A Weekend in The Woods

Who knows who will ever read this. There is a part of me that hopes it is many. And there is a larger part of me that is scared to death because I have no idea where this is going.

Listen to your body. Listen to your heart. And make sure you listen to your voice as it says words you’ve buried deep within yourself for far too long. 

Sometimes the training, while faltering at times, comes together. The nutrition is right, the time has been put in. But on race morning, the ends don’t all quite match up or meet, and you’re left on the side of the trail hoping your legs stay under you, and you’ve got enough left to get to the next aid station. 

I wanted to hope I was tough enough. I wanted to hope that the hills I climbed when I only had 4 hours of sleep and about 60 miles on my legs from the week prior had calloused me in a way I could only dream.  I wanted to hope those mornings, when I would have rather hit my snooze button, but instead slipped on my dirty shoes, and created blisters on my heels because I went just a mile more, would have all kept me going past a point of pain and hurt. 

There is a pain runners really don’t talk about though. We can all discuss the agony that is climbing a two-mile long ascent that never ceases and causes everything to burn and ache, even still for days after. We can talk about pushing past the point of exhaustion and fatigue to hit that second, third, maybe even fourth wind.

But no one talks about the heartache.

I tried to push. And I kept trying. I was lucky enough to sing in the woods with one of my best friends, she kept me going. I was lucky enough to hear the words of encouragement from those I admire for their strength and courage. I was lucky enough to stay standing through 16.7 miles before my legs just wouldn’t stand up anymore. And I was lucky enough to hold on until I got home to really let my emotions crumble and break and let it all come out.

This summer was one of my most difficult summers. I struggled. More than I thought I would be able to handle. And I had a break down or two. But I had running. I went into the woods and I ran deliberately, purposefully, and I left my heart on so many trails and roads. I ran myself into the ground. 

This summer was hard. I worked. A lot. I slept a little. I was in the car after miles run to get to work on time through three hours of traffic from home to my new home. I missed a lot of time in that car; way too much time thinking and creating in my head scenarios to worry. But I had to be tough. If I made it to the finish line, it would all be ok.

Struggle is a word I don’t want to throw around lightly. And I don’t even want to say it, as it tastes like vinegar on my lips when I even write it out on the page. I feel weak just admitting that I have problems. That I don’t have my life handled the way I would like to. But I am making strides. Literally and figuratively.

Unfortunately for me, it caught me on the day that I wanted most to go right. The day I had hoped would be. 

I tried to do everything the same. It had worked before. Same meals, same socks, same hair-do. If I had a constant, I wouldn’t be as worried about the variables: Was my training enough? Should I have gone another mile that one day in the rain? Or should I have stopped earlier?

Through four miles, I felt off and was having a hard time getting a rhythm. But I was with a group of strong women whom I one day hope to run a little farther with. Through four miles I was hanging on and making plans in my head on what course of action to take, and still positive I could keep going, but would have to adjust the race plan. And then I found myself hands on my knees, gasping for air between awful feelings of nausea, pain, and my whole plan out the window. 

I saw a friend, and I tried to be positive, but it was obvious on my face that I was not doing well.

“Just have a great day in the woods, Meegs.”

Positive. Get your mind positive, I thought as I rounded onto the bridge and hoping for relief.

The cheers from the volunteers gave me a boost, and I tried to sink the feeling of my stomach churning deeper down and out of my body. If only you could do that. 

My legs gave me a little more as I gulped down some electrolytes and tried to keep myself from burping. But just another mile or so I saw myself turning and spitting most of that back up and out. It was like I was floating back and forth, in body to out of body. Quickly, and all at once, my legs lost everything. I felt weak in the knees, and not the exciting kind when you see your crush ahead and smile your way. No, this was going to be a long run. Luckily I had some food with me, and I had gotten electrolyte drink at the aid station. There was still enough. As long as I could keep getting it into my system I would be able to keep going. Probably not my smartest thought ever. I got my legs moving forward. I tried to keep the momentum, tried to think positively. I started praying. And I just kept praying; every prayer I ever learned in grade school, every prayer said at Friday mass, every worship song that came to mind. 

