We are two sisters living on separate sides of the country. One of the things that connects us, beside our love of hot beverages, is fitness. We love to run and strength train, and share the benefits of exercise with others. From the sisters who created Illume Fitness, we bring you Illuminated Runners: musings on running, cross fit, strength training, family, travel, life, and some serious dorkiness in there, too. "The spirit illuminates everything."
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Guest Post on Mama Says
Please check out my guest post on the Mama Says blog, which gives my long-winded comeback to strangers who say how unfortunate I am to have three boys. Click here: Drinking it Up With Three Boys
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Pirate Cracker
I'll peak out from the depths of my injury-induced blues to say a quick "hi" to you, my blog readers. I'm not going to sugar-coat it, I've been really disappointed/grumpy/downright rude and unpleasant about my back. It is not getting better, I haven't run in more than 5 weeks, and I would give anything for a magic ball to know when I'll be pain free and running again.
Of course, despite all the whining I've been doing to my husband (sorry sweetie!), I do know it will get better and I do know there are silver-linings to this pause in my training. For example, I have read 3 books in the past 5 weeks. That is more than I read all year. I've also taken up knitting again, and have finished 5 hats and am just about to bind off on my 6th. (Yes, family, you know what you'll be getting for Christmas). And I've been cooking up new and different foods, and I've even followed a few recipes (gasp!). I just made homemade coconut milk tonight. It was insanely delicious, I could have guzzled the whole jar right there. Here's the recipe, because if you think you don't like coconut milk, this could be a game-changer for you.
Despite the silver linings, I do miss running terribly. I miss stepping outside in the quiet, crisp, dark morning, and meeting up with friends as we chat the miles away. I miss the rhythm that became so familiar to my body, and the satisfying feeling of tired leg muscles. I miss my favorite running routes so much that I sometimes run them in my head as I'm trying to fall asleep- the dirt roads, rolling hills and maple trees become old friends. And I miss feeling strong, feeling like I take care of my body and we understand each other. Now my back pain feels like such a mystery, I don't know exactly how it happened and I don't know how to let it heal. I don't know when it will heal and when I'll be running again. When I asked my physical therapist about signing up for an April half-marathon, she gave me a sympathetic smile and suggested not to sign up yet. I desperately wanted to shout profanities at her, but I saved that for the car ride home, by myself.
I'm not going to paste a smile on my face and say that I'm anything other than disappointed. But, I will recognize the silver linings as they come along. I'll leave you with a recent one: My three year old is such a handful right now; this child is so exhausting and marches to the beat of his own drum like no one's business, but he does constantly remind me of all that is good. When my back was spasming on Thanksgiving day (it was all those dishes!), and I was lying on the couch, he came up to me and said, "I'm the doctor and I'll make your back better." He then "wrote me a list," gave me a new nose (he put it on my face, which was nice), then proceeded to jump on me, pressing down on my shoulder with both hands (it didn't hurt, incidentally). My mom was nearby and she nearly shot out of her chair, wondering what the heck kind of a doctor he was. She asked him such, and he answered, "I'm a pirate cracker." Obviously. I knew just what he meant, and I realized that maybe I've taken him to one too many of my chiropractor appointments.
Of course, despite all the whining I've been doing to my husband (sorry sweetie!), I do know it will get better and I do know there are silver-linings to this pause in my training. For example, I have read 3 books in the past 5 weeks. That is more than I read all year. I've also taken up knitting again, and have finished 5 hats and am just about to bind off on my 6th. (Yes, family, you know what you'll be getting for Christmas). And I've been cooking up new and different foods, and I've even followed a few recipes (gasp!). I just made homemade coconut milk tonight. It was insanely delicious, I could have guzzled the whole jar right there. Here's the recipe, because if you think you don't like coconut milk, this could be a game-changer for you.
Despite the silver linings, I do miss running terribly. I miss stepping outside in the quiet, crisp, dark morning, and meeting up with friends as we chat the miles away. I miss the rhythm that became so familiar to my body, and the satisfying feeling of tired leg muscles. I miss my favorite running routes so much that I sometimes run them in my head as I'm trying to fall asleep- the dirt roads, rolling hills and maple trees become old friends. And I miss feeling strong, feeling like I take care of my body and we understand each other. Now my back pain feels like such a mystery, I don't know exactly how it happened and I don't know how to let it heal. I don't know when it will heal and when I'll be running again. When I asked my physical therapist about signing up for an April half-marathon, she gave me a sympathetic smile and suggested not to sign up yet. I desperately wanted to shout profanities at her, but I saved that for the car ride home, by myself.
I'm not going to paste a smile on my face and say that I'm anything other than disappointed. But, I will recognize the silver linings as they come along. I'll leave you with a recent one: My three year old is such a handful right now; this child is so exhausting and marches to the beat of his own drum like no one's business, but he does constantly remind me of all that is good. When my back was spasming on Thanksgiving day (it was all those dishes!), and I was lying on the couch, he came up to me and said, "I'm the doctor and I'll make your back better." He then "wrote me a list," gave me a new nose (he put it on my face, which was nice), then proceeded to jump on me, pressing down on my shoulder with both hands (it didn't hurt, incidentally). My mom was nearby and she nearly shot out of her chair, wondering what the heck kind of a doctor he was. She asked him such, and he answered, "I'm a pirate cracker." Obviously. I knew just what he meant, and I realized that maybe I've taken him to one too many of my chiropractor appointments.
My very own "pirate cracker," getting ready for a day's work.
Monday, November 4, 2013
A Body in Motion, a Different Motion
A body in motion stays in motion, unless it slams into a brick wall. Which is pretty much what it felt like when I hurt my back (see my post about it). After a handful of doctor's appointments and tests, it was determined that I have a bulging disc at the bottom of my spine, causing a pinched nerve and subsequent sciatica. For the past two weeks, I have been resting and trying to determine the best route to recovery. As well as obsessing about when I can start training again.
The physical therapist and doctor I have seen agreed that I will need around 6 weeks of limited activity and physical therapy before I can really start training again, and I will need to make sure I can run pain-free before I train hard again. I'm sure you can gather that this is hugely disappointing for me.
Intellectually, I know what I need to do. I know the stretches I should work on, and I know what activities are best for me. Physically, my body seems to understand it's limitations, and if I over-do something in the slightest, I certainly feel it. Emotionally, I'd like to make like my 3 year old and throw myself to the ground and flail my arms and legs and scream at the top of my lungs. Because even though my body slammed into the metaphorical brick wall a couple weeks ago, emotionally I still feel like I'm in motion. The rhythms of my long runs from weeks ago are still singing in me, the steady beat of my feet on the ground, the scattering of my thoughts and the saliency of my presence, just being there, in the moment, on the road, blissfully in motion. The challenge for me now is stepping away from that sense of peace I get from running, and finding a new rhythm, a new routine for the next month and a half or (gasp) more.
But, how do I find that sense of peace? What is it that will fulfill me the way running does? Here is a summary of the activities I can do, and my admittedly weak attempts at embracing them:
Yoga: I know, I KNOW! Yoga is good for me, I get it. I want to be walking around all loose and relaxed, telling people to "Namaste." But let me put it to you this way: have you ever tried to set up a tent, and you clip in the poles and then try to get the end of the pole in it's little sleeve, and the pole just won't bend? Like, you're trying to bend a piece of steel into this little pocket, and you're like WTF! And the tent flies up and away from you, resisting to that tiny bend it needs to take. Yeah, that tent pole is my body. Me doing yoga is like trying to bend steel. I'm sure it will be glorious when I get there, but it's gonna' be a bitch to set up that tent.
Swimming: I love the thought of swimming, I really do. The fluidity and gentleness of it, the ease of motion, the way you can hear your heart beating. But let's face it, getting into a bathing suit in my "off shaving season" is never pleasant, and the water is never as warm as I want it to be, and there is nothing graceful about me swimming. When I was training for a triathlon a few years ago, I went to a swim training group at a local gym, led by a coach who is also a successful triathlete. It was crowded, and we had to share lanes. I was with a nice woman who must have been 30 years my elder, who proceeded to lap me at least 3 times during the 8 minute warm-up. We were WARMING UP for pete's sake, and I got passed. 3 times. The coach pulled me aside after the warm-up, and very sweetly suggested I head to the farthest lane, you know, for the painfully slow swimmers (I was the only one in that lane), and he gave me ideas on how to "pare down", i.e. totally skip, the workout.
