Monument Valley 50k: A Magical Tour Through a Mystical Place

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt 

Navajo sunrise ceremony (Photo: Peter Beal)

Months ago I started planning my training for a rematch with Kettle Moraine 100. I decided then that I wanted to run in some new places and drag my family along on at least a couple of the adventures. It would be our excuse to break out of some routines that, while good on the whole, need an occasional kick in the backside.

So I searched through Ultrasignup for some reasonable contenders. Monument Valley 50k popped up on the radar, pronto. Done.

Day One: As we pack up the van to head west over the mountains the snow is dumping down on Boulder, having moved in about 12 hours earlier than predicted. A few last stops in town and we're off. The drive over the Continental Divide is sketchy but once we're past Vail the skies clear though the buffeting winds accompany us for the remainder of the 10 hour drive.

First siting of Monument Valley

We finally arrive in Mexican Hat, Utah, population about 100. As we pull into The Hat Rock Inn we notice that the sleepy town has yet to wake from winter hibernation. We are pleasantly surprised that the Inn is quite nice - clean, comfortable, welcoming, overlooking the San Juan River banked by tall red sandstone cliffs leading the eye on to the seemingly endless expanse beyond.

The view from our room.

We settle in and are thankful we brought a cooler full of food. The eating options in Mexican Hat this time of year are limited to microwaved frozen burritos from 7-11.

Day Two: I head out early for my customary shakeout trot exploring the dirt roads just north of town leading up the the town's namesake, the Mexican Hat formation. The desert is so desolate and quiet, except for the songs of unseen birds ushering the morning awake.

Mexican Hat poking up in the distance

We then head off to Monument Valley some 20 minutes south. We spend the day exploring the area. Throughout the day I see the marker flags for the race dot the landscape and red, white and blue ribbons tied to scruffy desert grasses. Some appear to just cut randomly through the desert. There's no actual trail, just a lot of sand. This unintentional reconnaissance exercise leaves me feeling more nervous than I anticipated.

The Fam xoxo

Sophia trying to fly

We return to the motel, my husband heads off to the the next town, 30 miles away, for some pizza, and I start formulating my plan for the next day. I have no experience running in sand, especially long sections of deep sand, so I throw a couple extra pairs of shoes and 4 extra pairs of socks into my drop bag that will stay put at the Three Sisters Aid Station, which we will pass through four times. Better safe than sorry. What I don't know now is just how much sand I'll be running in tomorrow. Later I will be thankful for my ignorance.

Day Three: The alarm goes off at 5:20 a.m. but I'm already awake. I quietly get ready and then wake up my husband and daughter. We drive through the dark and as we enter the valley my stomach begins its usual flips. We arrive about 10 minutes before the start. People are milling about as the sun rises showing the towering sandstone formations in silhouette.

"Oh, beauty before me, beauty behind me, beauty to the right of me, beauty to the left of me, beauty above me, beauty below me, I’m on the pollen path." ~ Navajo Sunrise Corn Pollen Blessing

We make our way to the start as the sky brightens enough to hand my headlight off to my husband. I'm hanging way back in the pack as the 50 milers are ushered on their way with cheers and claps and shouts of encouragement. I'm in no hurry to start, or get up front since this is a training run and I am taking a chill attitude about the whole thing - well, as much as I can. I hug my husband and daughter tight. Thank them for coming out so early, and assure my husband that I'll let him know when I'm a few miles from the finish.

And we're off.

The start is chilly and all downhill, some of it pretty steep, and I know I will be running back up this several hours from now toward the finish. We hit the first checkpoint and head out on the first loop: The 'red loop'.

This section has some fun, steep, ups and downs, twists and turns, and is all single track, which makes for a little challenge because the field still hasn't spread out. I feel like I was in the middle of a particularly vexing "Indian Run" (not politically correct, I know) training game. I am stuck behind many people while looking for my chance to pass. Many let me by, others do not and so I either have to slow down or bide my time and wait for a good passing place, or jump briefly into the spiky desert foliage, feeling the cuts across my shins and calves, to get by. At this point I am regretting my laid back attitude at the start.

We hit the Three Sisters aid station at 7 miles and change. My shoes have some sand in them but it's not too bothersome at this point so I forgo a sock change, use the facilities (which are chemical 'toilets', aka litter boxes, made of plastic pails) in tiny tents - Luckily ultrarunners have no shame nor need for privacy ;) I discard my hat and gloves, and refill my bottles with HEED and I'm off for the 'white loop'. This one starts out along a dirt road and I'm hitting my normally comfortable marathon paces here, which feels good - and people are now spread out to the extent that from time to time I wonder if I'm lost. We turn off the road onto a 'trail' of sorts, heading for the Totem Pole and the sand dunes.

The coming miles, I'd estimate about 10ish miles of this section, are through the dunes and deep, deep sand and some of the most churning, grueling miles I've ever run.

