I toed the line at the Collegiate Peaks 25M race in Buena Vista. No matter what, I would push myself as hard as possible and not leave anything on the course.

It was strange to be at the race.  A few years ago I registered but never made it to the start line.  Back then I wasn’t in shape for a 25-mile trail race, emotionally or physically.  Now things were different. Twenty-five miles isn’t a stretch anymore.  I can pull 25 out of my back pocket any day of the week.

We milled around the starting line and everyone was surprised by the GO!  We started running; I was cold and couldn’t feel my fingers or toes for the first 15 minutes. The little blocks of ice where my toes should have been made my gait interesting and I amused myself with thoughts of ice cube toes stuck at the ends of each foot.

Once my heart rate elevated to a sustained level and blood flow reached the ends of each appendage I took off my jacket and enjoyed the sun in a clear blue sky.  The air was chilly but body heat would keep me warm for the remainder of the race.

At the first Aid Station I checked the time- one hour exactly for the 6 miles.  If I could hold pace for the next hour I’d be at 13 miles around 2:10… I wondered if there was any room to negative split the course like I did in Boston.

The people at the Aid Stations were friendly as I passed through each one, waving at the friendly volunteers.  I carried 2 liters of water and ate 4 gels along the way.  My Garmin alarm went off every mile and on the half hour, which reminded me to eat at regular intervals.

At two hours I was at 12 miles.  Things were looking good; time to open it up on the two-mile descent.  I started to pass people; a single guy here, a few women there.  At the crest of a hill two guys were jogging along; the one closest to me was tall and had shoulders like a linebacker.  I called out “on your left” and got ready to pass.  The guy glanced over his shoulder and his big Texan accent boomed out “Whoa there, bombing the course! Let’s see what you can do!” And with that he put his big meaty hand on my pack and gave me a shove.

I was too surprised to do anything except react to the burst of speed, so I flew down the trail even faster.  My reply to him inside my head was “Hope you’re watching, because you won’t be seeing me again.”

For the next two miles I flew on the downs and let my feet skip over the terrain.  Then it was three miles of ascent and I was at the top again.  After cruising through the last Aid Station at mile 18 I looked up and saw a familiar gait.  My Team Alpaca friend Nico was right in front of me.

I let that sink in for a minute and decided that the world had tilted on its axis; no way was I catching one of my incredibly fast Team Alpaca teammates.  Running up behind him I called out “I’d know that runner anywhere!”

He said “I knew it was just a matter of time before you caught me.”

I didn’t know how he could have possibly guessed I’d catch him, when I was completely shocked.  He said he’d try to hang with me for a bit as we hit the next descent.  I thought that was a great idea; a mile later I realized he was nowhere to be seen.

At the end of all the hills there’s 3 miles of railroad grade flats.  I suffered through the flats and tried to maintain pace, but it wasn’t easy.  No one said racing is easy though, so I sucked it up and pushed a little harder.

I ran across the finish line and stumbled to a halt, where the sweet volunteer lady said “I’ll take the tab off your number when you catch your breath, honey.”

Several friends were waiting for me and I got hugs all around before heading straight to the bathroom to rinse the sunscreen and sweat from my eyes.  On my way back to the finish line I paused to look at the record board; my name was being written in as the 2^nd place finisher in my Age Group with a time of 3:56:19.  Unbelievable.

Back outside I sank to the ground and stayed put for the next 20 minutes.  I was slow moving for the rest of the day, but happy… very happy.

To the people that said I don’t push hard enough or take enough risks- I ran as hard as I possibly could and left everything on the course.  Of that, I am proud.

Nico, me and Jen

This post has been days in the making.

It’s been four days since the marathon and two bombs exploded at the finish line, killing three people and injuring over 150 people, most of them spectators.  I crossed the finish line about 20 minutes before the explosions and was a city block away.  My two friends, Jen and Nico, were with me and we had just begun our trek to the train station to meet up with Nico’s wife.  After the explosions we didn’t know what was going on and weren’t overly concerned; we thought the noise might be a celebratory cannon; at the very least, a race-planned occurrence.