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me. 

I asked my Grandpa for help. I remembered the pictures that line my walls of his smiling face; I remembered the time he taught me how to swing a golf club, pitch a baseball, and cast a fishing pole. I remembered the time I held his hand as he struggled for breath. And all I wanted was his hand to hold as I was struggling with mine. 

I passed through Aid 2 feeling less than adequate, but with all intentions to finish. My heart was hurting, my eyes were blurry, and I still was having a hard time keeping nutrients. I got to a really low point. A point I honestly don’t remember. Things became fuzzy. Life was hazy and blurry. All I was trying to do was enjoy a day in the woods. I just wanted to get to the next aid station. I wanted to see my friends. I wanted to stop hurting. 

“Buck up Buttercup!!”

It came from behind me, and I smiled, choking back tears.

“What do you need?”

I didn’t want to ask for help. I didn’t want to admit I needed it. But more importantly I didn’t even know what I needed.

“I don’t know. I can’t… I don’t know.”

“You’re tough as nails girl.”

We sang. We yelled cheerful thoughts, and I choked back everything I had until she rounded a corner. I was so happy to see her, striving and thriving through a quick-footed section of the course. I would see her at the finish. Somehow.

I was asked by others if I was ok, and told that if I were going to fall I was to yell really loudly.

I promised as much.

An eternity went by and I saw no one I recognized at the next aid station as I stumbled in. 

“Are you ok?”

That is an awful question to ask anyone, especially at the halfway mark of an ultra-marathon.

How did I even answer this? I filled my water bottle with more electrolytes, and stepped off the trail and sat down on the ground. And I just cried. I let it all fall onto that dirt road in the middle of the woods. And they let me do it. 

Volunteers came and checked on me, got me into a chair, wrapped me into a sweatshirt. A really cute paramedic came and checked on me. He offered to give me a ride to the finish. But I wouldn’t be able to leave for a while. Then someone I had only met the night before offered to give me a ride. He held my hand as we walked to the car, and told me he understood everything I was feeling. And I could say whatever I wanted. 

So I helped him crew for his wife for the rest of the race. I stood on shaky legs, holding it all together just for a little longer. I watched an inspiration come through the aid stations and race herself, and fight through the tough times. She looked at me and I could see the sadness in her face as she realized for me that I would not be finishing. She walked over and hugged me.

“You’ve got this lady.”

Her husband ran with her across the bridge, I followed behind, wrapping the sweatshirt closer to me. Even on a ninety degree day I was chilled and tired. As I got to the end of the bridge I saw a man in a color I recognized. I had seen it for many runs over the summer, and it was a most welcome sight.

He raised his arms above his head and waved.

“I found you!”

He reached his arms around me, one underneath my arm, picking me up as I just fell into him. I started crying again, and I said I was sorry.

“I know the feeling.”

I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. And that was ok. He helped me back to the car, and I just kept trying to stay strong. I told him what I remembered and what was happening. He got me back to the finish and we found our friends.

The woman I admire most grabbed me and squeezed so tight. I was so happy for her, and I wish I had been able to see her finish. I wish I could have been there for her, just as she was for me.

Let it flow. 

We tried to talk it all out. And I tried not to cry in front of everyone. They checked on me as I was trying to eat. Finally the only thing that sat somewhat all right was Cherry Garcia ice cream. Luckily, ice cream is my love language. 

We swam, we ate. I was quiet. And just tried to think and get myself back.

I sat through all the texts the next day, asking how it all went. I had to answer back and tell them I had to drop out. I got back much love. Much affection. And I have plans to come back stronger.

It is hard to sift through the pieces and figure out things that went wrong. Maybe it didn’t go wrong, but it just didn’t come together. It is hard to work so hard, put in so many hours, and see it slip right out of your hands and into the woods. The woods you wanted to have fun in. Life hits, goals get pushed, and sometimes you just have to realize you’re tougher than that.

I wouldn’t have come out of the woods had it not been for friends; had it not been for their hands on mine, their jokes with dinner, and the knowledge of finding the best avocado in store.

