What Inspires Me

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.” ~ Henry David Thoreau

Every February, about mid-month, it hits with a vengeance: The dreaded winter blahs. The blahs are a very gray, murky, limp nothingness. And every February I try to reconnect with what matters in a desperate effort to hold on to what is good and bright and enlivening and valuable. Here's my attempt to slap myself out of my mid-winter funk...

What inspires you?

I asked this question of a group of close to 3000 women athletes. Almost all the responses were some variation of 3 elements : Family, people who believe in them, and stories of overcoming great challenges. We each must find what fires us up. What makes us want to live an extraordinary life, because it's not easy. It requires that we push ourselves when we are tired, weary, or just feeling done with it all.

So. Here's my answer to the question: What inspires me?
1) Now, & 2) Those who believe in me.

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1) Now ~ Today and Today and Today

It dawned on me recently while speaking to a friend, who has become a friend over the past 5ish years, that even after all this blogging stuff, some of it pretty damn personal, few actually know much about me prior to my racing days. Many people believe I've been racing for years, which is not at all true. I raced lots when I was in my mid-20s, from about 23-26 but then quit right before my 27th birthday, my first mid-life crisis. I was so burned out due to perfectionist tendencies and very lofty goals, both resulting in too much pressure. I transferred all that energy and focus first to my academic studies and then to rock climbing, which can be equally stressful and angst driven.

I continued to run a lot for someone who 'just ran'. And from 1989ish until 2009 I just ran, watchless and free. Based on what I know now, I estimate running between 40-55 miles a week over the course of all those years. Running remained a necessary part of my daily life. My husband often tried to get me to cutback, claiming it was hurting my climbing. But I needed to run as much as I needed to breath.  When I was 30 I ran one marathon, the Maine Marathon, 1993, just because I wanted to run a marathon. I didn't 'train' other than just running and adding several long runs, but I found that those long runs got in the way of weekend climbing trips, so I never ran another. I always believed I would, when I was 'old' and done climbing so much. Someday I would run New York, but that would have to wait for later.

Then in 2008 I sustained my first running injury since 1987, after a year plus of running 50+ mile weeks pushing a jog stroller (I am now convinced that all that jogger running was a problem possibly causing the injury). Several months of PT treatments later with no improvement led me to an MRI to rule out a meniscus tear. The results were grim beyond expectation:

The nurse practitioner who examined me called with the results:
NP: "We have the MRI results. You have significant osteoarthritis. I know you don't want to hear this but you won't be able to run any more. I would encourage you to try biking."
Me: "Ummm. What are you saying? What can be done?'
NP: "Nothing can be done. You're too young for a knee replacement."...

And in a matter of seconds my life changed. All those plans of "someday when I'm old" vanished in seconds. I stood in the middle of Neptune Mountaineering with the cell phone pressed to my ear waiting for some words of hope, while my daughter ran toddling circles around me. And my world began to spin. My head felt as though it was floating away from my body, and as my husbands walked toward me, seeing the look in my eyes, all he said was "What!?!"...

No one had died. No one was going to die, today, and yet I felt like an essential part of me was dying.

Here is the follow up email:

"As we discussed, I'm sending you the results of your MRI with annotations. That study mainly reflects degenerative, wear and tear type changes.
IMPRESSION:
1. 9 X 6 MM FULL THICKNESS CHONDRAL (cartilage next to bone) DEFECT AND CHONDRAL DELAMINATION (coming apart in layers) WITH AREAS OF REACTIVE BONE EDEMA SEEN IN THE LATERAL PATELLAR (knee cap) FACET (face).
2. 11 X 5 MM FULL THICKNESS CHONDRAL DEFECT IN CENTRAL WEIGHT
BEARING SURFACE OF THE LATERAL TIBIAL (large bone in lower leg) PLATEAU (top of that bone in the knee)
3. EARLY DEGENERATIVE CHANGE OF THE ACL (anterior cruciate ligament) WITH REACTIVE BONE EDEMA.
THE LIGAMENT REMAINS INTACT.
4. PROMINENT UNDERSURFACE FRAYING AND POSSIBLE EARLY DEGENERATIVE
TEAR NEAR THE POSTERIOR ROOT OF LATERAL MENISCUS. THIS DOES NOT
EXTEND INTO THE POSTERIOR HORN, AND THERE ARE NO OTHER MENISCAL
TEARS.
5. VISUALIZED MUSCLES AND TENDONS ABOUT THE KNEE ARE WITHIN NORMAL
LIMIT. THERE IS, HOWEVER, A FOCAL AREA OF MILD EDEMA AND
INFLAMMATORY CHANGE WITH SEPTATION IN THE SUBCUTANEOUS FAT JUST
SUPERFICIAL TO AND ABUTTING THE FASCIA OF THE MEDIAL GASTROCNEMIUS
AT THE UPPER CALF LEVEL. THIS WAS NOT DESCRIBED ABOVE AND IS BEST
SEEN ON AXIAL IMAGES 26-28. QUERY FOCAL CONTUSION. DIFFERENTIAL
WOULD INCLUDE AREA OF FAT NECROSIS. 

I can assure you that no one ever wants to see an MRI report like this and I still feel a little sick to my stomach reading this. Thus began what turned out to be 6 months (the injury kept me from running for a total of 10 months) of battling depression, the feeling of futility, and a desperate search for some hope. At 44 years old, with a 15 month old daughter, I was in constant pain. I would look at my daughter and cry, knowing that I would never be able to go for a hike with her, frustrated because the pain made me cranky and short tempered. Every morning, as the sun streamed through our bedroom windows beckoning me to run and run and run, I would curl up in a ball and sob.

My husband was incredulous - Don't believe it. Don't give up, he would argue. I would vacillate, one moment denying the very possibility of the diagnosis, after all I NEVER had knee pain ever, and then just as quickly the pendulum would swing and I would berate myself for succumbing to denial of the facts - the FACTS. The MRI. That's fact. The fact that my knee never hurt - the fact that this made no sense, those facts sank to the bottom of my morose soul.

I look back at pictures from this time both sad and thankful

Importantly, not a single doctor examined me. Not once. They told me I was done based on the films. That was it. Nothing could be done. Case closed.  But something in me didn't give up. I took my little MRI DVD down to Stedman & Hawkins in Denver. As I sat on the examination table, the doctor walked in and said right off the bat: "Your knee is fine. You have tendinitis." I can not even begin to explain what those words meant to me.

Of course, it still didn't get better, 2 months later, so I visited Stedman & Hawkins again. I told the Doc:
Me: "So. When you told me what I wanted to hear I just forgot to ask any questions. I just wanted to go home and run again. But I still can't run and it still isn't better, so I guess I need to ask you to explain why the MRI is wrong?"
Doc: "I have a sore back. My wife keeps telling me to get an MRI. I keep telling her I don't want to know what's going on in there. After 35 we all have arthritis, bulging discs, other changes that may not be symptomatic. You know things now that might be better not to know, but those are asymptomatic. Your problem now is tendinitis. Will you ever need a knee replacement? I can't answer that..."

