Saturday Morning Zen

My first memory is sensory.  Up until the age of three, my family lived in the Pacific Northwest on Whidbey Island, in the middle of the Puget Sound.  I didn’t know that, back then.

I remember standing outside in the front yard of my house.  Everything was green; the leaves, grass, pine trees, and bushes.  And everything was wet.  Mist was all around, and my face and arms were wet.  The cool air had a scent that was different from my bathwater.  There was an outside smell that was bigger than my yard, bigger than the grass and bushes around me.  I loved the smell of a wetness so big it could surround all the houses and everything I saw.  I was completely happy, thrilled with the smell of rain going into my nose and expanding into my body.  I wanted it to never end, to always smell like that.

Tuesday’s run started and ended in the mist.  It had been raining all night but miraculously stopped at 6:30 AM, just as I was lacing up my shoes.  All that was left was mist, gentle water hanging in the air.

I left all technology at home and ran unencumbered.  The training schedule said I was to do 8 miles with 10x 100’s pick-ups.  I decided to do my favorite loop in Louisville, as a favorite loop combined with favorite smells is a total winner.

Heading up the street, I splashed in a few puddles on the sidewalk and was psyched there were no worms hanging out in the water.  I hate murdering worms.

The streets were deserted.  I crossed over onto the bike path and followed it to the top of the Mesa, approximately 250 feet of elevation gain.  I did a few pick-ups on the hills, just to shake things out and push my heart rate, feeling like a punky teenager prancing around with new-found freedom.

My rain jacket had to go.  I quickly tied it around my waist and set off on the deserted Mesa.  Davidson Mesa is a great 3-mile loop on the hill bordering Louisville and Boulder.  To the east lies Louisville, nestled in a snug little valley.  To the west is Boulder, sprawling in the long, narrow corridor that butts up against the Flatirons.  The clouds were low, the fine mist was dazzling, and I kept running.  The wide dirt track was wet enough to muffle the sound of my footsteps, but not soggy enough to pull at my shoes.  Perfect.

I easily navigated the single-track trail that veered to the right of the main section, and jumped rocks while the late-summer vegetation brushed against my ankles.  No pick-ups in this section; this was pure technical challenge and didn’t require additional speed.

After half a mile the single-track dumped me back onto the main trail.  I picked up speed and slowly counted 1…2… 3… until I got to 15, then slowed to a regular pace.  I have no idea how long it should really take me to run 100 meters, so I ballparked.  I’m like that.

And so it went.  Images of me cutting through mist like I was a cartoon character bursting through a paper wall filled my over-excited brain.  I had a big stupid grin on my face that didn’t wash off for the entire run, and I kept interjecting fast bursts of speed into the run.  As usual, I got faster the longer I ran, so by the time I came off the Mesa and started on the two mile descent to my house, I was running with 90% speed, faster than 5K race pace.  I did two pick-ups in mile 7, then slowed a little.

I ran for another 30 seconds and realized that my little heart desired only one thing in the entire world, and that was to run as fast as my mortal body would carry me down that hill.  There was already a good head of steam going, so I opened up the legs and let it all go until I was spent.  I ran like this for a good five blocks, feeling the groin muscles stretch and retract while my feet slapped the pavement.  The smell of fresh, fine mist was still giving me an olfactory high.  I wished that my long run could have been that morning, as there is nothing like running in a perfect Colorado mist in late August.  It’s a gift of the Gods, and believe me when I say that the gift was recognized, received, and thoroughly appreciated.  I LOVE the rain!!!

I’m two and a half weeks into the California International Marathon (CIM) training plan that the awesome Coach Gwen worked up.  Being a naive marathon-virgin, I announced I was going to try and qualify for Boston my first time out.  After looking at the training plan, I briefly considered bailing on the entire thing, writing COWARD on my forehead and not washing it off for 4 months.

After a few days of waffling I rallied and decided that since I’d already registered I would train for the marathon until someone or something told me to stop.  So there.

