Kristin Armstrong's Blog, page 18

Full Cup

Here we are, peeps, brand spanking new.  Five days into 2012.  Hope your transition zone was smooth and meaningful.

I have a ritual each year, before the clock strikes, where I carve out time with my brother Jon.  We sneak away by ourselves, sometimes to a dive bar, sometimes to a restaurant, sometimes to a quiet corner if we have a house full of people.  Several times we have scratched resolutions on cocktail napkins.  This year we were all in California so we went to the small deck on the third floor perch that is my office.  California nights are cold so I brought my journal, a pen, my old-bitty eye glasses, a full glass of red, and a fleece blanket.  We sprawled on the lounge chairs as the evening fog rolled in, eclipsing the mountains.

After we BS for a bit, making fun of each other for our foibles of the previous year, we talk honestly about our highs and lows, what went right and where we veered off track.  Jon is one of the few people in my life with whom I can speak without reservation or filter and he never judges me.  Makes fun of me, yes, but that's different than being judged.  Then we pass each other our journals and one talks resolution (and some smack) while the other is scribe.  It's hilarious to read later, because we each "translate" for the other, so what is written ends up to be a variation on what was said, or how it was said, with additional commentary (usually totally inappropriate).  I love how Jon's chicken scratch handwriting is at the front of all my journals, reminding me of who I want to be (and who I've always been, all at the same time).  Maybe that's the unspoken blessing of seeing your dreams in someone else's handwriting, especially someone who really loves you.  It makes them seem more real.

And now I rewrite them, in my hand and in an edited version (you would thank me), to share with you.  If we write our dreams and goals down, we dramatically increase our odds of realization.  If we share them with others, they become potent and alive.  If you post them on the internet, God only knows.

1.  Be more patient. With my kids, loved ones, strangers…most of all, myself.

2. Be a more intentional parent.  Pause when I need to think, repent when I screw up, and celebrate the little things.  Love Luke, Grace and Isabelle specifically, personally.  Love looks different to each of them, learn their language, nuances, and speak with words and actions directly to their hearts.  Resurrect my old theme of carving alone time with each of them- no excuses.

3. Be more adventurous.  Alone.  With some friends.  Most of all with my kids, while they still want to go on adventures with me.  Take the kids somewhere we've never been before, delve into the unknown together.

4. Be cerebral.  Read some good books.  Dust off my love of French. Mais oui.

5. Be playful.  Get some game.  Specifically, fashion.  Going from running shoes to comfy flats and sturdy boots has no ooh-la-la.  Get a pair of with-it heels and wear them someplace (besides the grocery store).  Forty is not frumpy.  I tried on a pair of some real lookers when I was wandering the mall with my mom, and complained the whole time I strutted (shuffled) around the store that they pinched and I might topple over.  My mom just raised an eyebrow.  Good grief, get over it, right?

6. Be ready.  It's time for a new work project.  I'm ready to dive into something dense and delicious.  Maybe fiction.  Maybe not.  It's time to set some office hours and MSH (make -it happen).

7. Be fit and free.  Keep running fun.  Whether it's a new time goal, a longer haul, or a destination based adventure – run strong and with joy.

8. Be centered.  Wake up and start each day with quiet time to collect and connect myself.  End each day with gratitude. Try to see and hear God more often throughout the day, turning the volume down on the distractions in my life.

9.  Be disciplined.  Enough already with the holiday wine and dine.  I learned quite a bit about nutrition in 2011, time to put that knowledge back into practice.  No more slackin' off, starting now, while my jeans still fit.

10. Be clean and open.  When we moved in September I purged so much clutter and unnecessary weight from our home so we start this year more streamlined than ever.  I want to keep it this way…in our home and in my heart…clean and open.

 

I woke up on January 1, 2012 well rested and clear headed.  Okay so maybe I celebrated a New York New Year's on California time, so what?  I went down to the beach to do the Resolution Run.   I found my friends from the running group I trained with last summer, all of them fit and fabulous just as I left them, and we ran the 5K.  That was so much fun that we ran the 10K immediately after that.  I drove home hopeful and happy, in my sandy little VW.

I started the new year with a full cup, I'm ready to pour it out.

Who are you going to be in the new year?  If all goes well, maybe I'll be a sweet, svelte, centered, and savvy mama, going on adventures and wearing a kick a$$ pair of heels.  Be bold, post a few items from your list.  But be ready, because if you write them down and put them out there…anything can happen.

