Of restfulness and water

I was swimming in the gym pool. It was the closest I have ever come to actual swimming. Which, don't get me wrong, is still pretty far from what you would consider swimming. I'm no Michael Phelps or manatee, gliding through the water with grace and majesty and oneness with the sea. Approximately freestyle is how I think of it, though I'm sure serious swimmers would not consider it as such. But I was in flow in the water and it felt effortless. Time passed without my noticing it. I finally understood the appeal of swimming laps. I usually find swimming back and forth so boring, like I'm not going anywhere and there aren't even any dolphins here so what is the point? It was 5am, which is my favorite time to do everything because it's everyone else's favorite time to still be sleeping. So I get to have a whole lane (sometimes the whole pool) all to myself. There was one other person in the pool, a woman swimming back and forth seemingly forever. She was there when I started and still there when I left. She looked like she belonged there and I most definitely did not. But so what? I wasn't there to belong or accomplish or impress.

I was there because I wasn't running. I'm not running. I haven't been running. I am mostly ok with it. I don't know which of those things is more surprising. I miss it of course. I miss the feeling of running. I miss the way conversation easily flows when running, from the deeply personal to the absurdly funny to the state of everyone's bodily functions. But running hurts at the moment so I'm not doing it. It feels like tendinitis. The kind of thing my body will heal on its own with rest and time. I'm going to physical therapy and acupuncture and massage and doing my feldenkrais and going to the gym (which is not my favorite place but it is warm so I guess it's tolerable). But mostly I'm just resting and avoiding the movements that cause pain. In the past I would have felt the need to do something, anything, everything to make it better as soon as possible. I would have felt the agony and frustration of not being able to do what I want to do. I still feel those things a bit. I feel depressed a lot, but that's mostly at the state of the world - the dying planet and the terrible things humans do to others. I don't feel depressed about my body. At times a bit frustrated, yes. But mostly I feel grateful for all my body does and is. And if it needs a break right now, that's what I'm going to give it. So I'm not running. It's probably temporary. Even if it isn't, even if I never ran again, that would be sad of course, but it wouldn't be utterly devastating. There are other losses that are far worse. I have an easy life compared to many. I am lucky in so many ways. Sometimes if you want to continue running, you have to stop running for a time. For however long it takes to heal. That's just how it goes. I wouldn't have chosen it and I'm not thrilled about it, but I accept it.

I was swimming because I wasn't running, or at least that's how it had started. I bought a swim cap. Royal blue, my favorite color. I started going to the pool, which is warm and usually deserted at 5am. I've never had swimming lessons but I've always liked being in the water. Treading water, floating on my back, the ease and gravity-defying power of it. I never thought about swimming as a sport or an exercise, it was just like this thing I did on vacation, or to avoid drowning. But lately it has become something more. Somehow swimming has become something I do for me, for joy. I don't care how I look or what anyone else thinks of me when I swim. It's just me and the sea (err, heated indoor pool). It doesn't matter how long I stay or how far I go. Speed and time are irrelevant here, because it's not about performance. It's about play. There is no achievement or accomplishment, only experimentation and enjoyment. I just show up and mess around in the water, letting my arms and legs and core and breath move in sync. A few months ago, I had this thought - that came from the well of weird thoughts deep within, the source of all my very best ideas - and it was like what if we did one of those flip things? Later someone told me this is called a flip turn. I had no idea how to do it, other than some vague memory of seeing Olympic swimmers on TV many years ago. But somehow I did a flip underwater. And then I kept doing them until I could swim, flip, swim, flip, over and over until I felt like stopping. I'm sure my technique isn't the "right" way to do it, but that doesn't matter. I'm not doing it for anyone else, I'm doing it for me. Because I want to. Because it's silly and fun and I take comfort in the underwater solitude, the three planes of motion, the respite from the expectations and judgments of the world above.

I had tendinitis in my ankle about 8 years ago and I felt so desolate at the time. Now here I am, same problem, different tendon. But I feel ok about it because I'm a different Jen. I'm not flipping out about it (Though maybe the literal flipping is an antidote to flipping out. Who knows. In any case, spiraling through the water is way more fun than spiraling into a black hole of sad thoughts). It hasn't been all sunshine and smooth sailing of course. I've had some low moments. It sucks to be injured. Though I hesitate to call it that. I'm not at 100%, obviously. There are things I want to do that I can't do right now. But I don't really feel "injured" or "damaged." I mean, my body is still doing all these other lovely and magical things. Like swimming and Jacob's Laddering and healing my tendons. It's doing new things all the time that I never even dreamed it could do. I'm starting to think that the reason I love running isn't about running at all. It's about my body and the way it moves through the world. It's about tuning out all the noise about what a body should be or do or look like and enjoying the experience of actually living in one. It's about appreciating what my body can do in this moment and listening to what it needs. It's about connecting to myself. And to the truth. That all bodies are unique and amazing.

I watched Captain Marvel on a transatlantic flight last year. I don't know if it was the elevation or the travel fatigue or the fact of being an adolescent in the 1990's, but I cried during that scene set to No Doubt's I'm Just A Girl. I'm no Brie Larson and I have no fighting skills, but when she said "I've been fighting with one hand tied behind my back. What happens when I'm finally set free?" I understood the sentiment. (Too bad the rest of the movie was disappointing in the way that all superhero movies are disappointing to me. They're all fight scenes and flashy effects, and no one seems to understand that force and physical strength aren't what make someone super. But I digress). Maybe it's cheesy to say, but I feel like the past few years have been about unlearning the things that were holding me back and figuring out how to be set free. And then a whole lot of, oh well what the fuck do I do now? How do I exist in the world as the person I am becoming? I'm not sure where I belong now. Some of the things I used to do no longer feel right for me. I am embracing rest and there aren't many spaces that encourage that mindset. I know now that my worth is inherent (as is everyone's), not tied to productivity or appearance or usefulness. But capitalist thinking, and this culturally created hierarchy that treats some bodies better than other bodies, are seemingly everywhere and it's hard to escape that (except for literally being underwater). Running was a way to connect with my fullest, freest self. Now I'm learning how to harness that inner potential outside of running. Sometimes it feels like I have to temporarily disconnect from the world in order to be more connected to myself. I am still trying to figure it all out.

One day I will no longer run. I will no longer swim or eat or breathe. I will no longer exist. At least not in the same physical form. I don't know what I'll be after that. I feel like it's either ghost or reincarnation or a memory in someone else's heart. I guess I'll find out when I get there. In the meantime, I'm going to keep exploring how to be alive in this weird, wonderful body that I am lucky enough to inhabit. From the outside, maybe I'm just a girl in a royal blue swim cap. But on the inside I'm infinitely more. Please bear with me while I figure out how to be an infinite being in a finite body. Bonus points if you are an actual bear. Because bears get it. They hibernate all winter, resting and preparing for spring, when they will emerge again in all their bear-y awesomeness. No promises on that front. I doubt I'm going to do anything super cool in spring or anything. But I might emerge back into the world a bit more rested, rejuvenated and, in all likelihood, even more ridiculous than ever.

Lyric of the moment: "I wanna leave something good behind, when you remember me. This is for the ones that always got our backs. To better days ahead, never looking back. And the songs we sing to get by. All the ones we love below and above, the rebels and the saints..." ~Strung Out "Rebels & Saints"

Turn and face the strange

We were at a wedding, that honestly I was a little anxious to attend. I mean, weddings are this wonderful mix of love and cake and dancing and optimism. And especially this one, which couldn't be happening to two nicer people. It's just that I knew I would see a lot of people from the running community that I hadn't seen in a while (because I haven't done any races in over a year) and I didn't really want to have those what are you running? conversations (because I don't really feel like I belong in those conversations). Sure, I run. It's my favorite thing to do. I have been running for 24 years. But I still don't really feel like I would describe myself as a runner. I think of myself more like a traveler or an explorer or a hugger. Most of the talk in running circles is about how far or fast you ran or how far or fast you want to run or how to run farther and faster. There are a lot of super talented runners doing and writing about all of that. I am not and never will be one of them. My writing about running is more like I was running here and I pet a dog/ate delicious snacks/was having the most random and hilarious conversations/felt a lot of feelings and cried. For me, running has never been about distance or pace. It has been about experience and connection. Connection to others but mostly connection to my body and to my best self.