Here’s the first five weeks of the training plan Gwen worked up for me.   (I didn’t do the Medium Long 14 miler on 8/8 because I ran the Eldora 11k(ish) Trail Race that morning.)

In the first week alone my weekly miles doubled.  I went from running 2-4 days a week on a “whenever you get around to it” summer vacation mentality to running steadily 4 days a week for two weeks, and then increasing to 5 days a week after that.  My “long runs” increased from 8 miles to 14 miles within the first week.

Not that I’m whining.  Just sayin’.  The first week and a half my muscles talked a lot about the brutality they were being subjected to.  My hips were especially cranky about the entire thing, until they lived to tell the tale of the August 22 Long Run of 15 miles.  After that they settled down, decided that nothing they could say would make a difference, and stopped complaining.

Gwen and I talked extensively about my goal race pace, and the reality of a training plan.  I want to pull off a 3:30 marathon; she says it’s more realistic to shoot for 3:40 at this point in time.  Given that we’re less than three weeks into a 16-week training plan, this could change once we’ve built up some miles, but she’s building in some wiggle room for me.

I’m finding that I’m consistently below the suggested pace for most of the runs, and that even with the recovery runs I have to make a concerted effort to not run 8:30’s.  Thus, recovery runs are the bane of my existence because they don’t feel natural at all.  Gwen laughed really hard when I told her this and said that in October, I’ll be welcoming the chance to run slower a few times a week.  I log all my miles on Dailymile.com so I can’t really hide from Coach Gwen.  If you’re interested in seeing how things are going, stop by and get the unadulterated poop on my training.

That being said, here is a short list of Things That I Know, in no particular order:

Running slow on a recovery run is tons harder than running long or fast.

Running in heat sucks.

Humidity sucks worse.

Sometimes listening to music makes me scream.

Good shoes are essential.

Bonking is really bad.

Driving seven miles one way takes eons longer than running seven miles on the same road.  I hate driving.

If you don’t take a good poop before running, plan your route so that you can take a bathroom break about 1:10-1:25 (hours) into your long run.  I’m not explaining why.

Holding a water bottle messes up your upper-body rotation in mean, nasty ways.  Carry the thing on your body or don’t bring it at all.

It’s okay to stop sometimes and marvel at how far you can run.

It’s good to ask for foot rubs sometimes AFTER you’ve showered.

Pedicures are vital.

No one wants to hug you when you return from a two hour run.

Sometimes you have to mix it up.  A new trail, a new partner, new music (or lack thereof), new time of day, etc.

My marathon training plan has me doing easy “recovery runs” on Saturday in preparation for a long run on Sundays.  This is going to mess with my usual Saturday morning trail runs with the girls.  Tomorrow I’ll do my first 15-miler, and I wanted fresh legs.  Maybe in a few weeks when I’m more used to the distance I’ll pull in a trail run the day before a long Sunday run… but not this week.

Yesterday, while talking about my weekend running plan, I had a brilliant idea and asked Bill if he wanted to run an easy couple of miles with me.  “Sure,” he said, “but what about the kids?”

That’s easy.  Take them with us.  Bring the bikes and hit a flat trail.  Let them ride while we pull in an easy 10k.  Coffee afterwards.  When I proposed this, the kids were skeptical up until the coffee shop part.  “Can we get anything we want?” they asked.  My answer:  “Absolutely.  That’s the joy of getting up early and exercising.  Coffee afterwards.  Or hot chocolate.  Whatever you want.”

You probably already figured out where we went; Bobolink.  That simple little trail fits all the criteria.  We got the kids up at 6:30, loaded up their bikes, gave them each a banana, granola bar and bottle of water, and headed out.  The parking lot was almost full at 7:20 when we pulled in, but there was a space waiting for us.

B and I started off at an easy pace.  He’s been talking about running Bobolink as an introduction to a longer run (he typically runs 2-4 miles at a time) and the plan was for me to set the pace.  All he had to do was stick to me.

