August 24, 2009

Sunday Morning Church of the Long Run

 

Church is in the eyes of the beholder.  Or ears, for that matter.

 While listening to my iPod and running on this beautiful August Sunday morning, Michael Jackson’s “Will You Be There” single lifted me up and hit that sweet spot where you know you’ve been witness to the divine.  Let me explain.

For the first time in weeks, I woke with energy and an eagerness for a run around the town.

My iPod was clipped to my shorts and set on random.  There’s a new set of music loaded on the device and I’m still getting used to some of the songs.  It’s been a nice change from the favorites that have become over-played the past several months.

There’s always a sense of anticipation before a run because my eternal hope is that between the beginning and end of the run, something will assail my senses, permeate my brain and convince me there’s more to being human than the mundane repetition of my life.  Sometimes that “something” is emotional; I’ll run with someone and find that perfect connection where we’re exactly in tune with each other.  Sometimes that “something” is physical; the repetitive movements of running will have allowed me to release some stress and I’ll find solace in the strength of my body.  Sometimes it’s visual; I’ll look up and find that I’m bearing witness to a tiny miracle of this earth, and I’ll feel blessed that I was there at the right place and time to see it.  And sometimes, that “something” is auditory. 

I had been running for forty five minutes already.  There were so many people out on the trails enjoying the beautiful morning; solo runners, pairs of walkers, people with their dogs.  A little boy on the Coal Creek Trail was followed by his mother and dog as they casually rode along the gravel. 

Pounding over the shady Coal Creek Trail, I was surprised when the strains of this particular song began.  Quiet, melodic piano chords wisped through my ear-buds for a few measures, then the orchestra joined in and Michael Jackson’s high tenor touched my soul.

“Hold me
Like the river Jordan
And I will then say to Thee
You are my friend

Carry me
Like you are my brother
Love me like a mother
Would you be there…”

The first two verses were quiet and meditative as I crossed over Bella Vista Avenue and made my way around Community Park.  Suddenly, the next stanza started and I got chills.

“Weary
Tell me will you hold me
When wrong, will you scold me
When lost will you find me?

But they told me
A man should be faithful
And walk when not able
And fight till the end
But I’m only human…”

My legs picked up speed and my cadence matched the rhythm of the music.  Yes, he’s only human.  I’m only human too.  What does being human mean? 

“Everyone’s taking control of me
Seems that the world’s
Got a role for me
I’m so confused
Will you show to me
You’ll be there for me
And care enough to bear me…”

The music began to crescendo and Michael’s voice became increasingly passionate.  I shivered again and felt the power of his longing, his never-ending quest to find the higher power that would elevate him, allowing him to revel in his mortality instead of humbly accepting that he can’t be better because “I’m only human”.

There’s a strong parallel between Michael Jackson’s search for a higher power in his tabloid life, and publicly singing about wanting to connect with a being that will help lift him up and be a better person. I was transported into a spiritual place where I made that intimate connection to the highest power, that innate wisdom that allows the pulsing energy of earth, our humanness, and whatever greater consciousness there is, into my own life.

I hit “repeat” on my iPod each time the song ended and listened to it three times through.  Each time, the swell of the music and the passion in Michael’s voice gave me chills.  I waited with excited anticipation for the gospel choir and joined in to the chorus, adding my voice and singing for all I was worth to God.

Sometimes “church” is a place to go.  Sometimes it’s a message that is delivered, or received.  Today, for me, “church” was being outside in nature, moving my body, and listening to the gospel choir in Michael Jackson’s song about finding God, or a friend, to be there with him on his journey through life.  It’s a universal message and one worthy of church on a Sunday morning.

Filed Under: Seasons Tagged: , , , , , , , ,
August 16, 2009

The Zen of Exhaustion

I didn’t run this week.  I’m tired.  Bone-weary tired, depressed tired, so tired my eyes sting.  I would cry with how exhausted I am except crying requires effort and I can’t muster the energy to shed water.

I wake up in the morning more exhausted than when I went to bed.  A sound sleep is a distant memory and energy is something I can only imagine.  All the “joie de vive” has left me for another woman and I’m a crumpled shell of my former self, just waiting for the moment when I can shut my eyes and lose consciousness.  Tired….tired….so tired.

What’s a girl to do when she get’s this way?  Call a friend?  Go to the YMCA for a quick yoga class?  Indulge in a hot bath?  I don’t know what other girls do when they’re worn down but I don’t do any of the above.  My recipe for tiredness: shut the door, pull the shades and crawl into bed.  Repeat for as many days as it takes until finally, the energy returns. 