Thinking back, this was the thing about running (and life) I always felt but couldn't articulate. I just don't care about competition, about measuring and comparing things. Humans do this with practically everything and I don't understand it. My ideal civilization is socialist as fuck. My ideal race is one where a bunch of people get together and run through the woods, crossing the finish line hand in hand and then eating a bunch of food not made from animals. I guess that's not really a race so much as like a big outdoor family reunion or something. Anyway, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with competition. I'm fully aware that I'm the weird one. I think other people know this about me too. My college cross country coach took me aside one day and told me I didn't have to come to practice that week, that I could run whatever I wanted to run. That was my favorite week of the entirety of my college experience. After my sophomore year, when I lost too much weight and couldn't be on the team anymore, I wasn't even sad about it. I actually felt kind of relieved. I liked my teammates and I loved running at practice but I hated the pressure of having to try and score points during races. It ruined running for me. Of course, I was supposed to stop running, per the doctor's orders. But I didn't stop. Because I'm ridiculously stubborn and I hate being told what to do. But mostly because at that point in my life, running was the only thing that actually made me want to be alive. So if I gave that up there would be nothing stopping me from disappearing completely. Running was the thing that made me feel most like myself. The good and the bad, the feelings and the flaws, the long limbs and awkwardness. I could be all the things I am when I was running and there was space for all of them. This jumble of restlessness and ridiculousness in human form suddenly made sense when unleashed on a road or trail. I didn't know all these things at the time. Or I did know them somewhere deep down at the true core of me, but I couldn't have explained it to anyone back then. I'm only finding the words to say it now. I started eating again because I wanted to keep running, to keep exploring the world and what it means to be alive. The older I got, the more space I took up, first physically, but then mentally and emotionally too. I was expanding in all directions. I still am. It is exhilarating and slightly terrifying and I don't know how I ever lived any other way. This process, and the people I have met along the way, are the most sacred things to me. There is no way to measure that. There is no GPS data that can quantify this opening of my mind, this connection to my body, this expansive, limitless feeling in my heart.

But I feel like people don't want to talk about that. It's ok. That's why I'm putting it here. Because it's now too big to keep inside and I have to put it somewhere. And it's true and important for me whether or not anyone else reads it or cares. The funniest thing happened though, at that wedding I was nervous to go to. It was a lovely and heartwarming event, of course. The food was off the charts good. Pete and I danced a ton. Sheila and I sang Lizzo's Truth Hurts to each other outside the barn and then danced and sang when the band inside played it. Several people made comments about me being a good dancer and how awesome it was to see Pete and I dancing. Which was so funny because, in all objectivity, I am NOT a good dancer. Like at all. I am more like Elaine doing the little kicks in that Seinfeld episode. But here's the thing. You don't have to be a good dancer to dance at a party. It's not Dancing With The Stars. All you have to do is move your body and not care what people think about how you move your body. And Friends, I felt fantastic that night. I had my velvet dress and my gold oxfords on and I was full of happiness and vegan cupcakes. I think that is what people must have noticed. That I looked like someone who was having a good time, someone full of joy at having a body and being alive. Because I was having a good time. At a fun party with wonderful people. But also just being myself. My imperfect, weird self. I used to feel bad about the ways I wasn't like other people, like there was something irreparably wrong with me. Now I feel like those are all the things that make me who I am. And who I am is pretty awesome. Not in a way that's faster or smarter or better in any way than anyone else. Believe me, I am very ordinary. Just in a way that's like I'm a unique bundle of atoms and adventure such as has never before existed. And so are you. So are we all. And how terrific is that?! We're not all the same. That's the best part of life. That we're all different, we're all strange in our own ways. You don't have to conform to what everyone else does or thinks or feels or is. You can turn and face your own strange. And see how epic that can be.

I don't know if or when I will run another race. There are definitely places I'd love to run and things I'd love to be able to do. But if I don't end up ever doing them, I'm ok with that too. After 38 years of aliveness, this is the best I've ever felt in my body. My body awareness and posture is the best it's ever been. I am the most unapologetically me I have ever been. It's like I had to learn how to move all over again, in the ways that I was meant to move, after having worked to unlearn all the crap that tried to keep me small, quiet, compliant. I'm still learning and hopefully always will be. I would love to be able to run for the rest of my life. But to do that, I need to run in a way that builds me up, not breaks me down. So that means a lot of rest and food and sleep. It means listening to my own body and not all the other noise out there. It means being grateful for what it can do, not lamenting what it cannot. Still, even if I go into a race without expectations, other people still sometimes put their expectations onto me. I don't think most people are consciously aware of doing this and I know what we project onto others is usually more about us, but I'm still working out how to graciously decline to meet others' expectations. "No thanks, don't put that crap on me" seems kinda rude.

There is a thing people often say at weddings, about how the other person is their rock. I find it really sweet. But honestly I don't think of anyone else as my rock (though I do think of Dwayne Johnson as The Rock). Pete is my life, adventure and dance partner. My friends are some of the most supportive, brilliant, inspiring, wonderful people alive. I feel like my mom loves me more than is humanly possible to love someone. But I am my rock. There is this force within me, this relentless, ridiculous curiosity and compassion, that is stronger than all the doubts and fears and judgments combined. And when I'm not denying or hiding from that inner force, I am an unstoppable dancing weirdo. 

Lyric of the moment: "These children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds, are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through..." ~David Bowie "Changes"

Hibernation. Sloth sleuthing. Things I didn't want to write.

I've often wished to be taken in by a sleuth of hibernating bears (A group of bears is called a sloth or sleuth. True story. Words are fantastic.). And we would hide out in a luxury cave eating, sleeping and being detectives. Because winter is the worst and Bearlock Holmes is the best. But alas, I have yet to receive an invitation to the sloth sleuth party. I have, however, found myself in the company of a tower of giraffes (A group of giraffes is called a tower. Unsolicited advice: a good thing to do if you are ever feeling sad/mad/bad/not glad/dissed by some cad/like you've been had, is look up the names of groups of animals). Giraffe Tower and I spent much of the winter hibernating inside the house, watching true crime and untrue crime and Catfish the TV show (Coincidentally, the Tower likes all the same terrible streaming shows I do). And cracking tough cases like who left the trail of jelly blobs on the counter (Pete) and who left the empty box of Sudafed inside the closet (Also Pete. Admittedly, the suspect list was very short). Now that it's officially spring, by which I mean we've actually had a sunny, semi-warm day or two, maybe I will come out of hibernation. Though I'm not sure I'm quite ready yet.

I did not actually intend to hibernate. Generally, I like going out and doing things and seeing people. But I also really, really like being at home alone. Especially when I don't feel that great. I can't remember when the pain first started, it was so long ago. It was merely a dull ache at first. In my back, mostly. Sometimes my hips and knees joined in. Just for fun I guess. It felt like muscle soreness after a very long race. But that feeling usually subsides in a day or two. And this pain persisted and increased in intensity. At first, I just endured it. It wasn't debilitating, in that I could still go about my normal life and do most of the things I wanted to do, albeit more painfully than I would have liked. But it was annoying and wearying. I didn't know if it was physical or emotional pain, stress-induced or grief-induced, or some combination of everything all at once. On some level, I felt as if I deserved it, like this was my penance for a wasted youth spent shrinking myself, starving myself of nutrients and affection and joy. But I'm older and maybe a bit wiser now, so I was just like, no, that thought is mean and untrue, no one deserves to be in pain. On another level, I felt like maybe it was grief and genetics, because back, hips and knees are where dad was always in pain. He self-medicated his pain with vodka. When I was young, I self-medicated my pain with anorexia and excessive exercise. It works until it doesn't. Well, it seems to work but in reality we were just avoiding the pain instead of alleviating it. I say this without any judgment. You do what you have to do to get by. But there are ways of getting through life that don't involve hurting others or self-destruction (you might think self-destruction doesn't hurt others, but it does. It hurts everyone who loves you).