As I write this post a massive manhunt is happening in Boston.  There are two suspects; one of them is dead.  I’m anxious and trying not to watch the live updates on news feeds while sitting at my desk at work.  Over the past three days every person I know at my company has stopped by to welcome me back and express words of gratitude at my safety.  Today, people are checking on me, aware of the manhunt and correctly assuming that my mind is on those in danger and the community that has been rocked by this instance of terrorism.

I wrote a post for Trail and Ultra Running a few days ago; I’ve already written my thoughts on the aftermath and won’t rehash those.  For the purpose of this blog I’d like to offer a few other, slightly disjointed, takeaways.

Prior to Boston, people that had run the race tried to tell me what to expect.  Crowds of people lining the streets, kids with outstretched hands hoping for a marathoner to high-five them, spectators offering water, bananas, beer, kisses… I tried to picture all this in the context of a few city blocks, as that’s really all my marathon experience would allow me to envision.  I literally couldn’t fathom a city that comes out in force to smile, cheer and celebrate the oldest continuous marathon in our nation’s history.  I alternated between being pleased with the spectators, surprised at the unending attention, and abject overwhelm with the noise and crowds.  It finally dawned on me the true extent of adoration Bostonians and the running community have for the race and its marathoners.  I’ve never been party to such a mass of celebration of life and community, and witness to people from all walks of life giving in to the sheer pleasure of cheering for people at the pinnacle of their sport.

This event is the most extensive, well-organized, efficient race I’ve been to.  I haven’t run hundreds of races but for this trail running Colorado girl, this race was mind boggling.  From the Expo to Athlete’s Village to the Finish Line, each area was extensively planned, stocked, staffed and staged.  Nothing was left to chance and not an ounce of information was forgotten.  The ease with which athletes moved from one place to another and the level of support was top notch.

Inside the Boston Marathon Expo

I started a blog post before the race on Monday regarding my race strategy and friendship.  It feels relevant to include it here.  I’ll finish it up with post-race thoughts as well.

“Friday- 3 days until Boston.  Up to this point I figured it was a miracle I was even running Boston after all the starts/stops of training this spring. I had pulled the plug on racing several weeks ago and made the general announcement that I was out.  Then my 40th birthday weekend of running happened, one conversation led to another and just like that, I was back in the game.  Ready to run.

But not race. I wasn’t going to race Boston.  Not on road… No mo road racing for me.  Too hard on the body.  Going to hold back and save myself for trails, my true love.

3 days until Boston.  Time to get a 75 minute massage and work out the kinks.  Pack my backpack, water the plants and prepare for a whirlwind 3-day weekend.  The brain hit hamster-wheel mode, general freak out ensued and I realized that as an experience racer, I know what’s going to happen at the start line.  I’m going to wake up bouncing around, squeak and squeal with excitement, and when I cross the start line I’m going to race.

When you run with someone long enough you know their strengths and weaknesses.  You know a certain friend will always go out too fast and bonk mid-race.  Another friend thrives on hot-weather running.  Another is great at nutrition and barely loses a pound over 10 hours on the trail.  Another gets stomach issues at mile 25…. These are the things you start to learn.  The friend-pack reads each other and knows where/when to offer support.

I told my friends I wasn’t racing… Just running.  They smiled, nodded and told me that was a great idea.  After my massage several epiphanies happened.

I’m competitive at heart.  Put me at a start line and I will race.

I don’t plan on going back to Boston; what a horrible waste to show up and not give it my best.

My personality is such that giving up is never an option.

I called Dave and laid it out. “We both know that I’m going to race on Monday.  I can either show up with a strategy or make it up at mile 8.  I’d rather go in with a plan.”

He laughed; he knew I would come to that conclusion and was basically waiting for me to figure it out.  I’m the personality in the group that second guesses myself, doesn’t think I’m fast enough/good enough and then pulls a PR outta my ass when the gun goes off.  So.  Now I know what everyone else knew all along; I show up and race because there’s no other option for me.  I’m hard wired to give it my best when it’s go-time.