Walking: Okay, this one I can do. This morning I got up early, bundled up for the 16 degree weather, and then I did something a little crazy for me. I snuck earphones under my hat and listened to music as I walked! (Thanks to the inspiration from my friend at Running With Music). "This is not so bad," I thought, as I cruised along with a little skip in my step. Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and Ingrid Michaelson all sang to me as I walked along the Montpelier streets, passing dimly lit houses where I knew people were just getting up to start their day. I tried not to look too longingly at the runners going by, their determined looks, headlamps and shiny tights all taunting me. Instead, the music put me in a trance, and I let the miles tick by. Suddenly I realized I must have been gone a long time, and I imagined my husband at home trying to get the boys ready for school, wondering where I was. I hurried the last several blocks home, sure I had been gone an hour. Of course I didn't think about looking at my phone to check the time, and when I stepped inside our warm, quiet home, my family was just getting up. I had been gone only 23 minutes.
I have some work to do over the next several weeks. If you happen to see me doing my best to bend at a yoga class, be kind. If you see me splashing madly in the pool and barely moving forward, don't worry, I'm okay. And, if you see me walking in the early morning, and you hear me singing Ingrid Michaelson at the top of my lungs, just please go ahead and give me the "thumb's up." I'm just getting used to a different motion.
P.S. You know those triathlons I was training for? This is me getting out of the water at one. Notice there is no one around me? Yeah, that's because I was the last one out of the water.
The physical therapist and doctor I have seen agreed that I will need around 6 weeks of limited activity and physical therapy before I can really start training again, and I will need to make sure I can run pain-free before I train hard again. I'm sure you can gather that this is hugely disappointing for me.
Intellectually, I know what I need to do. I know the stretches I should work on, and I know what activities are best for me. Physically, my body seems to understand it's limitations, and if I over-do something in the slightest, I certainly feel it. Emotionally, I'd like to make like my 3 year old and throw myself to the ground and flail my arms and legs and scream at the top of my lungs. Because even though my body slammed into the metaphorical brick wall a couple weeks ago, emotionally I still feel like I'm in motion. The rhythms of my long runs from weeks ago are still singing in me, the steady beat of my feet on the ground, the scattering of my thoughts and the saliency of my presence, just being there, in the moment, on the road, blissfully in motion. The challenge for me now is stepping away from that sense of peace I get from running, and finding a new rhythm, a new routine for the next month and a half or (gasp) more.
But, how do I find that sense of peace? What is it that will fulfill me the way running does? Here is a summary of the activities I can do, and my admittedly weak attempts at embracing them:
Yoga: I know, I KNOW! Yoga is good for me, I get it. I want to be walking around all loose and relaxed, telling people to "Namaste." But let me put it to you this way: have you ever tried to set up a tent, and you clip in the poles and then try to get the end of the pole in it's little sleeve, and the pole just won't bend? Like, you're trying to bend a piece of steel into this little pocket, and you're like WTF! And the tent flies up and away from you, resisting to that tiny bend it needs to take. Yeah, that tent pole is my body. Me doing yoga is like trying to bend steel. I'm sure it will be glorious when I get there, but it's gonna' be a bitch to set up that tent.
Swimming: I love the thought of swimming, I really do. The fluidity and gentleness of it, the ease of motion, the way you can hear your heart beating. But let's face it, getting into a bathing suit in my "off shaving season" is never pleasant, and the water is never as warm as I want it to be, and there is nothing graceful about me swimming. When I was training for a triathlon a few years ago, I went to a swim training group at a local gym, led by a coach who is also a successful triathlete. It was crowded, and we had to share lanes. I was with a nice woman who must have been 30 years my elder, who proceeded to lap me at least 3 times during the 8 minute warm-up. We were WARMING UP for pete's sake, and I got passed. 3 times. The coach pulled me aside after the warm-up, and very sweetly suggested I head to the farthest lane, you know, for the painfully slow swimmers (I was the only one in that lane), and he gave me ideas on how to "pare down", i.e. totally skip, the workout.
Walking: Okay, this one I can do. This morning I got up early, bundled up for the 16 degree weather, and then I did something a little crazy for me. I snuck earphones under my hat and listened to music as I walked! (Thanks to the inspiration from my friend at Running With Music). "This is not so bad," I thought, as I cruised along with a little skip in my step. Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, and Ingrid Michaelson all sang to me as I walked along the Montpelier streets, passing dimly lit houses where I knew people were just getting up to start their day. I tried not to look too longingly at the runners going by, their determined looks, headlamps and shiny tights all taunting me. Instead, the music put me in a trance, and I let the miles tick by. Suddenly I realized I must have been gone a long time, and I imagined my husband at home trying to get the boys ready for school, wondering where I was. I hurried the last several blocks home, sure I had been gone an hour. Of course I didn't think about looking at my phone to check the time, and when I stepped inside our warm, quiet home, my family was just getting up. I had been gone only 23 minutes.
I have some work to do over the next several weeks. If you happen to see me doing my best to bend at a yoga class, be kind. If you see me splashing madly in the pool and barely moving forward, don't worry, I'm okay. And, if you see me walking in the early morning, and you hear me singing Ingrid Michaelson at the top of my lungs, just please go ahead and give me the "thumb's up." I'm just getting used to a different motion.
P.S. You know those triathlons I was training for? This is me getting out of the water at one. Notice there is no one around me? Yeah, that's because I was the last one out of the water.
Monday, October 21, 2013
A Serious Slice of Humble Pie
"You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run."
Ah, Kenny Rogers, you sing it so true. When I signed up for the Green Stride Half Marathon in Newburyport, MA a few months ago, I looked forward to training for a PR. I was primed and ready, having come off of some nice summer races and feeling like I was getting into a running groove. I began training towards a time range of 1:34-1:37, which I felt was realistic and achievable. Never in my wildest "worst case scenarios" did I imagine what would actually happen- I would get my first DNF (did not finish).
So, how does a primed and ready runner go from awesome races and great training runs to a DNF? Let's just say there were some red flags (skipping cross-training, doing a bit too much speed work, hurting my back, to name a few...), which I virtually ignored. I kept plugging along with my training, because I was LOVING running! I was on a roll, enjoying the cooler mornings and beautiful fall weather we were having, meeting up with running friends I hadn't seen all summer, and enjoying the endurance I had built up so that going for a 10 mile run felt like a piece of cake.
When, 2.5 weeks before the race my back suddenly spasmed while I was cooking dinner, I tried not to panic. I had never had back pain before, so I took it easy, went to the chiropractor, got a massage, saw a PT, and stayed on top of it, or so I thought. (On a side note, with all the attention to my back, this was quickly becoming the world's most expensive race). When race weekend rolled around, I was fresh off a little stomach bug (yet another red flag), and my back and hamstrings were tight and achey. But I wasn't ready to "fold 'em." I had planned this race weekend as a get-together with two good friends who live in MA, and we were going to live it up at a hotel, kid-free. And by living it up, I mean we went out to dinner, got gelato, and were in bed by 9:00 pm. It was so great to see these dear friends, though, and there was no way I would have bailed on the race, because that would mean missing out on our weekend. Not running the race did not even enter my mind.
Race morning comes around. While waiting in the giant port-potty line (PSA: do not ever, ever get behind me in any line. I always pick the slowest one. Always.), I was starting to become aware of some tight muscles. I stretched a bit, but could not shake the sense I had that the slightest movement, even a little sneeze, would send my back into spasms. I decided to ignore this feeling, because really, what could I do at this point? It was race day, the sun was shining, blue skies above, beautiful autumn colors all around. It was a good day to run.
I lined up with my friends. We gave each other hugs, said good luck, and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to run and how we just wanted to enjoy this day. The starting horn blew and we were off. The first mile we went out a little fast- 6:53. I felt great though. We tried to dial it back a bit, and the next mile we were closer to our goal range - 7:10. I was happy and still feeling good. The third mile had some little hills and we were at 7:20. The next mile we came in at 7:17, and I was still feeling surprisingly great. Phew, I thought to myself. I'm going to do this! I made a plan to try to pick up the pace at mile 7 and try for some negative splits.
There was a water stop just after the mile 4 marker, so literally moments after deciding to try to speed up in a few miles, I reached out for a cup, took a big swig, and when I went to toss the cup to the ground, my back suddenly seized up. I jerked back a bit from the pain, and when I did that my left hamstring seized up. Crap! I did not know what to do. I looked around in a panic, fully expecting a random spectator to tell me what to do. That didn't happen, and I watched as my friend ran on ahead, unaware of my gimping behind her, as she was fully expecting me to be at her side soon. I thought about calling out to her, but I didn't want to break her stride and I thought with great hope that I could just shake this out and catch right back up.
No such luck. I was hampered by two things- if I lengthened my left leg out to my normal stride, I felt searing pain down to my heel. So I had to shorten my stride. Second, if I took deep breaths, I got jabbing pain in my back, so I had to take little breaths. Mile 5 I came in at 7:40. Ugh, but I still wasn't ready to fold 'em. Mile 6 came in at 7:53, and I was really struggling at that pace. Ok, I'll dial it back. At around mile 6.5, I was at an 8:30 pace, and I had a horrible sinking feeling when I realized what I needed to do. I was only hurting myself more by continuing to run. People zoomed past me, and I started to feel like I had become a spectator, watching all the racers running by. They were all going to finish but me.