Being alive is beautiful and amazing and challenging and painful. Life is hard for everyone. (For some, that hardship is further compounded by systemic oppression). I'm very lucky to be in good health and that my problems are minor compared to what others have to face. Still, the perpetual physical pain was starting to get to me. I didn't want to avoid it or endure it. I wanted to figure out the cause of it and hopefully find a solution. The process has been frustrating and challenging, yet so transformative that, while I still have a long way to go, I am almost thankful to have had this experience (Almost. Aches and pains suck and I wouldn't willingly sign up for it. But it has brought me closer to being the person I want to be). I won't say that I've figured it all out, because I haven't and I probably never will. But I have figured out how to go about figuring things out. And they key to that is basically, be curious and be compassionate.

Before I go into all that, I just want to preface this by acknowledging that I am exceedingly privileged. Here's a non-exhaustive list of all the privileges I have: white privilege, thin privilege, economic privilege, cisgender privilege, heterosexual privilege, able bodied privilege. I have health insurance. I am wealthy enough to afford treatments that aren't covered by health insurance (which seem to be the ones that always work best for me). Even the physical pain I experienced, while frustrating and depressing, was mild compared to what many other people experience. I point this out because it's fucked up and unfair and I'm not telling the whole story unless I include this information. 

So here's what happened. I spent last year learning to embrace rest and to enjoy being at rest as much as I enjoy being in motion. Rest helped but it didn't solve the problems that had caused the pain in the first place. That's what I spent the winter trying to figure out. I continued to rest and eat and sleep. All the time. As much as I wanted (Outside of work, which for some reason doesn't include nap breaks. Ok, the reason is capitalism. Naps are great. We all know it). I limited my runs to the short, easy, fun variety. I ghosted 3 physical therapists and 2 chiropractors. I feel a little bad about that last part, because I could tell that they were genuinely trying to help. It's just that the exercises they prescribed made me feel even worse and I didn't know how to explain that it wasn't what I needed at all. The diagnosis was basically the same: some kind of biomechanical failure that they would try to forcibly correct with various exercises, most of which only increased my pain and decreased my optimism. My body would inevitably rebel against these exercises because it doesn't like being forced to do things. I am stubborn AF, down to the cellular level. Plus, the body moves as a whole, so focusing on individual body parts is missing the point. A body isn't a simple machine like a car. You can't just be like oh you need a new alternator or carburetor or flux capacitor, problem solved! (clearly I know a lot about auto mechanic-ing). Bodies are amazing - they're weird and complicated. Every one is different and there's still so much we don't understand about them. My primary care physician gave me prescriptions for drugs, which I didn't want and didn't take. She agreed with me that they would just cover up the pain and not actually solve anything, but it seemed like her only options were to prescribe drugs or refer me for tests and/or injections/surgeries, which I also didn't want or need. I did have a minor epiphany in her office though. When I told her I was only running X miles a week, she said "That's a lot." At first I thought no, it isn't. But then it occurred to me: actually, my body was telling me that it was a lot, I just wasn't listening to it. (Note that I haven't included an actual number of miles. That's because I don't want anyone to read it and judge themselves against it, thinking it's a lot or a little, that they should be running more or less. Every body is different. We have different stressors in our lives and we handle them differently. Comparison, to others or to our past selves, is unhelpful and potentially harmful).

Throughout several months of PT and chiropractic appointments, I had been doing Feldenkrais exercises at home, first via YouTube and then The Balanced Runner Online Camp. It was the only thing that made me feel better, so I decided I would cut everything else out and just do that. I wanted to focus on what I knew was helping ease and prevent the pain and eliminate anything else that might be inadvertently impeding my progress. I signed up for one on one lessons with Jae Gruenke, Feldenkrais practitioner and founder of The Balanced Runner. It was expensive. Painfully expensive. I hesitated. I felt guilty about spending that much money on myself. But I was pretty desperate at that point. And two things convinced me to do it. One, I remembered a conversation I had with my dad where he was complaining about paying co-pays for doctors appointments and I had said "Dad, what better way is there to spend your time and money than on feeling better?" Two, I had an initial free consultation with Jae (I was still on the fence at this point) and she said something about how my body was moving in the best way it could. She did not simply point out all the things that were wrong with my form and movement patterns. Instead she asked me a series of questions about how I felt when I ran and what I could sense happening with various body parts. No shade thrown at any of the medical professionals I saw - I could tell they were trying their hardest to be helpful. But the message I was getting from them, well-intentioned as they were, was that my body was wrong and needed fixing. Finally, here was someone saying the opposite, that my body was doing its best with the information it had and we could help it explore more comfortable and efficient ways of moving. That's why Feldenkrais had resonated with me from the very beginning and I knew that this was the (gentle, curious, non-judgmental, hopeful) approach that I needed. PT and chiro felt like exams I was constantly failing. Feldenkrais felt like a treasure hunt where I was discovering fantastic new things about myself in every lesson. The lessons were focused on running movements, and obviously I was hoping it would help me run pain free. But I'm a process person not a results person. And I knew that whether or not it improved my running, Feldenkrais would help me become more connected to and fully at home in my body. That in and of itself was invaluable.

I thought I had made peace with my body years ago. When I stopped focusing on what I looked like or what I weighed and instead ate whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, based on internal cues instead of external rules. When I stopped focusing on race distances or times and just ran whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, for the joy of movement and exploring the outdoors. I already knew that judging myself or others by appearances or achievements was not in line with my values. But the back pain made me realize I was still judging my body based on its health/abilities and that needed to change. My acceptance of and respect for my body (and all bodies) needs to be unconditional. The white supremacist, patriarchal, capitalist, diet-obsessed culture we live in has created a hierarchy of bodies, as if some bodies are better than others (This is a lie. All bodies are good bodies). Then this false idol of the so-called "ideal body" is used to oppress and profit off people (See the list of books below if you're interested in reading more about this from women far more articulate and knowledgeable than me). Unpacking and challenging internalized fatphobia, racism, sexism, ableism, healthism, etc is lifelong process. I still have much to learn. But once my eyes were opened to all the bullshit lies society inundates us with about how we're supposed to look and act and be, and how harmful that is to everyone, but particularly marginalized groups, I could no longer remain ignorant or complicit. Unintentional harm is still harm.

It's a lot to unlearn. I am still unlearning it. It requires confronting uncomfortable feelings in an open, nonjudgmental way. Feldenkrais helped me approach my physical pain in a similar fashion. The method teaches awareness through mindful movement. There's no stretching or straining. In the lessons, you do only the range of movement that is easy and comfortable for you. I've worked with Jae for several months and I've become so much more connected to and aware of my body parts and how they can move together efficiently. I'd been running with some low grade level of pain for so long that I'd just sort of gotten used to it. After one of the first lessons Jae sent me, I came home crying and Pete thought there was something wrong with me. But I was just so happy to have run a few miles pain-free for the first time in I can't remember how long. I have a lot more to learn, and I still haven't been doing any long distances, but running feels so much more natural and fluid now, like my whole body is moving together harmoniously. I didn't realize how much I had been forcing things before and how much unnecessary effort that was costing me. Some runs are better than others, of course. Because some days I'm more stressed or I haven't slept well or I haven't eaten as much or I have my period (yay so much fun always. sarcasm explosion) or whatever. The difference is I've become so much better at recognizing when something is off and knowing how to give my body/mind whatever is needed, be it nutrients or rest or sleep or saying no to things that I don't want to do.

