Running

Eight Minutes

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Since late March I have been sidelined with a stress reaction in my foot. Yesterday I ran outside for the first time in two months. This also happened to be my first outside run in my 40s. My 40th birthday was almost two months ago. I had grand plans of running 40 laps on the track to celebrate my 40th and running parts of the Boston marathon course on my trip to Boston for a conference just days after my 40th, but none of that happened due to this injury. But I digress…

Yesterday I stepped outside in beautiful spring weather to run outside. It was glorious! Of course I wanted to go up into the Boise foothills and get lost for miles, but my body is not ready for that. My wise and wonderful coach prescribed a 2min run followed by 3 min walk on a soft surface for 20 minutes. I hit the North End alleys.

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Sun on my face, flower in my hair and garbage behind me!

Those first two minutes felt strange. Having been accustomed to running on the Alter G for the past month or so, it was wonderful to be moving forward in the fresh outdoor air with the variation of scenery. Lovely wildflowers, spring sounds, people doing yard work and fixing their houses, children playing, animals exploring, and all of these other things I have missed while I have been exercising indoors and rehabbing my injury. I wanted to keep going and going!

But at the same time my foot was pounding! On the hard ground! And I was paranoid. What if I break it again? I was thankful to stop and walk after that two minutes. I am grateful for a smart and conservative coach who does research and talks to multiple health care professionals before determining the best course of action for her athletes.

Although it was not much of a run and yes it was mostly walking (I only ran for a total of eight of the twenty minutes), it felt great because it represented forward progress and I am finally outside again. But instead of feeling thankful for those eight minutes, I found myself spending much of the remainder of the day worried about the future. Thoughts like this ran through my head throughout the afternoon: Is my foot sore? I think it’s a little sore. Maybe it’s a lot sore. Was that too much? Will it feel better by tomorrow? How will I possibly run a marathon this fall if I can’t even run eight minutes without hurting myself now? Ugh. I am going to break my foot again and have to take more time off. And more into the negative thinking hole…

At one point during the day I saw my gratitude journal sitting on my nightstand. It is mostly empty. I have lofty goals of writing in it each night but end up collapsing into bed exhausted and don’t do it. Or perhaps I check emails and Facebook before bed instead. When I saw it yesterday I remembered that instead of worrying about the future or focusing on the negative, I want to make more of a concerted effort to be thankful for the positive in each day. Even being thankful for the little things can make a huge difference in our mindsets.

In yoga practice, they teach you to accept the body that you have each day you come to practice because each day your body is different. I try to apply that to my running as well. The body that I brought to my running practice yesterday allowed me to run eight minutes outside and for that I am exceedingly grateful. I don’t know what body I will have next week, next month or next year and it is a waste of precious energy to worry about it. Instead, I want to be thankful for today. Today I can run. And eight minutes is a fabulous start.

But I Get Up Again

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As a runner, I feel like I deal with more than my fair share of injuries. Maybe I am just a glass half empty kind of gal but as I look over the past year I see three significant forced breaks. Granted, one of them wasn’t really a running injury, it was appendicitis, but three forced breaks over a years feels like a lot, especially when you have missed a great deal of the nice spring and fall weather. I guess the universe is still trying to teach me about patience and perseverance and I no I still have not learned. In looking over my Instagram feed the other night I came across this gem which I posted while on Forced Break Number One:

The reality is that if your dream is to accomplish something awesome, it’s not going to be easy. If it were easy, everyone would be doing it. People who go for greatness are going to get knocked down a lot. They’ll have difficult times. They’ll struggle with doubt and uncertainty. People around them will question the wisdom of their quest. The issue is not whether you’ll fail, because you will. It’s whether you’ll get back up and keep going. It’s whether you can sustain your self-confidence and your belief in yourself and keep bouncing back.

Failure is only final when you stop striving.

-Bob Rotella, How Champion’s Think In Sports and Life

The last two sentences really spoke to me. Sustain your self-confidence and your belief in yourself and keep bouncing back. You see, when I get injured or sidelined it is very easy for my mind to go to the places that say, “You are not a runner.” and “You are too old.” or too something or not enough of something else and then suddenly I am deflated and defeated and eating cookies for dinner. But champions do not think that way. Indeed, they cannot afford to. In the face of injury, illness or whatever obstacle they must sustain self-confidence and keep bouncing back. Because failure is only final when you stop striving.