And so I left the office both hopeful and anxious, thinking: "I need this fixed and I need to do some things NOW before I may not be able to do them." And yet, in the back of my mind hung this lingering concern: What if he is wrong?

It wasn't very easy to fix, but I didn't give up and managed to stumble onto something that helped, dry needling, while pursuing prolotherapy treatment, which I couldn't afford. Over the course of 2 months of 2 x a week needling I was running again. Just a little bit, struggling through a mile non-stop.

...Bartering with the running gods: If you just let me run 3 miles a day for the rest of my life, I promise I will be satisfied with that...And so things improved, slowly...

On Mother's Day, 2009, I ran the Title 9 9k for women. I remember driving home and thinking how I wanted to march into the office of the doctors that declared me done a year earlier and...and...well, I can't say because I'm superstitious, and I do not want to tempt the fates. Needless to say, from that day forward I have had the attitude that I need to do what I want to do NOW. I have NOW. I may not have 'later'. Others may look at the things I do and believe that I am acting in haste. That I should back off, plan, take my time. But I don't have time any longer. I only have now, and I will use it the best I can. Sure. This wasn't a life threatening situation. But what I learned was that I can't take tomorrow for granted.

“Life is a preparation for the future; and the best preparation for the future is to live as if there were none.” ~ Albert Einstein

My NOW inspires me. My now is why I want it all now. My now is why I run with purpose. I know I can't have it all now, but today matters.

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2) Those Who Believe In Me ~ My friends and family

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

This is one of my favorite quotes and one I share often because for me, this is what friendship is all about, platonic or otherwise. A friend is someone who adds to who you are, who makes you more than you are alone.

 
Some of my best friends I've had for what feels like, forever. They've stuck with me all these years and know everything there is to know about me. We have a history together, and that keeps things close and honest and real even when we don't speak for months. As an adult, I found it more challenging to connect with people the way I had when I was younger. When I started racing again I suddenly found myself in a running community I never knew existed. Back in the 1980s ones running friends were more limited, mostly local and running club based. In 2009, there's facebook, Dailymile, Strava and dozens of other places, local or more global, for runners to meet, run together, learn from one another, encourage each other, etc. This was all well and good and useful, to a point, but I've always been a very solitary runner.

But as it turns out, over these past several years, I've managed to make a few very important friends who I met thanks to running, who inspire me more than they will ever know just because they support me and make me feel that I can do anything I put my mind to. So then I need to live up to that trust and support and belief.

There have been races, many many races, when I know people I care about are tracking me, and every time I cross a timing mat I get a little jolt of energy just knowing that they are with me ~ that I am checking in and saying all is well. And when I'm not doing so well, I worry. I don't want them to worry.

And there have been many times when I didn't give up because I knew others believed in me more than I believe in myself. I know that I would not have done some of the things I've done these past 6 years without the support of my friends and family. Their belief can make me a little crazy, in a good way. I treasure that kind of being crazy.

My best friend is the one who brings out the best in me. ~ Henry Ford

While I am inspired, in a sense, by the amazing feats of others, those do not touch me the same way. Sure, they show me what's possible, and that's great, but it's personal relationships that get me through the actual suffering that is part of pushing myself. When I'm hurting I think of them ~ My daughter, my husband, my dearest friends, and they make it possible for me. Even the many people who I barely know but who still support me, who say that I have inspired THEM, who send heartfelt, sincere messages the night before important races - I think of them. If I inspire them, I want them to know that they inspire me. This is a two way street. I will admit, that in the past, I prided myself on not caring about what others thought about me. I believed falsely that this was a sign of strength and autonomy. What I have learned is that this is still true in most cases, but if someone is important to you, then what they think of you matters as much as anything can matter.

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I suppose I should add one more: I am inspired by those who make things happen even when it's hard, when life demands sacrifice and balance and a whole lot of will and determination and discipline. I am not inspired in the least by those who may do so called 'big' things but who clearly have resources that make the doing so much easier. I find those who work hard, and contribute in ways beyond their personal running prowess, much more motivating. Those who travel the world running marathons, even fast marathons, or 365 marathons a year, and have ample leisure to do so, do nothing for me because I simply cannot relate. I see many who post online about all their amazing running adventures in exotic locations - jetting off here, there and everywhere, week after week, and so many runners Ooooo-and-ahhhhh over this. But these just leave me scratching my head. 

But then we all must find what motivates and inspires US. It helps us get out on the days the couch beckons or other commitments makes it almost impossible. When the days are grim, and dark and cold and icy and we wonder why the hell we signed up for that spring race. When we feel that we never measure up, that something is always going off the rails, that we just might fail at something that matters...I always return to the things that keep me going, that matter to me.

Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone. ~Pablo Picasso

Too Much Stuff

"I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes, and not rather a new wearer of clothes." ~ Henry David Thoreau 

 Warning: This is NOT really a running post...And yet it is.

After a month of birthdays and Christmas and go go go, and do do do, and...buy buy buy...my family (well, that's actually I) declared January "Buy Nothing" Month. What does this entail? Well, food is fine. Necessities are fine, experiences are fine - like going to the museum, or the pool, ice skating, go for hikes etc. but no buying 'stuff' - objects - such as toys, clothes...ummmm, running shoes :) No buying 'things'. Now, I know this may do nothing for the economy, and I apologize for that, but, I have bigger fish to fry.

There's two things that bug me about the buying more stuff impulse:
A) Buying can sometimes replace 'doing'.
B) Buying always just leads to wanting more stuff.

“It is the preoccupation with possessions, more than anything else that prevents us from living freely and nobly.” ~ Bertrand Russell

It is easy to buy an image, assuming you have the cash - I can buy cool new running gear that will make me feel like more of a bad-ass runner. I see this kind of attitude quite often in the climbing scene: If I look the part then I am the kind of person I want to be. So you have people with the best gear, and sporting rad climbing duds, and they sit at the base of climbs or boulder problems cheering on others. Wearing the right clothes and being in the proximity of those doing amazing things does not make YOU a better person, in any sense of the word. In climbing you can be part of a posse - hanging with the rad climbers. But when you hike out at the end of the day, looking rad, have you actually done anything yourself? You can't buy doing!