A few nights ago I announced to my husband I was going to bed.  It was eight o’clock.  He said “What can I do for you?”  I told him in a voice too tired to whine, “You can tuck me in, sing me a lullaby and let me go to sleep.” 

He cleared off the bed while I brushed my teeth and changed into jammies.  As soon as I crawled between the sheets he turned off the light, sat next to me and took my hand in his.  With his other hand he brushed the hair from my forehead and gently started crooning our old standby; “A Better Place to Be” by Harry Chapin.  When we first started dating we would lay in bed singing gently to each other.  That night, as he sang the entire eight minute song, I was transported to a time when love was new and I didn’t know what it was to be bone-weary.  He finished the song, kissed me good-night and let me drift away to my happy place.

It’s Saturday.  I didn’t meet the ladies to go running.  I slept ten hours and didn’t get up until eight this morning.  I’m re-learning how to sleep in.  I haven’t set the alarm clock all week and I’m not doing anything but resting.

Running is a lot of fun.  So is gardening in the summer, riding bikes, playing at the park, having friends over for barbeques, going to the pool and wandering the mountains on impromptu hikes.  All these things require energy that only comes from being rested.  I did a bang-up job of using up every last reserve of energy I possess and now I’m paying the price.  I don’t even want a vacation; that would take too much thought and preparation.  I just want to putz around my house, nibble a little when I get hungry, and sleep. 

Here’s to tired people everywhere.  Cheers.

Filed Under: Seasons Tagged: , , , , , ,
August 2, 2009

Eldora 10K trail race

At 7:30 a carload of us from Boulder pulled into the lot, arriving a mere 30 minutes before race time. We leisurely applied sunscreen, visited the john before getting to the serious business of standing around. The group of racers assembling in the parking lot was a lot smaller than the crowds I’ve recently seen at the 5430 Sports triathlons held at the Boulder Reservoir this summer, which was a nice change. It’s always nice to try out a relatively new race in the quiet of your own backyard without the heavy breathing and stink of 3000 of your closest friends.

A few minutes before race time Paul, the race director, said a few words. “Thanks for giving me another chance. This year, no one will get lost. The course is very well marked; don’t go through the white tape, and turn where the little signs are. The ground is really saturated; try to avoid the big puddles of mud, they’re about 8 inches deep.”

I grinned; I really like mud and a nice, saturated ground. Forest running is a total high and worth every speck of dirt.

At the sound of the gun folks took off with mincing steps so as to not trip over someone else’s feet. Luckily this lasted less than a minute before racers sorted out their paces; magically there was room for arm swinging and long strides over mud puddles.

The race starts at the base of Eldora Mountain and immediately goes UP. We climbed steadily for a little over a mile before leveling off in a meadow for a few minutes of quick recovery, and then started another huge climb. Water and Gatorade was available at Mile 2, handed out by those wonderful, friendly volunteers that make or break a race.

Immediately after the water station we went down a steep single-track. I’m pretty good on downhills and can pick up speed during my controlled plunge to the bottom.

And so it went. Lots of ups, a few downs, and after the second water station we were directed up another hill and ordered to “stay to the LEFT!” After a moment I could see people hurtling down the trail on the opposite side as if their butts were on fire. I idly wondered what race those very fast people were running and turned to ask the guy next to me, but stopped short when I saw his head hanging down and heard the rattle of his breathing.

We climbed the ridge and turned right on the hairpin turn when suddenly I was one of those incredibly fast people rolling down the mountain. Ahhh, I see… this section was a brief out-and-back. Now that the climb was over it was time to pick up the pace and let it fly.

After the last water station a young woman and I anchored onto each other. Her steady breathing alerted me to her presence; on an open section of moderate uphill she crept past me. My GPS had stopped tracking mileage somewhere in the forest so I didn’t know how much farther the finish line was and didn’t want to bust a lung keeping my lead. I kept to her heels until she stopped short and said “Whoa” as she looked at the steep downhill we had to navigate. Because downhill is an old friend, I regained the lead easily and showed her the best route into the valley.

I heard generators below me and knew we were almost to the finish line. The young woman had regained her lead and now I chased her down. Knowing that it really wasn’t even half a mile made the last quarter mile go fast; I passed her easily and flew into the finish shoot.

This is a fabulous trail race at elevation that begins at 9200 feet with another 1000 feet of overall gain. The trail covers beautiful terrain that is only accessible during the winter; this race is the only time the general public is allowed on the mountain outside of ski season. I love this race and the constant hills and descents, and will absolutely be back next year!

Filed Under: Racing Tagged: , , , ,