Oliver Goldsmith said that success is getting up just one more time than you fall. Just one more time.

Those who are successful make it look easy. But we don’t see all of the hard work and struggle. The tens, hundreds, thousands of times that person might have fallen. We just see that one more time they got up. The success!

We also fail to consider the millions of small steps taken that when viewed alone seem totally insignificant but the sum of which equals greatness. Each day cannot be a personal best, but each day we can take a small step in pursuit of a long term goal. Whether it be getting that extra hour of sleep your body needs to recover, eating some extra veggies for vital nutrients, or pushing yourself a little harder on the track. Maybe it means practicing patience and positivity (ahem, I am looking at myself as I type) because in order to achieve peak performance we must not only be fit physically but mentally as well.

Whatever you do, make sure you keep getting back up, and keep moving forward. One step at a time.

Pool is a Four Letter Word

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The day after my 40th birthday I saw the doctor for my mystery foot ailment. At that point I had taken about two weeks off of any real running and had forgone running the Final Four Four Miler in Houston which I had been hoping to run as the last race of my 30s. Nevertheless, the pain in my foot continued. My x-ray looked clean, but after a manual exam, the doctor uttered the dreaded phrase “stress reaction” and told me no running for 4-6 weeks. Welcome to Forty! He suggested pool and cycling and all of those other things that runners just love to do when they are injured. And he prescribed this lovely footplate which does not leave my side:

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Francis the Footplate, my new BFF #thisis40

For the entire month of April, my birthday month, I diligently hit the pool, the gym, and tried to find other activities which did not aggravate my foot. I am thankful for the fact that unlike when I had to have my appendix out last summer I can still be very active while recovering from this stress reaction. Nevertheless, I look longingly out the window on these lovely and light spring mornings and desperately want to run. (I think my family wants that too, as each passing week I grow more and more irritable.) I miss my running team and wonder what workouts they are doing and what fun topics of conversation I might be missing out on. Running is not only my chance for exercise and fresh air, it is also a social outlet for me, and I miss my friends!

This week, on Cinco de Mayo (!), I got to run for the first time in over a month and the first time in my forties! I didn’t get to run outside, I got to run on the Alter G treadmill. For those of you unfamiliar with the Alter G, it is an anti-gravity treadmill which allows you to run at a percentage of your body weight. It is a phenomenal piece of equipment for injured runners or runners hoping to take off some of the training load.

I counted down the days until I could try running and when the day arrived I felt equal parts excitement and nervousness. I want to get back to running so badly, but feared having the first step be painful and having to start the 4-6 week clock over again. Finally, my Alter G time slot appointment arrived. Just putting on a running outfit felt amazing. I felt like a runner again! I laced up my running shoes, hopped on, started walking, increased the speed and lowered the body weight.

Per my coaches instructions I lowered the body weight to 60%. When you run on the Alter G, you wear special spandex pants, zip yourself into the machine, and air blows up around you. Your body weight it lowered by the air around you and the machine essentially lifting you by the pants you are wearing. (I am sure there is a more technical explanation, but this is my non-techy description.) As my weight lowered and my speed increased I finally took that first running step. And it felt okay! In fact, due to the decreased body weight, it felt almost effortless.

I was finally running again! It felt easy! It felt amazing! It felt like if I did this for the full 30 minutes I might never get feeling back in my crotch again! At times I felt that I could feel pain in my foot, but at no time was the pain in my foot anywhere near the discomfort I felt in my lady-parts from literally being lifted by the seat of my pants while running. (Guys: How do you manage Alter G running?!?) I took comfort in that feedback, however. It told me that the discomfort in my foot was mostly in my head. Afterwards I iced and had minimal soreness.

Although I will not be running outside in the Boise foothills for Mother’s Day as I had hoped, I am so pleased with my forward progress. I am learning more about patience, listening to my body, and doing my best to enjoy the journey. Even if that journey does involve swimming laps in the pool.