Runners can get sucked into this as well. When we are injured, what's the first thing we want?: A pair of running shoes that will 'fix' us. If we find running shoes we like we want all the different colors. We want matching outfits. If we have perfectly good gear we want more gear - 'cause maybe with better gear we will get faster too! But even if we don't, at least we'll look good. Ooooo. A new watch. That's what I need. Sure, I have one that works just fine, but a new Garmin will lead me to the PR (Like I don't have to do the hard work???). But the answers are not to be found in new stuff. I've heard it said many times: When I look good I feel good and then I run better. But, perhaps there is a cause and effect problem here. And let's be honest - the running population, demographically speaking, is quite well off. Most stats show the average income is well over $100,000 a year (RW: $113.00. RUSA, $75.000). So. It's not really surprising that runners buy a lot of stuff. And of course businesses love us for that. Still...I'd rather run than work more.

And then there's blogs - Which may be a complete waste of time - but those that give away STUFF have more people reading them. The content seems to be less important, and bloggers are always trying to generate more traffic via stuff giveaways. Note: I'm giving away a 70% off Hoka code on Thursday. Follow and and you're in ;) Bwahahahah. I'm not advertising this though, except in very limited circles. Why? Because I don't want to 'collect' readers. I want readers who want to read what I have to say and will hopefully comment and take part in the conversation. Anyone coming here just in the hope of getting more crap, well, that would make me sad.

Perhaps I'm wrong on this - but it seems some of us buy things in order to mask a lack of doing things. I don't think I (nor my husband) do this, and in fact I do not have the resources to do this, but my point is more for my daughter's sake. No buying month forces us to do more and buy less. As a parent the buying can be easier than the doing.

And then there is the always wanting more problem. Buying is like sugar - Eating sugar makes you/your body want more sugar. It's a vicious circle of cause and effect. Likewise, buying seems to feed the buying appetite - the need. But need and want are often very different things.

So this month we have been DOING not BUYING. And at almost half way through the month, we're doing pretty well and not actually missing it at all. Based on my deep belief that habits guide us in so many crucially important ways, I hope that this might start us on the path (especially my daughter!) to a buying less habit and a doing more habit.

I was at the Olympic Training Center this past weekend for a conference. When I'm away for a few days I usually try to bring something small home for my daughter. So I went the the OTC shop intent on finding something cool. But nothing really tickled my fancy and so I left empty handed. And when I got home, as lots of hugs and kisses were bestowed upon me from the dog and kid, I said to my daughter, "I don't have anything for you." And she said, "That's fine. I'm glad you're home." Maybe, just maybe, it's working :)

And how much more time would we have available to run, pursue our passions and enjoy the world and people around us if not for this silly obsession with acquiring more and more stuff...

“Every increased possession loads us with new weariness.” ~ John Ruskin

Thoreau’s Walden: “I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes and not a new wearer of the clothes.” - See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/08/11/give-liberty-give-debt/#sthash.UvjmCsKb.dpuf

Thoreau’s Walden: “I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes and not a new wearer of the clothes.” - See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/08/11/give-liberty-give-debt/#sthash.UvjmCsKb.dpuf

Thoreau’s Walden: “I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes and not a new wearer of the clothes.” - See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/08/11/give-liberty-give-debt/#sthash.UvjmCsKb.dpuf

Thoreau’s Walden: “I say beware of all enterprises that require new clothes and not a new wearer of the clothes.” - See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/08/11/give-liberty-give-debt/#sthash.UvjmCsKb.dpuf

What's A Day?

"Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson  

New Years Eve...New Years Day...A New Year. What does it matter? What 'changes'? Nothing. Nothing changes. The birds, and the worms, don't care. Don't know. The stars and the mountains continue on as they were. The earth revolves. And yet we humans seem to put so much stock in this whole New Year thing. Good riddance to the old. Hooray for the new. The new is good. The new is change. It's the same as when we vote in politicians for 'change' even if we don't know what that 'change' is. Change is good. Right? And like magic - a new job, a new house, a new car, a new lover, a NEW YEAR, will make 'it' all better. And even if IT is pretty good, the new will be even better.

“Hope Smiles from the threshold of the year to come, Whispering 'it will be happier'...” ~ Alfred Tennyson

Ah. Hope. It's a good and a bad thing. Hope is great when we act. But hope without action brings little that's rewarding. Yes. We can be 'lucky' in life and things just come to us - like good fortune - but do we feel better about ourselves based upon good fortune alone?

What the New Year does encourage us to do, as intentional beings with a concept for the future, is, it encourages us to take stock. We look at the good, the bad, the ugly, and decide where we want to go next year. The sad things is that most of us forget about these goals, dreams, aims, desires before the calendar reaches mid-January. Then we sink back into our safe little habits - some of which may be good, but some of which may be holding us back from what we really want for our future. 

So. I am writing this, and will post it to my wall as a constant reminder of what's important to me now, while I'm paying close attention to these things. While the world becomes new again. And the possibilities are grander:   

My goals continue to be what they have always been, every day, day in and day out - Cultivate Courage, Be Real, Be Fierce, Be Fair and Just. But with the dawning of a New Year I simply want to remind myself that this is what I've always been after and will continue to strive for.

Do Something Scary: Be Courageous
I want to do something that terrifies me. Not a foolhardy kind of thing, but just a 'big thing FOR ME' kind of thing. The kind of thing I'm scared to commit to AND the kind of thing I'll be sad about if I don't commit to it. A key part of this, though, must be my willingness to accept failure if I must. It's easy to 'commit' to the things you are pretty sure you can do. But those things that are on the outer reaches of possibility (of course, this is always personal), those are the things that cause fear and trembling but also make life so much more vivid. Courage means feeling just the right amount of fear - and I will continue in my quest for this virtue (though I continue to fall so very far short of it). Courage also means going on when things feel like they aren't going well - believing that it all matters when you feel like nothing really matters. This is more a life issue than a running issue. As I say many times to many people: Running is easy. Life is hard. And sometimes that is true.

Focus on Who and What YOU care about. Remember the difference between what is real and what is image:
Okay. I admit it - In the past I never gave a hoot what people thought of me. I did my own thing and for the most part that was all that mattered. I cared about what those near and dear to me thought, but that's as far as it went. Now, I find myself sometimes, sometimes, dragged down by things that really should be unimportant to me: The opinions (supported or not), lives (real or embellished), and successes (earned or imagined or happy fortune) of those who really don't matter. Social media is great, but when little things start eating away at you, things that really don't matter, then you know there's a problem. I tell myself it doesn't matter. I KNOW it doesn't matter...And yet some things eat at me, and I'm not proud or happy about that. So. I will do better to focus on me and mine and what is real and what matters. 