I still feel aches and pains sometimes. I think that's just part of the experience of aliveness. But it's only on occasion, and not constant anymore. Now I think of pain as a sign, a call for attention and care. It's my body's way of alerting me that my cup is too full, that I'm at my capacity for stressors. That I need to ask questions and figure out where I'm doing too much, either physically, mentally or emotionally. I rest whenever I need to. I try to sleep better, though I am never as good at sleeping as I want to be. I don't push through the pain (and I've unfollowed anything that even hints at a no pain, no gain or similar mentality). I ask my body what it needs. Sometimes (ok, most of the time) I don't understand its language. But I am learning, little by little. To listen instead of ignore. To be curious and compassionate instead of judgmental or shaming. Sometimes I fail and that's ok, I keep trying.

My posture has improved somewhat, but that's a complicated issue. My dad used to encourage me to stand up straight and he'd say "You look like a question mark." It wasn't meant as a criticism. I think it was his way of telling me to stand up for myself, that he was proud of me and I should be proud of myself too. But I was a question mark. I had so many questions. Most people outgrow that toddler phase of asking why about everything. I never did. I didn't know how to be a person in the world. I mean, I knew what kind of person I wanted to be. But I also knew what society expected of me as a woman. And I didn't know how to reconcile the two. I just wanted to be my imperfect human self. I wanted to be a person, not an object or possession. I didn't want to have to owe anyone beauty or thinness or obedience or submission or any of that crap people expect of women. I am a person filled with wildness and weirdness, with strong convictions and sensitive to the suffering of the world. I am sometimes covered in dirt, sometimes covered in dresses. I swear more than the sailor I live with. And I don't care what is or what isn't ladylike because fuck that shit, I'm not here to be ladylike. One day maybe I will have good posture. But I don't think I will ever stop being a question mark. I can't just do things because it's what other people do. I have to ask why and does this align with my values and who profits from this and what are the other options?

So Giraffe Tower and I have been hibernating and Feldenkrais-ing and plumbing the depths of our existential angst or whatever. And mostly avoiding other people, to be honest. It's nothing personal. Either I didn't have the energy to interact with people or I didn't want to burden people with my problems when I know everyone is dealing with their own stuff. Plus, when I have issues to sort out, I need to do it on my own. I need refuge from the noise that is other people's opinions and advice and trying-to-be-helpful-but-unintentionally-making-me-feel-worse. I avoided big group functions, and especially races. The running community is great but it tends to be an environment of constantly doing more and more, whereas I needed to spend some time in a less is more cocoon. Though I feel dramatically better, I'm still working some stuff out and I don't think I'm strong enough yet to withstand people's judgment and comments. Judge away in private if you like, but please don't dump any of that here. I would however, love to hear your own stories, of struggle or success or whatever you want to share. I am always interested in your lives and experiences.

I wrote and re-wrote this many times. I didn't really want to write it at all but I don't want my social media to be a highlight reel, I want it to be real. This is where I've been, where I am and where I'm going. I am imperfect and this is my imperfect life. Maybe some of it will resonate with you, maybe it won't. Either way, thanks for being here. Love from the Tower.

Lyric of the moment: "I'm trying, but I'm graceless. Don't have the sunny side to face this. I am invisible and weightless. You can't imagine how I hate this. Graceless..." ~The National "Graceless" 

P.S. For anyone who's interested, I'd highly recommend these books. I found them to be quite life-changing: "Hunger" by Roxanne Gay / "You Have The Right To Remain Fat" by Virgie Tovar / "The Body Is Not An Apology" by Sonya Renee Tayor / "Shrill" by Lindy West.

Old Forge Half Marathon: Old Asses Half-Assing Old Forge

"Well this is either a great idea or a terrible idea!" I said as Prem and I were running from the rental house to the start of the Old Forge Marathon and Half Marathon. It was Prem's idea to run the two miles as a warm-up. Because running 26.2 miles wasn't enough for him. I only had to run half that distance so I figured a couple more miles couldn't hurt. Or they could hurt but then it would be a funny story afterwards. It was a cool, crisp 50 degrees, ideal running weather. We ran past two ice cream places and the race start/finish area had a giant stuffed moose and bear, so it was already shaping up to be a perfect day.

Thanks to Coach Prem for the warm-up and photo

Jenn, Prem and I had driven to Old Forge in Jenn's Car 'o Fun the night before and met up with Alison, Bob, Todd, Brooke, Mark and Amy at this amazing rental house with 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms and countless moose and bear knickknacks. Whoever decorated this house had a serious commitment to the outdoorsy motif. There was virtually no surface untouched by wood or woodland creatures. We were all up early on Saturday morning. Sleep had been in short supply, due to pre-race anxiety or sleeping in an unfamiliar place with odd noises and hundreds of tchotchke eyes. But coffee, bagels and laughter were plentiful. Prem and I set off on foot and the others followed later by car, bringing our bags with them. I learned two important things: 1) I am too old to sleep in the top bunk of a bunk-bed (though I didn't fall while trying to go down the unstable ladder in the dark so that was a major win) and 2) easy warm-up miles can be very enjoyable and probably even a good idea (though I'm no Prem - for a marathon or ultra, I'm perfectly content to use the first miles of the race itself as a warm-up).

Pre-race, pre-Mark getting dressed for the race.
Photo thanks to Sherpa extraordinaire, Amy!

Waiting around for the start, we were all dancing and goofing around as usual. Prem insisted he was "not racing" (then went on to come in 4th overall!!) Everyone else was sandbagging too, claiming they were unprepared and going to be slow (all lies, everyone was super fast). We called ourselves Old Asses Half-Assing Old Forge. I wasn't thinking of this as a race, just a mini-vacation with tramily in a new-to-me destination. I was happy and relaxed at the start line, having no expectations or goals for the race. Except to make it back alive to my box of Neopolitan JoJos. The course was non-technical and flat, mostly rocky dirt roads with some small rolling hills. I wanted to focus on my form and have a smooth, relaxed stride. Lately I've been working on improving my biomechanics, which are admittedly quite terrible. I have flat feet and my posture is atrocious, from decades of hunching my shoulders inward and attempting to be as invisible as possible. It has taken many years to undo that mindset from the inside out and fixing my posture has been the latest piece of the build-a-better-robot puzzle. I still have a ways to go but maybe one day I'll actually achieve my full height (before I'm old enough to start shrinking).

I started off following Todd and just getting into an easy rhythm with my breathing and steps. Somehow I ended up ahead of him and I worried maybe I was going out too fast, but my legs felt good so I just let them do their thing. I had no idea what pace I was going and it didn't really matter. I wanted to run by effort and feel and didn't care about pace. For a few miles, I ran with a marathoner named Rob and we chatted about our favorite NY state races and our goals (or non-goals) for the day, you know, the typical conversations you have with strangers in the woods. At one point he said it was a flat course and the perfect running weather and encouraged me to just go for it if I felt good. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but apparently my legs decided that was exactly what we were going to do. There was an out and back section where I got to see everyone, then a turnaround at a cone with a giant stuffed bear on it (the bear/moose theme is totally overdone in Old Forge, but I love it), then we were already halfway done and I still felt fresh. While I could definitely feel the effort and some minor aches, my stride felt looser and more effortless than it has in a while and I just kept thinking "Thank you, body for enabling me to do what I love." Bob caught up to me and I got to run with him for a bit. We ran along a cinder-track-like path, and I saw two dogs up ahead who looked familiar. As we got closer I realized it was Beth out running and spectating with Indy and Metta. It was a most awesome surprise!

Photo thanks to Beth! Bob is so fast he's just a blur!