Houston We Have a Problem

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For my upcoming 40th birthday, my husband planned a trip to Houston for the Final Four. We have both always wanted to go to the Final Four and this seemed liked a spectacular way to celebrate my milestone birthday. When we planned the trip I did not think my team, the Virginia Cavaliers, would be in the Final Four. In fact, I assumed that planning the trip pretty much guaranteed my Wahoos an early exit from the NCAA tournament. I was just hoping that the Final Four teams would be teams that I was excited about seeing and that the games would be good games.

When Virginia played well in the Sweet Sixteen and beat Iowa State, I was ecstatic. We had made it to the Elite Eight for the first time in 21 years! If we beat Syracuse on Easter Sunday, we would go to the Final Four. Living in Idaho, I do not get a chance to see my Wahoos play often. In fact, I have not had an opportunity to see them play since our beloved Tony Bennett became head coach seven years ago. The idea that I might have the chance to see them in Houston had me so nervous I could barely stand it. I would hardly allow myself to think about it for fear of getting my heart broken. I have been a Cavalier my entire life and indeed know the heartbreak that can come along with being a Wahoo. When we were up by 14 against Syracuse at half in the Elite Eight, all of my rational thinking went out the window and I allowed myself to feel the excitement of possibly getting to see Tony Bennett and the boys in Houston for the Final Four. Just 20 more basketball minutes and that would happen. We had been a second half team for much (most) of the season, so it did not seem like too tall of an order.

But alas, it was not meant to be. Syracuse would go on a 20-4 run in the second half, Virginia would collapse and my heart would break into a million pieces. I was absolutely stunned, shocked and heartbroken. Yes, over a basketball game. My friends and family who do not watch college basketball or sports do not understand at all, but fortunately I have many friends and family who get it. A loss like this one is painful. Exacerbated by the fact that we have tickets to the Final Four and I now have the pleasure of watching Syracuse play instead of my beloved Wahoos.

Immediately after the Elite Eight loss my tears flowed freely. I could not watch the post-game press conferences, nor could I bear to watch the next game between North Carolina and Notre Dame. My sweet kids tried to console me and my daughter made Virginia a beautiful trophy just from her. (Disclaimer: I felt embarrassed about my poor display of sportsmanship and have since spoken with my kids about it. However, I am human and my emotions were raw and real.) I did watch the post-game press conference the next day and I was nothing but proud of my team and my coach. They display pure character and class, and even after a gut-wrenching loss are the epitome of the Five Pillars upon which Tony Bennett’s program at UVA is based: Humility, Passion, Unity, Servanthood and Thankfulness. After the loss, Coach Bennett said he told the team that he had an old church hymn ringing in his ears that said tears may endure for the night, but joy will come in the morning and that he believes that joy is coming for this team. Hearing him say those words eased my heavy heart and I clung to them like a child clinging to her favorite blankie.

However, for me joy did not come the next morning. Or the next. Or the next. You see, to make things more complicated, I struggle with depression. And I never know which seemingly inconsequential life or seasonal event is going to send me into a tailspin. It could be the change of the weather, a fight with a friend, or, in this case, a gut-wrenching basketball loss. To even further complicate things, running, which helps keep me sane and level headed, is not happening for me right now. About a week ago against my better judgment I did a speed workout while sick. Towards the end of it my right foot started to hurt. By the end of my cooldown it was hurting so much I was limping. I ended up taking a week off, tried to run again, and same issue. My left foot is bothering me as well in a different area. So I have concerns about a stress reaction or fracture and cannot run. Running is a major component of my mental health regimen and not being able to do it causes issues for me. So it has been a rough week on multiple fronts.

On an unrelated note, I halved my antidepressant medication several weeks ago. I had been feeling great, I have the ultimate goal of weaning off of it one day, and with the warmer weather and longer days coming I thought the timing was good. The side effects of cutting down the medication were rough at first (I felt lightheaded and dizzy for weeks), but I was finally feeling normal and good. Until Sunday night.

After about two days of watching me mope around the house over a basketball loss, my husband told me it was time to re-up my medication.  His comment made me angry. I thought he was not giving me proper credit for my ability to fend the depression off myself. I am tough. I am strong. I am a working mother of three who runs marathons and has successfully fought depression my entire adult life. He was not giving me enough time to tough it out.