One resolution I have made, and try always to keep, is this: To rise above the little things. ~ John Burroughs

Don't compare. Be fierce:
Need I say more on this??? Have I ever NOT said more on something?? I will keep at my little, busy running thing, I will keep at my silly, seemingly pointless blogging thing, I will do the best I can as a mother, wife, coach, friend...and I will not put myself down because others seem to be running farther and faster and getting more hits, and I will keep plugging away at this little project I call ME and my life. Because that mythical land "where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."  doesn't exist except in Lake Wobegon, which of course doesn't exist. I will continue to fiercely go after what I care about because I care about it. (Now. Follow my blog so I feel good about myself!!! Bwahahahahaha)

Live well. Be Fair and Just:
This is just something I always hope to be. I know I fall short at times, but I try. The concern about fairness and justice motivates many, if not most, of my choices in life. It's a major reason why I decided to go into Philosophy. And I try, always, to treat people this way. In my personal and professional life I am hell bent on doing what's right for those with whom I live and work and love and call friends. I try to stand behind what I say. I say what I mean. I don't pull punch. And I am what I am. That's the goal, anyway. 
 

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It's all a work in progress. We are all in progress. We aren't just what we are, though we are that. We also are what we will be (but not yet), and what we will be in the future is somewhat undecided right now. The fact remains, though, that this whole New Years thing is nothing but symbolic tradition. But then lots of important and meaningful things are nothing more than that. It does give us pause and make us believe that we are new again. That so many things stretch out before us waiting to be realized. The things we give up on later are now still living possibilities. But these are my goals, my resolutions I suppose, for each day, not the year. And I resolve to revisit them everyday - I hope I can make it past mid-January! And in all of this, I am proved to be, against my better judgement, an optimist.

If only we could hold on to that thought, that desire, this notion of the possible, from today until next December 31st, and on and on until the end of our days.

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Addendum:

And ignore the pessimists ;)

Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. Yesterday, everybody smoked his last cigar, took his last drink, and swore his last oath. Today, we are a pious and exemplary community. Thirty days from now, we shall have cast our reformation to the winds and gone to cutting our ancient short comings considerably shorter than ever. We shall also reflect pleasantly upon how we did the same old thing last year about this time. However, go in, community. New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls, and humbug resolutions, and we wish you to enjoy it with a looseness suited to the greatness of the occasion. ~Mark Twain

Out On A Limb

"Don’t be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

On November 23rd my seven week experiment ended on the streets of Philly, and so now comes some much needed self-reflection and self-assessment. Did I journey to some place interesting? I don't know. Did I shimmy a bit farther out on the limb, reaching for the fruit - maybe, a bit. Right now, it feels like I may have crawled out a bit too far, cracking the branch, threatening to send me crashing to the ground.

"Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant." ~  Robert Louis Stevenson

What may be risky for one person may be just be the same-old-same-old for someone else. And what may be risky for you now, may not be so risky in the future if you test those uncharted waters. We do learn about ourselves when we take risks and do something a little scary, maybe even a lot scary. After my little personal (since this is always personal) experiment, I'm left assessing the outcome.

Did I get my fingers around that coveted piece of fruit? And what fruit was I really reaching for? As it turns out, I might have grasped a piece of fruit I could not see until I crawled out on that branch...

Oct. 4th: St. George Marathon - 3:46:36  Masters PR and a solid BQ - But, not what I was aiming for.
Oct. 18th: Des Plaines River Trail 50 miler - 9:15  2nd AG
Nov. 23rd: Philadelphia Marathon... ?

Five days after running Des Plaines I was hit with a flu that just would not quit. I have not been sick at all in a couple years, so I tried to deny that this was happening. But the painful, lung searing, hacking continued for the entire time leading up to Philly. "Eh" I told myself. "Who cares. This one is just for fun. I've done my races. My season could be done now." And that's true. I had a good run at Des Plaines, which really is one of the high points of my running year. I may not have run brilliantly and it wasn't easy, but I did something that I didn't know I could do, and that mattered more than I expected it to matter. St. George went pretty well, and I can't complain too much, but I want to because I had higher hopes for that one, even if I did manage to salvage it and come away with a decent race. Still...it wasn't quite what I wanted - the weather and my body did not entirely cooperate with my intentions.

And that thorn of desire sticks in my mind as I fly off to run Philly...

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Saturday: I get to Philly late in the afternoon, driving from NJ with Dawn and Christine...check-in to the hotel. Get to the expo. In and out fast...Walk to the hotel alone, in the dark, through a gentle drizzle. I try to settle in. My roommate is out with her running club for dinner so I have some much needed quiet time. I eat my rice, tofu, veggies - Bonus: There's a microwave. It feels almost decadent to eat hot food. I watch totally lame TV. I chat with Sandra on FB. She asks me what my plan is. I don't want to worry her if things go all off the rails so I try to be noncommittal while giving her some glimpse into what I may be thinking. And, I think about why I'm here, in this Holiday Inn, 18 floors up, in Philadelphia, 1600 miles from home.

I think about why I'm here.

Why AM I here? Well, I signed up, for one thing. And that's pretty much why I'm here. I've wanted to run Philly, though truth be told I was on the rebound when I registered, freshly rejected by NY even though I was in the time qualifying lottery. I felt burned then. A lover scorned. So. Screw you NYRR. I'm gonna run Philly. I was one of the first 1000 to register and got the sweet deal. But now...now...now...why am I really here.

Could I somehow pull a rabbit out of the hat and do here what I wanted to do in St. George? The weather is looking pretty perfect. The course is fairly fast. Will my lungs and sinuses cooperate? Are my legs and heart recovered from the 50 miler? So many questions. Who knows how they will respond to something new. And so, I chew over my options and my food, and I ponder...

...What risks am I willing to take?

The next morning we have about 1.4 miles to walk through the dark to the start corrals. As we make our way through the bustling pre-marathon city, all I'm really thinking about is checking into my Southwest flight at exactly 6:05 a.m. We get to the start area and the porto-potty lines are epic. Now. I've run a few big city marathons: NYC, Chicago x 2, Boston x 2, and I have NEVER seen such long lines. I move farther along. I find some with slightly shorter lines but they are moving at a glacial pace. I still have to drop my gear at the UPS trucks. I haven't found any water, anywhere (damn I should have brought some) so I slowly suck on my pre-race gel hoping some saliva will help with digestion. This is not going well. I wait and wait and wait. I suck on my gel. A guys asks if I have another. Nope. I have one for mile 13 and I sorta need that. So I give him a bar from my gear bag. I have about 5 minutes to check my bag and get to my corral. Runners are starting to get aggressive about the potties, and as I jump into one I get bellowing at with "Hey Hey Hey"s from a line of runners who need to learn about sharing...and being nice...and taking turns! Blech. This isn't starting out well.

And then I run to the UPS trucks, drop my bag and trot off to the corrals. I enter into the 'Black' corral just ahead of mine and make my way back. I see bibs from corrals way way farther back. Hmmmm. Ok. I get into my corral: green. (Later I will note that I should have stayed in Black!).

The national Anthem is sung and the gun fires. The first corrals are off.

Standing in the corral I cast my eyes around looking for any familiar faces. I know they're out there, but I can't see them. I stand there wondering what exactly I'm feeling. Ennui, maybe? Apprehension? Nothingness? I don't know really. I have my splits written in sharpie on my arm, as always, and they are for the risky option. We walk to the mat. Go...