“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered.  An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered.” ~ G.K. Chesterton

Mile of sand behind me, miles of sand in front of me...

It goes on and on and on. My socks fill with sand and become little sand bags bunched up at my toes. During this section I stop three times, maybe four, to empty my socks and shoes.

This loop seems to last an eternity, which actually it does as my pace drops off the map and my effort goes off the deep end. "It's just training. It's just training" I repeat over and over. I see no one for a very long time. It is me and this amazing place and no one else. Except for one of our Navajo guides, who appears as though a mirage.

Eventually we move away from the dunes and I pray to the running gods that there is no more of that. The normal sand here is bad enough. We join back up with the final miles of the earlier red loop where we run into the back end of the half marathon - so once again, I am forced to beat my way around people through the spiky desert flora. We hit the Three Sisters aid station for a third time at 19ish miles. I beat out my socks, but at this point I see little sense in changing them. Even though they are covered and stained red with sand, my feet are fairing well and I tend not to mess with things when they are working. More peeing, more HEED and I'm off for the last loop.

Now we head off to the 'blue loop' which promises a 1500 foot in a mile climb to the top of Mitchell Mesa. We briefly make our way out a dirt road and then turn, making our way around the back of the Three Sisters and onto more single track and fairly deep sand until we hit a narrow canyon. From the bottom I can see people weaving their way up the ascent - and from here it looks to be straight up. This is the most technical part of the course with long sections of rock hopping and precipitous drop-offs inches away.

The climb is difficult and mostly unrunnable for me. Add in the challenge of others coming down, and all I want is to get the hell up. Naively I'm looking forward to the descent. I finally get to the top of the mesa and the markers lead us another mile or so across a sandstone path to the edge of the mesa where we punch our bibs with a heart shaped hole puncher to ensure that we do no turn around early. 

Turn around point on the top of Mitchell Mesa

I stop at the top for many minutes, taking it all in and beating out my socks yet again. The wind is picking up now, but it feels good at this point. Then I head back down. Now, the descent is majorly hairy. I pick my way down through the rocks, large and loose, and sandstone slabs trying not to catch a toe or twist an ankle. A guy is right behind me doing the same. 

"If you want to get by just let me know" I say to him. I can't look up and I can't look back. I just speak to whoever I am hearing behind me.

"Nope. You're doing just fine". He returns. 

I do not feel fine.

And we continue. The trail splits for a second and he goes left and I go right, and now he is ahead and immediately catches a toe and almost goes down. Several paces later, I look up for a moment as runners are coming up and catch a toe, and start spinning my feet to catch the fall among huge boulders and slabs of low angle sandstone. I spin around, and with an audible thump, slap both hands against a vertical wall bordering the trail, stopping my fall with a 'thwap". The runner coming up has his mouth wide open, hesitates, and then haltingly says "Nice - save!" Somehow I survive the rest of the descent unscathed and then back into the sand, which now feels like freedom. I pass my descent partner and after some chuckles about our near misses, I am off. I hit the aid station for the last time at about mile 28. 

I leave the aid station to head for the road back, which is all uphill and sort of grim with cars kicking up major dust. I then remember to call my husband (I never run with a phone!) and tell him that these last few miles could take a while. Then I just push for home. I see the hotel next to the visitors center way the heck up there. Up there?? Seriously, I have to run up to there?? Ugggggggg. But I push on, now with a very healthy headwind slapping me down. Churn, churn, churn. Switchback...am I there??? No...another switchback...repeat. And finally I reach the top. I turn left where the arrows point but I don't see a finish. I ask some guys walking, "Where's the finish?" "Just ahead on the right" they promise and sure enough there it is. 

And, my husband and daughter are right there, waiting on the other side of the mats. This is a totally new thing for me. I see my daughter's neon green pullover and just focus on her and go. 

I cross the mats, so damn glad to be done, and so damn glad to have done it. I rip my shoes and socks off and don't give a damn about the goat-heads hidden in the velvety soft sand. That sand feels like heaven outside of my shoes. 

Best of all I feel really quite fine. One small blister on the inside of a big toe and some cuts on my shins and calves is all I really have to show for the six and a half plus hours I was out exploring this magical desert landscape - going places most are not permitted to go - I feel blessed and honored and thankful. It was a good long run. It is a good day. 

What more can any of us ask for from a day than a little adventure, a bit of exploring, a new experience, and some pleasantly sore muscles to show for the effort. For a short moment, for a day, that is enough. 

“Happiness is not a goal...it's a by-product of a life well lived.” ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

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

Note: Ultra Adventures put on a top notch, zero waste event. The course was well marked even though this is very very difficult terrain to mark sufficiently. The course was also very tough, which I'm sure was by choice - the RD wanted to find the most beautiful, challenging course, allowing runners to get close to some of the most amazing formations and enjoy breathtaking vistas. The aid station was well stocked and volunteers were the best (but I use Hammer products, so having Hammer as a sponsor for the race worked great for me). I would certainly do another Ultra Adventures race. 

