May 30, 2011

Memorial Day Weekend – memorable moments

This is a little recap of some of the memorable moments from this weekend.

Friday night I headed to the mountains for the first camping of the season.  I arrived at Red Feather Lakes by 4:30pm and began the tent set-up.  A friend would be joining me later, so I was on my own.

Blustery wind whipped the tent footprint all around, until finally I could secure it to the ground with heavy rocks.  I got the tent laid out after several tries and started the arduous process of putting together the poles, fighting the air currents the entire time.  After about 30 minutes the tent was upright and immediately tried to take flight; it wasn’t staked yet.  Oops.

I messed with the rain fly for another 20 minutes, and would have given up in frustration except that I wasn’t really frustrated.  I was hungry and cold, and my fingers were red and stiff, but I just didn’t have enough energy to get mad.

Later that night, several hours after I fell asleep, the noise started.  A party was in full swing at the campsite 25 yards away, and the 15 drunk, happy men were thrilled to be together.  My friend and I talked as we lay awake, until I admitted that they weren’t getting any quieter.  My phone announced the time as 12:15am.  I strolled my little self over to their campsite and called “Hey guys!” in a friendly, loud voice, to make myself heard over their laughter.  A quick conversation between us, and they promised to keep their noise down.  They excused their noise because of the status of their gathering (a bachelor party) and the fact that some of them hadn’t seen each other for years.

Two hours later, we were still awake.  My friend walked over and had a conversation with the loud, happy men.  The same result; empty promises of a lower noise level, only this time we learned that they were just blowing off steam after a hard week of “employment and dealing with government issues”.  We drifted in and out of sleep, trying to ignore them.  Finally, at 4am, I pulled on my shoes, hat and coat and set out again, this time in search of the camp host.  As I walked away I heard them shout “goodnight” to each other, and suddenly I hoped that they had talked and drank themselves out.  A stroll around the campground and breathing in the still night air soothed me, and I returned to a quiet campsite.  Snuggling into my warm sleeping bag, I slept until 10am.

After a late breakfast we drove a few miles to the Shambala Mountain Center and visited the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya.  I’ve never been to the Stupa on a weekend day, and was amazed at the number of people arriving to pay homage and meditate.

The Great Stupa of Dharmakaya, Shambala Mountain Center, Colorado

Upon entering the Stupa a feeling of serenity entered my body.  The giant golden Buddha smiled his benevolent smile on all who sat at his feet.  I folded my body onto the meditation mat, closed my eyes, and allowed the gentle energy of the many years of Buddhist compassion to fill my soul.  My mind became quiet.  At last, the words “I love you” started repeating themselves over and over in my head.  The color and warmth of the words filled my heart until finally, I breathed in a deeply and opened my eyes.

That afternoon, as we started gathering firewood, my friend spotted a bald eagle in the tree just north of us.  As we watched a smaller, black bird darted in and out, trying to dive bomb the white-headed eagle.  After several minutes of this abuse the bald eagle took flight and we watched in awe as his giant wingspan rode the currents of the air as he disappeared from our view.

Bald Eagle in the tree, slightly hidden behind a brown branch sprig of pine.

That night we made a fire and huddled close with our soup bowls.  A gentle mist had started but it wasn’t enough to chase us into the tent.  The reddish hued flames reminded me of the warmth that the Buddha’s words had created in my heart, and my body soaked in the heat.

First campfire of the season

Memorial Day I woke early and played on my computer until the first hint of light tinged the horizon.  By 5am my shoes were laced and I headed out the door.  The sky was gray and mist hung down onto the valley.  The cool air tingled my bare arms, reminding me that every day is a fresh start.

As I worked my way into the second mile my breath was even and my feet were light, even though I’m carrying an extra five pounds that has filled out my frame.  A coyote appeared and trotted just fast enough to stay 50 yards in front of me.   He looked back from time to time; with every glance his tempo increased slightly.  I paced him until finally the pressure of being followed became too much, and he broke into a run, disappearing into the field just as I turned onto the same bike path.

I ran with my iPod and no Garmin, so this was only a slightly naked run.  My legs were strong and I decided to run long.  I had started early enough that I would be home in plenty of time to make coffee and shower before anyone missed me.  As I crested the hill to Davidson Mesa I scanned the parking lot; empty.  On this Memorial Day morning, the majority of the runners and athletes in the area would be converging on the Bolder Boulder race that was set to start at 6:30.

My footsteps crunched on the dirt trail and I startled a handful of large bunnies that tried to will themselves into invisibility upon my approach.  As I circled the mesa the clouds to the east were backlit, but they quickly lost their luminosity as thicker waves of dreariness rolled in.

After 7.5 miles I was at the base of the bike path and turning onto the same street that I saw the coyote when I noticed a second coyote trotting down the same sidewalk as me.  He wasn’t scared and neither was I.  As we passed within 2 feet of each other I admired his grey-spotted coat.  He barely glanced at me; I clearly wasn’t a threat.

Back at home the sudden warmth of the house made my chilly skin prickle into goosebumps, and I felt the sweat that was gathered at my hairline start to work its way south.