The second half of the course passed as smoothly as the first half had, though now I was in the zone and keeping mostly to myself, just happily ticking off miles. I ran steadily up all the hills and let go on the downhills, not trying to control anything, just allowing my legs to find their own way. At one point I somehow managed to kick a rock into the back of my own right Achilles, which stung for a few steps but I couldn't help but laugh at my stone hacky-sack fail. Since I'd worn my hydration pack and had my own gels, I hadn't needed to stop at any of the aid stations so it had been a continuous and surprisingly fluid grind since the start. Somehow I had just gotten into a groove and stayed there for the full 13 miles. There was one last hill up a paved road, which I crested seamlessly, then sprinted downhill to the finish. I'm sure it didn't look fluid or fast from the outside (I probably looked more like a lumbering elephant), but it sure felt fantastic. I haven't run that far that fast and felt that good in a long time. But that's running - some runs are a pile of crap, some runs are a piece of cake. I like to think the effortless feeling days are the reward for persevering through the sufferfest days. Every day I get to run is a good day, but I am especially grateful for those perfect, relaxed days. It's such a wonderful feeling to glide through the wilds of life, surrounded by your favorite old asses.

Bob, Todd, Jenn and Mark crushed the half and Prem, Alison and Brooke all had super strong marathon finishes. We hung out at the finish area, eating, cheering and dancing until Brooke came in. I think we even made it into the official race video with our dance moves to Salt-N-Pepa's "Shoop." After the race there was a lot of eating, euchre playing, exploring Old Forge/Webb, laughing, hilarious picture taking and more eating. Warm-up miles and cool-down dancing may become my new race routine because it really helped limit the typical post-race soreness.

We did it!

Shenanigans

Sunday morning, Jenn, Alison, Prem, Todd, Brooke, Boden and I did the 2ish mile hike up and down Bald Mountain, which had beautiful views and a cool fire tower to climb at the top. Then it was time to clean up and head home, with full, happy hearts and stomachs.

Bald Mountain

Of course we have to climb it

All the thanks to the RDs, volunteers and runners who make events like this possible. And infinity of thanks and love to my tramily for filling my life with so many adventures and so much awesomeness. I know one day my running escapades will end, but until then I'm going to savor every wild, weird, wonderful moment of the terrible, awful, beautiful, amazing torture paradise that is distance running.

Lyric of the moment: "I don't recall a single care. Just greenery and humid air. Then Labor Day came and went. And we shed what was left of our summer skin..." ~Death Cab For Cutie "Summer Skin"

Green Lakes 50K: Colonel Mustard with the vinegar next to the penis

The short version: We were carrying our stuff back to the car after the race and I said excitedly "I pet a dog! It was a white boxer with one blue eye and one brown eye. It was so cute!" Pete, who already knew this, as I had mentioned it several times before, said "That's your takeaway from today - you pet a dog?" "Honey," I replied "The last loop of this race, I ate: a packet of mustard, Mountain Dew with a pickle juice chaser and an Oreo - that's gross. All my cells are broken. The dog was the best part of my race."

The long version: "Fuck!" I exclaimed. I'd meant to mutter it under my breath but the excruciating pain radiating from my calf had made it come out louder than I'd intended. It was mile 23. I'd been trying to stretch my calves, which had been twitchy since my third loop, on a log at the side of the trail. Now the left calf was charlie horsing hardcore. I couldn't move, I couldn't get the muscle cramp to subside. A cascade of thoughts rushed through my brain. What did I do wrong? I took Huma gels early on, then salt tabs, then pickle juice. I drank a lot of water. Maybe my mitochondria have gone on strike, they're just like we have formed a union and we're done with this running for hours bullshit. I'm going to have to call Pete to come get me. Well, back in the day I did "run" the last 8 miles of a road marathon with pretty much every muscle in my body cramping. So I could totally run through this. Maybe I could, but do I want to? I think I'm just not cut out to be an ultrarunner. It shouldn't feel this hard. Maybe I've forgotten how to run. Maybe my body just can't do it anymore. But I want to do it. It's my favorite thing to do. 

And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Green Lakes 50K is a 4 loop course in the beautiful Green Lakes State Park. I cannot overstate how gorgeous this park is. The trails are well groomed and very runable (well, if your muscles are contracting properly). The loop takes you past the clear blue-greenish waters of Green Lake and Round Lake, then up to the grassy field area called The Serengeti (because it gets super hot when the sun is beating down. I was hoping Toto's Africa would be playing during this part, but sadly that only happened in my head). I signed up for this race because I just really wanted to see the park. And because Valone said he was doing it. Pete was looking at the park map because he was planning to mountain bike up to the far aid station and I pointed to the route and explained "Here's the course: run around a penis, then a ball, then weird Texas."

Course map: Penis, Ball, Weird Texas

We drove to Syracuse on Friday after work and stayed at the Econo Lodge, which I'd picked because it was close to the park and cheap. We'd only be there to sleep basically and I never sleep well before races so I wanted to pay as little as possible for a place to not sleep well. Pete was unhappy with this choice. He is not a fan of the dingy, crime scene-esque motel room. I was just like "It's fine. Probably no one has been murdered here." We were not in fact murdered there. And the front desk lady who checked us in was super friendly and nice.

The 50K and 100K races both started at 6am. The first mile was magical. It was a cool 65 degrees and I felt great, running through the woods watching the sunrise over the lakes. For most of this loop I was chatting with two guys running the 100K (because that's how fast the people at this race are - their 100K pace is my 50K pace). Running and talking to people are my favorite things, so anytime I get to do both is fantastic. The first loop went by fast. Probably too fast for me. When I saw the time on the clock as I passed the timing mats, it was way faster than I was expecting so I told myself I should slow down. Evidently I did not listen to myself, since my second loop ended up being in about the same time as the first. I kept telling myself to run my own race, but then I would get distracted talking to people.

During the second loop I was chatting with two ladies about how it's unfair that women have to worry about running alone in the woods. I said "Why are there so many self defense classes for women but there aren't any 'Don't be a creepy rapist/murderer/kidnapper' classes for men? I mean obviously other than the fact that no one would go to a class with that name." They were moving along faster than me and eventually I dropped back to do my own thing. I'd missed Pete on the first loop because he'd gone up to the Serengeti to see me but I'd gone through too fast. So I texted him that I was on my second loop. When I went though the finish line on loop two, he was waiting for me and showed me where he had set up the tent (while we were out on loop one, Pete and Lisa had set up all our stuff for us. They are the best!)

Things were starting to hurt at this point, but I grabbed some food and water from the aid station, put in my headphones and just got in the "this is painful but it's fine" zone. As I was showering at the Murder Motel the night before the race, I was nervous about running my first ultra in over a year and unintentionally ended up giving myself an internal pep-talk: I just don't want to have a miserable experience tomorrow. Well, that's totally up to you. You don't know what's going to happen, but you get to decide how you feel about it. Maybe I was just trying to distract myself from thinking about what else may have happened in that motel shower. But whatever, it worked. When I got to the Serengeti the third time, Pete was waiting for me on his mountain bike. He rode along side me for a bit and I asked him to please stop videoing me. I wanted to tell him that I was hurting and I didn't want to complain on video. I told him I wasn't made for ultrarunning like other people are and he was just like "You're running an ultra right now. You're doing great!" I asked him if he would meet me at the main aid station and help me refill my hydration pack (why do my hands always stop working correctly after like 20 miles?). I told him about my twitchy calves and he said he would make sure to find me some pickles. Seeing husband man was a big morale boost and I made it back to finish the third loop still moving pretty well. Pete refilled my hydration pack while a super awesome volunteer poured me some pickle juice and I headed out for one.more.loop.