And so it went.  There were a few people out and everyone was full of smiles.  The temp was a cool 60 degrees and didn’t increase too much during the hour we were out.  I carried a water bottle and B brought along Clif Shot Bloks to munch when he needed a pick-me-up.

After about 3 miles a guy passed us, going the other way.  He was shirtless and wore a heart-rate monitor.  His pace was easy, though it was clear that he was running easy as a choice and not out of necessity.  B commented, “Wow.  You can tell that guy’s really fast and strong even though he’s not running fast right now.  I’d settle for being strong.”

Something about that comment irked me.  “You don’t have to settle for anything.  You just ARE.  Don’t try to put yourself in a box or trim off any corners to make yourself fit.  You are whatever you want to be.  Don’t settle.”

That’s what we get when we look at other people.  We compare ourselves to what we perceive the other person to be; whether or not it’s true is unimportant.

Connor cruised by just as we finished the run to the gate.  Sophie sat astride her bike eating her banana.  I paused the timer on my watch while I kissed my little girl all over her sweet face and B stretched for a minute.  Then I ceremoniously touched the gate, started the watch again, and headed into the bottom half of the inning.  We were in the second 5k of the run on a slight downhill with legs that were now fully awake (mine; Bill’s were getting a little tired), so we agreed to do a few pick-ups of 5 seconds each just to change up the tempo a bit.  I’ll admit to being a little coltish now and then; I get frisky in the morning air and like to express some inner joy at being alive in a beautiful place with people I love.  Call me crazy, but it works for me.

I bought two new pairs of shoes yesterday because my old ones have about 800 miles on them (I know, I know, don’t have a heart attack) and my left heel is absolutely bruised by the time I finish a run.  My new road shoes are Brooks, and they say “MoGo” on the side with a little circle around them.  I’m totally tickled by this and call them my Mo’ Go shoes… I’m going farther in them than I’ve ever gone before.  My other new shoes are trail runners, and I’m saving those beauts for later in the week when I hit a trail.

My feet felt great and there wasn’t any indication of a sore heel, so I picked up the pace a tad.  B seemed to be truckin’ right along; his breathing sounded good and he never faltered in his pace.  Once we reached the last mile I checked my watch for the pace; a solid 7:40/mile.  After a few more minutes I picked up the pace and dropped to a 7:00/mile, and told B to just stay with me and finish strong.  He did, we did, and the kids stood up and cheered when they saw us pull up.

We headed to Ozo afterwards and sat on the patio with our treats.  I sat in the shade of the umbrella with a huge, Cheshire Cat smile on my face as I watch my kids eat the whipped cream off their hot chocolates with their fingers.

My Saturday morning running group

My family finally joined me for a Saturday morning run.  They were part of MY world for three hours on a Saturday morning.  I shared a piece of my life with them and they had a great time.  It was a beautiful thing.

The 2010 La Sportiva Eldora 11K Trail Race turned into more of a 9-9.3K, rather than the expected 11K, though we still gained about 800’ in elevation throughout the course.  Runners didn’t find out about the change until two minutes before the starting gun went off.  Paul Karlssen, Race Director, expounded on the conditions and described the thigh-deep mud that covered a mile of the course.  Seeing as how hundreds of runners could do serious environmental damage if we all tried to navigate the muck, the best choice was to re-route the race and bypass the goo.

I met Juli, Beth and Kathy at the race instead of carpooling with them.  There were smiles and hugs all around, which helped keep us warm.  We’re used to 60-70 degree temps at that hour of the morning, but the 9000’ elevation lowered the temp to a solid 50 with a mild breeze.  I had originally planned on running in a tank top and shorts, but moments before we headed up the trail I ditched the tank top and re-pinned my race number to the front of my long-sleeve overshirt.  It was loose-fitting but I figured it would ward off the chill.

Bill and the kids headed to the outskirts of the racers so they wouldn’t be trampled.  Two seconds before the gun went off I heard “Go, Lara, Go!” and turned to wave at my family.  It was super-awesome having them there; at that moment, I could have worn the tank top and been perfectly warm.