I Love You But I Don't Really Like You Right Now

I love my daughter, my husband, my dog,  my true friends, running...more than anything in the world. They make life valuable.

And yet there are times when I do not LIKE them.
Like, when the dog keeps digging up the same damn bulbs out of the garden...
Or, when my daughter starts copping a nasty, whiny attitude that seems to come from nowhere in particular...
Or, when my husband asks: "Are you angry about something?" and I say (sincerely, because at this time I am not) "No." and he says "You're acting like you're angry about something..."  Grrrrrrrrrr...

Yesterday someone asked: "Do you ever tire of running Caolan?"

This was my response:

"There are many days I drag my sorry, obstinate ass out. There are days I hate every step and just want it to be done. But. Habit gets me out on those days. Unless I'm sick or I just know that I need a rest day, I will go. I'd say maybe 5% suck . 20 % I'm not in the mood, but it's ok. 25% are ok. And maybe 50% I'm excited for or super stoked about...There was a time that I went out because if I didn't I'd hate myself, but over time I stopped thinking about it. Now it really isn't open to debate. I just go. Like eating, sleeping, putting clothes on, showering...no question."

And this all got me thinking...

There are times that I say to my daughter "I love you and always love you, but right now I do not like your behavior." There are times when friends and family frustrate me to the point that I feel that I don't really like them at that moment - I know that I still love them, treasure them, but I just don't really LIKE them. And I'm sure many feel that way about me at times.

And, I also feel that way about running. Once you find something (or someone) that clicks with you, makes you feel more alive, allows you to be YOU, well, then that thing, or person, is a keeper.

I think that sometimes those who have been running for years, who never ever question (any longer) the identity "runner", forget to show those who are still trying to develop the habit and get comfortable with the identity 'runner', that it isn't always rainbows and unicorns!

Pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows

There's LOTS of days I'd rather not go run. Often, once I'm out there I realize that I'm just fine and it turns out great, or at least fine. But there are those days when the whole stinking run just sucks. I'm just not in the mood and I don't want to be there, but I do it. Why? Because I'm a runner and it's a habit. I don't even give myself another option.*

So, in the service of full disclosure and to perhaps encourage those still developing the habit of running, let me be very clear: While I usually want to run, the "scale of psych" varies from day to day.

The Scale of Psych:

<--hating it---Not too bad---Meh----Pretty okay---Oh, this is good---Boom----Never want to stop--->

Example: Two weeks ago I ran the Phoenix Marathon:
The forecast is for a HOT day, getting up to 90 with lows higher than I want for any part of a marathon. I hate hot weather. But for some strange reason (perhaps because I've been through this so many times at this point) I really am not stressed about it. I will do what I can do. So, we arrive in Mesa, late afternoon, stop at the expo, get to the hotel, go for a long hot tub soak, hang in our room eating what we brought for dinner while watching crappy TV. Get to bed at a reasonable time - though not for the 3:30 a.m. wake up, and I fall asleep. And, at 12:28 my eyes pop open. No worries, just go back to sleep. But sleep eludes me for the next three hours - not because I'm nervous - but because my body and mind is so excited to just run (Okay. I also have a raging sinus infection and lying down causes strange noises in my head ;). So, I just kept telling myself: "Wake up will come faster if you go to sleep". But at 12:28 I felt great and raring to go. Hmmm. Not good timing. So as the glowing numbers on the clock slowly tick through the night I just try to lie like a dead woman. I've actually gotten pretty good at this. I do not move. And the time drags by painfully slow. And it is painful because I want to freaking run NOW.

But the point of this story is that I woke up because I just WANTED to run. Why? Who knows. For all intents and purposes, the stars were not particularly aligned for a 'good' race. But for some reason I didn't care. I just wanted to run. And sometimes that deep desire hits at 12:28 a.m...

But, importantly, many times the mood meter moves to the opposite side of the "scale of psych". If those still developing the habit think that other, more seasoned, runners ALWAYS want to run then they may feel that they're missing something. Or, maybe, that this running thing isn't really for them. Or, maybe even that there's some character shortcoming that separates them from other runners. Well, I'm here to tell you that all those thoughts are normal, no matter who you are. It's a little bit like marriage: If you think it's gonna be a continual state of bliss, like when you first fell in love, you're in for disappointment, and more importantly, you might give up on something worth fighting for.

We all see the Facebook and Instagram posts from the perpetually stoked - every single, bloody day they are just jazzed to get their run on. And while I am reluctant to call them on their state of perceptual stoke-ness, (and I am skeptical) I will confess that I am not a member of the tribe.

I am one of those weak, flawed, and fickle creatures who can, at times, hate what I most deeply love.