I passed a sign taped to a tree that said "pain is temporary, pride is forever." I thought of all the other races I had done where I had struggled. I've raced a lot, so there were many. Those races were physically hard, emotionally challenging, and yes, sometimes heartbreaking. In those races, I had to let go of a time I wanted mid-race, or shift my goal to "just finish." But every time, I finished the race. I had never stopped running. I always ran through the pain, ran through the disappointment, just kept running. But this time was different. When I saw the mile 7 marker, I hit "stop" on my watch, and hobbled over to the side of the road. This was the race where I needed to swallow my pride, this pain was not temporary. I stopped running and stood there on the side of the road, not sure what I was supposed to do next. What happens after you fold em'?
The next 45 minutes was a huge low for me. I ended up getting a ride back to the finish from one of the race directors, who was so sweet as he tried to reassure me that I'd be racing again soon while I sat quietly in his truck, wishing I was still running. He delivered me to the finish just in time to see my friends run in. It was great to get to cheer them on, and I was so proud of them, knowing how hard they had worked for this race. As I watched them come in, though, I was surprised when I felt not a twinge of guilt or remorse, but actually I was proud of myself, too. I was listening to my body. The pain I felt in my back and leg was unlike any injury I had experienced before. It was time for me to stop and listen to what my body needed. It was time to fold 'em and walk away.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment that I hope will help me get on the path to recovery. I haven't let go of my PR goal yet, I'm just going to shelve it for now. I'm going to take this opportunity to reflect on how I got this injury and how I can avoid injuries in the future.
As for the rest of the race day, shortly after the race it was time to say goodbye to my friends. They were supportive of my decision to drop out of the race and encouraged me to rest and recover. They have both dealt with major injuries and know how hard but necessary it can be to take a break from training. We hugged goodbye and decided next year we're going to a spa instead.
Ah, Kenny Rogers, you sing it so true. When I signed up for the Green Stride Half Marathon in Newburyport, MA a few months ago, I looked forward to training for a PR. I was primed and ready, having come off of some nice summer races and feeling like I was getting into a running groove. I began training towards a time range of 1:34-1:37, which I felt was realistic and achievable. Never in my wildest "worst case scenarios" did I imagine what would actually happen- I would get my first DNF (did not finish).
So, how does a primed and ready runner go from awesome races and great training runs to a DNF? Let's just say there were some red flags (skipping cross-training, doing a bit too much speed work, hurting my back, to name a few...), which I virtually ignored. I kept plugging along with my training, because I was LOVING running! I was on a roll, enjoying the cooler mornings and beautiful fall weather we were having, meeting up with running friends I hadn't seen all summer, and enjoying the endurance I had built up so that going for a 10 mile run felt like a piece of cake.
When, 2.5 weeks before the race my back suddenly spasmed while I was cooking dinner, I tried not to panic. I had never had back pain before, so I took it easy, went to the chiropractor, got a massage, saw a PT, and stayed on top of it, or so I thought. (On a side note, with all the attention to my back, this was quickly becoming the world's most expensive race). When race weekend rolled around, I was fresh off a little stomach bug (yet another red flag), and my back and hamstrings were tight and achey. But I wasn't ready to "fold 'em." I had planned this race weekend as a get-together with two good friends who live in MA, and we were going to live it up at a hotel, kid-free. And by living it up, I mean we went out to dinner, got gelato, and were in bed by 9:00 pm. It was so great to see these dear friends, though, and there was no way I would have bailed on the race, because that would mean missing out on our weekend. Not running the race did not even enter my mind.
Race morning comes around. While waiting in the giant port-potty line (PSA: do not ever, ever get behind me in any line. I always pick the slowest one. Always.), I was starting to become aware of some tight muscles. I stretched a bit, but could not shake the sense I had that the slightest movement, even a little sneeze, would send my back into spasms. I decided to ignore this feeling, because really, what could I do at this point? It was race day, the sun was shining, blue skies above, beautiful autumn colors all around. It was a good day to run.
I lined up with my friends. We gave each other hugs, said good luck, and reminded ourselves how lucky we were to run and how we just wanted to enjoy this day. The starting horn blew and we were off. The first mile we went out a little fast- 6:53. I felt great though. We tried to dial it back a bit, and the next mile we were closer to our goal range - 7:10. I was happy and still feeling good. The third mile had some little hills and we were at 7:20. The next mile we came in at 7:17, and I was still feeling surprisingly great. Phew, I thought to myself. I'm going to do this! I made a plan to try to pick up the pace at mile 7 and try for some negative splits.
There was a water stop just after the mile 4 marker, so literally moments after deciding to try to speed up in a few miles, I reached out for a cup, took a big swig, and when I went to toss the cup to the ground, my back suddenly seized up. I jerked back a bit from the pain, and when I did that my left hamstring seized up. Crap! I did not know what to do. I looked around in a panic, fully expecting a random spectator to tell me what to do. That didn't happen, and I watched as my friend ran on ahead, unaware of my gimping behind her, as she was fully expecting me to be at her side soon. I thought about calling out to her, but I didn't want to break her stride and I thought with great hope that I could just shake this out and catch right back up.
No such luck. I was hampered by two things- if I lengthened my left leg out to my normal stride, I felt searing pain down to my heel. So I had to shorten my stride. Second, if I took deep breaths, I got jabbing pain in my back, so I had to take little breaths. Mile 5 I came in at 7:40. Ugh, but I still wasn't ready to fold 'em. Mile 6 came in at 7:53, and I was really struggling at that pace. Ok, I'll dial it back. At around mile 6.5, I was at an 8:30 pace, and I had a horrible sinking feeling when I realized what I needed to do. I was only hurting myself more by continuing to run. People zoomed past me, and I started to feel like I had become a spectator, watching all the racers running by. They were all going to finish but me.
I passed a sign taped to a tree that said "pain is temporary, pride is forever." I thought of all the other races I had done where I had struggled. I've raced a lot, so there were many. Those races were physically hard, emotionally challenging, and yes, sometimes heartbreaking. In those races, I had to let go of a time I wanted mid-race, or shift my goal to "just finish." But every time, I finished the race. I had never stopped running. I always ran through the pain, ran through the disappointment, just kept running. But this time was different. When I saw the mile 7 marker, I hit "stop" on my watch, and hobbled over to the side of the road. This was the race where I needed to swallow my pride, this pain was not temporary. I stopped running and stood there on the side of the road, not sure what I was supposed to do next. What happens after you fold em'?
The next 45 minutes was a huge low for me. I ended up getting a ride back to the finish from one of the race directors, who was so sweet as he tried to reassure me that I'd be racing again soon while I sat quietly in his truck, wishing I was still running. He delivered me to the finish just in time to see my friends run in. It was great to get to cheer them on, and I was so proud of them, knowing how hard they had worked for this race. As I watched them come in, though, I was surprised when I felt not a twinge of guilt or remorse, but actually I was proud of myself, too. I was listening to my body. The pain I felt in my back and leg was unlike any injury I had experienced before. It was time for me to stop and listen to what my body needed. It was time to fold 'em and walk away.
Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment that I hope will help me get on the path to recovery. I haven't let go of my PR goal yet, I'm just going to shelve it for now. I'm going to take this opportunity to reflect on how I got this injury and how I can avoid injuries in the future.
As for the rest of the race day, shortly after the race it was time to say goodbye to my friends. They were supportive of my decision to drop out of the race and encouraged me to rest and recover. They have both dealt with major injuries and know how hard but necessary it can be to take a break from training. We hugged goodbye and decided next year we're going to a spa instead.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Heart Music
Each September I get a poem stuck in my head, for
the whole month. It's Gary Snyder's For All, and it's beautiful. I don't
have it completely memorized, but the first line goes on repeat in my head,
"Ah, to be alive on a mid September morn." I hear this line when I
zip up my boys' sweatshirts before heading out into the sandbox, I hear it when
I'm lacing up my sneakers for a run, or when dry leaves are crunching
underfoot.
September has always been my favorite month.
Growing up in New Hampshire, I had an inherent appreciation for the crisp
weather, brilliantly colored leaves, a new school year, and the ever-faint
smell of winter in the air. And now, as a runner, I appreciate September all
the more. We have yet to worry about running in single digit temperatures
(usually), it's too early for the dangerous layer of ice on the ground making
me feel like I'm running on banana peels, and yet the heat of the summer has
passed, as well as the sucking mud, hail and generally inconsistent conditions
of the spring. All in all, September makes for perfect running here in Vermont.