We talked about the course, pace and strategy.  I have an idea what might happen given a few different scenarios.  An hour later I talked with another friend who knows my nutrition and hydration habits.  He encouraged me to start eating and keep shoveling it in every 30-45 minutes.  I rolled my eyes at the 30 minute idea but will bring enough nutrition to consume 100 calories every 4-5 miles.  I’ll carry my hydration vest with 3/4 strength electrolytes and be prepared with salt tabs, maybe one per hour.

Saturday morning I met Nico and Jen at their airline gate.  We’re on different flights because I booked so late.  We hugged, took a picture of us and sent it to Dave.  Then I broke the news; I’m racing.

They laughed and hugged me, then Jen pulled out presents.  A chocolate raspberry Gu for each of us and race band tattoos with splits.  She guessed what my finish time might be given all my issues and hesitancies; it’s the outside number of what I’m going to try for.  She didn’t want to pressure me but knew that at race time I always show up.  She was waiting for me to turn the corner and dive in.

Temporary tattoo from Taz Running and a Roctane Gu. Yum!

It’s going to look like Boulder Trail Runner Meets Boston. I’m bringing ME to the race…. Little ol’ me, a nobody from Boulder that likes to run trail and fly the descents.  A 40 year old trail running mama with braids and a tattoo that thinks running at altitude in the pre-dawn light is God’s idea of magic.”

My race strategy went exactly according to plan.  Start off slow, hold back for the first five miles and then gradually let it out.  Use the distance as a 20 mile warm-up with a 10k race.  My average pace dropped until I hit the gas at 20 miles and started running 7:30 pace, holding it until the last mile when I went to a 6:50 and cruised to the finish line.  I would have gone faster at the end except I couldn’t get through the crowd of people.  My final finish time was 3:43:19; 11 minutes slower than my 3:32 PR last year at the Colorado Marathon.  I don’t care too much though.  I raced smart and hard at the end and pulled in a BQ time on partial training.

The race felt surreal because I was well hydrated and fueled; I never bonked.  At the finish line a moment of euphoria lit up my body but it was quickly replaced with exhaustion after I stopped running.  The finish line gauntlet of mylar blanket, water bottle, post-race food and medal left me feeling claustrophobic; I wanted out of the area as fast as I could.  I needed to be with my friends.  I had to find my friends.  Friends are what’s important and I needed those people like I needed the water gripped in my hand.

The wind picked up and my race-induced heat evaporated.  I shivered in the mylar wrap and slowly walked to the Friend and Family meeting area a block away.  Jen and Nico waited under the letter B and we were reunited.  Nico went off in search of my drop bag while I sank to the sidewalk and sat crosslegged, stretching out my hips.  By the time he returned and I donned jacket and pants my energy had returned and I was ready to go.

We started to walk and heard the explosions. The rest is literal history, culminating in a manhunt for the second suspect that targeted innocent people.

Images that have stayed with me:

Nico, Jen and me, smiling in a picture taken of us at the race Expo, wearing our new Boston Marathon jackets.

The unending line of runners walking from Athlete’s Village to the Start Line.

The Wellesley College girls lining the course for over a half mile, hands outstretched, homemade signs hanging over the barricade, screaming encouragement and cheering.

Mylar blankets billowing up and around shoulders as exhausted marathoners crowd together in the finish area.

Streets lined with yellow school busses, windows neatly papered with bib numbers of every drop bag.

Jen and Nico’s faces when we saw each other after the race.

A mass exodus of people walking away from the race after the explosions occurred; everyone holding a cell phone and typing frantically as they walked.

I don’t know how to sum up all the thoughts and images that are still racing through my mind.  I’ll check the media feed for updates on the manhunt later.  This weekend I’ll run with my friends again and find comfort in our friendship and shared love of the sport.

Flatirons in a snowstorm

Nothing ever goes as planned.

Sand Dunes in the morning

Deer at dawn on the Mesa Trail

This year I was determined to run 41 miles for my 40^th.  It would be tricky because of the injury that’s sidelined me for almost six weeks.  Was it feasible to run that many miles in two days?

Because it was my birthday, my goal and my legs, I decided to make it a 3-day weekend of running.  I told Matt, the massage therapist at Handled with Care Massage Therapy, what I wanted to do.  His eyebrows might have lifted ever so slightly at the challenge but I don’t think he actually rolled his eyes or made a sound that could be interpreted as “you’re insane, woman”.