So, for those questioning their 'real' desires, or looking at others and wondering "What am I missing?", my answer is: Nothing. If you understand that these things happen then you will learn, over time, when and when not to heed that voice (it may be soft or screaming) in your head that tells you that the last thing you want to do right now is go for a run. For those in the game for a long time, the habit is to acknowledge that and dismiss it just as fast. I do not fester about it. I do not allow it to turn into dread (usually). I just walk out the door and go. It may get better or it may not, but chances are it will get better and if it doesn't today, it will soon. And when it does I will be a stronger person, in mind and body, because I keep on running and that is conditioning for the body, mind, and spirit.

What we do everyday is what our life becomes. Those who are successful in doing what they most deeply wish to do have developed the focus and with it the strength of will to do it even when the vision of the wish momentarily blurs - when our resolve wavers. True belief necessitates action.

“We must make automatic and habitual, as early as possible, as many useful actions as we can…in the acquisition of a new habit, we must take care to launch ourselves with as strong and decided initiative as possible. Never suffer an exception to occur till the new habit is securely rooted in your life.”~ William James

________________________________________________________
*Note: Deep fatigue and mood changes that persist for a few days indicate that rest may be called for. Here I am not referring to such episodes. In this case I am only talking about short term, fleeting downs not robust downward changes. Likewise, if you are feeling tired from training a day of very easy running may be called for. But that very easy running will possibly help more than complete rest.

Mean People Suck: Some Thoughts on the Running "Community"

“The easiest and noblest way is not to be crushing others, but to be improving yourselves. ” ~ Socrates

This week I'm struck by the number of mean spirited things I've either seen online or experienced in person, and all day I've been wandering around in a funk thinking: Why can't we just be nice? Why must we always place ourselves on some pedestal? Why do we like making ourselves feel superior at the expense of someone else? Why can't we all just do our own thing and accept that others are doing their thing (when it has no impact on us)?

It didn't help that I had a couple bad interactions on the trail this week with a belligerent dog owner who was just plain mean and nasty, I've also seen all kinds of really mean spirited, divisive comments and blog posts and people seemed to flock in droves to say 'hell yeah' and share over and over again, these negative, nasty posts. We enthusiastically leap onto the bandwagon of hatred and bigotry, and pat ourselves on the back for not being one of the lame whiners and wannabes. We put people down for asking questions we deem 'silly'. We mock the goals, paces, results, etc of others. When I registered for my first 50 miler a couple years ago, people didn't miss a beat at jumping all over me for choosing an "easy" 50. What the hell does it matter to anyone else what I run? Does this make us feel better about ourselves to mock and put down others?

Now, I'm not "Little Miss Nicey-Nice". I certainly can be critical at times - though 'critical' needn't be mean and nasty and foul mouthed.

What runners seem to like to do is label themselves and others:
road runner
trail runner
track runner
fun runner
mom runner
ultrarunner
marathoner
slow runner
mid-pack runner
back-of-the-pack runner
competitive runner
newbie runner
seasoned runner
masters runner
mountain runner
and on and on and on.

We put ourselves in categories. Others like to keep things tidy by assigning a little box and stuffing us into it. Labeling is limiting. Labeling makes us flat, unchanging things, not humans being and becoming. But through these labels we establish our camps - our clique - our clan. And the others are outsiders at best and infiltrators at worst.

I call myself a runner. That's as far as that goes. I don't call myself an 'ultrarunner'. I don't call myself a 'masters runner' or any of the above labels: I run roads and trails. I run 5ks and 100 milers. I run hills and flats. I run. Period.

I'm 'new' to ultrarunning as I only started dipping my toe into that pond in 2013, but I have been running longer than most ultrarunners have been alive. So I'm one of those 'old-timers'. And I've watched the rise in popularity of marathons and the resulting 'old school' verses 'newbie' divide surface again and again. I certainly have been guilty of looking at some newer trends with concern and suspicion and perhaps with a little head shaking and finger waving. BUT, most of that arises out of concern for the well being of runners, who may still be new to the sport and MAY be listening to people who do not really know what they are talking about and may not have the most noble intentions. Sure, that's 'judgmental' of me. But, I do actually have the qualifications to make those judgments. Old timers grouse about 'standards', and preparation, and crowding, and cost. As a result. 'road runners' are often seen as a more contentious group.

Now, in the ultrarunning community, both in the 'real world' and the 'virtual world' I see two very conflicting trends: 1) Inclusiveness: Ultrarunners are a welcoming and encouraging, and 2) Divisiveness: As ultrarunning has grown in popularity a divide has slowly oozed to the surface from the deepest, darkest depths of muddy trails: The 'seasoned' ultra runners vs the 'newbie'.