Photos by my favorite husband man

And then I got to mile 23 and the "Fuck!" heard 'round the penis. As I'm thinking my race is over, a runner behind me asked what happened and I told him that my calf has seized up. He pulled a packet of mustard out of his pack and told me to swish it around in my mouth, explaining that the vinegar would trick my brain into unclenching the muscle. At this point I would have eaten whatever magic beans he was handing out, so I did what he said. And it worked. My calf loosened and I could move again. I thanked him and started running cautiously. Colonel Mustard saved me with the vinegar next to the penis lake! I didn't get his name, but I saw him after the race and thanked him again profusely. I jogged along gingerly, not wanting to anger my calf again, and every mile or so I would suck on a bit of mustard and sing "Relax" by Frankie Goes To Hollywood in my head. I drank some more pickle juice at the Serengeti aid station. By this point I'd ingested so much vinegar I was practically pickled. My last time through the Serengeti seemed to take for.ev.er. It was hot and sunny out at this point, and my pace was basically that of a pickle as well. My calves were still kinda twitchy but I kept pleading with them to hold up for just a 10K, just a 5K, just one more mile, and thankfully they obliged. I kept myself occupied making hilarious (to me) penis jokes. Oh man, it's so hot here. I can't wait until I get to the shady penis. That's what she said. No, no one has ever said that. Finally I left the Serengeti for the last time, made my way past the ball lake and then the penis lake (Which seemed to get longer and longer with each loop. Guess it was a grower.), then around the beach, past the parking lot, and up the paved path to the finish line. I was so tired I kept running even after I crossed the finish line. I just wanted to get to and hug Pete.

I didn't die!

Physically, I felt terrible for much of this race, but mentally I was just so happy to be out there. Every time I hit a rough patch where my cells forgot how to work or whatever, I'd see someone that would lift my spirits: Valone and Shari out on the course, crushing it; Mintz and mini Mintz out cheering and volunteering; another woman in toucan shorts!; a man with a giraffe tattoo on his calf!; a ton of awesome people just out running and hiking and SUP yoga-ing in the park, So! Many! Dogs! I may not be cut out for this endurance running shit, but I'm going to keep doing it for as long as I am alive. Because my whole life has been an ultramarathon. Sometimes excruciatingly painful, always beautiful and awesome and filled with the most amazing people.

I spent about as much time running as I did hanging out at the park afterwards. The finish area was great, right next to the beach. I did a lot of walking around (to the lake to put my legs in the cool water, to pet cute dogs I saw, to get more snacks and beverages, to wash the salt off my skin - I was sooo salty), laying around awkwardly on top of the foam roller, and hanging out with Pete and Lisa. Pete introduced me to Tammy, who had set up camp next to us and was crewing for her husband. She and her husband had done Mind the Ducks and I told her I'd banana-ed there this year and she said excitedly "I have a video of you on my phone!" then showed us a video from MTD of Bob and I dancing in our monkey and banana outfits. Small world! I got to pet a white boxer with one blue eye and one brown eye! And his little dog friend, Solo, who I was told is friendly, but doesn't like it if you turn your back to him and walk away, so you have to walk away facing him. I got to see Shari and Tom and Valone finish - they were all amazing! My race execution was as imperfect as possible, but it was a perfect day. And I lied before. The white boxer was not the best part of the day. The best part was being surrounded by love. The love of running through the woods with friends and strangers who immediately become friends. The love of my favorite husband man, who is game for all my weird adventures. The love that exudes from every pore of Valone and Lisa. Watching Valone finish having given everything he had to this race, and run to hug Lisa then all of us, was better than 1,000 dogs.

Rockstars

My cells refused to work properly for this race. But I had a good outfit, a good attitude and good friends. And most of the time, that's enough. Additional thanks to a terrific RD, lovely volunteers and a gorgeous state park.

Until next time, my friends. May there be so many next times.

Lyric of the moment: "I do it for the joy it brings. Because I'm a joyful girl. Because the world owes me nothing. And we owe each other the world. I do it because it's the least I can do. I do it because I learned it from you. And I do it just because I want to. Because I want to..." ~Ani DiFranco "Joyful Girl" (There are so many answers to the question of why I love running for hours and hours. But mostly, it is this.)

The stories behind the miles

I ran 50 miles this week. It's just a number. It's a lot and it isn't a lot, depending on who you ask. A lot is relative. I will humbly defer to others to tell the stories of long distances and fast paces and amazing runs because they do it far better than I ever could. And the story I want to tell is not that I ran 50 miles this week. It's that it took me over a year to get back here and in that time I did more not running than running.

The last ultramarathon I ran was the inaugural Many on the Genny in June 2017. The next morning I found out that my dad had died suddenly. Then I got plantar fasciitis, was in denial about it for a bit, then finally took some time off to rest and heal. I did yoga and strength training and climbed the Jacobs Ladder. I got a road bike and Pete and I biked around a bunch of lakes. I fell off the bike, cried, declared that I was never riding a bike again, the promptly got back on the bike (since we were still 15 miles from the car at that point). I ran slowly and built my mileage back up very slowly. Most importantly, I lived. I laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed. I grieved and I loved and I let myself be loved. I volunteered and banana-ed and walked on stilts. Of course I missed running when I wasn't running. I missed it deeply. But my life was full of other things - running was just one temporarily missing piece. I knew it would be there for me when my body was ready for it again. And I knew that the better I was at resting, the sooner I would be able to run pain-free. Even when I started running again, I only ran 3 days a week, then 4 days a week, then occasionally 5 days a week max. I did all the other things I wanted to do. I rested at least one day a week, two if I needed it. I was conscious about giving myself an abundance of sleep and nutrients and especially compassion. Experience gives you perspective and this time I knew that my body was right. I needed this time off, to do other things, to feel all my complicated, overwhelming feelings and not run away from them. It sucked, of course. I would never choose injury if given the choice. But this wasn't my first time at the terrible no good very bad rodeo and this time I had promised myself I would do it better.

I read my old posts from when I had tendonitis in 2012 and they were depressing as fuck. But years later I can laugh about it. Because I now know it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. My doctor at the time (who was awesome and reminded me of The Dude) had said "Are you sad because your ankle hurts or does your ankle hurt because you're sad?" And he was right. I was so sad I couldn't run because I needed running as an escape from my life. I needed to be a runner because I was failing at being in a relationship and instead of realizing there was something wrong with the relationship I was in at the time, I kept thinking there was something wrong with me. But I learned. Slowly, painfully I learned. I made friends with cross-training and strength training and trails and myself. I followed my heart to the places and the people that made me feel happy and alive, that accepted me for who I was and didn't make me feel like I had to shrink myself down to fit their version of what I should be. Injury #1 in 2012 led me to the trails, to my tramily and to Pete. Injury #2 in 2017 led me to embrace rest instead of resist it. And that's the story. Not that I happened to run 50 miles this week. But everything that led me to it - the people and the lessons and the person I became along the way. That's where the magic is.

But since you're here, there are stories I want to tell about this week too. It was an especially awesome week in a summer of awesome weeks. Some nights I stayed up way late. Some nights I went to bed at 7:30pm. I hit my highest mileage in over a year and didn't even do a "long run." I wasn't following a training plan, I was just living my life. I got to run four 5ish mile runs between 6:00am on Saturday and 1:00am on Sunday and hang out with my friends all night at Mighty Mosquito relay. I got to run solo miles at Cobb's Hill. I got to run with Eric and Sheila at Letchworth and it felt like all the very best parts of who I used to be and all the things I'm looking forward to all wrapped up into one gorge and rainbow and bug filled run. I got to run our usual Thursday morning breakfast club run (where we meet at 5:00am and run to kill time until the bakery opens at 6:00am).