But that is the thing about depression. It does not care who you are, what you have done, how tough you think you are or how determined you are. Depression takes over the rational part of your brain. It renders you unable to see or feel the good in your life. Stifling out the sunshine and beauty, you feel like you are walking through mud. Basic tasks like taking a shower and getting dressed feel Herculean. Depression is a silent killer because many of those who suffer are so stoic that you would never know they are suffering. But make no doubt that it is indeed a killer. When left untreated or treated improperly, depression can be terminal.

I wrestled with the demons in my head for a couple of days about going back to my full dose of medication, but I got tired of walking through the mud. My husband and kids deserve more. I deserve more. If I were a diabetic using insulin or a patient with high blood pressure taking high blood pressure medication to manage my blood pressure, I would not deny my body the medication that it so badly needs. And although we do not have a test to medically quantify it yet, I have a deficiency or imbalance in my brain that the medication helps repair. I know this because just two days after returning to my full dose I already feel better. I can get dressed with ease. I do not feel like I am going to burst into tears at any second. I do not feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest. And I can get on the plane to Houston with my family and feel the moments of joy as we spend time with friends celebrating my birthday and watching the Final Four. Yes, I still feel sad that Virginia will not be there, but I feel proud of what they accomplished this season and I feel hopeful that one day they will make the Final Four, Tony Bennett will cut down the nets, and when they do it will be that much sweeter. And I will get to cry tears of joy.

Reflections on Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona

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“Risk taking is essential for success in all sports.”

Dr. Jim Taylor

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Yesterday morning as I gazed out of my hotel room window, watching the sun rise over the Arizona desert, I felt a large range of emotions: excited, nervous, thankful, afraid. I had no idea what would happen on the race course that day. The last marathon I completed, almost a decade earlier, I had idiotically attempted on an IT band injury, ending with my hobbling across the finish line in 6 hours. I knew this would not be a repeat of that and was thankful to be toeing the line injury free and in mostly good health.  I had been battling a cold earlier in the week and felt somewhat run down and exhausted, but free of any running relating injuries. I had waited many years to redeem that 2006 Marine Corps Marathon run and to have another attempt at the marathon distance, having had three kids and battled several injuries in the decade in between. I was training for St. George this fall, but that plan was derailed when I ended up in the hospital with appendicitis on August 19.

The weather was great. Upper 40s at the start, 60s at the finish and sunny. Light winds, but nothing too bad. According to my practice half marathon race that I had run four weeks ago, I was fit enough to run a 3:48 marathon. I thought 3:48-3:55 seemed like a reasonable target range. My ultimate goal if all of the stars happened to align just right would be to run a Boston Qualifying time, which for my age would be a 3:45. I thought this might be a tad ambitious, but I spent much of the week trying to convince myself that I am actually capable of running a 3:45. One of my weak links is self-confidence. Like everyone else, I am a work in progress. I have also felt afraid of declaring to the world that I have a goal of qualifying for and running the Boston Marathon. As I discussed with a couple of friends of mine, declaring this BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal) of mine to the universe is scary. I am a perfectionist and tend to like to create goals for myself that I know will be easy to meet, not ones that will likely take several tries to accomplish. Declaring this goal to the world, makes me feel vulnerable. But as my friends have pointed out and as I am finding, it also opens up a whole new world of support and a louder cheering section along the way!

So my “A” goal going into the race yesterday was to run a Boston Qualifying time of 3:45. My “B” goal was to run a sub-4 hour time, and my “C” goal was to run a PR. My previous marathon PR was 4:30. I thought a lot going into the race about how I wanted to take risks, try to define my limits, do my best and leave it all out on the race course. I thought about trying to brace myself for those tough miles between 18-23 and visualized pushing through those and having pride in my efforts. I felt that my training leading up to the race had gone well and I was proud to have made it though a full training cycle without injury or unexpected surgery!

I toyed with running with the 3:45 or 4:00 pace group and decided to just go for it and run with the 3:45 group. What did I have to lose? I asked the pacer if he had a pacing strategy and he said he ran evenly and perhaps the first few miles would be slow due to congestion on the course. I ran with the 3:45 group for the first 10 miles and then got tired of the pace group. One guy in the group was wearing a Bluetooth and took at least two phone calls during that time, another chatted on and on about how he was running this easier pace because he got sick and fell off his training plan. Also, the group did not slow down at aid stations to drink and I kept having to make small surges to keep up with them. I felt like it was starting to tire me out. So at mile 10, I pulled out my ear buds, started listening to music and decided to try to run my own race. I think in future races, I will run my own race from the start, trusting in my own abilities to pace myself.