Make it count

The time between Christmas and New Years is kind of a strange lull, don't you think?  Some people have lingering relatives eating them out of house and sanity. Some people have the stamina to return to the mall and battle the crowds for post holiday bargains.  Some people eat leftovers, wear sweatpants, and stare outside at the cold.  Some people travel to warm and exotic places.  Some people head for snow.  Some people's children are driving them crazy.  Some people miss their children.  Some people have to go back to the office for a few days.  Some people just want to.

One of my favorite rituals is to make the pilgrimage to visit my grandparents the day after Christmas. They, at almost 98 and 94, live in assisted living in Arizona.  I love seeing them, and they are happy to have a room full of family.  Grandma is in her wheelchair and Grandpa can barely see or hear but we manage to have some laughs in their tiny, cramped space which is usually heated up like a sauna. I bent down and asked my Grandma how she was.  "Well," she paused, and said in her soft Minnesota accent,  "Not great."  "Well, that's better than shitty, " I said.  And somehow even Grandpa heard me and we all cracked up.  You gotta break the ice, I say.

But it's hard to go there.  Hard with all the weird smells and lonely people staring at TV's from wheelchairs in their rooms.  I always worry what if nobody ever visits them.  It seems like everyone is waiting.  It always makes me feel vaguely sad.  I think they need to combine old folks homes, orphanages, and animal shelters.  It would liven things up, balance things out, and give everyone someone to love.

I have a hard time sleeping there, so I'm always up early, brewing bad coffee with powdered dust cream in my hotel room, and watching the sky for the first sign of dawn so I can go run.  I see a slight shift in the light and I scoot out the door.  It's always freezing in the desert on a winter morning, colder than you would think.  I am always under-dressed so I run faster than normal.  The area where they live may qualify for the worst running place ever.  Maybe Runner's World should do a new thing, an alternative to Rave Runs, where readers can write in and send a photo and a story about the worst route ever. Maybe call it Rogue Run, Rough Run, or Raunchy Run, or something.

This run I did may be a good starting point for that new feature.  This part of Arizona must have a no-sprinkler ban or be an agricultural test area for NASA, because there is not one single green thing.  It's all cement, asphalt, and arranged rock beds in varying colors.  Any turn I took from the main drag took me into dismal neighborhoods that looked (and sounded) like the main entertainment may be dog fighting.  There were lots of barbed wire yards and discarded cars.  Several times I saw scary men wearing hoodies getting into trucks.  This was decent interval training however, because I would turn tail and haul ass in the opposite direction faster than any effort I ever put out on the track.  In the end, the only prudent option was to stay safely in the light of the fast food establishments.  It was pretty depressing.  I only saw one other runner, and we waved as we crossed paths. Oh, thank God, I thought, one of my people. You have no idea how good it is to see you, man. Please be fast if you hear me scream.

It's weird to think of people living like that…alternating between Carl's Jr, Long John Silvers, Burger King and Mc Donalds.  There were literally no other options. The irony of running back and forth past them was not lost on me.  It made me feel sad – for people who don't know about other choices for nutrition, for people who never get to see any grass or trees, and for my grandparents who probably don't even notice where they live because they mostly stay inside, rolling between their room and the dining hall.

The run, rogue as it was, was good for me.  I got to hit the reset button on my gratitude meter, and think of all the ways that running has led me on a different path.  It doesn't matter what our surroundings and circumstances are, runners can always move through them and get to a better place.  I got to refresh myself before going back to see my grandparents, and think about the awesome fact that my grandmother will be 100 in two years.  The fact that she cannot run or walk is all the more reason to be grateful and run and see as many things as possible while my legs and eyes still can.  I am glad to leave the place, but I hate leaving them. I hug them tight, kiss their cheeks, squeeze their warm and spotted hands, and tell them loudly and often that I love them.  No regrets.

And now, days before the wheel clicks and we enter a new year, I am thinking about how I want to spend the next rotation around the sun.  You think about it too, and we will meet up again, same time same place, and discuss.  Our reset run awaits.  We're going to make it count.

There are three days left until we get a blank page.  Tie up any loose ends. Say I love you, I forgive you, and I'm sorry if you have left anything unsaid.  The clock is ticking.  Look backwards one more time and evaluate.  Make your pile of things to let go.  It's almost time.  Because then we are facing forward and moving on.

 

3M

You might think, if you are familiar at all with the Austin running scene, that the post title 3M would indicate that I have signed up and am now training for the 3M Half Marathon.

Which, in fact, is something that I will likely do.  But I better hurry up because the race is at the end of January and typically sells out in advance.  It's a great race, drawing a huge crowd of Austin runners as well as luring talent from out of town.  I had my half marathon PR on that course.

But that's not the 3M I'm talking about.

The 3M is something Paige and I were discussing as part of our holiday m.o.  We are chilling out, easing back on the have-to (get-to) training schedule, and going deep into holiday mode.