Moments before the starting gun went off, I got a cheer from the fam. YAY!!

That being said, let’s back up to 18 hours before the race.  Saturday afternoon I did something super-scary; I told my husband exactly how I felt.  I was hurt that he didn’t seem interested in coming to my races and cheering.  Typically I register for a few races each year, less than a handful.  He waits for a signal of some sort that I want him there, and I wait to see if he seems interested in coming.  It’s a vicious cycle that has lead to resentment on my part, because I finally realized that he only came to a race if I told him I wanted him there, thus negating the gift of his presence.

In this new era of breaking out of old patterns, I told him how hurt I was that he didn’t seem interested in watching me race.  He listened and was so compassionate and apologetic; I knew that he never meant to belittle my racing or running life, but the hurt came from years of complacency.  We cleared a lot of air that afternoon and spoke some truths about the state of our relationship and how we need to continue talking about the deep, scary feelings that we tend to bury.  I may be strong in body, but I still have to work on strength in spirit if I want to gain any ground.

The starting gun went off at 7:30 sharp.  I was near the front pile of humanity so I’d have a fighting chance of getting in front of the slower people and not have to pass so many on a narrow single-track.  The first 0.6 miles was a steep, steady hill.  I wore my Garmin to track the time, knowing I’d lose signal occasionally due to terrain and wouldn’t have an accurate count on distance or pace.  My heart rate elevated quickly and didn’t come down until I passed through the finisher’s shoot.

Mirroring last year’s race, people sorted themselves out pretty quickly.  Hills are a rough way to start any race, and if you’re strong on hills you’ll be near the front of the pack.  I already knew that I wasn’t headed for a PR, so didn’t worry too much about pace.  Exertion would be my indicator of how fast I traveled, and I had made up my mind to just have a good time.

The sky was overcast and a cool breeze sifted through the forest from time to time.  I didn’t even wear my sunglasses, figuring that if the sun came out during the race I wouldn’t want them anyway because of the shadows.

Around mile 2 I heard voices up ahead, cheerful happy voices that came from people not running a race.  The first aid station was just ahead.  As I reached for a cup of water and slowed to drink a sip, a volunteered counting each person that came through said I was number 66.  Knowing there were a whole lot of men in front of me cooled my competitive juices a hair (I don’t worry too much about the men in the pack, just the women).  Just keep running, I told myself.  You’re doing just fine.

Moments later, I was winding down the mountain again.  The noise from the aid station faded and with all the twists and turns of the trail, I found myself keeping an eye on the closest runner, a guy out of reach and earshot. No one was running on my tail and I was suddenly… alone.

The easy breeze that rustled the treetops high above me broke the stillness of the mountain.  Birds chirped and the soft thud of my footsteps as my shoes fell on the squashy path.  I had the eerie feeling of being the last person in the race, as there was no noise behind me to change that impression.  My mind wandered from the immediacy of the event to a Zen little happy place I like to visit when I run, and I felt myself relax.  The self-imposed pressure of the race melted away and I was just a runner hanging out on a really cool trail on a cool Sunday morning.

My mellow lasted a few minutes, long enough for me to visit a few daydreams before finally hearing a heavy breather coming up from behind.  He idled about 10 yards behind me for a while, until finally I glanced over my shoulder to see who was struggling so hard.  It was a man, about my height, who carried his stooped shoulders with one side significantly higher than the other.  We played leap-frog for the next couple miles, with him passing me on the uphills and me passing him on the downs.  On the last big hill of the race he passed me once and for all.

And then, the moment of truth.  Paul the Race Director told us there was a section of deep water on the trail, and there was nothing to do but go through it.  Duly warned, I was glad to be wearing SmartWool socks inside my trail shoes.  They wouldn’t keep me dry, but they would keep blisters from forming while running in wet footwear.