And, I have had some pretty great runs lately.
Monday morning I got up at 5:00 in order to get a
13 miler in. I had missed my long run over the weekend and wanted to make up
for it before the week really got going. The following are some notes of
interest on the run, and why it's good to be “alive on a mid-September morn.”
The first 45 minutes of the run were in the
darkness, my headlamp guiding my way. Also, the first 2.5 miles were straight
up a hill. There is something nice about running a hill in the dark, I just had
to keep moving with no vision of what was ahead. Just as I crested the hill, my
calves and lungs on fire, I saw a little pinprick of light in the distance-
moving towards me. I realized it was someone else's headlamp, and by the speed
at which it was heading my way, I figured it must be a biker. As we passed each
other I could only see the light of their headlamp, no face, but out of the
darkness I heard a cheerful "good morning," as he biked by.
Just by that greeting I know he felt it was good to be alive, too.
The next shadowy figure I saw in the road ahead
turned out to be one of the approximately 2 dozen deer I saw that morning. I
really have never seen so many deer within a 2 hour time period in my life.
Later, after scaring the first few pairs off and sending them hurtling into the
woods, I decided to take a new approach and try some deer whisperer techniques.
The technique went like this: I stopped running just as 2 deer were staring me
down (yes, deer in headlights pose), I turned my head away and became as still
as possible. When I turned back a moment later, I realized it worked! The deer
slowly walked into the woods, they were all like, “it’s okay, she’s cool.” I
felt pretty darn proud of myself, thinking I should probably write a book about
being one with wild animals.
A little later,
I came upon yet another pair of deer and I tried my deer whisperer technique
again. It didn’t work. As they bounded away, pell-mell into the meadow I wanted
to shout, “Ladies! Come on, it’s me. I’m cool. Your cousins were all chill with
me. I’m practically one of you!!!” Alas, I better come up with a new book to
write.
Much of my run
led me along dirt roads in East Montpelier, past farms, meadows, and stands of
trees that were just starting to show their oranges and yellows. Beautiful. My
other wildlife encounters included a snake (I didn’t stop to check the species,
“hell-no” to that), a mink (what a rare sighting!), and a flock of wild
turkeys. Turkeys fly, if you’re wondering. I saw it with my own eyes.
Around mile 10,
I ran past a farm and literally just as I made out the license plate on the car
in the driveway and read the words “MOOOO” on it, one of the cows about 20 feet
away came out with the loudest “MOOOO” ever. It was the strangest synchronism
of events best appreciated when you are on mile 10 of a 13 mile run. And, it’s
6:30 in the morning and it’s good to be alive.
I’ll leave you
with the full Gary Snyder poem, and I hope you all can find time to go for a
long run, walk or hike this fall, and hear your own “heart music.”
For All
by Gary Snyder
Ah to be
alive
on a mid-September
morn
fording a
stream
barefoot, pants rolled
up,
holding boots, pack
on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.
Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as
toes
cold nose
dripping
singing
inside
creek music, heart
music,
smell of sun on gravel.
I pledge allegiance
I pledge allegiance to the
soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon
dwell
one
ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Being Brave
Yes, I know I haven't written in a while. I've been in whirlwind back to school mode with my boys. One starting second grade (at a new school), one in kindergarten, and the littlest guy going to "daycare school" 2 days a week. This morning I packed 3 lunches, in my sweaty running clothes, before I showered and ate breakfast. Slipping into this new schedule is like pulling on a pair of skinny jeans, a little rough going on, but I know once I'm in them I'll feel pretty darn good.
This change in season always puts me in a kind of contemplative space, almost like a new year, I begin thinking about what I want to accomplish, and what I want for my family as we practice this new routine. We live across the street from a middle school, and two blocks away from an elementary school. So, each morning this time of year as I'm sipping my coffee, making lunches and stretching out from an early morning run, I watch children go by on their way to school. I watch parents holding their young child's hand, or I see a group of tweens clumped together loudly making their way along the sidewalk. Their faces each tell a story of a new school year, a fresh start, new goals, new friends, different teachers, the beginning of a comeback, or the beginning of a time to redefine themselves. I love this season, the air is brimming with potential.
But here's the thing about all these children and young adults heading off to school. They have to be so brave. All of them. Oh, just thinking about those wide-eyed kindergartners going to school for the first day, I get teary-eyed. This year when I saw a family walking by on their way to the elementary school, with both parents and big brother guiding the little brother to his first day of kindergarten, I had to strap myself to the chair lest I run out and shout some dorky, blubbering words of encouragement. "You are so brave! You can do it! You are going to rock it, little guy!" I didn't, but I wanted to. And I wanted to shout that to the middle schoolers, heading into the building that houses the most awkward phase of human life. So brave, each and every one of them.
Being brave is about keeping the forward momentum, even when you're heading into the unknown. (Which we all are doing every day, right?) To me it is also about trying something even when you think you can not do it, standing up for someone even when it is hard, going against the flow, believing in the good in the world, honoring people's differences, and, yes, being brave sometimes means taking a left hand turn in Montpelier construction traffic. We have to do it, people!
With my husband's enthusiastic approval, I will refrain from handing out "brave" stickers to all the children going by my house. But I will tell my own boys how brave they are. I will listen to their stories of making new friends, learning new things and making new mistakes, with great awe. You are so brave, I will say. And I will let that bravery settle in my mind when I am thinking about my own goals, whether it be a time I really want to get in a race, finishing that essay I've been working on for a year, or connecting with someone I've been too shy to reach out to. And I will do my best with that left hand turn. Please try not to honk at me, people. I'm trying to be brave.
This change in season always puts me in a kind of contemplative space, almost like a new year, I begin thinking about what I want to accomplish, and what I want for my family as we practice this new routine. We live across the street from a middle school, and two blocks away from an elementary school. So, each morning this time of year as I'm sipping my coffee, making lunches and stretching out from an early morning run, I watch children go by on their way to school. I watch parents holding their young child's hand, or I see a group of tweens clumped together loudly making their way along the sidewalk. Their faces each tell a story of a new school year, a fresh start, new goals, new friends, different teachers, the beginning of a comeback, or the beginning of a time to redefine themselves. I love this season, the air is brimming with potential.
But here's the thing about all these children and young adults heading off to school. They have to be so brave. All of them. Oh, just thinking about those wide-eyed kindergartners going to school for the first day, I get teary-eyed. This year when I saw a family walking by on their way to the elementary school, with both parents and big brother guiding the little brother to his first day of kindergarten, I had to strap myself to the chair lest I run out and shout some dorky, blubbering words of encouragement. "You are so brave! You can do it! You are going to rock it, little guy!" I didn't, but I wanted to. And I wanted to shout that to the middle schoolers, heading into the building that houses the most awkward phase of human life. So brave, each and every one of them.
Being brave is about keeping the forward momentum, even when you're heading into the unknown. (Which we all are doing every day, right?) To me it is also about trying something even when you think you can not do it, standing up for someone even when it is hard, going against the flow, believing in the good in the world, honoring people's differences, and, yes, being brave sometimes means taking a left hand turn in Montpelier construction traffic. We have to do it, people!
With my husband's enthusiastic approval, I will refrain from handing out "brave" stickers to all the children going by my house. But I will tell my own boys how brave they are. I will listen to their stories of making new friends, learning new things and making new mistakes, with great awe. You are so brave, I will say. And I will let that bravery settle in my mind when I am thinking about my own goals, whether it be a time I really want to get in a race, finishing that essay I've been working on for a year, or connecting with someone I've been too shy to reach out to. And I will do my best with that left hand turn. Please try not to honk at me, people. I'm trying to be brave.
My brave boys on their first day of school.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Hillbillies- Putting the "We" in Running
Way back one cold morning in February while I was
running with a group of women in Calais, it was decided we would all run the
Vermont 100 on 100 Relay in August. The 100 on 100 is a 6 person relay race
along Vermont's Route 100, starting in Stowe and finishing at Okemo Mountain
Resort. I had been meeting these 5 women for a run every Sunday for the past
several months, after being welcomed into their group by a friend. On this
particular day, August seemed so far away, and the six of us really enjoyed running
together and it didn't seem like a bad idea.
Fast forward to early August, just a few weeks ago.
It seemed like a bad idea to me. A really bad idea. I had spent the summer away
with my family, and had enjoyed many great runs, but all of them solo and I was
feeling out of sync with running in a group. Of the 100 miles we would do
collectively, I would run 17.5 of them, split between 3 legs. I started to get
anxious a couple weeks before the race. While I had missed these amazing women
and couldn't wait to catch up with them, I was realizing that it wasn't just me
stepping up to the starting line, it was all of us, depending on each other.