The first 8 miles is a congested cluster of runners running all different paces. Both the marathon and half marathon go off together and stay together until the 13 mile point. The narrow city roads, a super twisty course and the crowds of runners running all sorts of paces, make for a tedious challenge. Mile one: a woman goes down to the pavement hard in front of me. I jump around her almost going down myself. She bounces right back up and runs, seemingly unscathed. The roads are full of pot-holes and wavy asphalt like I've never seen before. Add to this the fact that aid stations at this point are only on one side of the road and you get a total cluster F#$k.  People are running in large groups across the entire road. I jump up on the sidewalk repeatedly to get around runners.

But, I'm doing what I can do. After the half splits off and away I breathe a little sigh of relief as the marathoners set off past the Art museum down toward the Schuylkill River. I'm running along, taking stock of how I'm feeling, and suddenly feel two hands grab both shoulders. Then a foot catches my right foot on the side throwing me off balance. I turn around wondering if it's someone I know. A man, towering over me, peers down at me. All I see is his red shirt and hat. I do not know him.

"What the F&%K!!!" I yell at him. 
"You cut me off!" He yells down at me in return.
"I did NOT! I'm running in a straight line!"
And then he drops back. I run on. 
Another man runs over to me. "Are you okay?" 
I'm fighting back the tears welling up in my throat. "Yes. I'm just a little upset. That sucked." 
"I saw the whole thing. What a jerk." 
We then start chatting about how this race sort of sucks. We talk about Chicago. NYCM. Boston. I really just want to stop at this point. I'm so bloody done with the whole thing. But I press on.  I'm still about on pace for my 'A' goal and I feel pretty okay. Not great, but okay.

Then the shit hits the fan. At some point, somewhere in mile 16, something weird begins to happen to my right leg. At first I wonder if it's from being stepped on by the red-shirted-menace a couple miles earlier. Then I wonder if I'm bonking - it's been so long since I've bonked that I can't really remember what it feels like - but it's only happening in part of one leg. The rest of me feels fine. As I run on, the side of my knee starts to tighten up - importantly, my right side is my 'good' side. I have had NO issues with my right side in years!!! Aaarrgggg. The tightness starts spreading down to my ankle and up to my hip. My leg feels like a cement peg-leg with a giant charley-horse overtaking one side of it. I can't really use it. I throw it forward, ahead of me, and push over it like a crutch. It hurts so much with every step and I know if this continues this will be my first DNF ever - and how the hell does one get back to the start when they drop? Because we are basically running an out and back for the whole second half of the race, we are always running against the traffic, so to speak. Sections of the road are highly cambered and I begin wondering if that's it. I try to move to the middle of the road, weaving in and out of the cones, in an attempt to find more level ground.

My pace drops by 45 seconds per mile for miles 17 and 18. I see Esther as we do a short off-shoot out and back. She looks strong. I am happy about that. I've been looking for her since the start. At least I know where she is. By mile 19 I'm still sort of running, and the tightness hasn't gotten worse, but it's holding steady. I know I'm running strangely because I can feel my big toe slamming against the front of my shoe. This has never ever happened before. Shortly after the last turnaround, I see Esther again. "Catch up with me." I call out as we high-five each other.

And so goes the rest of the race. It is a painful push with all I have. Each mile I take as it comes. My pace picks up again out of the shear will to get this the hell over with. But I just can't seem to get back to where I was before the wheels came off - and I am giving it everything, everything, I have. 

I cross the mat in 3:49:13.

I turn back to look for Esther. I see her coming down the hill for the finish. She crosses. She has a new 20 minute PR and a 10+ minute BQ. She is glowing. I hug her and congratulate her. 

All I want now is a beer. Maybe three. Esther has me covered! :) 

And then I make my way back to NJ that afternoon...Up at 3 a.m. the next morning to fly back to Colorado via Chicago. I am bleary, screaming tired. I'm a wreck.

And...I'm a little depressed...and relieved. 

I'm depressed because Philly didn't go so well. I'm bummed that I didn't really like the race. I have rarely not liked a race. Is it me or the race? I think it's me. I'm pretty dang sure that it's me. I'm relieved that I'm done with this little experiment. I'm relieved that I didn't do half bad with any of it. But I'm depressed because: A) It ended on a sourish note, and B) One of my main desires remained out of reach. I always tell runners that we tend to focus on the negative and forget, or downplay the positive. I am guilty of that now. 

I accomplished a lot, for ME, in seven weeks even when dealing with illness and exhaustion: physical, mental, emotional. This was a very personal journey and I succeeded. I decided to do something and I did it. So, now I think about it all and pick it apart - and ask, why do I feel it ended badly? Answer: Because Philly really sucked. Why did Philly suck? Answer: Because I didn't run the time I wanted and it hurt a whole hell of a lot. Okay. Well. What were you willing to RISK when you wrote those splits on your arm before bed Saturday night? Answer: Oh. Now you're going to call me on this??? Not fair. (Stomps feet)

Well, I guess I was willing to risk having the whole thing blow up in my face. It would have been much safer to just run Philly nice and easy, take in the city, have a pleasant romp on a beautiful day. But that's NOT what I decided to do. I decided to take a risk and try to run. So, 'them's the breaks', as my dad always used to say. I risked failing. I failed. So what? What I didn't fail at was taking the risk. It would have been easier to say; Look. You've been sick for 4 weeks straight. You are tired from a marathon and a 50 miler - just have fun for cricky sake. But the fact is, I made my decision - and that decision was: See how you feel. Have the splits you want. Go for it. And if it all goes to hell, well, then deal. And that's exactly what I did.

And now there are new seeds planted, asleep beneath the soil of my spirit, just waiting to reach forth, up into the sunlight...

"If we listened to our intellect, we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a friendship. We’d never go into business because we’d be too cynical. Well, that’s nonsense. You’ve got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down." ~ Annie Dillard

Are We There Yet?: My First 50 Miler

 “If you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” ~ T.S. Eliot

What do you do after you do something you never thought you could do??...

A few weeks ago I did something I have never done before, and something I haven't done in a very long time: a) I ran a 50 miler, and b) I did something I wasn't at all sure I could do.

When I signed up for the Des Plaines River Trail 50 Miler last November it was so far in the future that it sounded like a really cool idea. And then, almost a year later??? It still sounded like a really cool idea...maybe for someone else.

What the F#@k was I thinking?? Delusions of grandeur are easy to maintain 11 months out, or 2 months out, until you're on the plane, 2 days before the race, and you haven't trained for the dang thing.

And so, as I am 30,000 feet up, heading north, I have the iPod cranking - and I'm re-reading a Dean Karnazes book - getting a little stuck on the story of his first 50 miler, complete with uncontrollable rigor mortis like cramping and projectile vomiting in his new Lexus following the run. Oh. Yummy. I forgot this part from the first reading - or perhaps it didn't stick because I wasn't facing a 50 miler in 2 days.

