::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.

part two.

This is a follow-up to my over dramatized post from this morning. I'm trying a new thing by writing with emotion. 

Today, I got up.

I had a cup (or three) of coffee. I slipped on my running shoes just like everyone else does, one by one. I laced them, making sure that they were snug but not too snug. Just the way I do everyday. I drove the length of road to the trail head, and waited in my car. My heaters were blasting and it was nice to be comforted in warmth. It was only drizzling, but the wind chilled it evermore.

I climbed. And I climbed. And I realized I was running a little too fast. And breathing a little too short, but I kept going. My lungs were burning, more than I had ever felt in every workout, ever. My heart beat raced and my legs churned. And then…

Rounding some corner I had never been to, the green covered trees stopped shaking. Their mossy exteriors stopped altogether and stared back into my sweaty, salty streaked face. There I was, in the middle of the woods. I was passed the place I had always been. I had gone just a little bit further. My feet slowed and my hands grasped my knees as my breath was more than I could handle. I wasn’t gasping. I wasn’t struggling.

The air was slow, but full and pulling me out from under where I had put myself. I had stuck myself into the funk that was causing me to question, well, everything. I woke up and questioned why I acted the way I acted. And why I was doing what I was doing. Why I was thinking the way I was thinking.

My answer was to run. Not to run away, but to run to something. Run to somewhere I had never been. Run to something I had never even seen.

My legs, my arms, my heart, they carried me farther than I thought on this day.

My reaction is to write things. And then share. In a weird way, that is just who I am. This is my language, how I take control of my life. And today, I decided to question everything right back.

Why?

Why was I questioning my everything?

Why can’t I just start from right now?

Why not me?

I jumped into a new adventure. I jumped onto a new trail. And I am so happy that this is my life. And I’ll stay under my covers. Only because it is warm. I will jump into the unknown. And know that I am forever grateful. And never alone.

sleepless.

At times I find myself at four o’ clock in the morning laying in bed. My eyes are wide open and my senses are awake, but dulled in the darkness and still before the dawn.

I had slept with a deepness I never realized I needed. It was a day that emotions had flooded back through gates I thought I had locked and under control.

But now, it isn’t there. My mind is racing over the what-ifs, what-could-have-beens, and the what-am-i-doings. I trip over long ago thoughts and memories that I wish I had never had, but would never regret.

I wonder if it is too early to make coffee, and my body sinks deeper beneath the comforter. I pull another blanket over top and wonder if I never have to get out of bed again.

It is warm here, and my heart is safe locked behind the down and layers of my blanketed encapsulation.

I know not of what may come. I know not of what will be. I may only hope for something. I pray for everything.

Am I ready? Am I willing? Am I able?

Can I withstand something more powerful than I can possibly fathom? I hope so.

One thought lingers passed all the others. It is slow in movement and in time, and one that will be difficult to muster.

Am I broken?

This leads down to others: am I too broken, am I worthy, am I good, am I well.

Yes. I am broken. And that is what makes me ready. And that is what makes me worthy, and good, and well.

I will never know if I am worthy. Not unless I pursue and understand and believe.

I pray for the strength to understand. I pray for the guidance to release and reconcile. I pray for the faith and guidance that will lead me to the path I am chosen. I pray that I will stand strong with confidence and fullness of spirit.