They were holding me accountable, and if I hadn't done my training I may let
them down. And, these ladies are FAST runners, often effortlessly cruising up
hills. (I know how they look running up hills, because I'm always behind them
on the hills. Way behind). Gulp.
For a little perspective, these ladies were not
putting the pressure on me. They seemed to be approaching the race as if
someone was going to hand them a glass of chardonnay while they sat on a dock
dangling their feet into the lake. Our team name was "The
Hillbillies" after all.
The morning of the race arrived, and as soon as I
hopped in the car with them, I could tell we all had our varying degrees of
anxiety. We all saw the team aspect of race, and we wanted to keep up the
"team" pace. As Katie, our first runner, lined up at the starting
line, the weather was still cool and a quiet fog hung over the race banner and
hills surrounding Trapp Family Lodge. I have to admit something here, which I
haven't confessed to anyone yet. I always get emotional at the start of
a race. It doesn't matter if it's a one mile race or a half-marathon, there is
something about the energy of people lined up, nervously jumping
around, watches at the ready, that fills me with emotion. The awareness of
the miles logged, goals made, friendships solidified over early morning runs,
basically everyone's hopes and dreams seem to fill the air around me at the
start of the race. Without fail, tears blur my vision just before the gun goes
off.
So, when Katie stood in the fog surrounded by all
the other first runners, and the rest of each team gathered around the starting
line with cheers and whoops, I had to turn away for a moment as my eyes filled
with tears. It was too much amazing-ness to take. I was so proud of Katie, and
so proud of all of us, for taking the time to train for this race. We are all
mothers, between the 6 of us there are 12 children, yet we all make time to
run. Which makes us pretty darn awesome.
This sense of awe did not leave me once the race
started. Because I was the 5th runner, I had the morning to cheer my teammates
on. Each time we drove past a "Hillbilly", or stopped to hand them
water, I was impressed with each woman. I'm usually running with them,
so I don't get the chance to cheer them on like that. In the car, we chatted,
laughed, and complained about how grueling the race was, but whenever we passed
one of our runners, the car filled with cheers as we shouted out the window to
our teammate. Then the car would be silent for a split second, followed by
exclamations of how strong she looked, how fast she was running, how inspired
we were.
Yes, the race was hard. After my first leg I wasn't
sure how I could run again, let alone run 12-plus more miles. After my second
leg I had a splitting headache and wanted to crawl to the floor of the car for
a nap. But we kept moving, we continued to hand off the bracelet, and we did
not stop cheering for each other.
By my third leg (5 miles flat or downhill), dusk
had settled in and I ran into the darkness. I seemed to have gathered up all
the energy from the day, the awe and amazement, and the emotion of it all, and
it simply carried me along those 5 miles. I don't think I ran that leg, I
floated it. Granted, I was probably on some crazy endorphin high or having
dehydration hallucinations, but whatever, I felt amazing. I had an overwhelming
sense of being a part of something greater than me, much like the sense I get
at the start of every race.
In my drunk-on-running state, I handed the bracelet
off to Alex, and she began her last leg that would bring us into the finish.
Despite the darkness, we still managed to recognize Alex's gait as we drove by
her, and we once again cheered wildly. We then drove to the Okemo lodge, where
the race actually ends in the lodge, and waited for Alex to run in. That
feeling of seeing her finish the race with such speed and strength can best be
summarized by this photo:
AMAZING!!
Here is my endorphin-induced epiphany I had while
running my last leg of the 100 on 100: even when you're running alone, you're
not really alone. You are a part of something greater, a team of runners around
the world. The running community has runners of all shapes, sizes, ages,
abilities. Fast runners, slow runners. Anyone who puts one foot in front of the
other repeatedly, day after day, week after week. Running connects us
all.
So, if someone asks you to do the Vermont 100 on
100 Relay, say yes! You will undoubtedly regret saying yes at some point, but
you will also surely be inspired by your teammates, and by all the runners out
there. Who knows, maybe you'll see me next year again at the start. I'll be the
one crying just before the gun goes off.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
August - Still Just Running to Run
Ahhh yes, it's August. The time of year when people here become separated into the following distinct groups:
1) Those getting caught up in the "back-to-school" buzz, lamenting how summer is over and it went too fast. Members of this group are stocking up on back-packs and planning out school lunch menus, all the while getting the best deals on summer sandals for their kids for NEXT summer.
2) Those who are vehemently angry towards said #1 group, because "summer is NOT over," and members of this group are frantically trying to squeeze in every last drop of summer. You may see this group throwing camping gear in the car and heading off to do the requisite summer camping trip, while eating the hot dog and chips that they forgot to have yet this summer (what? who forgets that?).
3) Those who can not hear any of the back-to-school plans, or the "summer is NOT over" grumbles, on account of the lake water lodged deep in their ears. Members of this group are walking around in a blissful daze caused by a constant sugar-high from daily ice cream balanced with hours staring at the way the clouds float slowly over the lake. They also will be found writing June 27th on their checks, and if you ask them who their children's teachers are this year, they may give you a puzzled, far-away look.
Where do I stand on this list? 97% in the #3 camp, with the last 3% wavering back and forth between #1 and #2.
This summer has been great. Really, really great. I have watched my boys turn into tanned, summer boys ready to grab their fishing poles and head to the beach at a moment's notice. I have been impressed with their ability to sleep in a tent, pick up new skills (kayaking, plant identification, s'more-making), and make themselves at home at any one of the 8 (yes, 8) places we have stayed this summer.
I'm impressed, too, that my husband and I have managed to get some work done this summer. One of us a little more than the other. Ahem. Let me just brush the beach sand off my feet. And, I have reveled in the running and racing I have done. Most of the runs I have done were not only without my Garmin, but without a watch at all! No headphones either, just me and the miles ahead with no worries of how fast or slow I was running. Just running to run.
I do realize I need to deal with the water deep in the crevice of my ear. It's kind of starting to hurt. And every once in a while I have this sneaking suspicion that there are other seasons besides summer. But for now, I'm going to live it up, eat my ice cream, swim with my boys and run with no watch. At least until we return back home, and back to reality next week on June 27th. Oh right, I mean August 19th.
Live it up everyone!
1) Those getting caught up in the "back-to-school" buzz, lamenting how summer is over and it went too fast. Members of this group are stocking up on back-packs and planning out school lunch menus, all the while getting the best deals on summer sandals for their kids for NEXT summer.
2) Those who are vehemently angry towards said #1 group, because "summer is NOT over," and members of this group are frantically trying to squeeze in every last drop of summer. You may see this group throwing camping gear in the car and heading off to do the requisite summer camping trip, while eating the hot dog and chips that they forgot to have yet this summer (what? who forgets that?).
3) Those who can not hear any of the back-to-school plans, or the "summer is NOT over" grumbles, on account of the lake water lodged deep in their ears. Members of this group are walking around in a blissful daze caused by a constant sugar-high from daily ice cream balanced with hours staring at the way the clouds float slowly over the lake. They also will be found writing June 27th on their checks, and if you ask them who their children's teachers are this year, they may give you a puzzled, far-away look.
Where do I stand on this list? 97% in the #3 camp, with the last 3% wavering back and forth between #1 and #2.
This summer has been great. Really, really great. I have watched my boys turn into tanned, summer boys ready to grab their fishing poles and head to the beach at a moment's notice. I have been impressed with their ability to sleep in a tent, pick up new skills (kayaking, plant identification, s'more-making), and make themselves at home at any one of the 8 (yes, 8) places we have stayed this summer.
I'm impressed, too, that my husband and I have managed to get some work done this summer. One of us a little more than the other. Ahem. Let me just brush the beach sand off my feet. And, I have reveled in the running and racing I have done. Most of the runs I have done were not only without my Garmin, but without a watch at all! No headphones either, just me and the miles ahead with no worries of how fast or slow I was running. Just running to run.
I do realize I need to deal with the water deep in the crevice of my ear. It's kind of starting to hurt. And every once in a while I have this sneaking suspicion that there are other seasons besides summer. But for now, I'm going to live it up, eat my ice cream, swim with my boys and run with no watch. At least until we return back home, and back to reality next week on June 27th. Oh right, I mean August 19th.
Live it up everyone!
Friday, August 2, 2013
Family Time!
It had been way too long since East Coast & West Coast Illuminated Runners had been together. Christmas was the last time I had seen my sister. Way too long. So, her visit this past week was dreamy. And, with my brother and his family here as well, we got some great family time in. Some highlights include:
- Early morning cross fit-style workouts (WODs), with my mom spectating for a couple of them, and shaking her head in disbelief. Though she did threaten to do some burpees with us.
