February 23, 2012

Practicing yoga off the mat

“Breathe deep and bring awareness to everything you do.”

Yoga comes in many different forms, and there are a million places to practice in Boulder. This past week a friend traveling though town sampled much of what the city can offer a yogi, and shared some stories of studios and practices with me. There really does appear to be something for everyone.

Lee practices yoga almost daily, and sometimes he’s in the studio for two or three hours at a time. I know he loves the health benefits, but I didn’t know the extent of the yogic practice in his life.

Yesterday Lee and I were talking. I was physically present but my thoughts were a million years away. I tried to be engaged but there were walls around my words, and even the smile never reached my eyes.

He noticed. And commented. And wouldn’t let me give him a bullshit answer about what was really going on with me.

“Take the practice of yoga off the mat into your daily life.”

Very gently he offered compassion and awareness to my suffering. He created space for my tears, and waited for them to run their course with no judgment on the length of time my crying took, or how soon I would be “fine” again.

He’s a strong man, and let his attention sit firmly on me until such time that I was back in my body and back in the present. He gave me time to lance a childhood wound, witness the drainage, and wait for the time-travel back to the moment.

He embodied patience and strength, and trusted that I would be back, that I would not journey so far or so wide that I would be inaccessible for the rest of the conversation. He didn’t give up on me. He waited.

And within the space of that compassion I was able to witness my pain, grieve, and walk back to the place where I am a competent, intelligent, alive woman that seeks connection and life-force.

“Open your heart to others so that you may feel more deeply.”

I love the physical benefits of yoga as much as the next athlete. Stretching sore muscles, breathing deeply, receiving permission from the instructor to actually relax and not beat myself into a pulp… those are all good things. But the best part of yoga is when the teacher creates a gentle place to practice and let go of the stress of the day. When a yoga practice or studio is a retreat, it doesn’t matter what we do for those 60 or 9 minutes on the mat. The connection to the practice, self and others is the real magic.

Lee and I had planned on doing one last yoga class together before he left town, but as our conversation shifted, we let go of the time frame and let ourselves be present in the moment. And that, I believe, is the most authentic “practice” we could have ever done together.

Filed Under: Seasons, Winter 2012 Tagged: ,
February 19, 2012

Boulder Backroads 21

Isn’t it funny how the runs you dread the most are usually the best ones? And how, if you go into a run with zero expectations, you get the most out of it?

The last few days have been hard, between not sleeping enough and doing some serious, hard-core yoga that has wailed on my hips and glutes. Add a few hormone into the mix and you have a beautiful trifecta that’s called Tired Runner Girl.

I actually got close to 8 hours of sleep last night and felt like I wouldn’t die if I ran long today, which was a better attitude than the one I went to sleep with. So things were looking up.

Dave, Nico and I met at the Boulder Reservoir at 6:30am. After a little general morning chitchat we took off down 55th street in the pre-dawn light.

They planned on running 21 miles today; I was thinking more along the lines of 18. We’re all running the Colorado Marathon in May and are loosely on the same training cycle, except I’m running the Desert R.A.T.S. 25 mile trail race in Fruita in April and need to peak earlier than them in terms of trail endurance, a totally different beast than marathon endurance.

Yesterday I ran Rattlesnake Gulch with the Boulder Trail Running Breakfast Club, pulling in about 10 miles in close to 2 hours. Did I really need to run 21 miles today, considering that my longest run in this training cycle was 16 miles? “Need” is a relative term because at mile 9, the moment when I had to choose if I would turn back and run the last 9 miles ALL BY MYSELF or finish the run with the guys, it was a no-brainer to decide to tack on the last 3 measly miles so I would have company the entire way.

I don’t know what the best part of the run was today because there were so many good things that happened.

The weather was perfect and the sunrise was phenomenal… orange and strawberry swirled sherbert at the top with a treasure trove of lemon meringue at the bottom, all culminating in a glowing ball of fire that rose from the flat side of the earth.

The conversation was amazing as well. We covered topics ranging from teen fiction to Dave’s passionate disgust of certain root vegetables, to pop culture and parenting, with the requisite breath spent debating the merits of distance running and opining about our certain brand of crazy. During one conversation I spouted off about the difference between Madonna’s “Express Yourself” and Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” and used a short list of terms from some lyrics. Apparently Dave is getting to appreciate the variety of conversation I’m capable of and I’m waiting anxiously for the blog post in which he uses his new favorite word that until now, hasn’t been a part of his running vocabulary.