By Thursday night plans were in place for the first run of the weekend.  Jeremy and I were meeting several hours before dawn to start our run from Boulder to Nederland.  I’ve talked about doing this run for months; as he’s done this run at least eight times, he was excited to lead the way.  We had to start early to make the 11:23am bus that would take us back to Boulder and still allow us enough time to run easy.

After a quick stop at the grocery for oranges and bacon bits, we pulled into the Eldorado Canyon parking lot.  He reached into the backseat to grab our packs and tossed mine on my lap.  Except it wasn’t mine.  It was a brand new ultra running pack, the same one I had coveted online several weeks before.  When I finally remembered to breathe again I opened the zippers and almost fell over. There were my favorite gu’s and bars and gels, Body Glide, Camelbak bite valves and an extra hydrolock.  It was the best present ever.

I quickly switched the water bladder into the new pack and we headed out.  The next two and a half hours passed quickly in the dark.  We stopped a few times to turn off the headlamps and marvel at the warmth of the pre-dawn air and the stars.  I know I had perma-grin; being out on the trail with a pack and good company is the best place in the world.

We stopped and stretched when legs got tight and ate more calories than I’ve ever, ever eaten on the trail in my entire life.  Jeremy made it his mission of the day to get me from start to finish whole, healthy and fed; no bonking or injury allowed.  At the end of 26 miles on the trail I felt great.  The body was tired, the soul was happy and the legs were injury-free.

The following morning I had to make a choice.  Would I run with the Saturday morning girls on a flat trail in Louisville that I have ambivalent feelings about?  Would I race a St. Patrick’s Day 7.77k with Team Alpaca in Westminster less than 24 hours after doing a trail marathon?  Or would I head out alone onto the trail, to go at my own pace with my new pack?

I’ve missed a lot of runs with Team Alpaca due to injury and made a split second decision to join them on race day.  I decided to sit out the Erin Go Braugh 7.77k race but be there for the warm-up and cool-down, and cheer my friends at the finish line.

We met at the coffee shop and carpooled to the race.  In the fifteen minutes it took us to get there they talked me into running the race with the caveat that I wouldn’t try to blow it out; I’d treat it as a tempo run and we’d line up together for the last run of my 3^rd decade. Perfect.

With smiles and a light heart, we chatted through our warm-up and made our way to the start line.  Jen and Nico would race hard, Dave wanted to pull out anything under a 7:00/mile pace, and I was hoping for something in the range of a 7:15-7:20/mile.

I ran hard but didn’t blow it all out.  My legs felt surprisingly good during each of the 4.7 miles and when I rounded the last bend and sprinted down the finisher’s shoot, my three teammates clad in Team Alpaca shirt cheered and screamed my name.

Nico and Jen both placed first in their Age Group.  Dave hit his goal time and I pulled in a healthy 7:17/mile pace; not bad for coming out of injury.  We bought coffee and stuck around for the awards.  I clicked pictures of Jen and Nico on the podium and Dave took a picture of me having a dance break on stage.

As we walked back to the car someone commented about how wonderful it was to be together again. They had missed me.  I told them about waking up that morning and deciding that my running choice that morning was less about the run than it was about whom I wanted to be with.  I had missed them terribly and chose to show up and cheer for my friends.  As we made plans to run again the next morning, Nico said, “I have a theory about why you need to do Boston this year.  I’ll tell you tomorrow on the run.”

We met at 6:30am Sunday morning.  I just needed 8 more miles to get to 41, but 8 seemed too little for a warm Sunday morning of trail running and who can stand to do just 8?  I could fit in 10 before I had to head back to my house to get ready for my family birthday party.  Dave was starting early to get his 18 in before 8am; Jen and Nico would run 8 more after he and I peeled off.

We headed up Hogsback Ridge in the dim light.  Dave was fighting a bad cold and felt awful; Jen, Nico and I were simply tired and not awake yet.  We were quiet as we crunched along the trail.  I remembered that Nico had a theory about me running Boston.  He knew I had bailed and was going to try to talk me into going.