This picture is after we completed "Maple":
5 Rounds
Overhead log lunge around garden
10 burpees over log
10 log push press
10 log squats
100 yd hill sprint
- Completing the Caspian Challenge 6.8 mile race around the lake, with Kathleen and Karl and my boys cheering me on. This picture doesn't show how psyched I was that my oldest son, Maclay, came running up to me and finished the last 100 meters with me. In his flip-flops, with his baseball glove :).
- Oven fire caused by cooking 3 (yes, 3!) packages of bacon.
- My family giving my sister and her boyfriend (Kathleen Ruffle and Karl McDade) a new couple-moniker that would make Brangelina cry in their sleep: Karleen McRuffle.
- Making s'mores by the fire and my sister-in-law and Maclay bonding over whittling a crazy sharp spear.
- Major laughter. Yes, my family has its own set of disagreements, personality quirks, etc., but we know how to laugh. Serious belly laughter. I love that.
It was a great week, and I was sad to see my sister and Karl head back to California. Sigh. Next week we'll have to say goodbye to my brother and his family when they head back to their home in Bangladesh. Double sigh. I truly do appreciate the limited time I have with my whole family together, in all its chaos, and with all the planning that needs to be done, it is still priceless.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Running Towards My Strongest Self
Last Monday I set out to do my all-time favorite run. It's a 7.5 mile loop around Caspian Lake from my family's cottage in Greensboro. In one word: gorgeous. Yes, it has a few wicked hills, but the run takes you along a mix of dirt and paved roads, past farms, historic landmarks, along fields looking down on the glacial lake, and past quaint age-old cottages nestled in the pine trees.
So as I prepared for the run last Monday, I was excited. It was early enough in the morning that the weather was not too warm, it was a nice clear day, and things were lining up for a great run. A beam of light seemed to shine down on me as I started out on the run, nothing could crush my spirit. Only it wasn't a great run. It sucked. A mile or so in my spirit was stomped flat as a pancake. My legs were heavy, I couldn't get into a rhythm, I counted down the miles, and I ran the entire loop at least 1 minute per mile slower than I did a couple months ago. There was really no explanation for it, it just wasn't my day for running. And that's how running is, you just never know. Not every run is going to be fist-pumping, high-fiving awesome. It's a bummer, but it's true.
Running can be really, really hard. But like most physical challenges, there's a purpose to the pain. What I find most interesting as a personal trainer and running coach is the physiological changes that happen when we run or strength train. Our muscles get stronger by being stressed, more specifically muscle tissues experience tiny tears. We are actually being broken down in many ways through exercise! According to Gretchen Reynolds, author of The First 20 Minutes, each time we stress our bodies with exercise, our muscle tissues tear apart and then "the tissues rebuild themselves, becoming stronger and more pliable...which happens to be the foundation of fitness." Yes! I believe this happens on an emotional level, too. Sometimes running breaks me down, tears at my confidence, humbles me. But then I run again, and I rebuild myself. I become a stronger version of myself on my next run.
And then eventually, again and again, I will have an awesome run. I will feel great, strong, free. I will be ready to be broken down again. In this way, I am always running towards my strongest self.
So as I prepared for the run last Monday, I was excited. It was early enough in the morning that the weather was not too warm, it was a nice clear day, and things were lining up for a great run. A beam of light seemed to shine down on me as I started out on the run, nothing could crush my spirit. Only it wasn't a great run. It sucked. A mile or so in my spirit was stomped flat as a pancake. My legs were heavy, I couldn't get into a rhythm, I counted down the miles, and I ran the entire loop at least 1 minute per mile slower than I did a couple months ago. There was really no explanation for it, it just wasn't my day for running. And that's how running is, you just never know. Not every run is going to be fist-pumping, high-fiving awesome. It's a bummer, but it's true.
Running can be really, really hard. But like most physical challenges, there's a purpose to the pain. What I find most interesting as a personal trainer and running coach is the physiological changes that happen when we run or strength train. Our muscles get stronger by being stressed, more specifically muscle tissues experience tiny tears. We are actually being broken down in many ways through exercise! According to Gretchen Reynolds, author of The First 20 Minutes, each time we stress our bodies with exercise, our muscle tissues tear apart and then "the tissues rebuild themselves, becoming stronger and more pliable...which happens to be the foundation of fitness." Yes! I believe this happens on an emotional level, too. Sometimes running breaks me down, tears at my confidence, humbles me. But then I run again, and I rebuild myself. I become a stronger version of myself on my next run.
And then eventually, again and again, I will have an awesome run. I will feel great, strong, free. I will be ready to be broken down again. In this way, I am always running towards my strongest self.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Getting Lost in Waitsfield
This morning I was excited to do another run in beautiful Waitsfield, VT, where we have been housesitting for the past week. I mapped out a nearly 7 mile run and I was looking forward to exploring the area a little more. I had done a shorter version of the run yesterday, and I double checked Map My Run and made sure I understood the extra loop I was adding on.
The sky was gray and cloudy, but I was sure it would clear up soon, I had checked the weather report and it was not supposed to rain. 1 mile in it was pouring, and as I wiped rain from my eyes I reminded myself, this is okay, people run marathons in rain. I'm only running 7 miles today. It's going to be a great run. And I actually felt great. It was one of those runs where I settled right into a steady pace and my legs felt strong and my mind was ready to drift away.
I headed into downtown and crossed a historic covered bridge, hung a left onto Joslin Hill Rd, then a quick right onto Brook St and the extra loop. According to Map My Run, this route had a 2 mile climb at about mile 2.5, and sure enough, I found myself heading up. At this point, I was drenched, my shorts and shirt were sticking to me with some serious suction power and I felt like I had an extra 10 lbs on me trudging up the hill. But soon I was at my turn, where I was supposed to meet up with the road I had run on yesterday. Though with rain dripping into my eyes, I may or may not have paid attention to the road sign. As I continued to climb up I had a vague thought that the scenery wasn't familiar, but chalked that up to the rain.
And, it was beautiful! The clouds hung in wispy layers over the fields and hills, and the hills backed up to mountain after mountain, the colors beginning in rich forest greens, and fading into slate gray and thick clouds in the distance. I thought of peace and beauty and poetry and soon Mary Oliver and David Budbill were running along beside me, describing the landscape to me in whispery words. I ran past farms with ancient tractors, past green meadows and windy dirt driveways heading to someone's Shangri-La.
As I crested the hill and saw a busy, main road, I realized I had indeed taken a wrong turn somewhere. Oh geez. My instincts told me to turn left onto the main road, but after a quarter of a mile I realized it might be wise to do the opposite of what my gut tells me when it comes to navigation. Turning around and running the other direction on this busy road, cars whizzing past me, I was acutely aware of my wet white t-shirt. Not in a "woo-boo, Spring Break, wet t-shirt contest" kind of a way. More in the "these people driving by should not be seeing what the belly of a woman who has had 3 babies looks like with a shirt clinging to all its jiggly glory" kind of a way. And it was still pouring rain.
Here's my second directional instinct (listen up, Outward Bound folks, this could be a teachable moment): because I was on a main road, paved, with speed limit 40 mph, I felt like I would end up somewhere. I mean, roads like that don't just end up at a small dirt road, right? Now heading down the hill, I still felt great, though the couple bites of a kid's Clif bar had worn off and I was officially hungry. Soon I could see a valley below, with more houses and I was sure there would be a general store where I would stop in and give my husband an S.O.S. call. He would have to drive miles and miles to come rescue me from the far-reaches of the Mad River Valley.
Or not. Because then I saw a road sign that looked familiar. Joslin Hill Rd. And a covered bridge ahead. Wait, what? I stopped and threw my arms up in disbelief, surely alarming the locals looking out their windows, sipping morning coffee. Yep, I was pretty much in downtown Waitsfield, a mere mile away from the house we were staying at. Thanks to my inner navigational system (or luck, whatever), I had only added a few miles to my run. And it was a great run! I jogged into the driveway fully expecting my husband to be in a panic as to where I had been. But he greeted me with a nod, coffee in hand, asking me "a little wet for you?"Yep, a little wet and a lot awesome, I thought as I rode the endorphin high right to the coffeemaker.
That's one thing I love about running. It's always new. A runner is a traveler, an explorer, visiting new roads, taking in beauty, running alongside poets, and yes, occasionally getting lost. It's all part of the journey.
Exhibit A: The run I meant to do. (Isn't it a little weird how much it looks like Africa?)
Exhibit B: The run I actually did.
The sky was gray and cloudy, but I was sure it would clear up soon, I had checked the weather report and it was not supposed to rain. 1 mile in it was pouring, and as I wiped rain from my eyes I reminded myself, this is okay, people run marathons in rain. I'm only running 7 miles today. It's going to be a great run. And I actually felt great. It was one of those runs where I settled right into a steady pace and my legs felt strong and my mind was ready to drift away.