3M this year stands for our new favorite things:

Malbec

Marcona

Manchego

Yes.  Red wine from Argentina, Spanish almonds, and Spanish cheese. Ay, ay, ay!

This may be the merriest combination of all time.

Besides, what's the fun of starting off the new year with renewed vigor and dedication if you haven't veered off course at all?  It's time to have some fun.  Here are some holiday hints from Kristin Claus.  Do not count calories.  Do not wear a watch.  Try doing what other people feel like doing rather than being compelled to always make the plan.  Stay in pj's as long as possible each day.  Getting coffee, bagels, donuts or tacos in pajamas is not only socially acceptable, it's encouraged.  Get down and look at your children when they talk to you.  Or if they are getting taller than you these days, look up.  Make eye contact. Cook someone's favorite meal.  Or cook your favorite and invite people over.  Sit by the fire and leave your cell phone in another room.  Watch Christmas Vacation.  Make pancakes with holiday M&M's in them.  Go for a walk if you have a houseful of different ages.  Turn all the lights out but the tree and sit there, at least once, late at night and recall what you are grateful for.  Try to make peace with (instead of sense of) the things you don't feel as grateful for.  It's not a hassle to make a fire in the fireplace, it's an invitation.  Pet your dog, especially right behind the ears the way they like it.  When you grab your last minute stocking stuffers from the drugstore (admit it, I'll see you there), pick up a couple scarves, socks, or fleece blankets to hand out to homeless people when you drive by – let your kids do the honors and feel warm inside.  Think of someone you know (maybe not even very well) who has had a tough year this year and pick up the phone or put pen to paper and wish them a happier new year.  Let the kids frost the cookies, trash the kitchen and get high on icing.  The people who bug you are in your life for a reason, you may as well love them because they have something to teach you (as my friend Dawn says on the subject of judgment, "You spot it, you got it."  Ouch, makes you think twice. ). Don't assume people know you love them, be clear.  Make love to your love, you are not allowed to be too tired, busy or grinchy.  You are not too old or jaded to believe in magic.  Everything you need is right here – want what you have.

Cheers to you.  Cheers to another year together and all the miles we have logged.  May God bless you, your family, and your friends.

KCA

 

Our own kind of hustle and bustle

It has been rainy all week in Austin.

We have been in a drought for so long, no one would dare complain about the rain.  However Santa Mom over here is trying to surprise her children with a special delivery hot tub from the north pole, and they cannot pour any concrete because it keeps raining.  So now we have a muddy hole in the backyard that looks like a giant meteor crater.  The dogs keep running through the mess and then tracking sloppy, skidding footprints through the dog door and in ornate patterns around the house.  The neat freak in me is trying to breathe deeply and I amuse myself with holiday-like "ice skating" sessions, sliding my feet around the house on top of wet rags.  An exercise in futility, to say the least.

Whenever it's rainy outside, I can think of lots of good reasons not to run.  Things like yoga, errands, baking…things like this.  Although every single time I get my lazy butt out the door and into a rainy rhythm, I am always so glad I did.  One misty morning this week Mercy (my big Swiss Mountain dog) made the decision for me, by hopping into the back of the car when I was leaving to take the kids to school.  Once 125 pounds of Stubborn decides she is going someplace, she is Going.

I decided to go all out, totally depart from my practical nature (which would be to avoid dirt and mess especially knowing it will be all over my car) and hit the trail at the greenbelt with my beloved hound.  Besides, she deserved it, she was finally recovered from her recent spay operation and blissfully free of the "cone of shame" – which for a dog of Mercy's size is as big as an oversized lampshade.  She was ramming into everything, denting walls and getting stuck in the dog door.  I finally had to abandon all feeble attempts at security and just leave the back slider door wide open.  I figured if a thief wanted to get in, he could feel free and take on the angry lampshade, running at full speed like a jousting horse with a shield.  Good luck with that.

So I figured Mercy could use a little freedom in nature.  And frankly, I was craving the same thing.  At first we avoided puddles and skittered over rocks along the side of the trail, but eventually I loosened up and let us both off leash.  We ran for over an hour and maybe saw 4 people.  It was green, lush, mucky, and fabulous – and goes down as one of my best Christmas memories of the season so far.  We both had brown splattered legs and leaves stuck to us at the end.

My car is still hairy and covered in dried muddy footprints.  I would wash it, but I think we might go again soon, so why bother?

How lucky are we?  Runners know that there is more to the season than the mall, the post office, and the endless to-do's.  We create our own kind of hustle and bustle and it is precisely the kind that leads us to quiet.