So, while ultrarunners and trail runners love to depict themselves as welcoming and inclusive, laid-back and humbly hard core at the same time (And I would say MOST unltrarunners ARE welcoming and encouraging), there is also a 'pissing match' element. And that's all well and good as long as long as it's meant in a good competitive spirit - that is you aren't pissing all over the other person. What do I mean by good competitive spirit? Well, it goes something like this: I'm gonna beat your ass, or I'm gonna beat my own ass, and try my best, and shake your hand no matter how it goes. Put-downs have no place in sport. Do YOUR own damn thing.

When I did not get into Western States and tried to look on the bright side by saying that this just gave me a chance to get more experience, a well known and respected runner accused me of not going into it for the right reasons because I wasn't sobbing all over social media. I was, and still am, very disappointed that I didn't get in. And I signed up for my next 100 with the intention of qualifying again. This runner attacked me because I might have possibly taken a spot from someone who 'really' wanted to get in had I been accepted. She told me that with my attitude I am doomed to fail. So, let me get this right: I tried really hard to get in. I ran and finished my first 100 miler (first attempt at the distance and I did okay) and qualified. And I applied. I was too nervous to watch the drawing, so I went for a 16 mile run in the snow. When I got home I looked over the list again and again, hoping against hope. No Bueno. "Okay", I tell myself, "Time for plan B. And next year I'll have 2 tickets and a little more experience under my belt." THIS is the attitude of a failure??? This person doesn't even know me, but as a leader and role model in the community, I was slightly devastated that she would say these things. So sure of her judgement of me. So mean and hurtful.

For the record, these things usually eat at me for a time and then I get back up, brush off the crap people like to throw at me, and go on pursuing MY passions. They can shove their shite somewhere else.

Recently a blog post was shared all over the interwebs and on ultrarunning sites: The point of the piece is to tell ultrarunners to stop their whining - and if they don't like it they can f*ck off. The author clearly notes that with the rise in the popularity of ultras there has also be an increase in the amount of whiny runners. Again, the message is clear - All these 'newbies' are a bunch of whiny pansies (yeah, you know what word everyone was really using!) and they should all just shut up or piss off. This post was shared by so many runners who I know and used to respect. The reaction to the post is disheartening: "I love you". "Well said". "If this offends you, you don't belong here anyway." "Spot on." "You are my new hero!!" etc etc etc. I saw hundreds of thumbs up comments in response to this.

"People don't mind being mean; but they never want to be ridiculous." ~ Moliere

Now, I don't like whiners and complainers, and those who act as though they are 'entitled' to things that no one is entitled to (like a smooth ride and automatic success), and I'm not 'offended' by the post or the comments, but I am SAD about it. I'm sad about it because it feels like much ado about not much! Yeah, I haven't run that many ultras, but I can say that I've never seen these whiny creatures out on the trails when I'm there. I've volunteered at races, and have not had runners grouse about aid stations, the course, the support, etc. Of course the whiners are out there (and I could add "who the f*ck cares"), but they are so in the minority I'm just not getting the big deal here, except as an us/them thing: Us being the cool kids. Them being the lame whiners who we are not!.The us/them dichotomy is divisive.

But here's the thing, everyone rushes to say, "awesome job" and in so doing they become one of the good guys. They are one of the real runners. And since they get it, nudge nudge, wink wink, and aren't offended that just proves how much better they are. They aren't offended therefore they aren't one of the whiners (It should be noted, however, that this was whining about whiners) They are tough and stoic and made of better stuff then those other losers. But, it's like all the fools in the story of the Emperors New Clothes - No one is brave enough to say, this is nothing but meanness. This is about nothing more than making yourself feel superior. Puff up that chest, man. You f*cking rock.

So, here's MY message: Make YOURSELF as good as possible. Be nice to others. How they behave has no baring on your character, be that good or bad. Your character and the character of the community rests in how we behave and how we treat others.

“Strong minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, weak minds discuss people.” ~ Socrates

The Asterisk Factor

“Accept what life offers you and try to drink from every cup. All wines should be tasted; some should only be sipped, but with others, drink the whole bottle.” ~ Paulo Coelho

2015 was a year of setting specific goals and applying what I've learned over the years, especially since returning to racing again in 2009, in an attempt to avoid some pits I've fallen into previously.

Overall, it was a success. In 2014 I ran my first 50 miler, the Des Plaines River Trail 50 in Illinois. I had not really trained for it and my fueling plan was pretty half-assed - as in non existent. The result? A decent first experience at the distance that almost came undone during the last mile due to low blood sugar. I learned that lesson, but good! An insufficient amount of HEED plus one Luna bar plus 3 gels does not a good fueling regimen make when running 50 miles.

So, as the Kettle Moraine 100 approached this past June, I was determined not to make that mistake again. And I didn't. My fueling went great with only a few hours of pretty mild nausea that still allowed me to suck on my HEED and nibble pretzels. No cramps. No vomiting. Only mild hallucinations and some annoying, but mild, finger swelling. 