I’m trying to sleep. I am trying to write. I am trying.

I’ll be there. And I’ll come back stronger. 

“Chin up, girl. You’ll be back.”

Thank you. Everyone. From Race Directors, to friends, to volunteers, and to my friends who became a family this weekend.

On to more adventures.

Listen to your body. Believe in yourself and all you are capable of. Trust that you are going to be all right. 

Life lessons I learned during a rough race.

But it was a weekend in the woods, so it turned out just fine.

Fifteen minutes

Fifteen minutes can be a life-changing experience.

I said it in my last post, which is funny because it wasn’t too long after that I wasn’t able to run anymore, but I was training for an ultra-marathon. This wasn’t going to be my first-rodeo. And I am hoping it won’t be my attempt at a last either.

I woke up one morning after a long run with a severe pain in my butt. Yes, it was a literal pain, not a figure that I made up in my mind and let get to me over time. I say that with out any sentiment of brevity or lightness because right now I am writing something with the intention of posting and I am more emotional than I have been in most posts. No, I do not mean emotional like I am sitting her hovering over my keyboard with tears streaming down my face. There is not a pool filling the gaps between the keys. No, I am mad.  I could be downright livid if I let myself get to that point, but there isn’t really need for that. All I really need to focus on is putting that anger to good use: putting into my rehab exercises, my change of diet, my sleep. Making sure I have all the little things down, and then everything will come into alignment when I am able to start running.

This is not my first time on the dance floor with injury. Especially over the last three years. I even had a dear friend tell me I should tell everyone it’s been a six-year nagging injury.

Guess what? We all go through slumps. Some of us happen upon them more than others. I am not going to tell you every single one but over the last three years, I think I may have run 12 full months. I have taken extended periods of time off for everything from toe pain, to hip misalignment, to depression, to just flat out not caring anymore.

I am frustrated more this go around. Which I feel like I shouldn’t be.

I am being treated like a child by people I respect.

Reading an article on Competitor magazine’s online publication I came across an article featuring Anton Krupicka. He is pretty well known in the Ultra-marathoning world, and very well respected. Some have even said that he has “fallen off the map” a bit. But I would definitely say he is a hero of mine. Someone I look up to and respect.

Competitor asked him if his fans really knew him. Krupicka’s response struck a chord:

“People like to categorize and project so they think they understand something. It often comes down to me being tied to minimalism or not wearing a shirt, the long hair and the beard or stuff that I don’t identify with at all. Those are all superficial things. Everybody is way more nuanced and layered than some label you can stick on them. I wear real shoes when I run. You get all of this attention and adulation and flattery, but it’s not that fulfilling because these people don’t really know you. It’s an artificial connection between a fan and a follower.”

I am nowhere near the level of Krupicka. Nor am I trying to at this point in my life.

All I am saying is that if you don’t know the person, you don’t know their history don’t tell them what to do. Don’t tell them how to react, or how to be. Just let them be.

It is a lesson I must learn myself, I know. Stop projecting. Don’t tell them you understand how they feel because that one time you… STOP. Tell them, “Hey, that sucks. Your feelings are valid.”

Don’t question their dedication. They’re doing everything they can. Don’t question their willingness to succeed. Because they have dreamed about moments you may never even imagine. Don’t question their goals. They’ve had to rewrite them on new scraps of paper because the others have become threadbare from watching them for so long. Don’t question, just be there. Don’t tell them it is in their head, they’re already worried that it is. And once they hear that, they could lose it all. Don’t tell them they are making a poor choice. Don’t tell them what they are doing is wrong, when they know they’ve tried everything else and it isn’t right. And if you can’t, tell them that. They would rather have you walk away than fake it. They don’t need negativity in their life. They don’t need you to push them away from something they want so badly it hurts.
They lean on you for support. So be strong in your stance. Don’t let them falter because you’re wavering. 

I want to thank everyone who has been there for me. Who has sat with me, cried with me, taken me on runs, taken me out, fed me food, and gave me beer (of the gluten free variety!). I am eternally grateful. 

