Dang Girl...

On a recent run, the topic of discussion naturally amongst us young women turned to the opposite gender. Gentlemen, if you get a little queasy by cooties… Keep reading and don’t be a pansy.

It is naturally segued as we have already covered everything else, from previous evenings dinner to the nature of the world. We have to discuss the intricacies and wonderings of the gender so perplexing to us.

Guys have the same conversations right??

Ok, so, the conversation began by discussing someone who currently has a crush on one of my friends.

We all have those things that make us self conscious.

“Hey, girl, Heeeey.”

We hear it. We do. You may think we don’t at all as you’re driving down the road revving your engine alongside, as we are torturing ourselves. And most of the women I run with, we are not looking to lose weight or just get fit, we are looking to run fast. Possibly as fast as your ’96 Honda Civic with the rims will take you down the road as you get pulled over by a cop. Impressive, really. I mean give me a minute while I fan myself from the shock. Please don’t let me faint.

Do you know how hard it is to convey sarcasm? Well, I’m inventing a font that when you read it, you know it is sarcasm.

Runner girls have one major thing going for them, along with everything else, obviously: We have great legs. But it isn’t something we normally think of. And no I am not talking about the skinny, thin, pencil legs, we got muscle. We got booty. We got bounce.

That felt weird.

we work hard for those legs. 

even on bikes. 

guys have good legs too i guess. 

We aren’t really taught to love our legs. We are taught we need the thigh gap, we need the thin- almost- non -existent –from- the- side legs.  We are taught we need to be more aware of our hair and our looks from the waist up. Well ya know what? When I am running repeat miles, or a long tempo, or even just a regular old run, I don’t know if I quite care what my hair is doing. As long as it isn’t in my face, I’m good.

So look at my legs. It’s ok that I have sweat dripping from my brow, and my shirt doesn’t match my shorts, and my socks… well I’m not wearing any.

My legs have put in the miles. They’ve put in the work, and the rest of me has benefitted from just tagging along.

Runners. Yes, we’re weird and quirky. And some are self-conscious and scared.

But dayum, we got good legs. 

Second: Mostly Nuts...

So you know how when you open that big five pound bag of trail mix from Costco and you have a handful, and then you slowly realize all you’re really doing is picking out all the m’n’m’s and setting aside the red and brown ones because those are the best ones and only eating the chocolate pieces?? Wait… is that just me then? Ok… well… this is a little awkward.

OK. So I’ve had my one handful and I’ve been picking out the little chocolate pieces (seriously red and brown, people). And I’ve been sort of recovering. I’ve run. And then I get in the car and travel to Oregon. Portland to be exact: the land of rain, coffee, books, hipsters. It’s like the freaking capital. I am beyond excited to enjoy one large hearty cup of Stumptown coffee in the morning, let me tell you. But that story will be saved for a later post. Too good to be true is all I have to say about that. I landed in an episode of Portlandia. I could write for the show I swear. Maybe a business venture I might need to look into.

 I must have missed the memo though, and the party for that matter. I ended up downtown with some of my Spokie teammates, but waiting to be picked up by my Hood to Coast teammates, I eventually learned I must call a cab and get to the party as soon as possible. So this was how the weekend was going to go, huh??

Anyways- roll up in the misting sky and realize that I was tired. Just flat out. I needed sleep. Bad. I don't know if I could have handled anything. I was sleepy and hungry. We were supposed to be running 198 miles between the twelve of us the next day. And the night was still young for all these folks. You live and you learn?

There was so much going on I felt like sensory overload. I had no idea who anyone on my team was, just meeting them for the first time. All I wanted to do was get to the beach. I was afraid I wouldn’t run fast enough, I was afraid I wouldn’t run slow enough on my first leg and conserve for the rest of them, I was afraid of being afraid.

heino's flyers 2013

I’m tired of being afraid. That’s what I learned this go around. I learned I was tired and sick of being afraid of everything. Of not being happy.

So I chose to race. And run with heart and fire. Every time I got that wristband I ran. I felt the passion building once more in my veins and flowing through. I had almost forgotten what that was life before. I forgot that taste of pennies and blood in your mouth as you breathe deep, forcing the yuck from your lungs, fighting for fresher air.

Of course my legs didn’t like it. A year ago, I was a good deal lighter and fitter, so it was ok to think that I would be a good deal slower. I just wasn’t in shape.

But I made it happen. I put my feet in front of the other and just flat out made it happen. And you know what was exciting and fun? So did the rest of Van One. They just caught the fire and we went after it. We flew. Heino’s Flyers killed it.

VAN ONE VAN ONE VAN ONE!

van one

celebrate with beer. obviously.

chicken legs. 

bubblebutts. 

And although there were moments I had no clue how to react, or what to say, or how to deal, I just got out of the van and ran. Yes, that rhymes. No I did not do it on purpose. 

I let my mind float to days far away in the past. To runs spent in silence and in laughter and in love. And days where runs turned to tears and aches and pains. But here I could just run. I let my anger run. I let my tears and hurt run. I let my joy run. That’s really the only thing that kept me going. I learned it was all in my hands. 

It was my choice.

Well gosh darn it to heck.

I choose the m’n’m’s. Especially the red and the brown.

I choose the run. 

we run spokane. 

 Just so you know—I ran faster on my second two legs this year than the same ones last year… So there is hope, I tell ya!

M'n'M's: a race recap.

Trail Mix

One small handful, just never enough.