Get your holiday groove on and take the road less traveled.  The list can wait.  You can't.

Destination

As is often the case, my running seems to mirror my life these days.

I am feeling pretty good, almost like my old self.  The creakiness and weariness from my race has left the building, the cold weather feels snappy, and I feel like picking up the pace a bit.

My trainer warned me about this on Monday, telling me that I still needed to hold off a bit before picking back up with any intensity or speed work.  "Just when you think you are feeling back to normal is a prime time to get injured," Cassie warned me.  "Take another week and ease back into speed and mileage slowly."  The only answer you can really give Cassie is "Yes, ma'am."  She does not mess around when it comes to advice.

Besides, there's no need to hurry, right?  If that isn't the message for the season, I don't know what is.  Just because every message tells us to pick up the pace, it doesn't mean it's best to comply.

I felt that rise in my heart rate today. I looked at my list.  I addressed some cards.  I stopped at the post office. I heard an ad on the radio reminding me how many days until Christmas.  The cashier at the grocery store asked me if I was "all ready for the holidays." (It's the 8th!!!) I had a conference call.  I worked on a deadline.  I felt the hurry creep in so I stopped what I was doing.  I went to yoga, ten minutes early, just to flop down on my mat in the hot room and breathe deeply.  My teacher always says that if you are truly focusing on your breath, you have to remain actively present in the moment.   I tried that.  Inhale 1,2,3…exhale 3,2,1.  1,2,3,4, 5….5,4,3,2,1.  The more I filled myself with air, the more the extraneous thoughts got pushed out.

I left the studio, clear headed and finally warm to the core.  I carried that warmth and that clarity with me, even a stop at the mall (with no parking, crowds, blasting holiday muzak and a long line for a wilted looking Santa) on the way home could not steal my peace.

Luke informed me that he wanted to have some friends (boys and girls!!!) over after the middle school dance Friday night.  He asked me if I would order pizza, pick up some queso and chips, rent a movie, buy sodas, find a dance video game that girls would like, and make my mother's famous ice cream cake. He told me to be sure and have enough pizza because there might be a lot of people coming. I wonder how a 12 year old boy defines "a lot"?  He was vague on that.  I had a momentary flash of "Oh My" which I quickly and wisely squelched.  "No problem," I said.

This was what I always wanted, coming true, right now.

When I was a kid, everyone came to my house.  There was always food, it was always fun and welcoming and cozy.  Kids stopped by for a snack after school whether I was around or not.  My house was a universal home, a stopping point, a touchstone.  Mom would listen, or ask questions, or offer advice…depending on what the person asked for.  My house was the place everyone stayed after prom, it was the yard we camped in when we were seniors, it was destination slumber party, it was after football game fun.  My mom said that her childhood house was exactly like that, too.  And remember we moved 13 times, so that is saying a lot about the way my mother established a home.

And now, maybe if I'm really lucky, I have a chance to pass this gift along to my kids.  Or maybe they are passing it on to me?

So I'm not going to be too busy to stop and breathe…too busy to make a spontaneous party for an as yet undetermined number of adolescents…too busy preparing that I forget to really celebrate the season.

What's the point of rushing if we miss the destination?

Especially if there is a chance that we could become one.

 

Moving On

My body is finally feeling familiar to me again.  We ran seven miles one chilly, sunny morning this week and it felt so good to run, like having coffee with a friend you haven't seen in a while.  I missed running while I rested and restored, but our time apart was good too.  I spent most of my Thanksgiving break with a book and a fireplace, and lots of long walks on the beach.

I am usually in such a rush to recover that I forget to enjoy the repose.  Not this time. Just as I shake my head and watch young moms with new babies who scramble to resume their regular pace so quickly after giving birth, I finally have the age-wisdom combo to appreciate the pauses God grants us.  We just have to be smart enough to take them.

Now I'm dabbling…a little run, a little yoga, a little sleeping in.  It's actually a perfect way to welcome December. I came home from my trip and was pleasantly surprised by the fact that my house was all lit up with white lights  (I had purchased some group-on deal for Christmas lights earlier in November and they came and installed them while I was away – hooray!).  Now it feels like Clark Griswold has been by.  I won't even get started on how much I love Christmas.

There were a few dark clouds in my sunny-happy post race zen.  The man who owns the gym where I have gone for almost ten years passed away over the holiday.  I went to his funeral today, a bleak day, gray and spitting rain.  It felt like a funeral.  Paolo will be missed.

