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.

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.

My brave boys on their first day of school. 

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. 

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!

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. 

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.


 

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.