I filled the coffee maker, removed my shoes and drank a huge glass of water as I waited for the first cup of black gold to be ready for my mug, then walked upstairs to christen my body with water.

Filed Under: Spring 2011 Tagged: , ,
May 16, 2011

The Rubber Band

A rubber band is a useful thing.  It can hold a newspaper’s pages together, bundle a sheaf of paper, or even be used as a slingshot.  It’s stretchy, comes in a million different colors and sizes, and breaks when pulled too far apart.  A rubber band is a simple creation with an infinite array of uses.

Recently I watched my son carefully construct a massive slingshot.  He selected three rubber bands of approximately the same thickness and size from our junk drawer, then carefully snipped each in half.  He tied them together, end to end, to form a long rubber band snake.  Then, he tied the last two ends together to form one extremely long rubber band that had been knotted together.

Next, he picked a plastic Lego figure, and set up the slingshot.  Lego Man was going to fly.  He secured the front end of the rubber band to a nail he’d hammered onto the railing of the tree house, placed Lego Man in the back of the band, and started pulling.  The band stretched downward, sloping at a 45-degree angle.  The piece attached to the nail was the apex, and Lego Man was soon lying on the floor.

He adjusted his hold on Lego Man and used his free hand to test the tension on the slingshot.  It was taut, and vibrated when he plucked it gently.  He gave a little tug to see if there was any more wiggle room, and checked to see that the nail wasn’t cutting into the band.  There was no reason to let go of Lego Man if the slingshot was stable; all he had to do was secure Lego Man to the floor and let him stay there, even though the rubber band was ripe to catapult the plastic toy over the fence into the great unknown.

Alas, my son is eight.  He could no more NOT see what would happen to Lego Man if he let go of the slingshot than he would turn down a freshly baked cookie.  His curiosity was too great, his excitement was palpable, and with a giggle the countdown began.

THREE.

TWO.

ONE.

FIRE!!!!

He let go of the slingshot and Lego Man flew.  In a split second it cleared the railing of the tree house and was airborne.  We watched the little toy arc over the low bushes in the yard and gain altitude as it flew up, up, up.  Finally it reached the apex of the arc and sailed over the fence into the tall weeds behind the house.

Lego Man had a new home.  In a moment of finality, a split-second decision to change the course of Lego Man’s life was made and Lego Man would no longer be condemned to lay in a box of toys, unseen and ignored.  Maybe the slingshot gave Lego Man a new life in the great unknown, and, like the Velveteen Rabbit, he would enter the next phase of his existence with a new body and purpose.  In one fell swoop, my 8-year-old had given altitude to Lego Man and changed the trajectory of his life.

I’ve decided that people are like Lego Man.  We lay around in the same habitat for days, weeks, years, even decades, getting used to the same old scenery.  We have no perspective, no emotional altitude.  The rubber band is a metaphor for the disconnect we feel between who we once thought we were going to be, and our current incarnation.  When the rubber band stretches because we’ve gotten farther and farther from our dreams, we’re left sitting on the ground, virtual prisoners of our own loss of momentum as we recede into the slump of stagnation.

Until one day, it all changes.  The rubber band cannot be stretched any further.  It has reached its limit and is on the verge of breaking.   My son had a choice: release the rubber band and send Lego Man on a journey, or watch the band break and feel the disappointment of an opportunity missed.  People have the same choice, if not literal then conceptual.  When the rubber band between who we are today and who we want to be gets stretched too far, we find that we have a choice to make.  We can either let go of the rubber band and remain a victim of our own loss of momentum, or we can hold on to the rubber band and launch ourselves toward a wholly unknown, exciting future that is ours to create.

The moment we decide to fly is exhilarating.  It’s breath-taking because of the speed with which things happen.  When a person decides to follow their dreams and live fully and freely, the Universe starts sending Love Notes that affirm the decision.  Momentum becomes easier when the weight of resistance to living your own truth is suddenly gone.

It’s amazing what a rubber band can do.  It arrives at my house wrapped around a newspaper and hours later, is used to send toys flying over the fence.  Would that we would all hold tight to our own internal rubber bands.  When we hold on to the rubber band we are tethered to our hopes, dreams and possibilities.  Don’t ever let go.

 

Filed Under: Spring 2011 Tagged: ,
May 11, 2011

Mother’s Day Title 9k Race Report

Friday morning, on a whim I registered for the Mother’s Day Title 9k race after realizing that both Stellar Weekend Plans A and B had fallen apart.  Plan C was to run at the Res with 2000 of my closet women friends and their children, just cuz I could, even though my kids wouldn’t be there to cheer me on.

On Sunday I woke to a perfect spring day; 64 degrees, sunny with brilliantly clear skies and not a cloud in sight.  The forecast called for highs in the low 80’s by noon.  We haven’t seen temps this high all spring, and I blissfully forgot how hard it would be to race in the mid-70’s between 9am and 10am.

My gear checklist included a post-race bottle of water and banana for the car, and the Garmin for my wrist.  Should have brought a hand-held water bottle, but that would be hindsight talking, not intelligence.