In addition to getting annoyed with the pace group, I felt like I was getting too tired period and needed to readjust. Around mile 8 my legs started to feel more exhausted than I thought they should be at that point in the race, which was worrisome to me. Around the same time I looked into the crowd and saw a sign that said, “Only 18.2 more miles to go!” Worst. Fan. Sign. Ever. I felt deflated and immediately tried to put that sign out of my mind and focus on running the mile I was in. So by mile 10, I left the pace group and ran on my own. At that point, I slowed from about an 8:35 to and 8:45 pace, watching the 3:45 pacing sign slowly fade into the distance along with my dream of running a Boston Qualifying time yesterday.

I crossed the half at 1:53 and although I expected to slow in the second half, I hoped that I could hold on for the sub-four hour finish. I spent the next two hours trying to swat away all of the negative thoughts that would frequently pop up and try to distract me from that task. My coach will be disappointed in me for not running 3:45. I’m a failure of an athlete. I don’t want this enough. I should be skiing this weekend. What’s the point? I don’t belong here. I want to quit. Instead I tried to think of the people back home that I knew would be tracking me and cheering for me, and I tried to channel some of their good energy and support. I tried to keep my head up high and maintain good form. I tried to remember that others around me hurt just as much as I did and that we were all suffering together. I would speed up for a bit, and then slow down. I would walk through the aid stations for water and/or Gatorade, and every time it got harder and harder to start again. But I did start again, each time.

I passed the mile 20 mark at 3:00 hours and told myself that I could run just under a one hour 10k and sub four-hour marathon. I tried to use all of the mental tricks I could think of to get my legs moving faster, as I know I can run a barely sub-one hour 10K, even on tired legs, but the dreaded marathon fade kept taking me down. Somewhere around mile 23 or 24, the 4:00 hour pace group passed me and I felt another wave of disappointment. Since they had started in a corral a few minutes behind me, I knew that meant my time would be over four hours.

I fought to come in under 4:05 and ended up with a 4:04:06, an almost 26 minute marathon PR! Although I was hopeful I might run even better, I am happy with and proud of my run. I now have a starting point and a list of things to work on along with my coach for the next one. One of those things is mental fitness. I have been reading Matt Fitzgerald’s “How Bad Do You Want It?” and tried to as he says brace myself for how hard the race was going to be, but it had been so long since I had tackled the marathon distance that I think I had really forgotten how difficult it is. I also wish I had enjoyed the experience more. I tried to do that as much as possible, by noticing surroundings, thanking and high-fiving spectators, etc., but I think I spent a lot of the race not feeling well and therefore not enjoying it as much as I would like to enjoy a race. But how do you really “enjoy” an event where you are trying to push yourself to the max, or as Matt Fizgerald says, walk the hot coals? If anyone has tips on this, please let me know. Most of all, I am thankful that I am healthy and walking today, with soreness but no running related injuries. My hips, which have been an issue for me with my running for four years, feel great. After a little time for rest and recovery, I am looking forward to training with my running team again!

 

Present Moment Living for the Type A Personality

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Eckhart Tolle teaches us that lack of acceptance is at the root of suffering. I’ve been thinking of this quite a bit recently as I find myself wanting things to be different than how they actually are and then recognizing that if I would just accept the situation as it is, my pain and suffering would go away and I would feel more at peace. As someone who has issues with letting things go though, this is much easier said than done.

For example, I want to run the 18.6 mile Payette Lake Run this weekend, but I can’t because I just had an appendectomy two weeks ago. My wanting to run the race and the fact that I am wishing the situation were different is causing me pain and suffering. If I simply accept the situation, I will feel content and at peace. Wow, it sounds so simple when I write it out! Why is it so hard to implement?

Here are some more: My child is being irritating, I want x, y, or z to be different about my body, or I wish that my husband would appreciate me more. All of these things bring about some sort of pain or suffering in my life because they stem from the fact that I am not accepting things just as they are. So how can I do better?