The other dark cloud came in the form of some hurtful words flung in my direction.  After the shock wore off, the anger set in – the kind that wells up inside like a rogue wave.  I hadn't felt that kind of mad in a long time.  The wave almost carried me away.  I wanted to say this, say that, do this, do that..but at age 40 I have finally, thank you God, learned that the only decent response to that kind of tide within me is to wait, quiet and still, until the tide goes out.  Then I had the perspective to address the issues in my own heart.  When I cooled off enough to think clearly I realized, to my delight, that I did not care at all.

Here's why I bring it up.  Maybe you have someone who tries to define you, minimize you, hurt you, rattle you, and steal your peace.  The funny thing is – no one can steal our peace.  We can only give it away.

I tell my kids over and over again when they come to me with an issue of being called a name – "Who defines you, honey?"  "God does," they say, often with the groan and eye roll that comes with repetition.  But they get the message.  I had to ask myself that same question this week.  And I had to let the answer to that question settle the matter entirely. And then I moved on.

So if you are struggling with someone else's words, remember that just as no one can steal your peace, no one has the power to define you.  And you don't have to refute or respond or react- At. All.  Their definition is just that, theirs.  It has no impact whatsoever on who you are, or what you can do.  Leave them to their bitterness.

Move on to something sweet.  xo

 

Seven Sharpie Marks

I should start with a simple yet powerful statement, "We did it."

Now I can fill you in on the rest.

A friend asked me on Sunday as I sprawled on my sofa, "So, are you proud of yourself?"

I paused for a minute, wanting to give a real answer.  "No…definitely not proud.  I have a sense of accomplishment, for sure, but proud is not the word.  Humbled.  That's the word.  I feel humbled."

Our fifty mile adventure began early on Saturday morning, November 19, when our friend Amy picked us up at 4 am.  We drove about an hour and a half to Warda, TX, got our numbers and our chips, unloaded our cooler and drop bags, and had just enough time to hit the bathroom before it was time to start.  Not enough time to dwell on our anxiety, which was probably a good thing, or we may have simply stayed in Amy's car.  The race was on a large ranch property, and we started in a barn, which horse-girl Paige just loved.  It was pitch black outside – country dark- which is a whole other deal.

I love the lack of drama in a trail race, the start line is a simple, "ready, set, go."  And we were off, just like that, with a whole day of unknown stretched out in front of us.  The first lap was around 5 miles in the dark.  For the most part, the pack stuck together on this first loop, headlamps and flashlights guiding the way as we scurried over roots and rocks and tried to concentrate to keep our footing. Yesterday I looked at race photos and I love the pictures of us from this first lap.  We look like warriors, not so much like moms who drop kids at school and sports and go to the grocery store.  I wonder if we have an alter-ego out on the trails?

Each subsequent loop was over seven miles – and we did six of them.  So seven total loops.  Amy made a "camp" of sorts for us, with a big picnic blanket, her chair, her knitting, her papers to grade (she's a teacher, in fact, she taught our kids second grade), our big cooler, two bags of food and supplies, and my drop bag full of clothing, extra shoes, and first aid.  I printed out a 8 1/2 x 11 photo of my children and put it in a plastic sheet protector, knowing that I would absolutely need to see their faces on every loop – especially if (when) I felt like quitting.

The first few loops were steady, we ran the majority of the time, stopping wisely to walk when we had a steep or tricky section.  Since these trails are mostly for mountain bikes, they are primarily single track with lots of roots and rocks and switchbacks.  Some of the crazier descents have chain link fencing or old carpet on the ground to prevent erosion and offer better traction.  There was an aid station at about 3.5 miles, and again back by the barn.  A fifty mile race is just as much about eating and drinking as it is about running.  I felt like the Very Hungry Caterpillar book, consuming as much as possible just to keep myself even…peanut butter and jelly sandwich squares, orange slices, potato chips, M&M's, bananas.  Then from our own supplies I pulled things out like pumpkin bread, breakfast tacos, and carrot muffins my mom made us.  As we neared the end of each loop I would mentally rehearse exactly what my plans were.  I'm going to change my socks, find a bathroom, put pain spray on my calves, take an S Cap (salt/electrolyte pill), take an ibuprofen, eat some Oreos…

As time wore on, my mind got fuzzier and it really helped to know my plan ahead of time so we didn't waste so much time at each stop.  Since we were newbies, I am quite certain we spent too much time at aid stations, but then it's hard to judge – maybe if we rushed through the aid stations we would have bonked later on – we just don't know.  Our goal was to finish, period (aka survival) – we had no time goal in mind.