It went something like this:  You’ve never loved racing on road for the sake of road racing.  You’ve already qualified, you’re registered and chances are you’ll never try to qualify again.  Jen and I are going and a race is always more about the people you’re with than about the PR or course.  You already have a place to stay; you should just come and enjoy the adventure of getting to run Boston.  Don’t race it, don’t hurt yourself.  But be there with us because you can and we want you there.

And just like that, Boston stopped being a race that would hurt me.  It became an experience that I could have with my friends because at this exact moment in time, I’m registered, I’m a runner, and we can be there together.

We ran for almost two hours that morning.  At the turn-around point Jen and I led the way and somehow managed to drop Dave and Nico on the singletrack.  We were caught up in our conversation and the miles rolled by easily.

Dave and I grabbed a cup of coffee after Nico and Jen headed back out, then I went home to get ready for the party.  A quick tally of the days’ miles gave me 43 miles in the bag.  My legs felt good after the easy miles on Friday, the tempo run on Saturday and Sunday’s nirvana on singletrack.  My 4^th decade has started with a bang; I can’t wait to see what comes next.

I’ve been injured and unable to run consistently or pain-free for almost two months.  The Boston Marathon will be here in just over 6 weeks and I’m bowing out.

No speed training for me.  No hard road miles.  No tempo Tuesdays or track workouts or long mid-week runs.  Not for Boston.

I didn’t wrestle with the decision.  It didn’t keep me up at nights.  The idea of NOT running Boston sat in my gut and gestated for several weeks before it dawned on me; I was truly apathetic about the race.  My entire reason for running Boston was to train and run with my friends.  If left to my own devices, I would hit the trails and never look back.

Training and running with Team Alpaca is one of the highlights of my week.  I look forward to our Sunday long runs even though they beat me up more than they should.  I’m the slow kid in the group; the starting pace is always a bit too high and my effort level at least 20% higher than theirs.  I did it for the company, the camaraderie, conversation, hours of happiness and laughter and sweat.  Now, I’ll incorporate the Sunday long runs into my week as a harder workout and use it to my advantage instead of detriment.

I’m still going to run with Team Alpaca, but the training plan has been scrapped.  I’m off the hook for speed and time.

All that’s left is my desire to run.

The Breadth vs Depth metric is useful in determining how a company or organization wants to embrace the idea of sustainability.  In a Breadth scenario a Sustainability Consultant might determine if the company wants to embrace Sustainability.  Sometimes this is done as a PR move.  In some cases a CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) Director writes white papers, joins environmental groups and requires departments to adhere to certain standards.  They might have a 2-person team working in a 10k+ person company.  The fallacy of the Breadth argument is that the company is so big and the culture (or cultures, depending on if the company is national or international) so varied that the Depth of conversation into the nitty-gritty of culture, ethics, not to mention energy efficiency, best practices and a triple bottom line, are compromised.  The team cannot achieve any significant change because their reach is limited but organizational structure, physical distance, and a top-down approach that promotes the fiscal bottom line instead of the triple bottom line.

In a Depth scenario a company is able to commit to digging ever deeper into the How’s and Why’s of what they do.  How do they interact internally AND externally? Do company practices mirror the mission statement?  Are we a status quo company because “that’s how we’ve always done business”, and if so, where are the windows of opportunity to engage in discussion around making small changes that will strengthen the foundation of the company and the commitment of the people that work here?  In a Depth conversation Sustainability is a Core Value of a company.  There might be LEED changes and overall efficiency implemented, but after the metrics are achieved, the conversation continues with individuals, teams, in the office and at the company picnic.

In the discussion I recently had, Breadth vs Depth was likened to water.  Breadth is how far you can see while standing on a boat in the middle of the ocean.  Depth is how far you can dive into the currents of the ocean.  Both are valid viewpoints.  Breath covers distance; Depth uncovers nuance and revels in complexity.

Last year I was always about 5 minutes away from being injured.  I could list the reasons that I didn’t hold back; dedication, excessive spirit of competition, sheer stupidity… maybe some are more true than others.  The crux of the matter was that none of the body treatments I received really dealt with the root of my issues.