I headed into downtown and crossed a historic covered bridge, hung a left onto Joslin Hill Rd, then a quick right onto Brook St and the extra loop. According to Map My Run, this route had a 2 mile climb at about mile 2.5, and sure enough, I found myself heading up. At this point, I was drenched, my shorts and shirt were sticking to me with some serious suction power and I felt like I had an extra 10 lbs on me trudging up the hill. But soon I was at my turn, where I was supposed to meet up with the road I had run on yesterday. Though with rain dripping into my eyes, I may or may not have paid attention to the road sign. As I continued to climb up I had a vague thought that the scenery wasn't familiar, but chalked that up to the rain.
And, it was beautiful! The clouds hung in wispy layers over the fields and hills, and the hills backed up to mountain after mountain, the colors beginning in rich forest greens, and fading into slate gray and thick clouds in the distance. I thought of peace and beauty and poetry and soon Mary Oliver and David Budbill were running along beside me, describing the landscape to me in whispery words. I ran past farms with ancient tractors, past green meadows and windy dirt driveways heading to someone's Shangri-La.
As I crested the hill and saw a busy, main road, I realized I had indeed taken a wrong turn somewhere. Oh geez. My instincts told me to turn left onto the main road, but after a quarter of a mile I realized it might be wise to do the opposite of what my gut tells me when it comes to navigation. Turning around and running the other direction on this busy road, cars whizzing past me, I was acutely aware of my wet white t-shirt. Not in a "woo-boo, Spring Break, wet t-shirt contest" kind of a way. More in the "these people driving by should not be seeing what the belly of a woman who has had 3 babies looks like with a shirt clinging to all its jiggly glory" kind of a way. And it was still pouring rain.
Here's my second directional instinct (listen up, Outward Bound folks, this could be a teachable moment): because I was on a main road, paved, with speed limit 40 mph, I felt like I would end up somewhere. I mean, roads like that don't just end up at a small dirt road, right? Now heading down the hill, I still felt great, though the couple bites of a kid's Clif bar had worn off and I was officially hungry. Soon I could see a valley below, with more houses and I was sure there would be a general store where I would stop in and give my husband an S.O.S. call. He would have to drive miles and miles to come rescue me from the far-reaches of the Mad River Valley.
Or not. Because then I saw a road sign that looked familiar. Joslin Hill Rd. And a covered bridge ahead. Wait, what? I stopped and threw my arms up in disbelief, surely alarming the locals looking out their windows, sipping morning coffee. Yep, I was pretty much in downtown Waitsfield, a mere mile away from the house we were staying at. Thanks to my inner navigational system (or luck, whatever), I had only added a few miles to my run. And it was a great run! I jogged into the driveway fully expecting my husband to be in a panic as to where I had been. But he greeted me with a nod, coffee in hand, asking me "a little wet for you?"Yep, a little wet and a lot awesome, I thought as I rode the endorphin high right to the coffeemaker.
That's one thing I love about running. It's always new. A runner is a traveler, an explorer, visiting new roads, taking in beauty, running alongside poets, and yes, occasionally getting lost. It's all part of the journey.
Exhibit A: The run I meant to do. (Isn't it a little weird how much it looks like Africa?)
Exhibit B: The run I actually did.
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Let the Adventurz Begin!
It's true. It looks like I stole my sister's first blog post title, but if you look closely, you'll see I added a z at the end, so technically it's not copying. ;) Okay, it is...I won't do it again*.
Anyway....I'm excited to start blogging! Especially since last night I had another running dream where I was running a 800meter race, and early on found myself at the front of the pack. Soon enough my legs started to get heavy and I slowed down. Then I realized I was pushing a heavy prowler(torturous cross-fit workout device that basically is a sled with weight on it) and everyone else was just pushing cardboard. I was losing my lead fast, and kept trying to move my legs, but they would only shuffle along."Just keep running!" I told myself as cardboard cut outs of objects being pushed by fellow racers flew by me. At this point, I willed myself awake, laughing at the absurdity of it, but also dying to search for dream analysis online....
Let me just say that it's been a crazy year for me. Last year at this time I was getting ready for my first Rwanda trip, where I went to Kigali to teach SAT & TOEFL to a group of amazing young women who applied to colleges this past fall in the U.S. I LOVED my time there, loved the adventure and when I came back to San Francisco in the fall, my life of tutoring and personal training all over the city, all hours of the day, all days of the week seemed less appealing. I needed to make a change. So when I was offered a temporary 3 month teaching job starting in January, back in Rwanda, this time in a small village at an all girls school... I jumped on it. I gave up my apartment, gave notice to my jobs...and then one week before I was set to leave for Vermont to spend the month with my family before heading to Rwanda ..... I met Karl (!!!) We had an immediate connection and, I'll make a long story very short....there were lots of visits and planes....he spent 10 days in Rwanda....and after I came back I moved in with him in Berkeley!! Yea!!
Now, I'm trying to piece together a more sane life than before, but so far am still zipping around from job to job. Also....about 6 months ago, when I was at the beginning of changing everything up, I joined two friends to start a non-profit called Give A Day Global, which pairs international travelers with daylong volunteering opportunities. It's been so exciting, energizing and BUSY as we prepare to launch in the fall.
As I write all this down... It's clear to me that amidst all the chaos is the realization that everything that's happened this year has been really amazing. I also realize that one of the things that has kept me sane and calm is running. Hitting the ground with my feet...listening to that rhythm, is my way to clear my head and to keep on keeping on.
Looking forward to continuing that rhythm and to the next few months of adventurz**!! :)
* I needed to copy once more
** But that's it!
Anyway....I'm excited to start blogging! Especially since last night I had another running dream where I was running a 800meter race, and early on found myself at the front of the pack. Soon enough my legs started to get heavy and I slowed down. Then I realized I was pushing a heavy prowler(torturous cross-fit workout device that basically is a sled with weight on it) and everyone else was just pushing cardboard. I was losing my lead fast, and kept trying to move my legs, but they would only shuffle along."Just keep running!" I told myself as cardboard cut outs of objects being pushed by fellow racers flew by me. At this point, I willed myself awake, laughing at the absurdity of it, but also dying to search for dream analysis online....
Let me just say that it's been a crazy year for me. Last year at this time I was getting ready for my first Rwanda trip, where I went to Kigali to teach SAT & TOEFL to a group of amazing young women who applied to colleges this past fall in the U.S. I LOVED my time there, loved the adventure and when I came back to San Francisco in the fall, my life of tutoring and personal training all over the city, all hours of the day, all days of the week seemed less appealing. I needed to make a change. So when I was offered a temporary 3 month teaching job starting in January, back in Rwanda, this time in a small village at an all girls school... I jumped on it. I gave up my apartment, gave notice to my jobs...and then one week before I was set to leave for Vermont to spend the month with my family before heading to Rwanda ..... I met Karl (!!!) We had an immediate connection and, I'll make a long story very short....there were lots of visits and planes....he spent 10 days in Rwanda....and after I came back I moved in with him in Berkeley!! Yea!!
Now, I'm trying to piece together a more sane life than before, but so far am still zipping around from job to job. Also....about 6 months ago, when I was at the beginning of changing everything up, I joined two friends to start a non-profit called Give A Day Global, which pairs international travelers with daylong volunteering opportunities. It's been so exciting, energizing and BUSY as we prepare to launch in the fall.
As I write all this down... It's clear to me that amidst all the chaos is the realization that everything that's happened this year has been really amazing. I also realize that one of the things that has kept me sane and calm is running. Hitting the ground with my feet...listening to that rhythm, is my way to clear my head and to keep on keeping on.
Looking forward to continuing that rhythm and to the next few months of adventurz**!! :)
* I needed to copy once more
** But that's it!
Friday, July 5, 2013
The Montpelier Mile & Other Festivities
I know many of you may cringe when I say this, but the mile is my favorite race. I love it. It's speedy, it's challenging, and it's over within mere minutes. I only know of one mile race in Vermont, the annual Montpelier Mile at the start of the July 3rd parade (yep, that's how we do it in Montpelier, a July 3rd parade, 'cause we can).
The tricky thing about the mile race for me is pacing. I get so used to running longer races that I forget that with a mile I don't really need to settle in to a pace the way I do with a 10k or half-marathon. So for this race, I had focused on training with some 400s, to remember what speed feels like and to get a sense of how hard I needed to push.
But come race day, I fell into the pace trap. I found myself hanging back cautiously after the first quarter, then remembering I could push harder in the last quarter when it was just a little too late. The good news is I broke 6 minutes, my first goal, the bad news is I had way too much gas left in my tank at the finish. But that extra bit of energy was nice to have for watching the parade that followed with my 3 boys. And, there's nothing like running in front of hundreds of people to charge up your spirits. I loved hearing people cheering for me, thanks for all the support friends!