I haven't had any appetite for the past week, and I'm starting to feeling like a foie gras goose. I nibble crackers non-stop. Any more than that seems to send my stomach into flips of upset-ness. 

Okay. I land, Sandra fetches me, and we get the her house and just chill. Chilling is good. I never chill. And I never have a WHOLE day to chill. Is that good or bad?

Jeni shows up Friday afternoon and we all head to the hotel in Lincolnshire. I still can't eat, but since I've brought my own food (as I always do) I just nurse it over the course of the evening. And while Sandra and Jeni eat like normal people at the restaurant - I have ice water.   

So, y'all know the drill: Sleep (aka, toss-and-turn), up at the crack-o-crack, choke down a bar, coffee, check accuweather a bazillion times, decide what to wear, finalize drop bags...and off we go.

And as the darkness turns to dawn the RD announces an unexpected water crossing around mile 7. Okay. It would have been nice to know about that before sending off the drop bags to their various locations. His reassuring words: "You're all ultra runners so you know how to deal." Well, sure. I would have put a pair of dry shoes in my bag at mile 14, not at mile 26. Whatever. Just deal. 

This becomes the theme for the day for me: JUST DEAL

And so we're off. Jeni and I don't have specific plans to run together, but our expected paces are about the same - so we stick together. I should clarify: her expected pace. She actually trained fairly well for this, though she started a little later than is optimal (shhhh. I didn't tell her that ;). But I haven't trained for this. I just ran the St. George Marathon 2 weeks ago. I really have no idea what to expect. 

The first little out and back loop, everyone gets lost, adding about a half mile to the run, and we aren't even at mile 3 yet! Having run extra so early eats at your mind and screws with it even as you tell yourself to let it go. 

Just deal.

Around mile 3 it starts sprinkling rain. By mile 4, it's pouring with a strong headwind. This was not what accuweather told us would happen. It told us about the wind just not the rain - or rather, this much rain, this early. We hit the water crossing and are able to traverse some sketchy rocks to avoid the 2 feet of water (not the 4-6 inches reported at the start). 

We get to our first drop bags and I fetch my visor, another shirt (my wind shirt is at mile 26), a gel, more HEED, and we discover, having stopped long enough to get chilled, that it's fecking cold, and the wind bites. But at this point we are feeling a bit giddy at the absurdity of our best laid plans gone to shit.

Just deal.

And so it goes. By mile 15 Jeni and I are no longer talking with words. But we are very much there together, silent - but together. At about mile 18, she turns to me and says, "We have run way faster and way farther than this, and I've never felt so bad." I feel the same. "It's just mental." Not that that is reassuring in the least.

At around mile 22, an aid station has pickles. "Yeesh", I say to Jeni, "What I want is pickle juice." The volunteer says, "I have that." Opens the jar and pours us each a tasty, tangy cocktail and we drink it up. Everyone looks on unable to comprehend what we just did. 

And it rains steadily until about mile 25. The next drop bag station is at mile 26: Pee, change socks, eat a gel, refill my HEED, grab a bar, and we stiffly walk out of the aid station to the enthusiastic cheers of the volunteers. It's a little worrisome leaving the comfort of the aid station...

As we start running slowly, Jeni's quads begin cramping. She's very concerned, having had many painful cramping experiences in marathons. She clearly thinks she's done for. I simply say, "Give it 15 minutes for the carbs you just ate to hit your system. You'll be fine." I am also working out a somewhat less debilitating adductor cramp, and my calves keep zinging me. After a few minutes of walking, we're able to run again. I look at Jeni and say "We gotta get to the pickle juice."

The pickle juice station now has different volunteers. I hold out a cup, "May I have some of that pickle juice?" motioning to the pickle jar. He pours about a finger's worth. "No. Fill it. Please." "Ooookaaay." he says doubtfully. Jeni gets a cup and down the hatch. 

And here is where I make my first of several big mistakes: I have a small 8 ounce hand held. I should have refilled it with the course fluids at that AS because it's getting low and the next AS is about 6 miles away, AND the sun is just about to come out. Stupid move. 

At about mile 36, we see Laurie up ahead. She's come out to run the finish with us - and of course has no clue that we really stopped talking at mile 15. We aren't the best running company right now. By the time we get to the next aid station with our last drop bags, I've been without liquids for about 2 miles. Normally this isn't a big deal - but after 38 miles, it is a big deal. 

At this point I can no longer do the math to figure out how far we still have to go. I ask a volunteer: "What mile is this?" She says, "Mile 37, unless you ran the extra at the start. Then 38" Oy. My brain just went kaputsky. I refill my hand held, choke down a gel, and then make my next big mistake. As we painfully hobble off to reawaken our legs, I look a Jeni and say, "I cannot stop again. I don't want to have to restart." And as I look at her I see she's nibbling on a bar. Shit. I should have grabbed a bar. Oh. Whatever. It's only 13 or so miles. A half marathon. A gel will be fine. *Butthead*

Just deal.

At the next aid station I see Sandra's bright orange jacket as she waits for us with her bike (she's already run the half with an injured foot). I look at Christine, volunteering at the aid station, and say "We can't stop. But I need a drink fast." She hands me some Accelerade and we keep going as I yell back "Thank you!" And Sandra joins the parade.

About 5 minutes later, Jeni and I seem to hit this weird zone - and it happens to us both at the same time. We start picking up the pace - we both note that our watches say about a 9:15ish pace. Our feet are completely in synch as we pound down the trail. I can hear Sandra and Laurie behind us quietly saying "What are they doing?" and other indiscernible mutterings. I blurt out, "We want to be F%#king DONE!"

And we keep this up for a while. Then my watch goes blank, as it's been warning me of for quite some time. We reach the final aid station with fuel, and I look at my bottle, and I think - I'm good. It's gotten cold again - but my concern should have been carbs not fluids per se. Big mistake number..too many. I should have refilled...again.

We get around the water crossing again, this time I almost fall in and we continue to plug away but I can sense that Jeni is feeling stronger than I am. She is always about one or two steps ahead - and I can just feel it. At this point, both her fueling and her training are becoming apparent. Mentally she has been in this weird zone of total focus for a while. She didn't notice when Sandra joined us for many minutes and warnings of bikes approaching from behind are responded to very sluggishly - BUT she is running strong. With what I think is about 6 miles to go, I look at Jeni and say "You know you've felt worse with 6 miles to go in a marathon." She nods. With about 3 miles to go the gap between us steadily grows.

