Expect the unexpected

It has been a while since I last posted.  I have been busy teaching and going to school full time to get my master’s in educational leadership.  This fall has been one of change and growth.  With a few weeks off for the holidays, I have some time to reflect about the past few months.

This summer, I was supposed to train for the Santa Rosa Marathon to qualify for Boston.  I was supposed to spend my time in Florida doing my long runs on the beach.  I was supposed to use my time there to acclimate to the humidity for training purposes.  I was supposed to spend the mornings swimming and the afternoons running getting myself in peak condition for my races.  I was supposed to go galavanting in the Santa Cruz mountains for hours at a time.  I was supposed to run…a lot.  But that didn’t happen; something went wrong.  Somehow, my body decided that it had a different idea, and after a long debate and fight, I finally decided to listen.

Looking back, I still can’t figure out exactly what went wrong.  Sure, I probably upped my mileage too quickly prior to the San Francisco half marathon.  I probably upped my pace too much as well.  I probably made the transition from trails to pavement too quickly.  But every time I started to hurt, I backed off, or so I thought.  But maybe, the issues started well before the half marathon.

After the half marathon, I felt great (physically speaking).  I remember getting home and waking up the next day, and wanting to go for a run.  I was excited by the short amount of recovery time I required.  And then everything somehow fell apart.  After flying to Florida that night, I arrived the next morning feeling sore.  I told myself it must be DOMS.  I went for a run to stretch, but I still had a nagging ache behind my knee.  After cutting my run short, I took a few advil, and figured it would be better the next day.

After a quick run

After a quick run

Every day it got worse.  My back started to ache, my hips were tight.  When I ran, the aching behind my knee became a sharp pain.  This wasn’t what I expected, this wasn’t what I wanted.  I decided to join the YMCA whilst on vacation, and I hesitatingly took the next five days off running.  Instead I spent my training time swimming, biking, and lifting.  I also spent 20 minutes a day strengthening my core.  After my five day hiatus, I tried to run (after taking a few advil), and while it was a bit better, my knee was still not right.  Disappointed, I ended up spending the majority of my training time in the gym, and ran once every few days, trying to ignore the pain.

When I returned home, I went to the doctor.  After getting an MRI on my knee, the doctor said I had a baker’s cyst that ruptured.  It caused some irritation and it would take some time to heal, but it wasn’t anything too disconcerting.  During my time off, my back decided to go out (specifically my SI joint).  Nothing seemed to be going my way.  I felt like my body was betraying me.

exploring trails in Florida

exploring trails in Florida

I have spent the past four months in and out of doctors offices, chiropractors, and acupuncturists, Almost all of my workout time has been in the gym… biking, lifting weights, or swimming.

I have not been running.

Being unable to run has given me the opportunity to think… perhaps too much, about running and why I run.  I couldn’t help but think that there was another component to my injuries.  It was while I was at my acupuncturist that I realized this poignantly.  After an hour of working on me, she said at the end of the session, “you know, I have to tell you, I think that most of your physical ailments are manifestations of emotional issues.”  Woah.  What?  This was something I never heard before from a doctor.  I needed to think about this.

After spending so much time being overweight, I started to see that perhaps, I was merely replacing one addictive behavior with another.  However, as a friend said, “at least it’s a healthy one.”  While this may be true, my unbalanced approach to running created physical/muscular imbalances that I now understand and have the time to correct.  In essence, I am rebuilding my body.  However, the emotional component is just as important.  I am learning that my deep seeded fears of gaining back the weight, of not attaining my goals, and of (perceived) failure have manifested themselves through unhealthy coping mechanisms.  I have been forced to face the facts that I am impatient, I am an addict, and I am a control freak.  Much of that need for control was being trapped in my hips and my back.

Having injuries has forced me to face these issues head on.  I have to allow myself time to heal, I am unable to get my “runner’s high,” and I have limited control over my recovery of my injuries.  It sucks.  But as I am allowing myself to physically heal, I am also allowing myself to emotionally heal.  I find myself asking questions like why do I need to run?  Why do I have addictive tendencies?  Why do I need to be in control?  And so many of my answers find their way back to fear… fear of the unknown… fear of gaining weight…. fear of stasis.
As I slowly return to running, I am taking it one day at a time.  While it is tempting to start running two, three, and four days a week, I know that will lead me down the same road.  I have been learning patience and a new kind of discipline.  I no longer think that I’m only running one day a week, but I now realize that I am running, and I try to enjoy every moment.


Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should

Thanksgiving day half marathon

Thanksgiving day half marathon

    I decided to run in the Thanksgiving half marathon the night before the race.  I thought it would be a good idea to get some additional mileage under my belt and it would be a structured way to train on a day that I might otherwise lack motivation.  I convinced myself that this race was merely a training activity.  I didn’t cycle down the week prior.  In fact, since it was such a last minute decision on my part, I ran a hard nine miles two days before. I was anything but rested.  This would be my first “running only” race (not involving stairs or mud).  I had no idea what to expect.

I never run on pavement.
I never track my pace.
I run by feel.  When I go uphill, I alter my stride to what feels comfortable.
When I go downhill, I do the same.  When I’m tired on a long run, I find energy from the plants and animals that surround me.
I don’t think about the clock.  I don’t listen to music.  I just breathe and listen.  

     I arrived at the event an hour early since I had to register that day.  It was a bitter forty degrees and there was a freshly formed frost on the grass.  My fingers tingled from the cold when I took my gloves off to use the pen.  After signing up, I had fifty minutes to kill, so I started to think of a good goal time in the warmth of my car.  I knew that I wouldn’t be competitive with the top runners, but I thought that running the race under two hours would be achievable.  Though I’d only been running for six months, and exclusively on the trails, I really had no basis for my goal other than knowing that a sub two hour half marathon was a solid time for a beginner runner.

     I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous before the race.  As it started, the congestion created an anxiety deep within me that caused me to run fast to get away from the polluted path.  I quickly settled into what I thought was an easy ten minute mile, though I still had no real gauge for time.  My lungs weren’t stressed, and it felt easy.  I listened to my body, and continued at the pace.  I drowned out the pounding and monotony of the pavement with music: a new concept for me.

     I ran with a group of three people who were at my pace, and I followed them to the turn around.  This was the first time that I looked at my watch: it showed 1:01.  I knew I had to pick up the pace to get under  two hours.  As I left the aid station, I lengthened my stride and turned up the music.  I had one thought:  must go faster.

     It was a lonely six miles back.  I did not enjoy the run.  I listened to the music… the words, the beat of the bass… anything to get my mind off of what I was doing.  At mile 11, my legs started to feel sore from the pavement.  I gritted my teeth, lengthened my stride even more, and distracted myself even further into the abyss of Nikki Minaj and Usher.  I tricked my body… if I couldn’t feel it, it wasn’t happening.

I saw the finish line, and crossed it with a deep sigh of relief.  On one level, I felt a great sense of accomplishment: 1:55.  I was elated with my time and my performance.  However, as time went by, I started to feel conflicted about the race.  While I achieved all of my goals, and I learned a lot, I didn’t have fun during the race:  I did everything within my power to block out the experience as it was happening: the impact of the pavement, the impact of the competition, the impact of pass/fail goals.
On the Sunday following the race, I went for my favorite nine mile run up Windy Hill.  It was a foggy cold day at the base.  However, once I got above 1500 feet, the sun was shining, and I could see the fog sitting below in the valley.  I went slowly, and enjoyed all the views.  I even stopped a few times to soak in the sun.  This run reminded me of why I love to run…
I love to run because it makes me feel good
I love to run because for two hours a day, I can lose myself in the wilderness, connect with nature, and center myself.   

Although the 50k is only a month away, the half marathon was an invaluable training experience that taught me more about myself than I could have imagined.

At the finish line

At the finish line

“Life is change. Growth is optional. Choose wisely.”

Every day, I attempt to teach students how to take personal responsibility for their actions and choices.  It’s frustrating, tiring, but rewarding.  Every day, I encourage them to dissect the rhetoric of “I can’t” and “I won’t” and gently redirect it to: “I choose not to” because “I’m afraid.”  I often hear my students say,
“I can’t write essays”
“I can’t come in at lunch”
“I can’t get an A”
I empathize with my students.  In the process of re-directing and re formulating their “can’ts” it raises a lot of questions.
If I take personal responsibility for my actions, what does that mean for me?  What choices am I making to inhibit my learning and growth?
I choose not to improve my writing because I prefer to spend time with my friends at lunch. And so…
I choose not to come in at lunch.
I choose not to do the extra work to get an A.
     I equate learning with personal wellness and health.  I know for years, I would tell myself:
“I can’t run.”
“I can’t wake up an hour early to eat breakfast.”
“I can’t give up sugar.”
“I can’t find time to cook healthy food.”
However, re-formulating my “can’ts” has altered my perception on life.  When I saw things as a choice, I began to dislike some of my choices.
I chose to watch tv.
I chose to eat sugar.
I chose not to run and exercise.
I chose to eat processed foods because I choose not to take the time to cook healthy food, and perhaps most importantly,
I chose to put everyone else first.
And then I began to wonder… why have I chosen this path?  What has it brought for me?  What makes sense for me? What is the best way to live my life?  And so…
I chose to put myself first.
I chose to go to the gym.
I chose to run.
I chose to give up all processed foods.
After a few weeks of running, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture, and my doctor told me that I couldn’t run for six to eight weeks.  My choice to run became a “can’t”.  However, I chose to figure out a way to stay in shape despite my inability to run.
I chose to swim.
I chose to lift weights.
I chose to bike.

