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 2, 2012

Bittersweet

Sometimes a word gets stuck in your head and you can’t shake it, no matter how many other words you say or songs you listen to.

That happened to me recently. My latest word is “Bittersweet”. During a recent run when I was talking out loud to myself (I’ve been doing that a lot lately… it’s a sign that I’m incredibly old and eccentric) I finally threw up my hands and said “FINE. You want to be in my head? Let’s talk about Bittersweet. You win. Bring it on.”

I love the singular words that make up this simple compound word. When I was a kid I hated the word bittersweet because it was associated with chocolate that didn’t taste good.  Eventually I didn’t shudder at the thought of something bittersweet and even came to like the dark chocolate and the complex flavors of something more pure and unsweetened.  Dark chocolate was raw, nuanced and substanative.  It had heft and form and my more informed palate didn’t crave sugar; it craved real taste and flavor.  And sometimes there was a slight bitterness to it that told my mouth that not everything is sunlight and sugar.

My musical palate was growing too.  By the time I was a freshman in college Big Head Todd came out with a song titled “Bittersweet”.  I worked the show at the event center as a stagehand at the University of Northern Colorado.

“I said I know we don’t talk about it.
We don’t tell each other…
All the little things that we need.
We work our way around each other
As we tremble and we… as we tremble and bleed.
As we tremble and we… as we tremble and bleed.”
- Big Head Todd and the Monsters

I didn’t really understand the lyrics too much, other than it was a beautiful song that was incredibly sad. At the tender age of 18, how could I possibly understand the bittersweet sting of being in love and still being lonely?

Fast-forward twenty years to 2011 and my 38th birthday. My husband gave me the camera that I had coveted for years. It was a bittersweet moment because we had already decided to separate; he would be moving out three days later. This would be my last gift.

I read the instruction manual and a few hours later we walked to downtown Louisville to take some pictures. While looking for interesting textures to use as backdrops, I saw a word painted on the wall in the alley:


The Bittersweet Cafe

It was a word of sadness, transition and possibility… how apropos of the moment.  A new coffee house had opened in Louisville called the Bittersweet Cafe, just a half mile from my house.  I couldn’t bring myself to even walk through the door until three full seasons had passed.

During those months I frequented a lot of coffee shops in the Boulder area where I met with clients. I drank gallons of coffee and eventually noticed that I gravitated to specific shops. If I wanted a cup of drip coffee I would only buy it from one or two places; the rest of the coffee houses served junk that always tasted burned. If I met with a client at a place that had lousy coffee I would spring for a more expensive drink like a latté or a dirty chai; anything to keep me from having to drink the dark, bitter swill.  Some of the coffee houses felt inviting and cozy; others existed to serve beverage to people on the run.  I had a few I liked a lot, but no “favorite” hangout.

My broken heart alternated between bitter and sweet, sweet and bitter. Some days I rode a high on happiness and possibility, and other days I crashed into the depths of melancholy and despair. Through it all I caffeinated and kept coming back for more.

And then one bright, sweltering day in the midst of summer a friend introduced me to “Bitter Sweet Symphony”. I liked it; I liked it a lot. The melody was good, the lyrics caught my attention, and I found myself running to the beat of the lyrics many mornings thereafter.

“I am here in my mold
But I’m a million different people
From one day to the next
I can’t change my mold
No, no, no, no, no.”
- The Verve

“I’m a million different people, from one day to the next, I can’t change my mold…” What a bittersweet thing to say, and feel. We all have so many incarnations, so many roles to fill and hats to wear. It’s a bittersweet life that we are so many things to so many, and yet there are times when we can’t master the one or two incarnations that are required.

I woke up today feeling fragile. The weather forecast called for a massive snowstorm to dump crap from the sky this evening. The grey of the clouds felt ominous and pinpricks of my own tears were close to the surface.

I got my kids ready for school and helped pack backpacks with homework assignments that need to be worked on over the weekend; they’ll spend the next three days with their dad. We drove to a coffee shop where they exited my car, jumped into their dad’s car, and left for school. He doesn’t come to my house to pick them up anymore; the wounds of divorce are still healing and boundaries are firmly in place.

Afterwards I headed to the Bittersweet coffee shop to meet a friend for breakfast. We started talking music, one thing led to another and I found myself confessing my preoccupation with the word “Bittersweet”. With a knowing look in his eye he directed me to iTunes and I downloaded my third Bittersweet song, from an album released in 1985.

“We’ve grown and times change
When we meet now it feels so strange
Well I hold you like a sword
And you won’t cut me, cut me like you did before.”
- Hoodoo Gurus

After a yummy breakfast my friend left for work. I got a free refill on my coffee and while standing at the station adding a little cream to my cup I chatted with the owner of the shop. The first thing I told him was how much I like his coffee house. He asked me the next obvious question; Why?

And because I didn’t feel like making up any b.s., I told him the truth. The place feels good. The colors on the walls are beautiful and I love the way the light comes in the windows. The layout of the place flows, the tables are comfortable, the bathrooms are rustic without being pretentious, and the people that work there are people that I would engage in conversation any day of the week. I’ve daydreamed about getting to work there just so I could be in this beautiful place that acts as a salve to my heart.

It may be named Bittersweet, but it feels more sweet than bitter and this image is burned in my mind:

Welcome... to the Bittersweet

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