And this morning, alone in the dark at Corbett's Glen, I was trying to reassure myself that the glowing eyes illuminated by my headlamp were from something cute and probably uninterested in attacking me. Or at least from something smaller than me. Then my face hit every single spider web in the whole damn park (ewwww. and also, sorry my spider dudes for wrecking your dark web). Something reminded me of my dad and I teared up for a moment. This is the feeling that I could never name. It feels like sadness and heartbreak and gratitude and aliveness. And in that moment I realized that heartbreak is not your heart failing and crumbling into pieces, it's your heart bursting open, expanding so that more love can get in and be given out. It's everything there is. Then I felt a weird knot in my right glute and I was like is that what a piriformis is? Like a butt knot? (Trying to remember the names of body parts is like being introduced to 10 people simultaneously at a party. I will immediately forget all your names and then have to make up nicknames for you in my head until you friend request me on Facebook. Sorry, I am terrible). At that moment, I saw two large rocks up ahead and then this happened:

Me: I could massage my glute on that rock! Is that weird?
Also Me: Yes. So weird. But also kind of ingenious.
(Sits on rock and rocks back and forth using the rock like a natural foam roller. Not like I actually know how to use a foam roller. I mostly just lay on it until it gets all wrapped up in my clothes and I give up).
Still Me: Good thing it's 5:30am and no one else is here to see you looking like a spiderweb covered, rock grinding weirdo in the woods!
(Laughs hysterically at own self. Oddly, glute feels better, from the rock or the laughter? We may never know. Runs home to tell everyone on the internet about it).

And it's only Friday. There is so much more adventuring to do this weekend. So many new stories to be made. I'm so excited I can hardly wait.

Photo by Eric Eagan

Photo by Sheila Eagan

Photo by a table at the Village Bakery

Lyric of the moment: "I see your soul shine through to your eyes, when you're here. The moment you stop looking, wherever you go, you'll be in the right place. You'll never know the difference it makes, when you let go, and give up the chase. I'll come find you one of these days..." ~Vance Joy "One Of These Days"

Mighty Mosquito 99: The Return of Team Toucan

It's 3:00am on Sunday and Brooke and I are sneaking into my house to take showers, while trying not to wake up Pete. The first time I met Brooke, I asked her if she wanted to be on our Mighty Mosquito team (I am bad at small talk, what can I say?). Fast forward three Mighty Mosquito Relays later and she's showering at my house at 3:00am. So be careful what you say yes to, my friends. One minute you're like why is this person I just met asking me to run a 99 mile relay? And the next, you're a lifelong member of Team Toucan and the phrase Gold Bond Bonfire makes perfect sense to you. 

This year, the Blue Foundation took over Mighty Mosquito from TrailsRoc. The format was the same: 3 different 5ish mile loops in Mendon Ponds Park that total 99 miles, with a relay and a solo option (for the super-humans out there). The start/finish area was at Stewart Lodge and everyone had set up their tent in the fields around the lodge. Team Toucan this year was comprised of Captain Todd, Bob, Steven, Brooke, Stacey, me and our volunteers extraordinaire Alison, Cassie and Boden.

The relay start wasn't until noon, but I woke up early on Saturday, restless and a little stiff. I ran a few easy shakeout miles around my neighborhood around 6:00am, then ate breakfast, packed up my car and met the team at Mendon around 11:00am. We scored a sweet shady spot under a big tree and set up tents, chairs, Steven's kiddie pool full of ice, and a most excellent snack buffet. Team Toucan's order of runners was: Me, Brooke, Stacey, Steven, Bob, then Todd. I like going first in relays because that was always my position in track relays and it feels the most comfortable to me. I think you're supposed to put one of your fastest runners first, which I am not, but I did the best I could with the day I had (which is all any of us can do). I can only describe the loops from my own perspective of them, but Brooke, Stacey, Steven, Bob and Todd are all super strong runners and they crushed their miles like the badasses they are. 

I was the first runner and I headed out on the pink loop at 12:00pm under a bright, hot sun (89 degrees and super high humidity). The first loop was basically the Mendon 10K loop in reverse, so some long gradual uphills and some steepish downhills. I started off running the hills but my breathing was heavy due to the heat and humidity and I hit an early low point where I thought why do I do this, why do I run? That thought happens at least once in every race, but usually it's much later on. Then my brain was all, this is fun, you're doing this for fun, also let's not get heatstroke today! So I started walking the hills to keep my heart rate down. It's not like we were trying to win anything, but I still wanted to get my team off to a decent start. I'm usually better at uphills, but in the heat that wasn't happening. So I tried to go faster on flats and downhills to make up time. Racing down Kitty Litter hill was slightly terrifying but I turned off the fear part of my brain and just let my legs do their thing. I think this is the first race ever where I haven't been passed by any dudes on a downhill. Also, all my bones and blood stayed on the inside so that made me happy. One day I will actually learn how to run downhill well. I finished the first loop in an hour, then Brooke and Stacey crushed their pink loops. We were sitting around our tent camp eating and chatting when we got a text from Steven: "Did I get lost? Think I am on orange." Which was hilarious because it's so Steven (and we love Steven). Instead of going left up the hill and across the road following the pink flags, he had gone straight and done the orange (third) loop instead. When he finished, he told the race directors he had gone the wrong way and they were very chill about it. They said the first and third loops were similar distance and elevation so it was fine. Bob and Todd were super fast on their pink loops and then it was my turn again.

I headed out on the blue loop around 6:00pm in just a sports bra and toucan shorts. I don't typically run without a shirt, but Brooke and Stacey had taken off their shirts for their loops, plus a bunch of guys were running shirtless. It was far too hot and too much of a waste of time to care what I looked like. Thankfully, it was a little cooler and a lot flatter and I felt good so I pushed the pace a little. I had a side stitch for pretty much the entirety of this loop, and the whole rest of the day, which was super annoying, but my legs felt good so I didn't let it slow me down. I was cruising for the first 3.5 miles, then the course went off trail into a bushwacking section that was too long for my tastes. I slowed down during this part since I didn't want to fall and impale myself on any sticks. Finally I heard some volunteers cheering and they told me to watch out for the yellow shirt on the ground, which was covering up a sketchy fence. It was too late, as I had already tripped on the fence, but at least I didn't fall. After crossing the road, another volunteer told me to run across the bridge, then make a U-turn and run through the pond. "Does everyone have to do this or do I just look super sweaty?" I asked. She laughed and said everyone had to do it. I could have done without that part too, since my shoes were then wet for the rest of the night. But I was lucky to do this loop in the light. Some people had to do it in the dark and that would have been much harder. Poor Bob ended up running extra miles on this loop because there was no volunteer there when he ran over the bridge, so he and several other runners kept going straight instead of making the turn into the water. Lots of people ended up getting lost on the course throughout the day and night, but surprisingly I was not one of them. I have a terrible sense of direction. I never know where I am. But my knowledge of my weaknesses almost becomes a strength in races because I'm hyper-vigilant about following flags. Also, I'm not fast so I have more time to make sure I'm on the right path and to notice if I haven't seen a flag in a while. There were a few times I started to get anxious that maybe I was off course, but just then I would see a flag and be reassured I was on the right track. I think the course was well-marked, but it can be hard to follow even a well-marked course in the dark or when your brain is all foggy and tired from doing more running than sleeping.

Around midnight, I headed out on the orange loop. I was nervous about falling or getting lost in the dark, but once I got out there I was fine. Except for the side stitch that had been plaguing me all day and had now become like an entire abdomen stitch. Not cool, but what can you do except keep going? This loop seemed to go by faster than the others. Or maybe I was just dreaming about taking a shower afterward. A couple times up and down Cardiac Hill (which I actually don't mind because it's pretty much inevitable at this point - I've been climbing this hill since high school cross country), over to Devil's Bathtub and then back to Stewart Lodge. When Brooke finished her last loop, we went to my house to shower quick, then headed back to Mendon. I had made a little sleep cubby in my hatchback and managed to get about an hour and a half of sleep before the daylight and my aching knees woke me up (I am too tall to sleep in my tiny car apparently. My knees were not happy about being curled up in the fetal position and not having room to stretch out.) While Todd was running his last loop, we took down our tent camp and started packing up, then headed to the finish to cheer him in. And to see the first female solo finisher in the history of MM99! Amazing!

