'm going to start with #2:

Let me begin with some Philosophy that seems to make a lot of sense, and ideas that weave through so many theories about how we learn and how we achieve personal excellence.

Aristotle argues that there are three necessary elements in mastering anything:  Practice, desire, and a teacher. Today I want to focus on that last element. By "teacher" what Aristotle is really trying to get at is someone who sets an example of what it is to do X well. If we are surrounded by those who know what they're doing, then we are more likely to learn well.

So let's say you want to master the game of basketball. If you are surrounded by Michael Jordans then you are likely to learn good technique and develop good habits with regard to playing basketball. But if the only basketball players you know do not know how to play basketball (they run down to court holding the ball, can't get the ball near the basket, etc) then you are unlikely to learn well. Why is this? Well, when we don't know much about something (and we all start here for everything we do) then how do we judge good from poor skill??

So if I know nothing, it's hard for me to judge good advice from bad advice. In this regard, Aristotle concedes, we are very much subject to the whims of fickle luck.

But wait just one second! We do each also have the ability to reason and sort through what does and does not make sense. Perhaps all is not in the hands of the fates after all. But reasoning, as well, is developed like all other skills - we learn how to reason well and value reasoning well IF we are surrounded by those who live that value and exercise that virtue.

“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.” ~ Aristotle 

There are many people out there, well intentioned people, who offer heart-felt advice to those seeking answers. BUT that advice, even when it is very well-meaning, does not make it good advice. It is up to each of us to sort the wheat from the chaff.

And if I hear "Go hard or go home" one more time I will scream!

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Now moving on to #1 above:

We live in a hyper competition obsessed culture (even though this doesn't seem to be getting us much of anywhere). In Facebookland we are all shiny happy people living lives of brilliant perfection - for runners this means: stronger...faster...farther... On Dailymile, or Strava (or any of the other social-logging sites) we run hard. We compare our times, our distances, our training plans, our goals. We sometimes allow what others are doing to direct our own goals (or we beat ourselves up for not being as awesome as runner-x).

All of these issues can also hit those in running groups (face-to-face rather than online). Groups can easily slip into 'group think' where everyone is expected to do the same races and train the same way, and if they don't fall into step then they are left out, criticized...sometimes ostracized.

Running groups, whether virtual or real, and logging sites are ONLY helpful when they further our own aims. But when the aims of the the group cloud our own minds and confuse our own internal navigation, then I believe its nefarious influence undermines our own learning, our own journey and even our own lives.

Examples Offered: 
* I've had runners confess to me that they stopped a run early and/or turned off their GPS because their pace dropped and they didn't want to have to post a slower overall pace logged onto Strava.
* I've had runners confess to "stalking" my training for their own purposes - usually to measure their own training or to try to copy mine.
* I've read posts where someone comments that they are going to copy another runner's training (usually an elite).
* I've seen comments indicating that a runner decided to run a race, usually a marathon, because that would make them a "real" runner.
* I've seen people get upset and indignant when other runners don't post their paces for runs (on Dailymile, et al).

Does any of this help your running?? Not really. Can it hurt? Yes! Others can inspire us to reach higher and farther, but it has to come from within first. We must use the running community for encouragement and examples of what might be possible, but not as examples of 'oughts' - I ought to do X. It is so easy to confuse 'wants' with 'oughts'. It is so easy to look at what others do and judge oneself as not good enough, not tough enough...

Each one of us 'out there' is a role model for someone else. Whether you want to recognize this or not it's true. What you may think is no big deal another may admire beyond belief. Be careful with that power and be aware that others may influence you - and that can be good or not so good for you.

As Jean-Paul Sartre convincingly argues, when we act we are making a statement about how best to live - we are all role models - and with our freedom comes responsibility:

"I am thus responsible for myself and for all men, and I am creating a certain image of man as I would have him be. In fashioning myself, I fashion man" ~ Jean-Paul Sartre

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

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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.

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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?

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“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.” 

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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.

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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

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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