The water was at the bottom of a steep hill.  I caught up to my friend Juli at the top of the hill and passed her coming down, which meant I got to the water first.  Juli slowed down, not sure how deep it was or how rocky the bottom would be.  Foolishly, I took my cue from the runners ahead of me and plowed forward with full gusto.  If you’re going to get wet, then you may as well go for it with your whole being.  No sense holding back, is my theory.

The water was up to my knees, and cool but not cold.  Luckily the bottom of the trail was relatively clear and I didn’t turn my foot.  The grasses growing nearby held the mud in place, and after 25 yards of a lovely little stream crossing, I was back on dry land.  My shoes squished for a few steps until I squished the excess water from them, and even though my feet were sopping wet, I was pretty darn comfortable.

Juli passed me on another hill and as we descended one last time, I heard cheers.  There were some pretty enthusiastic people at the finish line, and it made me smile.  The last crossing was a meadow that had no trail, so the best thing to do was follow the crushed grass that other runners had trampled and try to avoid rocks.  Volunteers stood at the opposite side of the meadow to point us in the right direction to the finish line, and after getting back on the dirt trail I cruised to the bottom.

Standing above the finish line were my people.  Sophie was screaming herself hoarse, yelling “YAY, MOMMY,” followed by girl-shrieks that hit a high soprano register.  Connor was yelling and using Bill’s phone to take a picture of me, and Bill used our camera to take another pic.  He had the biggest grin on his face and yelled encouragement for me as I finished the race.  Compared to them the other spectators were the walking dead.  My family was smiling and taking pictures, and screaming my name.  What an amazing, beautiful feeling.

Connor's pic of me on the iPhone... photographer in the making, perhaps?

Bill's picture on the Nikon camera... huge smile, really happy!!

A volunteer cut the timing chip from my shoe and after Bill handed me a bottle of water and I was released from a massive family bear hug, I hugged Juli.  She was tickled to have people cheering for her at the finish line too, and thanked Bill and the kids for being there.  We headed back to the finish and waited for Beth and Kathy to come around the corner, and took pictures and cheered like crazy for them as they ran the last 50 yards into the shoot.  They had huge smiles on their faces, too.  It’s really hard to not smile when people are yelling your name and screaming after you just did a crazy-hard trail race!

We headed over to a coffee shop and I peeled my wet shoes and socks from my feet, breathing a sigh as sunshine hit my tootsies.  It was a blissful way to spend Sunday morning, and I’m incredibly grateful to my kids and Bill for getting up at 5:30, driving to Nederland and hanging out at the base of a mountain while I ran myself silly.

P.S.  After all that, the stats feel like an afterthought.  I ran a 55:44 for the race and came in 7^th in my age-group.  Don’t know what my pace was because the exact distance is unknown due to the last-minute course changes.  It was probably between 9-9.3k overall, so an estimated 9:30-9:45 pace.

It’s official; I’m registered for the California International Marathon on December 5, 2010.  It’ll be my very first marathon ever!  The farthest I’ve ever run is fifteen miles, and that was over a year ago when I was training for my first Half.  I’ve even set a time goal for my first marathon; 3:40, which would qualify me for Boston on my first time out, which could be the biggest joke you’ve ever seen.  Then again, maybe it’s reasonable; my last Half-Marathon time was 1:42:30.  Double the time and add ten minutes for cushion puts me into the BQ range for my age group.

I’ve resisted marathons because the simple reality of the time it takes to train is hard to fit into (my) family life.  Half-marathon distances seem to work really well for my training schedule and overall life balance.  I run 3-4 times a week during a typical week; a few hills or tempo runs during the week and a trail run on Saturday.  Marathons?  I might have just pushed things over the edge.