Cramping in my foot slowed me down and added several minutes onto the Boulder Spring Half in March.

The sore glute and feeling of an ice pick being jammed into the hip forced me into the mountains during marathon training a year ago.  Then it was an achy hamstring, tight calves, sore IT Bands… you name it, I had it.  And I kept running.

I took a few months off at the end of 2012 and focused on stretching and strengthening, hoping the inflammation would subside and I’d be ready for the next big cycle.

Two weeks into Marathon Training for Boston and I was about to be sidelined.  During a mid-length Sunday run with the gang I had to stop twice to stretch my foot because it was cramping again.  My right leg didn’t have the same “lift” as the left and it felt like I needed to pick it up with each step.

Obviously something had to be done, and fast.

A friend recommended Matt Schaub, a massage therapist in Arvada.  I made an appointment and cautiously looked forward to the session.  Standing just inside the door with my coat and purse on, I told him that more massage therapists than I can count have wailed on me; he better not make me cry.  He discussed trigger points and how pain is referred; we agreed to give it a shot and I got on the table.

He found the sore places and gently, diligently, worked to release them.  When I started to tense up he backed off and came at the knot from another direction.  Several times he released about six layers of fascia and tissue before finally getting to the crux of the matter.

I left the room standing taller and with less stiffness than I’ve had in months.

Yesterday morning the glute and IT Band were completely flared up.  I foam rolled and did what self-massage I could but there was no way I would ever get the right angle to release the layers of scar tissue and crap that has settled deep in my body.  Matt worked on me again in the afternoon, spending close to 45 minutes on the glute and methodically getting deeper and deeper into the root of the problem until we both felt the entire leg release.  It was the most magical burst of nirvana I’ve ever had on a massage table.  The pain was gone.  The trigger point was gone.

I left the office with zero pain in my legs.

Fast forward 24 hours.  I ran 18.4 miles with my running partners this morning.  A few times I could feel some tension in the glute but it wasn’t anything like what I’ve experienced lately.  I’ll see him again this week and we’ll work on the next layer of my issues.

He said, “You didn’t get this messed up overnight.  It’ll take a bit to work it out but if you’re willing to commit to the work, we’ll get you moving again.”

I want to be healthy and able-bodied.  Willpower got me through 2012.  Intelligence and paying attention to my body will get me through 2013.

1.  Mellow Sunday = Long Run Sunday.  Another way of looking at this cookie is “Boston Marathon training has begun”.  I hit 46 miles this week, about 10 miles shy of an average week during the 16-week training cycle.

Team Alpaca (Dave, Jen, Nico and me) ran 16 miles this morning.  We did an 8-mile warm-up, paused to take off a layer then ran 8 miles at Marathon Pace (MP).  I watched Nico and Jen take off.  Dave stayed in view for a few minutes and then he, too, was gone.  I tried to settle into my 8 minute/mile pace but couldn’t find my rhythm.

After three miles my right ankle was screaming.  I stopped to rub and stretch.  Two miles later I repeated the drill before sucking it up and finishing the last 5k, knowing my teammates were standing around getting very cold at the trailhead.

MP miles: 7:45, 7:41, 7:42, 7:45, 7:54, 7:51, 8:10, 7:56.

Average pace: 7:50

Assessment:  Oops.  Slightly off my 8:00 pace.

The ankle seems to be a symptom of tightness in the calf.  I foam rolled it and noted the four knots that tried to hide.  This has been a problem before; in the past I’ve had it dry needled to varying degrees of success.  I think this time around I’ll try working with a good massage therapist and use the KT Tape.

2.  Last week I vacationed in Wisconsin and learned all about dressing for serious running in 0 degree temps.  My friend and I ran 16 miles on snowpack (effort was 20 miles) and 13 miles in late afternoon/dark.  We discussed in detail each layer donned and how it would interact with the next in order to achieve maximum wicking and warmth benefits over the course of several hours.

I found that 4 layers on my legs worked perfectly; running tights, long underwear, wicking running pants and my trusty “noisy pants”, aka wind pants.  Two pair of toe socks inside trail shoes and gaitors.  Two fleece-lined wicking shirts and a light-weight down jacket.  Balaclava and hat.  Mountain Hardware gloves and liners.