From the 37/38 mile mark on, there have been mile markers for the marathon and the half marathon - but they make no sense, and Laurie and Sandra tell us that they're all wrong.  By mile 45 or so, I'm starting to get really pretty irate because I have no idea how much farther I have to go, and I really want to know and this thought just sticks, like a needle, in my exhausted brain. People keep saying "You're almost there"..."You're almost there." But my god. What does that mean???

We pass a sign that says "One Mile To The Finish". "That's just wrong" both Laurie and Sandra assure me, and then begin explaining why it's really less than a mile. All I can say is "Guys. I just really need you to stop right now."  I feel awful snapping at them, but I'm having a hard time just dealing!

We approach a bridge and I see Jeni ahead cresting it and moving on. As soon as I hit the bridge something wonky happens to my eyes. The feeling that the bridge is moving leaves me feeling unsteady and with about a half mile to go, I start getting tunnel vision. The ground becomes wavy. My blood sugar has bottomed out and all my HEED is gone. Having passed out many times over the course of my life due to hypoglycemia, I back it off. I still have no idea where the finish is, but I now have no choice but to walk. "I'm sorry you guys, but I have to walk." Sandra comes up next to me and softly says, "You're almost there. The finish is just around this turn." I turn to her. "This is not a choice." "Okay".

Just dealing.

A couple minutes later Jeni's friend Carol runs out to find me. "You're almost there. The finish is right around this turn." "Did Jeni finish?" I ask. "Yes." At that moment I do actually know that I am almost there. That there really IS a finish line and that I will make it. I start running, and just before I hit the shoot, Sandra runs up beside me and we cross the mat:  9:15. 9th woman overall, and 2nd in my age group.

The RD looks me in the eyes. "Congratulations." Then he looks at Sandra and hands her my belt buckle as she holds me up. I am pretty out of it but managing to hold it together as Sandra slowly leads me back to her car. I can see Jeni across the field, and I want to go to her, but I just can't.

Nothing on my body wants to bend, but sitting down in the car feels like heaven. I see a bag of chips sitting on the console. I don't know whose they are but I rip them open like a starving famine victim and devour them greedily. I don't even like chips, but this is the best thing I've ever ever eaten in my life. Jeni appears at the window, peers in and says, "I love you." I open the door and we hug, a tired, satisfied, grateful hug. 

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

What did I learn: Well. My fueling was crap. I'm a light fueler - in marathons. I take one gel and whatever liquid fuel is offered. When I ran a 50k, I took 2 gels. Now, for a 50 miler...what the hell was I thinking? I kept saying to Jeni along the way as we passed those walking, "We're running a 50 like marathoners." And that's because we are marathoners. We only walked out of air stations and during the cramping incident. Otherwise we ran. BUT I learned a very very very important lesson if I ever plan to do anything like this again - and that is: HEED + 3 gels + 1 bar = blood sugar blowout. There is a BIG difference between 26.2 miles and 50 miles. And the last 13 miles is not 'just a half marathon'. When I think of it now, I want to hit myself upside the head.

I also discovered that I may still be able to do things that I may not know I can do. I learned that I can deal with situations that I can't possibly anticipate. I, again, was reminded how very important it is to me to have people I love and care about with me along the way - And that's not just to accomplishing the task. I never really questioned finishing (until mile 49.5) - but what made the finishing and the doing so much more, is having so much support and having people I care about with me.  

Once again, THEY made the day for me. And this stuff is like drugs - You just want more...

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” ~ Helen Keller

 

Why We Love Our 26.2 Stickers

"Those who enjoy their own emotionally bad health and who habitually fill their own minds with the rank poisons of suspicion, jealousy and hatred, as a rule take umbrage at those who refuse to do likewise, and they find a perverted relief in trying to denigrate them." ~ Johannes Brahms

So, once again, a runner-hater a$$hat has found traction in the running community...and we all band together and defend ourselves, and in the process, give said a$$hat, the attention he so desperately needs in his pathetic little life.

I'm not here to give him any more attention and I won't post a link to his drivel, for all you really need to know of this piece is the following:

"You’ve seen them a lot recently. The little oval stickers on the back of cars that say “13.1" or “26.2" or some other seemingly random number. The number relates to running, 13.1 being the distance of a half-marathon. And every time I see one of these stickers I just want to run it off the road.

It’s amazing how three numbers and a decimal point can single-handedly turn someone into a big, arrogant butthole."

He erroneously claims that stickers on cars are meant to show that we are "fans" of something - which is a bogus claim at worst and incomplete claim at best. When I stick a sticker on my car, it is not to show that I am a 'fan' of something. Sure. I am saying 'I like X", But the REAL purpose is that it is an attempt to single myself out as an individual - to other individuals who may be like me: political stickers, team stickers, various sports stickers, dog breed stickers, school sticker (oh, he should attack all those "My kid is an Honor Student ..." crap. Sheesh. Talk about braggers!!!),vegan, animal rights, gun/hunter (nut ;) rights...whatever it is...we want to connect with others like us.

Here's why we love our running stickers: We are members of a tribe. We love seeing other members out there. We greet each other out on the roads and trails when we run AND when we drive. We wear our race shirts for the same reason...And, because pride is NOT the sinful thing he seems to be intimating! We've done things we have every right to be proud of. And, what WE do has no bearing on what you do or do not do. 

This is a case of flawed logic and small minded jealousy, with a dash of ignorant hate thrown in.

Am I bragging with my stickers??? No. It's JUST FECKING RUNNING! BUT,  I am proud to be a member of this amazing, inspiring, life-filled, inclusive, welcoming, encouraging tribe.

As Socrates argues in the Apology (and I am taking creative liberties with his argument): It is best to make yourself the best 'you' you can be. Stop trying shut-up those who are doing better, or encouraging you to be better.  Worry about your own soul. You are not made better by putting other, who are trying to be better, down.

Oh. How arrogant! And, Yes. I need to add that 50 miler sticker stat!!!! I'm such an arrogant butthole.

The Solitude of the Solo Runner

“The long-distance run of an early morning makes me think that every run like this is a life - a little life, I know - but a life as full of misery and happiness and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself” ~ Alan Sillitoe

The Routine: Up early for a shake out jog. Kiss the kiddo and husband goodbye - and off I go. At this point no one even notices that I'm leaving. There's the cursory wish of 'good luck', but it's just same old, same old now. I pull away thinking, "It wasn't always like this". Park the car at the long term lot, jump on the shuttle to the terminal (calf cramps kick in with a vengeance), through security, to the gait. All so predictable. Board the plane with 101 purple T-shirted Denver Landscape Co. employees off for a debaucherous company weekend trip to Sin City. It's 9 a.m. and they are in full on parrrtaaaaaaaaay mode. As we board, one remarks: "Well, the good news if that it's currently 92 in Vegas." My response, "Not good news. I'm running a marathon tomorrow." They all stare at me incomprehensibly...Fly...Land...two shuttles to the 'cheapo' rental car office...and then off to St. George, through the desert. 90 miles per hour feels like a crawl through this immense space...So, I call Cecilia...Why not. I'm finally sitting down. And I have time...and I drive and talk...She is supposed to be here with me, but life got in the way. She doesn't really believe I've gone by myself...