Let them fight the good fight. Let them go down the road. And if you want to be by their side, then shut up about it, hold their hand and say, “I got your back, player.”

UPDATE: I’ve run fifteen minutes each day the last two days. Comeback train!!

::Four to Go::

I've been trying to wrap my head around it all.

The last four months have come and gone like the cliche whirlwind I was trying to avoid and hope would never catch me. I wasn't running away from anything, just  straight into something completely unknown and hoping for understanding.

And then I clicked the button. It was a simple, unassuming gesture. I paid my money. Now they had it in their hands and I was theirs.

I signed up for a race.

It isn't just any race, well not for me. It is something I have been toying with for far too long. And finally, I got into enough shape to feel confident enough that I will not die on the run. But this time it is going to hurt.

I have  run this race before. A few years back. It was.. difficult. I have written about the experience since, and been vague and quiet about it all when I have shared with others. But in my own private writing, and my own time alone on the trails thinking and looking back on it all, I realized something big that needed to be “nipped in the bud.”

I've got demons.

Have you ever had that experience in racing? Maybe something goes unplanned, or you change your course of action and it changes things. Significant things. First place passes you, so does second. And you’re feeling just fine. It’s not your legs. It’s only partly your heart. But it is all in your head. It is like a mirage just jumped up and grabbed you, tackled you to the ground and held you there for just a little too long. Figuratively speaking, of course.

And right when things start going well in training, demons are laying down to be slayed, long runs aren't as bad as you once thought, and training on only four months of leg work is starting to become easier, it happens again.

It sneaks up behind you, and it has got you by the arm. It wrenches a little tighter and your head begins to throb with might as fighting back becomes harder, but it is all you've got. The bruise comes from under the skin and you can feel the scrapes on your limbs once more.

But what are you going to do? Fold? Lie down in defeat and mutter to yourself as you rock back and forth?

Training for an ultra-marathon is hard. Lots of people will say that. It takes time. It takes practice, patience, and the occasional upset stomach. It takes courage to step out on tired legs and run more miles than you thought imaginable in a year. I have so much respect for everyone who signs up for any race; whether it is one mile, or one hundred miles. Those of you who race over one hundred: God Bless and keep you.

I haven’t actually raced in two years. I have been in races, and I have run them. I’ve even stopped and had a popsicle along the way at Bloomsday. Bucket list: CHECK. So I decided my first race back in 2015 was to be an ultra-marathon. Yes, you read that right. Anything over 26.2 miles is deemed an ultra. Right now I wish my race was 26.3… But I am excited by it. I have raced this course before and come so close. And now I get to go back, a new woman, and see what I’ve got. I know I am stronger than I was then. I am not as hard as I once was, but that shouldn’t matter. I have to keep my head about me. I know that for a fact. This last week of training has been somewhat of a blur. And I had my first setback. I have to say I am proud of how I am handling it. I ran 24 miles on a Thursday, that’s how I handle it.

The setback wasn’t an injury. It wasn’t a stubbed toe or a broken bone. It was a hiccup. It was a mental lapse, an unfortunate sadness in the whole scheme. And I am dealing. I tripped, but I didn’t fall.

Tears streamed as I round the corners, gingerly stepping over roots into newly minted mud along the mile markers of Wildwood. I could have blamed it on the cold air, the breeze hitting me in the face and causing this reaction.

I could say I am scared, or I am sad, or I’m just having a bad day. But really, really why I am crying doesn’t really matter in the long term.

I am angry. I am frustrated. And this is how I show it. Which frustrates me more. It gives me a little more power in my legs though, as I try to keep cadence up the hills. It gives me a little more motivation to keep going, to fight back, to stand tall and stay in stride with the goal.

The goal is to finish. It is always to finish. Everything else is just icing.

One of those Runners.

Check out this post on my other blog, "The Solitary Wordsmith," to see the inspiration behind what I wrote today!

Thanks for checking it out. Hoping to get an update on training done here soon. 