At one point when the sun was still out I took off one shirt, the Mountain Hardware gloves and the hat.  About an hour after dusk I got chilled and put everything back on.

I also learned that in temps below 15 degrees I lose a lot of body heat from carrying a hand-held water bottle, even while wearing gloves.  Therefore, I will be wearing my awesome Nathan hydration running vest on any cold run.

3.  I ran a 10k race a few weeks ago in Littleton with Team Alpaca.  This was a “fun race” because I was completely untrained and not ready for speed.  Jen was two weeks off CIM (California International Marathon), Nico was racing almost every weekend just to get speed work in the mix and Dave was going to pull speed out if it killed him.

I didn’t line up with them at the front of the pack because well, WHY? They’re so fast and I’m a turtle compared to them.  I tucked in about 100 people back and ran my pace, just trying to hold the heart rate steady.  This worked pretty well; the HR stayed at about 178 and I posted a time of 45:16, or 7:23 mile average.  Later that day I checked and was shocked to see that this was a 10k PR.

4.  After Boston I’ll turn to ultras again.  This year I want to do a few 50-milers and maybe another relay race.  I’m not in a hurry to register for anything at the moment; will wait and let things unfold.

5.  Balancing work and family with Marathon Training is going to take some serious figuring.  Weekends are fine but the five days in the middle are a problem.  I have to get three good runs in there somewhere, and one of those will be a mid-week jaunt of up to two hours.  I’m contemplating breaking that one up into two runs just to fit it into the day but that’s not the perfect solution either because of showering, etc at work.

I love my toned legs that and can run for miles and hours on end.  I love the companionship of training runs and witnessing sunrises more days than not.

Lately I’ve seen more sunsets than sunrises, and my gear remains tucked away.  The fabric of daily life has changed.  I run sporadically.  I miss my trails in Louisville.  I miss the little loops I knew intimately that could get me to 60, 70, 80 minutes with a simple turn down known roads.

I miss the structure of my old life.

Yesterday I awoke to a most unwelcome feeling.  The thought “I’m not a runner anymore” floated in the darkness of my room and bumped my chilly arms and disheveled hair.  I had promised to meet three of my favorite runners for a 6:30 start time, a final run before one of our own travels to Sacramento to attempt a sub-3hr marathon.  We were only running 12-13 miles.  Only 12-13 miles… on legs that run no more than 20 per week anymore.

I fumbled with my clothing.  Should I wear shorts or leggings?  What hat to wear?  Where’s my Garmin? Oh… I should take water.  I wonder if I have any gels?

I’m out of practice.  Running is a practice in mediation, skill and consistency.  The thought “I’m not a runner anymore” brought painful sadness and shrouded my heart in a blanket of gray.  I stopped consistently doing the thing that brings joy, balance and warmth to my life.

I’m off balance.

I met my friends and their smiles warmed my cold hands and legs.  They set the pace and I fell in line.  Conversation and laughter ensued.  Blood pumped.  The words “I’m not a runner anymore” sat on my lips, poised to explode shrapnel around the people I trust and respect.  I bit my tongue and held the words silent in my cheek pocket.

Chilly air engulfed my bare legs.  I pulled the fabric of my shirt over my balled hands and listened to marathon plans and pre-race anxiety as we ran an easy warm-up out Bobolink to Marshall Mesa.

We hit the trail and the brain fog parted.  Instantly I became more aware of my surroundings, each foot lifted higher and my pulse dropped into its endurance zone; the place where I can hold pace for hours.

We bounded uphill and I heard the labored breath of a runner-friend behind me.  No matter; I could talk up this hill and down.  At the flat section we settled into an easy pace and joked about who would be next to take a digger.  General consensus is that it’s my turn; everyone else has fallen over the past few months.

My tall trail runner friend led the way on the descent and I flew after him.  Each footfall was preplanned and I set up for the next one before the shoe left the ground.  Twisting and jumping, gliding over rocks; this is what I’m trained for.  This is what I do.