The final three loops were really tough.  Each 7.5 miles felt more like 12-15. We plodded.  We alternated between silence and chatter.  We hiked.  We persevered. The volunteers pulled us over at the aid station and poured ice water over our heads (it was hot, upper 70's and humid).  We saw a runner down up ahead on a switch-back and I thought it may be our friend Nelson.  I picked up my pace and didn't realize how sloppy I had become – I tripped and took a flying tumble and landed on a rock.  Just ahead of me was a broken tree trunk that would have skewered my head…I thanked God and dusted myself off.

I marveled at my body.  It was dirty, it was tired,  it was sore, my knee was bruised – and yet as long as I fed and hydrated it, it kept working for me.  I had to pee on every lap, so I knew in spite of the weather that I was hydrated and functioning.  By afternoon all the aid stations were overrun with bees, so all that food quickly became very unappetizing.  On the final two loops the only thing that sounded appealing was the organic chocolate milk boxes I brought for post race recovery.  I would dream about them and when we got back to our cooler I would stab them with the straw and inhale them in one greedy, squeezing gulp.  Never before had dairy sounded good to me on a run.  I went with my craving, figuring anything was better than nothing.

Each time we finished a loop, I marked our hands with a Sharpie marker.  I looked forward to that marker like a kid waits for Christmas.  It kept me going, knowing how far we had come.  The final aid station before our last loop was a rough one.  Paige and I were both fading.  She shoved a handful of Goldfish crackers into her mouth and burst into tears.  "I…Don't…Want…To…Go…Any…More" she sobbed.  It was so demoralizing to know that 7.5 miles felt like 15.  Darkness was approaching and we truly thought we would have been done already.

We laughed about this later, but at the time I can tell you it was not funny to me.  I have never seen her break, never seen her suffer, never seen her not want to run. Ever. We have the most beautiful friendship and I can barely type this, even now.  My heart ached worse than my beaten body when I saw her cry.  I knew I had to do something.  Everyone needs a designated driver and at the beginning of that last lap, the designated driver was me.  We broke tradition, we traded roles.  She always tends to me when I crack and falter, and I felt incredibly uncertain.  I searched for words, but after so many hours there was nothing left to say.  So for a few miles I said nothing and gave her my energy instead, trying to keep the pace up enough that we could minimize our time in the dark. Once in a while I asked her if she was okay or needed anything.  Finally, my friend was back.  "I'm good," she smiled.  Okay, whew, thank God. She's back. We're doing this thing.

Darkness fell over us like an eclipse. I turned on my knuckle-light and it began to sputter after several minutes.  Oh shit. I couldn't find my flashlight quickly enough on the last pass by my bag so I grabbed that instead…mistake.  The batteries died.  Paige, who worried from the beginning that she was ill-equipped, had a head light and a flashlight.  She smiled and handed me her flashlight and we soldiered on.

I will never forget, for the rest of my days on this earth, the image of Paige and I alone in the woods.  By the end of a fifty mile race, you hardly see anyone.  By the bitter end, you are utterly alone.  Two lights, picking our way over obstacles, trying to avoid thinking about the wind making creepy sounds in the trees and the scurrying of critters nearby. I was exhausted and scared, and ready to end this sucker.  And yet, even in that moment, I knew that I would return to this memory in my head over and over again.  Our friendship, already solid, was, over those miles,  cemented…amalgamated…sealed.  I was acutely aware, in the midst of misery, that true misery would be to be without her.

Finally, we neared the end.  We passed the rowdy campers that cheered us on for each loop, and we thanked them.  We made the last turn towards the barn, looked at each other, and let the tears come. We high-fived and picked up our gimpy pace as much as our remaining reservoir would allow.  Amy, who (God bless her) had run a 25 K that day and still waited for us for TEN HOURS, sat in the pitch black outside the barn, scanning the field for any sign of us.  Two sets of lights appeared and she shouted, "Is that you guys?!"

"YES!" we hollered.

We ran into the light of the barn and saw her, holding two opened beer bottles in her hands.  She smiled and turned, screaming, "Come and get it!" as she ran across the finish line.  We chased her down, grabbed hands and crossed the line in over 12 hours.  We hugged each other, hugged Amy, said cheers, and drank our beer.  Someone undid our velcro ankle straps with our chips, which was good because we could not bend over.  We were mystified, elated…we packed our stuff, Amy brought the car around, we grabbed a cheeseburger and headed home.  I talked to my children on the phone, telling them how their faces gave me courage when I was weak.

I took two baths that night.  An ice bath followed by a hot bath with epsom salts.  I drank a glass of red wine in the tub.  I stretched out in my bed and I have no memory of falling asleep.  I woke up early the next morning, which was odd because I thought I would sleep in.  My first thought as my eyelids fluttered open was that the whole thing must have been a dream.  But then I looked at the seven faded Sharpie marks on my hand resting next to my face, and I smiled.