I arrived at the Res at 7:45am.  My runner friend Centipede took pity on this solo racing girl and gave up his Sunday morning to cheer me though a Mother’s Day race; he met me in the parking lot.  We made our way to packet pickup where I became runner number 1826 with a cool new blue cotton t-shirt and a few samples of supplements and coffee.

Now that I had my bib, we hung out in the porto-pottie line, cracking jokes and laughing with our newfound fellow bathroom-line buddies.  The air was getting down-right balmy, and as we listened to the loudspeaker talk about the five aid stations around the course, I thought for the first time about hydration during this race.

As we waited for the 9am start, I saw a few familiar faces that were accompanied by their kiddos.  I love that I can stand in just about any race in Boulder and see people I know.

The final minutes ticked by and I made my way into the 7-minute per mile section.   There were surprisingly few people in there; most of the folks were farther back, in the 8-minute or 9-10 minute sections, which was where most of the kids were positioned with their Moms.

Last year I PR’d at this race.  Today, I remembered to set my Garmin to Average Pace so that I could see if I was beating the pace of 7:24/mile.  I figured it was mildly possible, though probably unlikely, but still would be cool if I managed.  I was mostly ambivalent about the whole thing, though my competitive streak was starting to rise to the surface even though I felt more than a little warm from simply standing in the heat.

The starting gun blasted and we were off and running.  Since I was so far in the front there was no standing around or walking to the start line.  The course begins with a very slight downhill before rolling up for the next mile.  I headed out at a quick trot and settled into a moderate pace, hoping to hold steady on the hills and still have enough left in the tank to pull out a negative split on the last mile.

Immediately I felt the tightness in my quads from my speed session on Friday.  Nothing major, just residual soreness after pulling two all-out 30-second sprints and a half-mile sustained sprint that was thrown in for good measure.

When you’re so close to the front of the pack there’s no conversation, no laughing or talking amongst people.  There’s a lot of heavy breathing, and the sound of feet slapping the packed dirt and pavement.

My hat shielded my eyes from the intense sun, and I checked my Garmin.  7:17 average pace.  Better try to slow down a hair, otherwise I wouldn’t have any juice for the hills.

I settled into a sustained pace of 7:25 and let a few people pass me.  I would reel them in on the back end of the race.  For now, my goal was to run smart on the hills that were testing the strength and stamina of my quads and glutes.

The first water station came into sight, and this race suddenly became all about the beverage.  My tongue roamed around the roof of my mouth, trying to put some moisture back where it belonged.  I reached for the handout and took a huge sip, spilling part of the water down my face.  The drips felt good and I left them there, not bothering to wipe my chin.  Moments later, my face was dry again from the heat.

The water station cost me a few seconds on my pace, but I wasn’t worried.  At the end of the second mile I was still at an average pace of 7:27, which was right about where I wanted to be.   The first big push up the hills was over and I relaxed into a slight descent where I tried to enjoy a brief recovery.

The next water station I slowed down even further and drank most of the water in the cup, pausing to deposit the cup in a trash bin before I continued on.  I’ve never been so thirsty in a race.  The heat was more than I was used to at this time of year, and I realized that I should have brought my handheld water-bottle.  The stops were going to cost me dearly on my average pace.

The next straightaway led runners directly south in a quick jog toward the water, then we turned east again and rounded the reservoir.  The packed dirt under my feet made a comforting crunching sound, and my face melted into a slight smile.

The average pace on my Garmin was gradually creeping up; I was losing pace.  The same effort was happening, but I wasn’t seeing results.  The heat was getting to me.

Miles 4 and 5 were brutally slow, and I was surprised when I passed a spectator who was counting.  “You’re number 32,” he informed me as I ran past.  Amazing.  Last year I was 30th overall, and this year I’m a ton slower and have the opportunity to finish better overall.  Since that was the only option left to me, I tried to pick up the pace when my Garmin clicked over to Mile 5.  It was time to tap into whatever speed I had left.

I was at the end of my reserves; the sustained heat had zapped my strength.  I managed to pass five people, which was great, but not the ten or twelve that I usually manage in the last mile.  Three adolescent girls in charge of handing out M&M’s to all the racers as they approached the last quarter mile manned the last aid station.  I had no interest in putting chocolate in my mouth as I breathed through the last sprint, and pulled out all the stops when a fast woman came up from behind.  We battled it out at the finish line, though she ended up kicking my butt when one of us had to drop back so we could safely enter the finisher’s shoot.

We smiled at each other and I patted her back in congratulations on a race well run.  Time for water.

After the race I met up with Centipede and we made our way to the Expo area, where we relaxed on the grass and listened to Wendy Woo on the stage.  Sitting there with my legs stretched out in front of me, watching three little girls chase each other in a circle as their racer-Mom stood close by with her husband, I smiled.  I was completely and totally content.  The afterglow of endorphins, combined with sunlight and the easy sound of laughter, made the morning perfect.

 

 

Filed Under: Racing, Spring 2011 Tagged: , ,
«Older Posts
Newer Posts»