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would want all the miles. Some days I feel like I just want to keep running. But others, it takes so much effort and time to get out the door. And yet I never regret a single step I take.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would chase someone down on the trails just to ask them what they were training for. Hey, I made a new friend!

I never thought I would be one of those runners who had to plan their days around getting the mileage done. If that means I have to run at 10 pm to get some extra miles, so be it. Mostly, I’ll just wake up early.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who willingly wakes up before the sun to get a run or a workout in before the workday began.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would enjoy the wall, the second wind, and the “that bear just jumped up and grabbed her running round that corner.” Trust me it is a technical term and when you see it, it sucks. But when you experience it, you learn.

I never thought I would be one of those runners who would rather just be with themselves on the run; nothing to distract or take away from the mile that I am in. I never thought I would be able to find that running with others.

I never thought I would be the type of runner who cared about what she wore. Mostly, what would look best just covered in mud.

I never thought I would be the type of runner who would care about the shoes on her feet. I mean, it’s gotta feel good to be good yeah?

I never thought I would be one of those runners who was quiet about her goals. In the stillness of those mornings, in the undone moments of the intervals on the track, and in the last major climb of the long run, my thoughts always drift toward that slip of paper hiding in my wallet. The one with all the folds that is tattered and worn, scratched out in different shades of pens. The one that every step I run gets me closer to that moment. The one I’ve wanted so bad, I wrote it down on paper just hoping it would come true. 

Back on the Wagon

For a while now, I have really failed to keep up with this blog and my posting. I have chalked it up to being busy, but in reality I have the time I am just choosing not to take it. 

So in my last post I talked about being intentional this year, and so here you go. 

Please feel free to keep me accountable as well. 

I have decided that this will be primarily a running blog. Where that goes, I have no idea, but I have started a Tumblr to keep my writing habits up to date. It will be anything, much like what I had done here in the past. There will be pieces I have been working on for years, and even the occasional "holy-crap-I-haven't-posted-anything-in-awhile-let's-just-word-vomit-all-over-the-page" type of stuff. 

Ok quick update as I am working through some things right now and trying to figure it all out. 

I moved. Yup, I left the comforts of a home I had created the last four years. It was time that I was closer to some family and yet far enough away that I could still be away. Adventure awaits for me around every corner, as I have come to a new city, started a new job, and even dipped my foot into things that I have been wanting to try and always been a little too afraid to go for. 

The struggle is real... and totally awesome. 

I signed up for a race. 

For those of you that know me pretty well, you know I have had some ups and downs with running the last few years. I recently have found the passion and love again that comes with the miles and miles built on tired and exhausted legs. And the pure joy that comes from the sweat dripping down my face as mud and has caked my calves. So I decided to ride the high and sign up for a race I had done a couple years ago. I have always wanted to go back and prove that I am better than what I ran that day. But that isn't really why I am doing it. I am going after a time sure, but I loved the course, the people and the day so much, that I wanted to experience it all again. Only this time, I would be a little more me and a little less scared. I know what is coming around the corner and down the hill, and then back up again. So I have that to look forward to. 

Training is going well. Only trying to fend off any and all sickness that may be trying to thwart my new found love of running. But hey, it is winter, and eventually we all have to just lay back and binge on Netflix. 

That's all for now. I'll have more to come. 

Promise. There's a lot of adventure left in these legs. 

intent.

I went into the woods to run deliberately. I went in not knowing what to expect for that day. I had ideas thinking I would complete this distance. I had ideas of grandeur, but not knowing how it would go. I wanted to be out in the middle and away from it all.

And yet…

So my word for 2014 (and part of 2013) was vulnerable. It was not a word that was made of choice. It was a word I happened upon and let go all at once. It was a word that meandered into my life slowly and then all at once. It made itself known and present. And it did so weekly, then daily, and then every hour. Sometimes too many times to handle during those hours.

I would not come to terms. I could not. I did not even want to look it in the face. No, I will not open up and lay everything bare. Why would I even want to do that? That sounds crazy, ridiculous. Stupid.

But it had to happen.