Well, I think Eckhart Tolle would say that I should focus on living in the present moment because the present moment is really all that we have. (But what if the present moment really sucks? Let’s be honest, sometimes it does. But for the purposes of this post I am just talking about when we make it harder on ourselves than necessary. Which for me is a lot.)  Sometimes I focus on my breath and try to really notice what is around me. One way I can do this is by taking inventory of various things I can hear, see and feel right at that moment. But really living and staying in the present moment is difficult. My mind often wanders to worries about the past or future. And that’s okay. If I can live some in the present moment each day I am making progress.  After all I am a Type A control freak (see paragraph 1 re issues with letting go).

And speaking of being a Type A control freak, I went for my first post-appendectomy run today. An easy 3 mile run/walk on one of my favorite trails with my dog. It was a beautiful run in fall-like weather. My legs wanted to go, go, go! They were saying, “Hey, have we been tapering? Let’s race!” My core on the other hand was saying, “What the heck are you doing?! Get back on the couch and let’s watch some more football!” It felt like a weak, achy, unparticipating blob. But at least it’s a start. And now the rebuilding process begins. Hopefully I will emerge even stronger, both physically and mentally.

Waiting My Turn (AKA That time it was going to be my turn until it wasn’t)

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“So I’m sitting here and waiting my turn, oh well, maybe next time I will learn.”

-The Connells

It seems that the universe is trying to teach me that I am not in control. A lesson that somehow in almost 40 years I have not managed to learn. You see, I have not run a marathon since 2006, and the last marathon I completed was a bit of a disaster seeing as how I did it on an IT band injury and hobbled through most of it (not recommended). So I have been looking for a redemptive marathon ever since then. But three pregnancies and several injuries have left me nine years later and still no marathon medal. However, this fall was going to be my turn.

I registered for and was accepted in to the St. George marathon, which is on October 3, 2015. I was nursing a hip injury, but training was going relatively well and I was getting enough (read: the bare minimum) mileage in to eek out a marathon. A week and a half ago I ran sixteen and a half miles feeling strong and like I could have kept going. I was thrilled to be within ten miles of the marathon distance and ready to sign up for an 18.6 mile race around a local lake that I had wanted to run for several years.

But the following Tuesday, I noticed a pain in my upper abdomen. I was still able to go for a seven mile run, but I didn’t feel like eating most of the day. By evening, I was doubled over in pain and I didn’t sleep all night. There was some pain in the lower right quadrant, but not too much. I went to the doctor on Wednesday, and it turned out to be my appendix. I had an emergency appendectomy Wednesday evening and am now prohibited from running from anywhere from 2-4 weeks, depending upon who I ask. I cancelled my plans for St. George and am looking at other marathons later this winter.

The rational part of me tells myself that this happened for a reason. Maybe my body was not going to be strong enough to run a marathon in October due to my nagging hip issue. Perhaps the extra rest will give my hip time to heal 100% and I will come back even stronger. But the emotional part of me still feels grief and anger. I was getting so close! And my hip was feeling better! It was supposed to be my turn this fall!

I have to keep reminding myself that I am not in control. That things happen for a reason, even if I do not understand it at the time. That one day (and probably one day very soon) I will look back and laugh about that time my marathon training got derailed by an appendectomy. And one day soon I’ll be crossing that finish line. Right now my job is to let my body heal. That’s an important job and I need to do it right and do it thoroughly. And hopefully one day soon I will finally learn that I am not in control and the universe can stop sending me all of these helpful reminders.

Letting Go of the Numbers

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My fixation with numbers has been leading me to some dark places recently. It started when last week I stepped on the scale and saw the number was higher than I tend to like it. At first I tried to blow it off as water weight or inflammation, but when I weighed myself again a couple of days later and my weight was still on the higher end of my weight range I continued to berate myself mentally with horrible self-deprecating thoughts.