Then, a few months ago, I had a rematch with the Des Plaines River Trail 50. Last year I ran it in 9:15. This year I had two goals: Go under 9 hours and fuel well so as not to repeat history. I did both. I ran the whole 50 miles, kept the fuel coming in, light but steady, and I felt pretty damn good. Yes, the last 18 miles were incredibly hard, but I maintained a decent pace throughout and finished in 8:36:07.

So success on all counts. Except...

I got through Kettle and qualified for the Western States lottery. That was the goal. I ran Des Plaines faster than I thought I could and didn't bonk or cramp or almost pass out 2 yards from the finish.

And yet there is this 'Asterisk Factor' as I call it.

The Asterisk Factor concerns those little blunders or miscalculations or conditions that were just not conducive, or body tweaks that don't prevent you from running but might prevent  you from doing what you've trained to do - these all give rise to the little nigglers: things that eat at you a bit and worm their way into your thoughts, wishes, dreams.

You know: when someone asks: 
"How was your race?"
And you say, "It was a great race, except...".

These are the instances that give rise to the asterisk factor.

Of course no race is perfect. Chances are there's always something we think we 'should' have done and didn't do that would have made even a good race great. But the Asterisk Factor concerns more serious things. You know, like the race you felt so freaking strong in and then wonder, after the fact, if you could have run faster. Or, the goals you didn't really recognize you had floating in your mind and heart until you didn't reach them, only then realizing they were there.

In my case both my goal races for the 2015, Kettle and Des Plaines (Yeah, Boston too and the weather hosed that, rather) suffer from the Asterisk factor: 

*Kettle*: Too much time at aid stations and getting lost on the course and running it without really training well for it and running a time I am not satisfied with (even though I never set a time goal!)
*Des Plaines*: Still too much time at aid stations and a tweaked knee and making the same damn fueling mistake from mile 26-38 that I did last year

When we embark on new things we never really know what new paths might be revealed that we don't even know exist beforehand. My first horrible, 90 degree Boston that was meant to be a 'one and done' run has turned into much more than I would have ever guessed. Why? Again, because of the asterisk factor. Now whenever I bemoan my bad luck or my weakness or my not always keen judgement, I remember that this factor has kept running very interesting and challenging for me.

Some ask: "Why are you running Kettle again? You've done that already".
Some immediately get it and don't ask. They only comment: "You have unfinished business there, don't you?"

Some judge my choices as boring, unadventurous, safe. They can keep their judgements because this is about me and what I find valuable. I relish this process of falling on my face and coming back to use what I've learned to do better. This is a process I find mentally and physically compelling.

Where the asterisk factor directs me depends entirely on how I want to use it and I never know what that will mean until the inspiration hits me and that inspiration will ONLY come from THAT thing that stands out in my mind as something to think about. When it hits I know what I need to do. And that's the great thing about the asterisk factor : It may seem like a 'failure' at first, but if we see this whole thing as a process of becoming, then nothing is a failure, except not trying - and even that we can use in the future.

And what new, unknown, paths await discovery next?...

“Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the moment.” ~ Eckhart Tolle 

To Stay the Course or To Turn

"If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading." - Lao Tzu

This post is not about running. It's more about what I am always learning FROM running. One day recently I looked up from the crazy life I've been living, took a deep breath, and realized that some of the habits I have quietly slid into are leading me in a direction I may not wish to pursue. This has certainly been the case for writing, or the lack thereof. There are other trends, but I will leave it at that for here. 

If you like where you're headed, keep going that way.
If you don't like where you're headed, change now or you are likely to find yourself where you never wanted to go.

I have been itching to write - for the past several weeks, months perhaps. Oh, I don't know how long now. And it's all getting rusty...Atrophying. Such a depressing phenomenon, atrophy. Like running, like anything, if you don't use it you lose it...I'm losing it. And what you do one day and the day after that, and again and again and again, becomes what you do. Who you are.

"Consuetudinis magna vis est" ~ Cicero

“The power of habit is great” and I suddenly find myself with some undesirable habits, while I've allowed some essential habits to fall by the wayside. Over the past several months the pressures of work and training and parenting and paying bills and dealing with big stuff going on with my family far away and travel and just so much busy-ness, which may be tedious or exciting, but both can serve as focus distracters - I'm feeling like I have a major case of ADD. These distractions slip insidiously into each day. And before you know it, they are your life.

For me writing, like running, has always served as a clarifier. A cleanser of the mind and soul. A detox. And I need a major detox. So here I am. I am setting boundaries, priorities, limits. The direction I am going is not taking me to where I want to be.

Okay. So that's life. Life is rough and tough and messy and rich and frustrating and hopeful and exhausting and innervating and enervating. Running is easy. So. I think I like the direction I'm taking in running and I will try to take what I do there and apply it to the other things. I will take what I do in running and apply it to life, easy-peasy. NOT! Habits, good, bad or otherwise, are hard to break and hard to develop. So, this (the act of writing this) is the second action I've taken this week to change my direction - the first had to do with setting some, baby-step, boundaries to nip some workaholic issues.