I have been smiling ever since.

As I said, I am not proud.  I am happy.  I am tired.  I am humbled…by the reliability of my body, by my precious friend, by the supportiveness of my children and my family, and by the sheer awesomeness of God who took over and carried us when we were finished – long before we crossed the finish line.  Most of all, I am grateful.

As we prepare to give thanks tomorrow, let's all reflect on the journeys we have taken this year – the miles we have covered and the people beside us along the way.  My heart overflows with thanksgiving.

Bless you and yours.

KCA

Ready or Not

I wonder if, when you are standing behind someone in the check out line at the grocery store, you can tell that they are shopping for a 50 mile race.

Sea Salt potato chips

Ibuprofen

Double stuff Golden Oreos

Tampons (damn, I know)

Oatmeal (to eat on the way there)

Pretzels

Lara Bars

Dried Mango

Bananas

Bagels

Peanut butter

Epsom Salts and Red Wine (for recovery bath, one to soak in the other to soak up)

Snickers Bar

Ziploc bags

Individual packets of Kleenex

Sweet Potato Chips

Coke, small cans

Sunscreen

Bandaids and Duct tape (blister rescue)

Chapstick (Burt's Bees, with a tint, for panache)

I would guess that one might assume a 50 miler or a very bad case of PMS.  Either way, the guy behind me was giving me a rather concerned look.

I am still freaking out.  My heel still hurts, but not as much.  I've started packing.  I'm baking pumpkin bread right now.  I'm printing out a photo of my kids to tape on my drop bag, just in case I feel like wimping out.

One of you darlings commented that it is only five 10 mile runs.  I like that.  If I break it down, maybe I won't break down.    No matter how it turns out, I will have some good stories for you.

No matter how it turns out, I am already grateful for the adventure.

xoxoxox

Catching my breath

Last week is still swirling in my mind, like one of my childhood snow globes with a plastic scene inside. Except instead of a plastic scene, it's New York City; and instead of snow, it's all the moments of last week—my brother's wedding (which restored my lost hope in true love and romance), all our family in town and friends in from all over. For a mental historian, this is all too much. I'm still processing.

The best way for me to recap NYC marathon for you is with a video: VIDEO: New York City Marathon

Clearly, we had a ball. We ran an easy four hour pace and made sure we saw, experienced and savored everything. It was exactly the race I wanted. I even stopped and ate random food from spectators—quite a feat for a self-proclaimed germaphobe. I want to say thank you to the nice Asian baker wandering around mile 20 who gave me some moon-pie thing from a white bakery box, it had gooey creme filling and was absolutely divine.

I never (repeat NEVER) got my dreaded usual godforsaken calf cramps; not sure why. Maybe it was the moon pie? The 30 mile training run? The joy? Whatever the reason, I am still mystified and elated. We exited the finish shoot and found an ale house where good friend Scott Dunlap was waiting with cold Stella beer and fries. If any of my readers doubt that there is a God, that should confirm just about everything.

Best of all—you're not going to believe this—the next day, I was no more sore than I would be after a regular hard workout. We flew home and the only major soreness was my butt from airplane seat syndrome (A.S.S?). The day after that, I felt nada, nothin'. WHAT?! This is unprecedented. I am a hobbler, a sideways down the stairs, backbend to the toilet seat kind of gal. The only other time I felt this good post-race was after my 50K- on trails.

I didn't want to brag so I didn't say much to fellow NYC hobblers I saw in the airport and after my return. But I had some cockiness on the inside apparently because the karmic running gods always know when you need a good humbling. I've run a couple miles since then, felt fine. But then, this past Sunday…

I felt heel pain in the afternoon. It lingered through yesterday and still is bugging me today. I went to the doctor yesterday who confirmed that it's in the wrong spot for plantar, wheee-hew. But regardless, I'm freaking out.

Our 50 miler is Saturday. I'm icing. I'm praying. I'm taping. I'm doing very little. UGH. Good grief. One friend diagnosed me with "Taperitis" (A condition consisting of phantom aches and pains, affecting runners who are in the midst of a pre-race taper. Anxious runners appear to be more susceptible to this unfortunate condition. See also: Kristin Armstrong).

I'm trying to get in to see my PT for a proper tape job, but he won't call me back so for now I have inexpertly kinesio-taped the crap out of my ankle and I look like a mummy. My foot feels numb now, so I probably need to undo and redo before I lose circulation and have to have it amputated.

Mostly I'm just freaking out. Worried that I can't do this thing. Worried that I shouldn't do this thing. Worried that my bum foot is a sign. Worried that it's going to be too hot on Saturday. Worried about worrying too much.