We cruised along at an 8 or 9 minute pace, stopping periodically to fuel, pee and take pictures next to the beautiful alpaca we found around mile 16.

Dave talking up the alpaca

She likes me, she really likes me!

Nico and the alpaca discussing who had the funniest hair.

We were a big pile of smiles and the miles continued to melt away as we casually, easily trotted along, engrossed in the moment.

Finally, around 9:45am, we saw the first signs of other runners. A big pack was headed our way. As they started to pass us Dave called out and greeted by name about six of the fastest guys you’re likely to see in Boulder, including James Carney, the guy who came in 7th in the Olympic Marathon Trials in Austin a few weeks ago. You know, because that’s who he hangs with. I mean really… what is this, BOULDER, the running mecca of the U.S.??? Yup.

Finally we turned onto 55th and headed into the homestretch. From somewhere behind us a group of runners that were doing an easy 90-minute run appeared out of nowhere. They magically split the three of us apart and with new pacing partners to reel us in, Dave, Nico and I ran our fastest three miles of the day. I talked with my new friends about social media, writing and One World Running, an organization they both volunteer for and one that’s been on my radar for a long time. We told stories and entertained each other until suddenly, we were done. 21.12 miles later, we were back at the cars.

There’s a certain magic that happens when you have no expectations. I didn’t know how far I was going to run today, how I would feel or what would happen anywhere along the way. I just knew that I was committed to showing up. In the process I got to run with two fabulously talented and interesting people and then met a few more along the way. That never would have happened if I had turned around at mile 9 for the crazy reason of “I shouldn’t push myself too hard”.

I’m stronger than I think, as a wise friend in Seattle keeps reminding me. And when I let my life be touched by other people, I gain so much more than strong quads.

Filed Under: Seasons, Training, Winter 2012 Tagged: , , ,
February 9, 2012

Running by feel

I usually run with my eyes open. I walk with them open, drive, read, cook, and clean with them open… pretty typical of a sighted individual. But yesterday, when my friend and I were about six miles into a soon-to-be 13.5-mile run (I didn’t know it at the time that the run was about to cruise into Half-Mary territory) and coasting down a little roller hill, out of nowhere I decided to shut my eyes and run.

I’ve done this a few times before, though I never really think about it. The first time I closed my eyes for longer than a blink was in a snowstorm when the ice pellets were smacking my face; I closed my eyes out of self-preservation. I don’t usually run with them closed because of the incredibly probability that I’ll trip and fall over something large and immobile.

The first thing I noticed yesterday was that my face relaxed. I suddenly became aware of my posture and felt that I was leaning forward every so slightly, straining at the neck. When I corrected the posture my neck relaxed, I stood up straighter and there was more lift to my legs; running felt easier.

I heard the gentle slap-slap of my feet striking pavement and the metronomic slosh of the water in my hand-held bottle. Instead of the noise being background noise to my thoughts or conversation, it became relevant because I knew from the sounds where I was on the road.

Every so often I squinted open an eye to checked my positioning. I’m sure the peeking was due to fear rather than necessity, as I never wavered from my trajectory, and after a while I just kept my eyes shut.

My friend and I ran along in silence for a while until I finally admitted what I was doing. Immediately he closed his eyes and started doing it too. Now we were two runners, trotting along with our eyes closed in broad daylight on the Boulder Backroads, listening for on-coming traffic. He noticed that he was leaning forward a little too, and corrected his posture. We were six miles into a 13-mile run, and every little nuance of fatigue would wear us down faster. We closed our eyes and ran by feel.

With my eyes shut and my legs moving, I felt myself drift closer and closer to sleep. All the tension in my back and neck released and I floated over the road, feeling the brief impact of my shoe against the asphalt. Suddenly I wasn’t processing color and light and images; I was connected to my body again and reveling in the gentle twist of my torso as my arms pumped gently by my side.

And now each time that my eyes drifted open they were less focused on the light and landscape. The images were softer and almost watery in quality. And it occurred to me that by closing my eyes I was suddenly, beautifully in the moment. I was fully present and paying attention.

Vision is a curious thing. It’s one of our five senses (six, if you count intuition) and yet we use it as the dominant sense. I had a fabulous time turning it off for a few minutes as I ran yesterday. I felt more informed about my body and position in space than I did with my eyes open.

Filed Under: Seasons
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