My stress fracture

These were choices that worked for me, and that I have integrated into my life over the past eight months.  There is no “right” or “perfect” formula.  Each person is different and has to figure out what works for him/her.

Perhaps more importantly, I have chosen and embraced growth.  Much like running or working out, it is often painful and challenging. I am learning to enjoy those painful moments just as much as the painless ones.

The Adventures of Legolas and Gimli… a run of epic proportions on 11/4

The adventures of Legolas and Gimli

The day of the New York Marathon that never was… so it seemed appropriate that two native east coasters go galavanting in the California mountains for a twenty two mile run.  It was my first run over twenty miles in preparing for my 50k, and I was excited yet terrified.

The run began as any other: uneventful.  But, at mile two, the trail had a sign that said it was closed.  We both looked at each other, and decided to trek on, thinking (hoping) that the sign was for horses.We were wrong. For some reason, the county decided to groom and widen the trail, and it became soft and sandy.  For a mile and a half, we ran through soft dirt.  I tried not to panic, but I felt pressure in my chest as I tried to hold back the tears.

mile two… 20 to go…
expending so much energy..
seeing so little in return.
Questioning my ability to continue.
I choked back the tears, ran through my emotional exhaustion, and eventually the trail evened out to “normal” terrain.

I found my stride.  For thirteen miles I chugged along at a steady pace.  We entered an alternate universe of ferns and redwoods, silence and leaves, creeks and rocks.  Time did not exist, the only noise was my breathing.  For thirteen miles, the universe stood still.

As we neared the peak, I knew we had one more climb before the final descent… about 400 ft, and my stomach started to turn at the thought of it…

“I love hills, I love hills, I love hills” I kept saying to myself.  I heard the pitter patter of feet behind me on the freshly fallen leaves, and I giggled. Before I knew it, the pitter patter of her feet were no longer behind me and my elvish friend Pam was racing up  to the peak, while I was gasping for air thudding along thinking, I love hills…I love hills…I FUCKING LOVE HILLS!  When I finally got to the top, unable to talk, I pointed in the direction we should go, and saw her feet elevate off the ground and she took off.  For a moment, I empathized with Gimli as he gasped for air trying to keep up with Legolas saying, “must…keep… breathing”

5.5 miles down to the parking lot… easy right?
Feeling light headed…
Needing to fuel.
Wondering:  how would I get the power bar?
a bench appeared
problems solved…
remove pack…place on bench… eat power bar… walk a few steps… and go…
I felt horrible…
my legs were wobbly…
and running down hill never felt so awful.
But, the thought of abandoning Pam at the parking lot motivated me to continue running.

I ran the last two miles with hopeless abandon.  I wasn’t paying attention to my feet, or any part of my body for that matter.  I had one thought… get to the parking lot…
my legs hurt
my head hurt
I was out of water
I picked up the pace…
Finally, I could see the parking lot, I reached the clearing, and I sprinted the final 200 yards.

But when I got to my car, Pam wasn’t there.
She must have been at least 15 minutes ahead of me.
What happened to her?
I looked in the bathroom, in the barn, at the arena. ..
no Pam.
15 minutes later… out of the corner of my eye, I saw her jumping up and down running towards me.
After a long embrace, I suddenly remembered my fatigue.  Afterwards, I realized that in the midst of a four and half hour run with several thousand feet elevation gain, each time I wanted to give up, I forced myself to center on my breathing…  one breath at a time .   Somehow… with each breath… all my concerns dissipated into the ferns and creeks and rocks on the trail.

up to the peak… breathing…and loving hills