Mid-year I went on a retreat. And I thought this was me being vulnerable. I went into a group of people I knew maybe one person out of thirty? And even then, that person and I were not that close. I had really only just met them a few weeks before. Well this was new. I had done things like this before, without fear or trepidation. But now was different. I was scared. Shaking. I almost did not show up. I had paid money, and I was not going to show up that night. Then, something took over. It was like an out of body experience. My car started down the driveway of the retreat center. I looked for a pull-out, another driveway, ANYTHING, so that I could turn around, run my car into a ditch, something. No good. And a car was behind me now. They must have been headed for the same thing. And there was no way I could turn around. Thoughts of fake headaches, phone calls from friends, everything raced through my mind. It was going to be a long weekend.

I was supposed to go to this retreat, and then I would go to another group and read aloud something I had written.

I don’t know what it is, but it was ok for me to sit and hide behind my computer screen. In my mind I don’t imagine anyone actually reading what I write. I just wrote it mostly for me. I posted it to social media with some hope of someone reading it, but I never think anyone actually does it.

To read my own writing out loud though? That was an awful form of  torture. I remember imagining my hands shaking, my heart racing and sweat dripping down my forehead as I stood in front of…

The imagining was interrupted  as my car pulled into the only parking spot left. And the only person I knew at this retreat was waving at me.

Crap.

I waved back and smiled, breathing out in mustered words things I should not dare repeat. My grandmother may be reading this.

Getting out of the car I scanned for any familiar face, but did not have a single clue other than the man walking across the parking lot to me. I smiled and waved back, was introduced to others, put my stuff in my room, and applied an extra layer of deodorant because I knew I was sweating through my shirt.

We started the evening by introducing ourselves to the entire group, and saying a word that described how we were feeling in that very moment.

Scared.

Frightened.

Alone.

All crossed my mind, but I shared a word I thought would be proper and not cast me out of the group immediately. So I said:

joyful.

Was I really? Was this joy something that I did not know was deep down in there? Did I feel this way? Had I ever felt this way?

The priest leading this retreat nodded his head, and moved on. But his eye landed back on me.

Then came the ringer.

He played this Ted Talk. I am sure we all know the one I am talking about here. It was one that went totally viral.

And tears filled the corners of my eyes that night. But I would not let them fall. I was in a room full of complete strangers. I did not need to be vulnerable here. I could work on that another time.

But I said that was my goal for the weekend. In front of them. It came out just like that. And I thought, at the time that vulnerability would be just to share my story. And say it out loud. Tell them I had been hurt before and was working on fixing that hurt. SO there it was. Right? That’s vulnerability. Saying you have been hurt. That’s openness, sure. I was telling people I had a flaw. That I was scarred.

What I learned that weekend did not match up with my knowledge going in.

And it all happened the next day.

I was prayed for.

God told someone that I needed prayer. And God told me that I was beautiful and loved.

Those were words that I stumbled on. Beautiful and loved.

I still stumble. Daily. They catch in my throat even now as I type this. I am actually looking for ways to not post this, but the piece of me that wants this out in the open will more than likely win.

Vulnerability hangover. It is a thing.

My eyes were swollen for days after as gates had been opened and I sobbed through pain that I had thought long gone; things I had never thought would bother me, but had actually left deep wounds.

And then I had to stand up and share my writing.

I shook, my voice cracked. My cheeks reddened and burned and sweat dripped from my upper lip. But I did it.

And then I shut down.

For a while.

The lesson I had to learn (and am still learning) is that to be vulnerable, truly and deeply with someone else, I must be vulnerable with myself. And to start being vulnerable with myself, I had to stop beating myself up.

This is a daily goal. It is something I must be fully intentional in doing.  

Which brings me to my word for 2015, because it keeps coming up.

Intentional.

It has been another one of those words that just keeps slapping me across the face: daily, weekly, hourly. It is there to yell at me, to hit me broadside across the face, make me aware of everything. My senses are heightened, and my arms chill with goosebumps at the whisperings of this once flavorless word.

Here is to a new year of intention and affirmation, understanding and purpose, belief and movement.