Back on the straight-away our two faster runners settled into a pace and easily pulled away.  My friend and I ran steadily along at an 8:10/mile pace and marveled at their fitness.  We talked about running form and our lack of training, and how we’re going to juggle marathon training with family and work commitments.  We decided on doubles for mid-week long runs, as neither of us has large chunks of time during the week.  We’ll train in stolen moments – lunch breaks, planning periods, and early mornings before lunch boxes are packed and lovingly set out for small hands to retrieve.

And finally I confided my secret.  “I’m not a runner anymore,” I said, never daring to look his way lest he see the rawness of emotion etched on my face.

“You’ll always be a runner.  It’s in your body.  You have the most perfect running form of all of us; shoulders relaxed, an easy stride.  All you have to do is make up another 20 miles to get your base back.  The 16-week training plan begins mid-January.  It’ll be easy to ramp up to 55-60 miles/week then.  You’ll be ready.  You know how to do this.”

Poof.  The secret demon that taunted me vanished in the chilly air.  I wasn’t lost; I was just hibernating.  I’m a runner.

Four scenarios were offered:

If all four teams chose X, each team loses 1 point.

If 3 teams choose X, they gain 2 points and the team that chose Y loses 2 points.

If 2 teams choose X they gain 1 point and the team that choose Y lose 3 points.

If all 4 teams choose Y, everyone gains 1 point.

When the game began the room buzzed with voices.  How do we out-think the other teams?  What strategy gains the most points?  Obviously the only win-win situation was the last scenario, but without being able to collaborate, how to express to the other teams a willingness to choose what otherwise looked like a losing proposition?

My teammates and I brainstormed.  They wanted to compete.  We couldn’t trust the other teams.  Everyone was going to choose X.

I told them that if we chose Y, we might lose for a few rounds until our other three counterparts figured out that we wanted to collaborate.  Then they would catch on.  They could surely see a win-win situation.

My teammates were skeptical but acquiesced.  We’d try it my way for a few rounds.

As the game went on some groups said they’d choose one way but then did something different for personal gain.  Other teams stopped trusting them and ceased engaging in conversation.  They were ostracized.

Afterwards, general discussion on competitive vs collaborative personality traits commenced.

A woman at the back of the room likened competitive personalities and behavior to that of marathon runners.  She said that marathon runners train and run only to win; it’s the winning that matters.  Business is the same as sports and that’s why only competitive people win.

I sat shaking my head.  “Bullshit” rolled from my tongue and the gentlemen flanking me chuckled softly.

When she finished talking I leaned forward and waved my hand. “Excuse me,” I called, “excuse me!”

The professor gave me the floor.

“I’m a runner.  I’ve run marathons and ultras and I have to disagree with the metaphor.  Only about five people at any given marathon have any real chance of WINNING the race.  The rest of us are out there because we’re pushing and competing against ourselves.

Runners support and cheer for each other.  We motivate each other and we’re there when things go wrong.  We don’t sabotage or hope for anyone’s downfall.  Running is about health and personal boundaries.  It’s a collaborative sport, not a competitive one.  We want each other to be their very best. If you have any doubt get out on a racecourse and listen to people say “Good job”, or “Looking good” when you streak by at mile 24.  People in business that have figured out how to collaborate do better than people that plot other people’s downfall.”

I could have gone on longer but stopped there.  I was tired of hearing about how competitive business is, how it’s each man for himself and how we need to step on the other person for personal gain.  Excuse me for the word again, but I call Bullshit.

Without being able to trust each other a person or company becomes an island unto themselves.  When they need help there’s no one to turn to.  When they inevitably falter, the wolves will be there to finish the job.

Runners aren’t like that.  Runners push boundaries but they’re internal and personal.  When they get up in the pre-dawn darkness they’re not looking to see who else is up.  They do it for themselves.  They log the miles because they want to.  They miss Friday night dancing and drinks to hit the road or trail the following morning for a long haul.  They meet up with friends, encourage each other through injury and absolute bonking, and crew and pace each other for super-human feats of endurance.  Runners pull together to elevate the human spirit, not tear it down.  That’s the world I  live in.  I believe in collaboration in personal feats of strength and endurance, and I have to believe that collaboration in business only makes industry stronger.

We need each other.