While the running is fun and Mendon trails are beautiful, the best part of this race is the hanging out in between loops. It's like a giant, sweaty slumber party. Unless you're with Steven and he gives you Gold Bond powder and calls it an 'army shower.' In which case it's a slightly less sweaty slumber party. I got in about 20 miles of running but I did a lot more hanging out, eating, laughing and peeing. Normally, I'm in bed by 9:00pm but partying it up with my tramily was well worth the lost sleep. I'm going to need another weekend to recover from my weekend, but I would totally do this race again in the future. Good friends, good trails, good times in toucan shorts. It is such a luxury to live this life. 

Lyric of the moment: "All the crazy shit I did tonight. Those will be the best memories. I just wanna let it go for the night. That would be the best therapy for me..." ~David Guetta "Memories"

In front of the table

Monday morning, my alarm went off and I was already an hour into my run. I'd woken up super early, full of energy for some reason (that reason was probably that I fell asleep well before the sun set on Sunday). I was running some solo miles at Cobbs Hill and the lights encircling the reservoir gave me two shadows, a lighter one and a darker one. It struck me as funny, like I was being shadowed by past versions of me. I've been running Cobbs since high school cross country (in the 90s! For real, I am that old). Every apartment or house I've lived in as an adult has been within running distance of the park. There are so many past versions of me running countless miles and countless hill repeats there. Alone. With friends. At all hours of the day and night. But the version of me I'm always seeking when I go there is the one that's an unstoppable force. It's this underlying force of grit and determination and stubbornness. But it's also a force of optimism and love and infinite gratitude. I never knew where it came from, I just knew it was always there, whenever I needed it. As my feet and mind wandered around and around, up and down, I was thinking about some of the low points in my life and I realized those were the times that led me to the high points, and especially to the all the very best people.

Then on the RIO radio show Monday night, we were talking about running an aid station and Eric said the difference between a good aid station and a great aid station is that at a great aid station, the volunteers are out in front of the table instead of behind it. They're not waiting for the runners to come up to them, they're out greeting runners as they come in, taking their water bottles to fill and asking what they need. It really resonated with me, because looking back on my life, I've been extremely fortunate to know so many in-front-of-the-table people. Parents, friends, strangers, dogs (dogs are actually beyond in-front-of-the-table - they're at jumping-all-over-you-like-you're-the-best-thing-they've-ever-seen level). In the ultra of my life, all the aid stations I stumbled into, tired and starving and achy and crying, were filled with all these amazing people who asked what I needed, or just knew what I needed even when I didn't know myself. And Eric's words resonated with me because that's the kind of person I want to be. I want to tap into that unstoppable force and be filled with so much happiness and gratitude and love of life that I can spend as much time as possible out in front of the table, passing it on. I want to be better so that I have more to give back. If you run enough, if you live enough, you will hit low points. You will face struggles and pain and you will wonder if you have what it takes to go on. You do. You most definitely do. Here, come into this aid station. You look great, you can do this. Here's some water, here's some snacks, here's a high five. What do you need?

Lyric of the moment: "Sometimes a bolt of light comes through the sadness. That there is a reason for the madness. And somehow it stirs a joy within me. And I understand that the root of pain is beauty...In my dreams you are alive and breathing..." ~Youth Group "In My Dreams"

Unconventional training methods

I'm not a strict planner. Because I'm just here to run and live and those things rarely go as planned. So instead of making rigid plans, I've focused on becoming more comfortable with uncertainty, more flexible and friendlier towards failure. It's also my natural inclination to do things little by little, consistently (ok, relentlessly) so if there are changes I want to make in my running or my life, I start taking little steps in that direction, trying and failing and readjusting until I get where I want to be (or somewhere totally unexpected that turns out to be most excellent). Since I don't care about things like distances and times, conventional training plans don't really appeal to me. Sure, I want to become a better runner, just like I want to become a better partner/friend/human. It's just that to me "better" doesn't mean I need to achieve a certain time or distance goal, it means growing stronger, wiser, and especially kinder. It means being able to run (and bike and chin-up and stilt walk) but also being able to rest. It means working hard and playing hard, and getting plenty of nutrients and sleep. It means doing what is right for my body and brain (sometimes that differs from what other people are doing). It means racing when I feel like it but also volunteering/banana-ing. And there's no training plan for that. So I've sort of made my own. It's not really a plan per se, more like little challenges to push myself out of my comfort zone and in the general direction of increased awesomeness.

Some of my unconditional training methods are:

Dancing. At home. At the Silent Disco. Wherever. I'm a terrible dancer, but if I like the music, I don't care what anyone else thinks about my severe lack of dancing ability. I just get out there and do my terrible dance moves and have a great time. And to think all it took was enduring several decades of extreme awkwardness and self-consciousness! Seriously though, in time I learned how to care about people without caring what people think about me. I also recommend owning toucan shorts, a banana costume and a giant giraffe. Or whatever it is that you're into. The truth is, when you embrace the things that bring you joy, you'll be too busy enjoying yourself to worry if other people think it's weird/wrong/a horrible, terrible fashion mistake.

Going to the dreaded spin class. There's this one spin class at the gym that I really dislike. I dislike the music. I dislike that the instructor yells into the microphone. (It's a tiny room, you have a microphone - the sole purpose of which is to amplify your voice. You don't need to yell). I dislike that the instructor says a lot of diet-mentality things. But I go to this class occasionally and practice tuning out all the noise (the literal noise and the figurative noise of "wellness" "advice" that is basically just eating disorder behavior wearing a shitty disguise). I practice doing my own thing, going my own speed and deliberately not following the instructions. When it feels uncomfortable (or when my brain is all maybe the instructor is upset that you're not doing what she says or maybe other people in the class think you're weak and out of shape), I just let it pass. There is so much noise out there. Listening to it made me sad. Trying to obey it made me miserable. Realizing that most of it was lies and bullshit and letting it go made me happy (and also healthy, so there's that). The more I practice seeing the noise for what it is and following my own path instead, the easier it gets.

Doing other things besides running. Yes, running is the best. No, nothing else makes me feel the way that running does. But the purpose of this is to cultivate a life outside of running so that my identity doesn't depend on being a runner. As a bonus, it gets me to do a lot of new things and not worry about being terrible at them (not that I'm not terrible at running, but after 20+ years I'm slightly less terrible at it now than when I first started running). There's a lot of freedom in being a beginner (or starting an old thing anew). There's no pressure or expectation at succeeding so I'm more likely to take risks and less likely to feel embarrassed or self-conscious. And honestly, that space is where most of the magic in life happens.

Climbing the Jacobs Ladder (this machine at the gym that is basically a neverending ladder to nowhere). I love it. I don't know why exactly, it's kind of meditative in a way. Or maybe I just really like climbing on things. So about once a week, I climb to nowhere for however long I want. Some days that's 20 minutes. Some day it's about 68 minutes, which is how long it takes me to get to 5280 ft (and about how long I can go before the ladder rungs get sweaty/slippery. I know, so hawt). I don't think this is providing me with any running-specific fitness gains but it's fun to put in my headphones and just climb to nowhere. One time I turned my head to wipe sweat that was about to go in my eye off on my arm (so classy) and I happened to catch my reflection in the gym window. My calves looked legit jacked and I thought cool. My arms looked almost like they were actually partially composed of muscles and I thought cool. My thighs looked all cellulite-y and I was like cool cool cool. Ok, so I had been watching a lot of Community reruns at the time. But still. I was having such a good time climbing and listening to my jams that I totally did not care whether my body failed to live up to someone else's beauty standards. And suddenly I realized I can do this all the time. Cellulite? Cool. Bruises? Scratches? Cool cool cool. Poison ivy rash? Damnit! Not cool. Not cool at all. Well, it's a work in progress. One rung at a time I guess.

Other weirdness, I mean 'training': Tree climbing, lawn mowing, lion taming,
Vitamin D making with George

Lyric of the moment: "At seventeen, I started to starve myself. I thought that love was a kind of emptiness. And at least I understood then the hunger I felt. And I didn't have to call it loneliness. We all have a hunger...Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen..." ~Florence And The Machine "Hunger"