What have I learned from running that is life applicable?? Well, lots, but in this case I'm zooming in on one particular skill I've learned and developed over the years: Planning. Looking at long, medium, and short term goals. Recognizing that one can NOT do all the things one WANTS to do simultaneously, and accepting that some tough choices must be made - In running some goals must wait for another day, another year. What we do today sets us down a path, in a particular direction. We may not even know that direction until we get somewhere and see new options present themselves that we had not anticipated. Being open and receptive to opportunities does not preclude having ones eye set on something. The journey may be the point, but those who achieve great things don't do it by just allowing the fickle winds of circumstance to blow them through life.

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde

What we do is an expression of what we care most about. We may say: "I wish I had time to do X" but what we are really saying is that we don't really care about doing 'X'. We say we do, but our actions show what we really value. I keep saying, next week will be better. Next week I will catch up. Next week I will be able to do that thing I really WANT to do.

Next week never comes.

"Never give up on something that you can’t go a day without thinking about."
~ Sir Winston Churchill

We all need to choose the path we want to TRY to take. And, even if we don't choose an end, a path, an aim, THAT is a choice. We cannot NOT choose. And if we choose not to choose we end up traveling willy-nilly down a path to...where?  We know not. Maybe that's okay too. Maybe some want to jump at the chance to do things as they present themselves and see where that may lead.

Either way, plan or no plan, chances and options unexpected will reveal themselves. How you deal with those, though, may be important. Planning is not the death of spontaneity. But it is all too easy to stray down a path only to find yourself somewhere you don't want to be. Time to check back in with myself and do for my life what I have done in running.

“If you don't know where you are going,
you'll end up someplace else.”~ Yogi Berra

One Bad Apple

One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch, girl.

Oh, give it one more try before you give up on love.

One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch girl.

Oh, I don't care what they say,

I don't care what you heard now.

~ The Osmonds

And another marathon season quickly approaches, and with it the anxious energy and anticipation begins to climb. The training ticks along as planned. Things are, generally, going great, you're making your runs, hitting your paces, which mysteriously (Not!) seem to be coming gradually down. Yeah, there are some days you're not as 'on' as others, but hell, there's still time to make up for those.

And week after week, you feel strong and do things you once could not fathom, and along the way there's an occasional bump in the road but you bounce back fast, physically and mentally. As time presses on and the weeks are crossed off the calendar, it starts getting real. And then you realize you're, oh, 7...6...5 weeks out. Taper looms ahead. And then, of course, the main event. And suddenly the stakes get very dire. Now every single bloody run MUST be perfect or doom is sure to follow. And though everything is still going well, as it has been, there comes that dreaded day, and...

You have a bad (gasp) run! 

Maybe you 'fail' to hit your tempo paces. Or, perhaps you hit them but it feels so hard. Harder than it has felt (conveniently fail to recognize the fact that it's a faster pace now). Harder than it 'should' be. Maybe that last long run felt harder than you thought it should feel. 

And thanks to that one run you begin to question and doubt all those goals you set so many weeks ago. You wonder about the goals you may have refashioned to reflect the progress you've made. With that one run you forget all the runs where you felt strong, capable, fast...where the impossible became possible.

There is this thing about human nature, or at least runner nature, when it comes to training and goals and confidence: We often allow a few bad runs to outweigh dozens upon dozens of good runs. We fear that somehow things have taken a turn for the worse. And in one run, on one day, the whole thing is cast into question and a deep self doubt set in.

 

The one caveat here is if there is actually a trend showing up: Are you tired and sore and that doesn't improve with a rest day or two? Are you unable to hit your paces over several days or weeks? Is your resting heart rate elevated? Are you inexplicably gaining or losing weight...cranky...depressed, etc.? Then THAT is a sign that something needs to be changed and some blood tests might be in order as well. But one bad run? No. The doom and gloom alarms need not start screaming in your head.

If we can remember the good, the quantity and quality of which far outweigh the bad, then we avoid this unnecessary worry, or worse, nervous anxiety that actually can cause under-performance. You know the quote: "She believed she could and so she did.", well it's true to a great extent. If you allow one run to undermine your confidence then this could actually have a material effect on your training. The house of cards of training is held together by the strength of the mind and the will: Your heart (not the organ in your chest) but your spirit. If you allow the bad to outweigh the good when that is not really what's happening, then it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy: She believed she couldn't and so she didn't. 

The fact is, we are not machines, we are humans, and we have good days and bad days. As I recently said to a runner: "This is not as simple as making a car go faster." We are more than matter and the variables that affect us are numerous and often mysterious.

 Don't allow the few instances of 'bad' to overshadow the abundance of good, in running or in life.  

"Believe you can and you're half way there."