My downward spiral continued when I went for my long-run last weekend. I set out to run 12 miles, which I did not think would be too difficult, considering I am training for a marathon. I started off okay, but as I climbed up into the hills I started to get tired and hot, my right hip and left knee started to ache, and I started taking some walk breaks. Half way through my run I ran out of water. As I climbed further up into the trail, it became overgrown and I started to worry about snakes. Some other runners warned me about poison ivy, so I found myself stopping frequently to examine the plants. Although I tried to look for poison ivy, the trail was so overgrown in places I couldn’t even tell what was growing in there. Eventually I gave up and turned around. Mentally I was alternating between appreciating the beauty around me and beating myself up. I felt old and slow and like my body was falling apart. I was frustrated that I wasn’t running faster and that things hurt. I kept looking at my watch and feeling like a failure. At the 10 mile mark, I burst into tears. It was taking me just as long to cover 12 miles as it had taken my coach (who is an elite runner) to run her marathon a few weeks earlier! I told myself that I had no business calling myself a runner or being on a running team and that I should give up immediately. With a combination of sweat and tears streaming down my face, I continued to run, but I also continued to say these horrible things to myself. Things I would never in a million years say to a friend or a running partner.

After that run I came home, refueled, took an ice bath, and tried to chalk the whole thing up to just a bad running day. But I’ve been in a little bit of a funk ever since. And I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my unnecessary focus on numbers: both the number on the scale and the number on the stop watch. What do they really mean? The number on the scale can be a measure of health (and I put can in italics because there are lots of other ways to measure health), but it does not define me. My body is so much more than that. And my worth and my value as a person has nothing at all to do with that number. So why would I let it impact my mood at all? Same with the number on the stop watch. Sure it is nice to run fast. It is gratifying to see just how much I can push my body sometimes. I love those endorphins, and I have race goals and love setting PRs just as much as the next guy. But why do I beat myself up if I don’t hit a time goal in a workout? Or if a race doesn’t go my way? This doesn’t define me. The stopwatch can’t tell me who I am. Isn’t it more important just to be out there and running, appreciating nature and the fact that my body can in fact move one foot in front of the other? Why rationally I understand this and in my heart I want to feel it, somewhere there is an emotional disconnect that too often forces me back to the numbers. Perhaps it is that I do not have sufficient self confidence coming from within, so I look to the external, definitive factors (ie, the number) for valuation.

But by letting the numbers define me I am robbing myself of the joy of the journey. For it is not really the number or the moment of the PR that I am striving for. I want to enjoy the process of getting there too. Scott Jurek stated it perfectly when he said, “The longer and farther I ran, the more I realized that what I was often chasing was a state of mind — a place where worries that seemed monumental melted away, where the beauty and timelessness of the universe, of the present moment, came into sharp focus.” This is essentially what I am chasing. The ability to run and to be in the present moment. Without worry or concern about numbers or about being something other than what I am. It is my hope that running can help me let go and find that peaceful and present state of mind.

CranioSacral Therapy and the Unquiet Mind

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In last weeks’ episode of “Let’s Fix My Hip” I tried CranioSacral Therapy for the very first time. What is CranioSacral Therapy, you may wonder as I did too before I went in for my session? Google taught me that “CranioSacral Therapy is a gentle, hands-on method of evaluating and enhancing the functioning of a physiological body system called the craniosacral system – comprised of the membranes and cerebrospinal fluid that surround and protect the brain and spinal cord. Using a soft touch generally no greater than 5 grams, or about the weight of a nickel, practitioners release restrictions in the craniosacral system to improve the functioning of the central nervous system.”

A couple of my friends had suggested that I try CranioSacral Therapy (or CST) to see if it might help my hip pain. As a traditional consumer sports type massages, I was pretty unsure of this whole thing. Soft touch no greater than 5 grams? No thanks, I like it hard and deep. (WAIT, WHAT?!) Massage, deep tissue massage. So I wondered what 5 grams of pressure could possibly do for my chronic hip pain. A quick Google search will result in claims that CranioSacral Therapy can help with things like migraines, ADHD, autism spectrum disorder, and orthopedic issues. There are also reports that it is a total scam. Although skeptical myself, I was willing to give it a try.

My therapist was very friendly and the session started off similar to a regular massage, except that I remained fully clothed. I found myself trying to relax in order to fully reap the benefits of the session, but instead of having thoughts float by me like wispy clouds over a summer meadow, they came hurling at me full force like a freight train.