That’s how I looked at the last two weeks. One relay just wasn’t enough. So I chose two. And a lot of trailmix, granola, water, Gatorade and coffee were involved. I probably will still need a lot more coffee in the coming days and weeks, but I survived.

The first relay was a local jaunt from Spokane to Sandpoint, ID. I had been asked by a friend, supporter, and customer of the store to join the team. Now, rewind a little bit and we all know that I have been struggling getting back into shape. Honestly, I have been struggling with everything, so this wasn’t something to take lightly. But what did I do? Said yes, even though I would be totally unprepared and would be afraid of the expectations and probably be supremely disappointed and scared and angry by the end of it.

tired feet after leg one

I wasn’t. Thankfully, I was placed in Van 2, a handful of m’n’m’s, and although my projected times were far and above what I thought I might muster, I went in with a happy, contented and straight mind. The people in my van were outrageous, supportive, hilarious. We had way too much fun for running nearly 100 miles between the six of us.  From bullhorns to blaring Macklemore out the windows, to handing out the extra Krispy Kremes, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Learning is something I try to embody in running and in writing. You can learn from everything if you just open up to it. There is always something more to be learned. You may think you know it all and you get to the end and realize there are more miles to be run and more books to be read.

During this relay, my biggest learning experience happened during my last leg. One of our women early on had twisted her ankle pretty severely and was unable to complete her last two legs. Now, in my mind I had prepared myself to run 6 miles. That was all I had to do. 40 minutes was what I was hoping to run. Which for most of my training partners is pretty easy, but I am out of shape, remember?

Well, let’s just tack on an extra 3.5 miles why don’t we? 
Ok. It’s go time.

Speaking of training partners, one of my dearest was actually running the same leg, and having to do the same thing. So we thought if we could run it together it wouldn’t be too bad. Well her team handed off to her and I said I would catch up. Nearly 12 minutes later, I set off. There would probably be no catching up, there would be only holding on.

morning of leg 3. 

I consider myself extremely lucky to have run this leg. I rolled through Priest River, ID, following the waters as they flowed through farmland and countryside. It was just starting to get hot and that was only complemented by the rotting road kill I was forced o endure through some of the early miles. The only things that were truly frustrating were the hills. My legs were not ready for hilly. This was where the girls became men I suppose. Or just grew a pair and hung on for dear life. Excuse the graphic detail.

My team, God Bless them, rolled alongside in the silver Suburban, bullhorns in hand yelling support and sarcasm all the way. Spartan cheers and water were handed out, and even the occasional, “You’re running too slow.” Which indeed made me run faster.

Seeing my final mile to go sign at 8.5 miles, I began to climb this hill. Now going back it might not be that big, but right at this moment, this was bigger than Doomsday, and though I’ve never been there, it has to be bigger than the elusive “Heartbreak Hill” in Boston. My legs churned, my body ached, and my stomach was about to explode when finally, I heard our bullhorn, I saw my teammates and I smiled. I smiled at the top of the hill and raced the sweaty wristband-baton onward. I handed it off, congratulated our next runner and nearly fell to the ground.

I was done. But we weren’t. I got back in the van and cheered our way onward. My job as a runner was done, but not as a teammate.

As the heat rose we took turns passing out water and videotaping ourselves doing outrageous stunts. Hanging out car windows on back country roads probably not for the faint of heart. But when you are delirious from the sun and the run, it is all worth it.

We crossed the line that day on the beach at Sandpoint, third overall and the winners of our division.

Tired, spent, and completely elated (although unable to truly show it) we rode home.

I made some amazing friends that day. We struggled and fought the good fight. I learned how to love the run. Even in the most difficult of times.

krispy kreme!

team speedworkz

Wednesday Writer. Coming up...

I am sorry friends... been a bit preoccupied and I have let go of some of my other responsibilities. Working on getting back to the right track... 

Be prepared for some overshare. 

Thanks!!!

Day One

Write some basic things about yourself.

Describe.

How do you even begin to describe yourself in a short paper? I can tell you that I do not know how to self-promote myself.

I am simple. I am plain. I run. I dream. And I believe. I have faith, although it may waver at times. I need to take a moment and step back and breathe.

Sometimes, I even forget to breathe. Obviously I write the word “I” a lot as well.

It is hard to tell what you are doing in life is it not?

Looking in the mirror, I don’t know who I am sometimes. I used to know. Once I had a stronger understanding. And then my heart broke. And I have been afraid to put it back together. Once I walked with a confidence unbeknownst to myself. I just believed in my abilities and myself. Now I sometimes question them. Can I really step up to the plate and hit a grand slam? Can I even see the ball?

Well, to say the least I am not very good at baseball.

Once I would do anything at the drop of a hat. Nothing stopped or encumbered me and I was vivacious about life. My heart leapt at every and any opportunity that came. I was the girl that quit all my part time jobs at once, packed my car and moved across the state just for a job that at the time would only last three weeks. Two years later I am still there, working every day; challenged and loving it. Some days are better than others, but I just have to look a little deeper at the rougher days. The soil has been tilled a little harder maybe.

In the process, as I said, my heart and mind has been roughed up. Tugged, shared, harmed, fought with, broken, and swept aside. And now the real tough part begins: fixing it. But not really even fixing it. Finding a life that is livable for it. And that begins the day I decide to be happy. Decide to fight for myself. Stand for myself. Believe in myself once again.

How does one describe them? How, when you really have no idea- who, what, where, when, how, why? Why describe or find when you can define. That is what is so great about word- it is never ending and there are limitless possibilities.

Once I decided to go for a run. Once I decided to go for a journey. Once, I never stopped believing.

Define.