And yet, that’s literally what I set out to do.  I’ve been wrestling with some huge life/family/balance issues for many months, and recently came back to a truth that’s been running rampant through my brain in a dervishly chaotic dance: I keep getting what I’ve got because I keep doing the same things.  I’ve gotten complacent in my training because I reached a goal and then didn’t push any further.  I don’t have a job that I’m passionate about because I haven’t put myself out there and made it happen.  I don’t travel like I want to because I haven’t gotten creative and figured out how to make it happen on a budget.  I’m in the rut that I’m in because I haven’t climbed out of my hole.  So.  I’m trying to shake things up in my personal life and am setting goals for myself that have nothing to do with athletics, but in a weird, wrap-your-brain-around-this-one sort of way, this goal feels the most attainable.  And in a completely metaphysical sort of way I hope that by embarking on this goal, I’ll re-wire my brain into seeing the possibilities of life, rather than self-imposed limitations.

There’s always a person who suggests that you have so much more potential than you’re living.  At this point in my life, that person is a friend that I met my first year in college, almost 20 years ago.  Gwen’s a few years older than me, though we were both in the Technical Theatre program at the University of Northern Colorado.  I aspired to be the amazing Stage Manager that she was, and she took me under her wing.  She taught me everything I knew about organization, Stage Management and project management, as well as how to relax afterwards.  She showed me how to keep it real while still commanding the best out of the entire crew.  Now, she lives in Ashland and is a Stage Manager at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.  She turned into a fantastic athlete after college and is training for her umpteenth Ironman in Arizona this year.  Gwen taught me how to make the meanest margarita this side of Texas, stood up as a bridesmaid at my wedding thirteen years ago, and now she’s creating a training plan to get me qualified for Boston in four months’ time.

I stopped doing theatre thirteen years ago, when I got married.  I was a Stagehand working for the local Union, and my finance was an Assistant Stage Manager at a neighboring theatre.  We looked at the trajectory of our lives and realized that we didn’t want to raise a family with the lifestyle of show calls, tech weeks and grunt work.  We wanted financial stability and planned vacations during holidays.  So we jumped ship and moved to the mountains to start an Internet Service Provider with my former Technical Director from college.  We were self-taught computer people.  I learned HTML and became a web designer.  Bill became the frontman of the business, going out and hooking people’s computer up to the Internet.  A few years later our daughter was born, and I stopped working.  Bill took a new job with a company in town, and a few years after that our son was born.

Around this time we looked around and took stock of our situation.  We were living in a ski resort town on one income.  Education choices were limited for our kids, and employment opportunities were sparse.  We decided to move back to the Front Range of Colorado to be closer to the opportunities a larger urban setting has to offer, as well as to be closer to my family.

I went back to school and started working toward a Masters of Applied Science in Environmental Policy and Management.  Bill worked at a few places before finally taking the leap and buying his own computer business.  We shopped around, chose a preschool for our daughter, and started trying to rebuild our lives.

Once our son started preschool we realized he had sensory integration issues, and I immersed myself in learning everything I could about child development, sensory integration and core muscle strength in young children.  He had severe allergies and certain foods made it worse.  Instead of looking for a job, I focused on my children.

Fast forward to the present.  Our daughter is entering 5^th grade, our son is entering 2^nd grade, and I’m done with my Master’s.  My baby birds have been pushed out of the nest and are starting to be more self-sufficient.  I want a job that utilizes my research, writing and social media skills, and be with a company or organization that is Environmentally Policy or Sustainability-based.  I love working with people but I’m not a sales person.  I don’t know much about marketing or advertising, but I know a lot about how to organize projects and people, and how to meet a deadline.  I’m creative, focused, detail oriented, passionate about healthy and sustainable living, and I love a challenge.

I’ve done a lot of living and seen a lot of things.  I’ve done a lot of soul searching and know that I’ve reached a turning point in my life.  It’s time for me to take a leap of faith and see what else there is in store for me.  I haven’t worked outside the home in years, and I’m chomping at the bit to see what I’m made of.  I haven’t run a Marathon, and I’m ready to start training.  I did some traveling this summer, and I’m hooked.  I’m more capable, competent and ready than I thought I was.  Bring it on, life.  I’m ready for the next adventure!