Should I be feeling anything? My nose itches. I hope I don’t sneeze. I hope my stomach doesn’t start growling. Maybe I should have had more breakfast. Will it be time for lunch when I’m done? Why am I always thinking about food? Maybe I should have had less coffee. I should go get more coffee after this. I’ll relax more if I go to my happy place. (Envisions self on beach in Kauai listening to ocean waves and breathing fresh salty air but uh-oh, here comes the freight train again.) Has it been an hour yet? How does light pressure around my chin affect my hip? Are Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner getting a divorce? It’s really hard for me to quiet my mind. I wonder if this is why I’m not better at yoga. I should meditate more.

I think you get my point. After an hour I felt relaxed, but I am not sure my hip felt any different. When I stood up off the table it felt pretty good so that’s positive. Soon after leaving, however, the regular soreness returned. And I found myself wishing that perhaps I had spent my time and money on a deep tissue massage instead. Three days later I saw my regular massage therapist for some deep tissue work, and although she called her deep tissue massage that she had just given me “mean”, I felt so relaxed during it that I almost fell asleep. In other words, no freight trains. Maybe I need some discomfort during my massage to keep me focused on my breathing, or maybe I should give CST a try again. Maybe I need to do more yoga and meditation to quiet my mind. Regardless, I am pretty sure my racing mind is not going anywhere anytime soon.

On Grandma, the Marathon, and Grandma’s Marathon

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My friend Gretchen is running Grandma’s Marathon this weekend (Run GG Run!) and my other friend Emily thought of the fantastic idea for several of us to put together the best advice that Grandma ever gave us to give to Gretchen in a send off package. This got me thinking about my Grandma Vivian (who I called “Nanny”) and the advice that she gave me throughout her life. Interestingly enough, the very last time I saw her was in the fall of 2006 during the weekend of the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C., which also happens to be the last marathon I completed.

I have a box full of letters from Nanny and went searching through them for bits and pieces of advice from her for one that stood out as both meaningful and applicable to running as well as life in general.

LettersfromNanny

There are years worth of cards, letters, newspaper clippings and memories in the box. I had not read these letters in years and it was a joy to read through them today (Thank you, Emily!). In many ways, I felt like I was receiving these letters from my grandmother all over again. The one piece of advice that stood out to me repeatedly as I sorted through the stuff was this: Life is so much easier if you have a sense of humor. She had sent me an Ann Landers advice column with that advice (as well as many other jokes and reminders to have fun), and I remember her smiling, laughing and joking constantly. Here is the full text of the Ann Landers clipping that my grandmother had sent me many years ago:

Dear Ann Landers:

When I read the letter from “St. Pete” about the man who dressed up as Batman and ended up hitting his head on the ceiling fan, it reminded me of an embarrassing incident that happened years ago.

My husband and I were newlyweds, getting ready to attend a Halloween party given by friends. I came home from work and asked my hubby to answer the door for the trick-or-treaters while I took a bath. As I was running the water, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be fun to play a trick on him?” So I put on my flapper raccoon coat and a mask, and without a stitch on under the coat, I sneaked around the house and rang the doorbell. When my husband answered, I threw open my coat and shouted, “Trick or treat!” He was so stunned that he backed up, fell down the steps of the sunken living room, hit his head and knocked himself unconscious. I phoned for an ambulance and had to explain to the authorities what happened. My husband was taken to the hospital, where they said he had suffered a concussion. We never made it to the Halloween party, and, of course, I had to tell my friends why. They thought it was hilarious. My husband and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary soon. I still love Halloween but have refrained from pulling any more startling surprises. Life is so much easier if you have a sense of humor. –Toni in Long Island, N.Y.

Dear Toni: What a story! Laughter is indeed the elixir of life, and it can be a great protector. There are times when, if we couldn’t laugh, we’d cry.

If my grandmother were here today, and if she knew Gretchen, I think she would say “Don’t forget to laugh this weekend!” Indeed, laughter is great medicine. My grandmother laughed a lot, and she lived a long, happy life. She and my grandfather were married for over 60 years. Below is a photo of them celebrating their first anniversary on the beach, and celebrating again many years later (after 50+ years of marriage) at my cousin’s wedding:

IMG_5989

So cheers to laughter, to grandmas, to marathons, to Grandma’s Marathon, and last but not least, to Gretchen. May you run fast, run strong, laugh often, and have a big awesome celebration at the end! xoxo