~ Theodore Roosevelt

One bad run don't spoil the whole bunch, girl.

Oh, give it one more try before you give up on that goal.

One bad run don't spoil the whole bunch girl.

Oh, I don't care what they say,

I don't care what you heard now.

                                                                                       ~ Me :)

Tales of a Longtime Runner: Crossing Paths

Every individual has a place to fill in the world and is important in some respect whether he chooses to be so or not. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

Runners tend to be somewhat habitual creatures - Habits can be good things. It's the habit that gets us out there day after day, week after week. Year after year. Once habit is established it's harder to break the habit. In this case that means it harder to not run than it is to run - even on the bad days.

Habit can also be revealed through the routes we run. I know for myself I have favorite routes that I've run now for years and years. I have a selection or 5, 10, 15 milers that I call up whenever needed. I even have routes I've run since high school that I return to when visiting my childhood home.

Over time the houses and the people in them change. The businesses change. Sidewalks are added or deteriorate to rubble. Dirt roads are paved. Empty lots are bulldozed and houses, malls, or parks replace the urban wilderness. Roads are widened and trees removed. Narrow country roads, once sleepy and peaceful, are now car choked thoroughfares of distracted and stressed drivers.

Running is both regular (runners do it everyday ;) and it's a grounded, relatively slow, manner of locomotion.

As a result, there are those interactions we have with others on foot, on roads or trails, that over years become more than just casual encounters. If we run certain routes regularly we start to see certain people, the same people, over and over. Over days, weeks, and years, we exchange greetings. Maybe a 'Good morning' or 'Beautiful day, isn't it?', or just a nod of the head and a wave of a hand. And over the months and years we both become fixtures on the trail for each other.

We see those with their dogs. We watch as their dogs, and our dogs, grow older. And then they aren't there one day. And we wonder. We watch ourselves, and others, get older, and one day we may realize that it's been a while since we've seen that one person we always used to see.

Unlike driving or even cycling, running and walking, moving on foot, is a somewhat naked and intimate activity. For some people this is what makes running so uncomfortable: People can see them. For me it's about as human a thing as we can ever do.

I nod to a passing stranger, and the stranger nods back, and two human beings go off, feeling a little less anonymous. ~Robert Brault

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

There's a trail I've run fairly regularly for the past 15 years. It's a very short trail, about 1.2 miles long, and is often part of a longer run for me. It is flat and often shady, winding along a creek. Being short and shady and flat and close to where many people live, it's very popular with dog walkers and causal walkers.

Many years ago, when running with my dog Willa (who is now gone) I would see an older woman out walking with her German Shepard. She walked with determination and strength even with a subtle limp. We would pass, say our hellos, smile and go on. She lived at the north end of the trail and I would often see her driving her vintage 1970s giant brown sedan around the area, her dog riding shotgun.

About 10 years ago I moved a little farther away from this trail, and as a result frequented it less often. But I was usually out there at least once a week, and in winter more so. And I continued seeing my trail acquaintance and her trusty walking partner.

But one day, several years ago, I saw her without her dog. I passed, and gazed down at my now 13 year old dog, and really wanted to stop and give this stranger a hug.

And so this continued. And then my dog became very ill and after 10 months of hospice, died. And then one day I realized that I had not seen my trail acquaintance for a while. For how long? I don't know. It's funny how these things happen. At first they go unnoticed. Then after a time the awareness hits you and then you realize that it's actually been a while but you can't figure out how long.

And I have wondered ever since.

Yesterday driving home from town, I drove past her house as I do dozens of times a week. At the end of the driveway stood a "For Sale" sign. I looked down the winding driveway to the house and it looked entirely empty and cleared out.

The sadness that hit me and welled up in my throat was instant and intense.

This is not the first time, nor is it likely the last time, this has happened to me.
There's the wife and husband, whose daily constitutional was walking the entire circumference of my neighborhood everyday. She was always slightly ahead of him as though dragging him through his paces. Where did they go? There's the man with the two enthusiastic black labs never tiring of playing fetch. Where did he go? (I have learned that he died of prostate cancer - now I wonder about the dogs). There's the woman who saved me from a dog attack a few years ago. I still see her, but she no longer has her small dog with her. And the list goes on and on and on.

Never underestimate the effect you may have on others. Those you don't even know. Those you simply cross paths with. Others see us out there. We see others out there. They may be walking, running, even driving, and you are a part of their world.

If you are lucky enough to pass the years watching and experiencing the change of season, of people, the world, then that's a pretty good life. The world may be full of people you just happen to see around, but when you start to notice them day after day, they may become something more.

I now see two older women everyday that I'm out on this same trail. They walk together chatting happily. And we have become trail acquaintances. Someday either they or I (and of course at some point all of us) won't be there any longer. Will we notice?

I wonder if someday I will be that old woman, so full of life, who someone sees everyday and then suddenly thinks about once I'm gone...