Lesson learned: run hard with a mile race, it should feel like a sprint. If anyone knows of another mile race within a couple hours drive of Montpelier, please let me know. I'm ready for my next one! And, thanks Onion River Sports for organizing my favorite race of the year!
Next race on my calendar: Caspian Challenge, a 6.8 mile race around Caspian Lake in Greensboro. I'm looking forward to this hilly but beautiful course.
The tricky thing about the mile race for me is pacing. I get so used to running longer races that I forget that with a mile I don't really need to settle in to a pace the way I do with a 10k or half-marathon. So for this race, I had focused on training with some 400s, to remember what speed feels like and to get a sense of how hard I needed to push.
But come race day, I fell into the pace trap. I found myself hanging back cautiously after the first quarter, then remembering I could push harder in the last quarter when it was just a little too late. The good news is I broke 6 minutes, my first goal, the bad news is I had way too much gas left in my tank at the finish. But that extra bit of energy was nice to have for watching the parade that followed with my 3 boys. And, there's nothing like running in front of hundreds of people to charge up your spirits. I loved hearing people cheering for me, thanks for all the support friends!
Lesson learned: run hard with a mile race, it should feel like a sprint. If anyone knows of another mile race within a couple hours drive of Montpelier, please let me know. I'm ready for my next one! And, thanks Onion River Sports for organizing my favorite race of the year!
Next race on my calendar: Caspian Challenge, a 6.8 mile race around Caspian Lake in Greensboro. I'm looking forward to this hilly but beautiful course.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Track Workout and Amaza-abs
Since we are staying in Burlington this week, I thought it was a great opportunity to try out the GMAA track workouts, held Thursday evenings at the UVM track. I ventured over, feeling a little anxious about meeting new people and jumping right into their track workout. But I was also excited to meet the coach, Kasie Enman, who is a local running celebrity and the women's winner of the 2012 Key Bank Vermont City Marathon.
When I arrived at the track, I discovered sadly that Kasie was not coming and we were on our own. Me and a bunch of runners I had never met. But, as it usually goes in running, I was soon warming up and chatting with another runner. Once warmed up, I decided the workout that Kasie had shared, perhaps through ESP with a fellow GMAA member, was not going to work for me (1000 repeats at 5K pace). I really wanted something quicker and faster to best prepare me for the Montpelier Mile next week. An 8 months pregnant woman whose belly looked only slightly bigger than my 2.5 years postpartum belly motioned me over. She's one of the coaches for OnTrack Health and Fitness, and they also do their track workouts there every Thursday evening. She graciously offered for me to join their 400 repeat workout (8 times, with 1.5 min rest between). I was relieved to find out she was coaching and timing, not actually running the 400 repeats herself. Because surely she and her super-fit unborn child would have kicked my butt, and that would just be a rough blow to my ego.
So me and three other runners started out on the first 400. I was happy to discover that one of the other women runners was about my speed, though a little faster, and I finished just behind her on the first one. But, dang, it was so stinking humid out and I wasn't sure I could do 7 more of these. With 1.5 minutes of rest in between, I went to drink some water. Then the woman who I had just run with took off her shirt. "You go, girl", I thought, as I'm always impressed with women who have the confidence to do that. Just then I was blinded by the glow of her amazing abs! Jesus, that's just unfair. Abs really can look like that without photoshop, I didn't know it was true. Luckily the coach called us to the line right before I impulsively reached out to see if Amaza-abs' stomach was as rock hard as it looked.
The rest of the repeats went a little like this:
#2 "this isn't so bad"
#3 "sweet, right on pace"
#4 "it's really, really hot out"
#5 "seriously, Amaza-abs, you had to sprint on that one?"
#6 "is it ok to call it after this one?"
#7 "I. Can. Barely. Move. My. Legs."
#8 "I may vomit."
But, I did it! And, 30 minutes later when the nausea subsided, I was so glad I had gone. And, I'm glad to know about OnTrack Health & Fitness. The two coaches there (Kim and Kelly) were really nice and seemed to be offering great suggestions to their runners. I'm always humbled by the kindness of runners- once I step out of my comfort zone and meet new runners in a race or workout, I always leave feeling a great sense of connection to an awesome community. And now I know what rock hard abs look like up close. Thanks, Amaza-abs.
When I arrived at the track, I discovered sadly that Kasie was not coming and we were on our own. Me and a bunch of runners I had never met. But, as it usually goes in running, I was soon warming up and chatting with another runner. Once warmed up, I decided the workout that Kasie had shared, perhaps through ESP with a fellow GMAA member, was not going to work for me (1000 repeats at 5K pace). I really wanted something quicker and faster to best prepare me for the Montpelier Mile next week. An 8 months pregnant woman whose belly looked only slightly bigger than my 2.5 years postpartum belly motioned me over. She's one of the coaches for OnTrack Health and Fitness, and they also do their track workouts there every Thursday evening. She graciously offered for me to join their 400 repeat workout (8 times, with 1.5 min rest between). I was relieved to find out she was coaching and timing, not actually running the 400 repeats herself. Because surely she and her super-fit unborn child would have kicked my butt, and that would just be a rough blow to my ego.
So me and three other runners started out on the first 400. I was happy to discover that one of the other women runners was about my speed, though a little faster, and I finished just behind her on the first one. But, dang, it was so stinking humid out and I wasn't sure I could do 7 more of these. With 1.5 minutes of rest in between, I went to drink some water. Then the woman who I had just run with took off her shirt. "You go, girl", I thought, as I'm always impressed with women who have the confidence to do that. Just then I was blinded by the glow of her amazing abs! Jesus, that's just unfair. Abs really can look like that without photoshop, I didn't know it was true. Luckily the coach called us to the line right before I impulsively reached out to see if Amaza-abs' stomach was as rock hard as it looked.
The rest of the repeats went a little like this:
#2 "this isn't so bad"
#3 "sweet, right on pace"
#4 "it's really, really hot out"
#5 "seriously, Amaza-abs, you had to sprint on that one?"
#6 "is it ok to call it after this one?"
#7 "I. Can. Barely. Move. My. Legs."
#8 "I may vomit."
But, I did it! And, 30 minutes later when the nausea subsided, I was so glad I had gone. And, I'm glad to know about OnTrack Health & Fitness. The two coaches there (Kim and Kelly) were really nice and seemed to be offering great suggestions to their runners. I'm always humbled by the kindness of runners- once I step out of my comfort zone and meet new runners in a race or workout, I always leave feeling a great sense of connection to an awesome community. And now I know what rock hard abs look like up close. Thanks, Amaza-abs.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Let the Adventure Begin!
Last day of school for my oldest today. We leave for 2 months on Sunday. We need to get our house ready for renters and get all our stuff together to be a mobile family of 5 for 8 weeks. Oh, and my husband and I still need to work, we're not on vacation. Things are starting to get real over here at the Ericson's house.
The one thing that's keeping me sane is running. My running clothes are set to go, though nothing else is. I've got my favorite shorts and tanks ready to go (thanks, Oiselle), and my sneaker rotation is lined up at the door. I have my races on the calendar: Montpelier Mile July 3rd (I love that distance! I know many of you think I'm crazy for that, but I do!), Caspian Challenge July 27th, and the VT 100 on 100 Relay August 17th. Hopefully with other races scattered in there.
Breath in. Breath out. It will be a crazy summer, but it will also be an amazing adventure for our family. We're uprooting and traveling all over the state- camping, house-sitting, visiting family, staying in a couple different cottages. And all the while, the boys will be exploring, going to the beach, eating ice cream, and generally living the kid-dream. And I will have my sneakers and will be set to run wherever we are. Putting my sneakers on is my favorite way to explore, connect, relax and enjoy life. I can't wait to begin. And I can't wait to write all about it!
Happy summer running everyone!
The one thing that's keeping me sane is running. My running clothes are set to go, though nothing else is. I've got my favorite shorts and tanks ready to go (thanks, Oiselle), and my sneaker rotation is lined up at the door. I have my races on the calendar: Montpelier Mile July 3rd (I love that distance! I know many of you think I'm crazy for that, but I do!), Caspian Challenge July 27th, and the VT 100 on 100 Relay August 17th. Hopefully with other races scattered in there.
Breath in. Breath out. It will be a crazy summer, but it will also be an amazing adventure for our family. We're uprooting and traveling all over the state- camping, house-sitting, visiting family, staying in a couple different cottages. And all the while, the boys will be exploring, going to the beach, eating ice cream, and generally living the kid-dream. And I will have my sneakers and will be set to run wherever we are. Putting my sneakers on is my favorite way to explore, connect, relax and enjoy life. I can't wait to begin. And I can't wait to write all about it!
Happy summer running everyone!
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