I know this feeling. It's time to catch my breath. It's time to turn inward and look upward. Time to quiet the riot within, trust my body to speak for itself and get to work on managing the mind.

Here are a few snippets from a great article called "Rules for Being and Ultrarunner" by Keith Pippin. Even if you have no desire to be an ultra runner, I think these apply to the adventure of running in general:

"When you run, there are no mistakes, only lessons. The art and science of ultra running is a process of trial, error, and experimentation. The failed experiments are as much a part of the successes as the combination that eventually works.

Lessons will be presented in various forms and intensities. Each lesson will be repeated until it is learned. When you have learned one lesson you will be presented with another.

The learning of lessons does not end. There is no part of your running experience that does not contain lessons. Each time you run there are lessons to be learned.

Life's answers lie within. Life's questions can be answered from within. Running is the medium through which these answers will be revealed. All you have to do is look, listen, feel and trust.

As you advance to greater challenges, you will continue to gain knowledge of yourself. Periodically you will be required to reach ever deeper in to your inner being, seeking out the strength needed to continue the endeavor of the moment. The strength you seek is layered within. The number of layers in infinite. All you have to do is believe, have faith in yourself, and expect to find that which you seek."

 

Representative

In this pre-marathon week I am taking it easy.

Last week was huge for me – I threw a surprise bachelor party for my brother (I am his best man!), I went on a first date, I threw a surprise dinner party for my Dad's 70th birthday, I ran a ten mile race with negative splits, and gave a speech.  I am happy- exhausted (which is different from regular exhausted, physically exhausted, or miserable-exhausted).  Add to that, Halloween, which means the wine and candy combo that always renders me useless on November first.

My speech was on Sunday afternoon, on the heels of the two surprise parties, date and race.  I was spent, which for me is probably not the best way to give a speech, especially one for an audience of mothers and daughters.  I was totally raw and filterless before I ever stepped up to the podium.  (Either that or this was the first speech I've given since I've turned 40 and this is simply the new me?).  I read a few excerpts from Mile Markers (book) – one about Grace, one about Isabelle and one about my Mom.  I got totally weepy and choked up on several occasions and alternated between hot flash and cold/clammy.  I joked that I was only going to speak about shallow topics from now on.  I was the raw, real me and far less poised and fluid than I normally attempt to be in front of any crowd or microphone.

Normally I would have flogged myself for being such a "mess."  Instead I felt strangely liberated, considered the speech at least a partial success, and went on with my day.

Monday morning I skipped my run and went to yoga instead.  Class was packed and sweaty.  Our instructor was amazing, full of crass remarks and great insight (my favorite combination).  I was going with the flow, literally.  She ended class with this one statement that blew my mind and I have to share.  She had us do 5 wheels (backbends).  I hate wheel.  It hurts my wrists.  It makes my arms shake and my face turn the color of a cherry tomato.  She said that doing five wheels burns off every fake layer, leaving only your authentic self.  My authentic self was going to tell her something quite rude on wheel #5…

But then she said,"You know your representative?  The person you send on first dates?  Interviews? To PTA meetings?"  She eased us out of our last wheel and into final savasana/resting pose.

"Fire your representative.  She sucks."

It was clear to me then, as I sprawled out breathless on my mat, that I am guilty of sending my representative in my place quite often…to speeches for sure, to meetings, to cocktail parties and charity events, sometimes up to my kids' schools, or even to counseling sessions.  I send her in my place with strict instructions to be on time, smart, funny, put together, organized, efficient and likeable.  She knows she is not supposed to mess up and holds up pretty well under pressure.

But this past week I gave her some time off.  I gave a toast at my brother's bachelor party and she was no where to be found.  I went on a first date and had her stay home with the dogs.  I said a prayer at my father's dinner and didn't even set a place for her.  I ran without her on Sunday morning.  It felt odd to give a speech without her, but I did that too.  I handled an adolescent blow up with my son, and didn't call on her and all her parenting books to smooth things over. 

I'm going to see about giving her some more time off.  Maybe I won't bring her along to New York this weekend.  And maybe I will even consider letting her go completely.  (If I can afford her severance package and all her attitude – she has worked for me for a long time!)

I talked to Paige about this just this morning, and she lamented (briefly) about totally losing touch with her representative; she hasn't seen or heard from her in years.  We laughed.  Maybe Paige fired her representative when she quit her job as a newscaster to become a mom.  Or maybe by virute of being 45 you don't have time for such foolishness.  I don't know.

Give it some thought.  Do you have a representative?  Does she suck? Or are you sick of managing her?

Maybe she needs some time off.