It's been many years since I have been here. Hmmmm how many?? Must be 13+? More??? I have spent A LOT of time around Vegas and St. George during my serious rock climbing days - before the house, the kid, the too-many-hours-of-work, and before I started running races again...Yes. When I was young. And this becomes a bit of a trip down memory lane. I cruise through the Virgin River Gorge, a place I've spent countless hours climbing, zoom past Cedar Pocket where we used to camp, and glance up the barren rocky hills where I've run so many miles, so long ago...

As I approach St. George the town feels like an old friend. I remember it all. I find my hotel, freshen up, and head to the expo. I hate expos, so I'm in, get my packet, t-shirt, stop at information for bus pick-up parking info...head off to the bus pick-up to scope out the situation...off the Starbucks to get a cup of Joe for the morning...and then back to the hotel where I will not move for the rest of the day...

I watch crap TV and a movie on Netflix, and eat as much salty stuff as I have. My calves are still giving me grief. I tell myself "Eh, it's happened before with no issues during the race. It's fine." Still, as I try to relax my left calf and shin feeling like it is in a vice - like the fascia is squeezing the bejesus out of the muscles. I eat my dinner (yes, brought with me from Colorado) 'hangout' on facebook, check in with the runners I coach running marathons this weekend, phone home, read for a bit, set a couple alarms for 4 a.m. and turnout the light...And the second I close my eyes, what I see in my head, is my waking with the sun up...I see myself oversleeping. The whole day I have been remarkable relaxed, and in an instant this thought creeps in and will not loosen it's grip for the remainder of the night. This is a problem with traveling solo. You are alone. Hell, I could die in my sleep and no one would know...and so, I spend a restless night arguing with the useless thoughts in my head...

I finally get up at 3:50, and 10 minutes later both (feckin') alarms go off.

Since I'm up early, I shower in a futile attempt to wash the blood-shot from my eyes...dress, plan the gear check bag, and off to the bus pick up... Wait on line with a couple guys from CO. Everyone around me seems to have run this one before. I get the course beta. The bus ride is LONG...through the darkness. We pass flood light lit aid stations, where we will be at some point, but on foot...and then reach the start area lit up like daytime - flags line the start area, blowing frantically in the 25 mph winds. The air is choked with bonfire smoke, and the whole start area resembles an over crowded refugee camp. We are delayed about 15 minutes, the last buses arriving literally minutes before the start. Wheelchairs are off...And we are off.

It's still dark and I can't see my blasted watch. Heat blankets blow across the road like tumble weeds, and make for a bit of an obstacle course. Eh, just take it easy. The first 7 miles are perfect, though I do note that my quads are not feeling as fresh as I'd like. Starting at 8 miles the course goes up. The hill out of Veyo is steep and a mile long. And for the next 7 miles we go up mostly with an occasional down. The sun pops above the mountains to the east, and within minutes the temperature climbs noticeably.

At 15 miles I pop into a porta potty and then race out to make up for lost time...and at this point we crest the high point. I look down the hill, toward Snow Canyon, and all I can think is, "I could ski this thing." It's STEEP. I mean really steep. I try to run light and quick, spinning down the hill, but as it lets up for a bit, I feel the fatigue in my quads rising.

One of the things I really did not anticipate was the steepness of the downhills. I ran a lot of downhill training runs. I'm good at downhills (there's not much I am good at), but this was too downhill. Maybe it was the downhill half I ran two weeks earlier, I wonder - perhaps that was too much, too close - but whatever it is, the down was NOT agreeing with me on this day.

And so it goes...down down down. And I am beginning to feel zings of cramps in my left calf and both quads. I pull it in on the downhills, and pick it up when things flatten out, but I'm really trying to avoid a colossal meltdown. I started out with a small handheld full of HEED and intended to chuck it and use the aid stations, but the aid stations are a total cluster - they have them only on one side of the road and they are too compressed. There's banana peels, orange and melon rinds, Vaseline sticks, etc covering the ground and everyone comes to a complete stop. So, I hang on to the handheld, refill it with Gatorade and water, and forgo as many water stops as possible, grabbing the occasional cup of water to pour over my head.

When we get into town, the heat is building. Someone hands me a baggie of ice, and though I've only got 2 miles to go, I clumsily peel it open and pour in down my bra. At this point I'm having non-stop cramp-zings shooting through my legs and I'm trying to just keep going and not fall flat on my face as one hits mid-gait. As we turn the last corner, I see what I believe is the finish ahead and just do my damnedest to get there without completely seizing up. Each time I press, my body presses back.

 But somehow I manage to cross...3:46:36.

And that makes it 1 minute and 37 seconds off my goal of sub 3:45. Why did I want sub-3:45??? It's the Chicago guaranteed entry qualifying time. So, I guess I'll try again on that one - but this time might be good enough to get me into the second wave at Boston. Looking on the bright side.

And though hot and tired and crampy and a little disappointed, I do muster a little smile ;)

I hang around the finish area hoping to catch Monica, a runner who I coach but have never met in person. I know that if things have gone well she should be close behind. As I stumble over to bag check and creakily try to replace my newtons with Birkenstocks, I hear "I think I know you". I look up and it takes a moment to register that it's Monica. A person I know!! I haven't seen anyone I know in 2 days. We hobble off to find her family.

Monica is ecstatic, having just run a 27 minute PR and a 4+ minute BQ. And with this news, my own disappointment melts away. She has just experienced the magic of the perfect race. I can feel it radiating from her pores.

We hangout for a while, and I savor the brief human companionship, and then I make haste back to the hotel to shower, checkout and head back to Vegas for my flight home...and alone again, I head back through the desolate desert. I have a couple hours to kill so I head west of the city out to Red Rocks Canyon, where my husband and I have spent a lot of time climbing and I had some of my more memorable road-trip sends (that's rock climber lingo for completing a route/project).

As I stand at the entrance of where the old Oak Creek Campground used to be (climber digs), taking this picture, I think back...and back. Another time. So much is different. So much remains the same. The first time I saw these formations I was 31 years old - 20 years ago. How can that even be? I stand there for a very long time...and think. 

I make my way back to Vegas, drop off the car, shuttle off to the airport, 2 hours to kill...and, finally, have a giant IPA in hand. I have no one here but myself, but I strike up numerous conversations with strangers, watch people be people, and again feel deeply thankful to be blessed with the life I have had and do have.

And the fact is, that it is these alone trips that allow me to tap into these things. So, while it can be lonely, it's more often a solitude that reveals things that need to be felt again.

Loneliness expresses the pain of being alone and solitude expresses the glory of being alone. ~ Paul Tillich