I don’t know that I’ve ever done a “cross-over” post on this site before, but I’m so excited about the Workshops that I’ll be teaching that I had to write about it! Yes, this is blatant promotion. ☺

I’m a Senior Career Coach with Ask Liz Ryan (have I ever mentioned that?). Usually I talk to people one-on-one about their Brand and Direction (what’s that you say?  email me and let’s talk!) and how to overlay their varied job experiences into the framework of a complete Career. We talk about the pivotal moments that got them from one place to the next, the things they get excited about, the intricate use of language when telling each of these stories, and a million other things. I also write out Brand and Direction Statements, as well as something called a Reflection Report (a written document of everything I heard them say that tied their story together).

This past fall Liz Ryan and I noticed that there was a need for more group sessions. The individual consults are awesome, but some people wanted the group dynamic and more personal instruction on how to do the writing and framing of their own careers. Liz and I took about four months to consider what this would look like before rolling out some sessions.

Go to the website and check out the CALENDAR! These sessions begin next week, so hurry and register!

In February, we’re offering three different groups.

Find Your Brand and Direction
Whether you’re job-hunting or in an entrepreneurial adventure, getting clear on your brand and direction are critical for two reasons: they keep you focused on the right opportunities, people and situations to pursue, and the words around your brand and direction bring those opportunities closer to you while pushing bad-fit situations away. We’ll dig into your story, your strengths and the answer to the question “What business pain do I solve?” to give you a powerful of sense and words to convey your unique power, impact and momentum.

Homework assignments for this class will include some writing and conversation between class members. Be prepared to spend an additional 2-3 hours per week on class assignments.

Your registration also includes the audio files from the four coaching sessions; four Ask Liz Ryan E-books; and a one-year Basic membership in the Ask Liz Ryan Career Altitude Club.

Writing and Telling Your Stories

Words are the most important tool that humans have at our disposal. They are the format in which we communicate, both written and orally. Many people do not utilize words as well as they might, because they haven’t gone through the process of examining how the written and verbal ways in which they express themselves are really coming across. In this series we will use writing assignments and group discussions to fine-tune the words that each person uses to express their job-related stories and pivotal moments in their career to others.

Be prepared for assignments outside of class to take a minimum of 2-3 hours each week.

Your registration also includes the audio files from the four coaching sessions; four Ask Liz Ryan E-books; and a one-year Basic membership in the Ask Liz Ryan Career Altitude Club.

Writing Your Human-Voiced Resume™

A Human Voiced Resume™ is the name of the resume Liz Ryan has been writing for clients for years. It differs from a traditional resume in the sense that this one has a human voice to it; complete sentences, stories, and a narrative summary that pulls together all the different aspects of the sometimes seemingly-unrelated positions that you’ve held. In this resume format we connect the dots of why you’ve left positions, jumped ship at pivotal points in your career, and how you engage in the professional workplace. We bring your passion and uniqueness across in a two-page white document that becomes an extension of you, minus the stats.

In weeks 1-4 we’ll begin by discussing the various jobs you’ve held and the amazing learning experiences you’ve taken from each experience. We’ll get really specific and dig into the verbiage necessary to bring out the strength and professional learning that occurred in each instance. Each participant will ultimately write the body of their resume.

In weeks 4-8 we’ll focus on bringing together the Summary of the resume. This is the most important section of any resume because it allows YOU to make sense of your varied jobs and experiences for the Hiring Manager.

Be prepared to spend 2-3 hours outside of class on written assignments and group interactions.

Your registration also includes the audio files from the coaching sessions; four Ask Liz Ryan E-books; and a one-year Basic membership in the Ask Liz Ryan Career Altitude Club.

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

Big things tend to happen in my world in February.

I broke my arm in February 1980. There was massive domestic violence in February 1984 that tore my world apart. In 1999 I wound up pregnant (surprise!). A year later in 2000 we moved to our first house in the brutal cold of a Steamboat winter. In 2002 we packed up and left our mountain home and moved to Boulder in the worse snowstorm of the year. And in the most recent February, my marriage crumbled.

February has become a pivotal month in my life and this year I’m calling bullshit.

When you live as many years as I have there will be months that stand out. For a while I thought it was mere coincidence, but now I think the Universe has it out for me. Every twelve months the Gods have Open Season and I’m the target.

We’re two days away from February 2012 and I’m ready to take shelter in a bunker. If I could put out a request to the powers that be, please know that I’ve had my share of smack-downs this last year and I need some good things to happen in February. I have no faith in the cute little hearts that dot calendars or the little cupids that proclaim love on Valentine’s Day. All I want this year is for nothing bad to happen.

Wake me up when it’s March.

I couldn’t braid my hair this morning; it took four tries to get all the hair in there. I was a little worried at first that my braiding fiasco was going to be a precursor to bad things happening later, but apparently not.

When I arrived at the trailhead it was NOT 25 degrees and sunny; it was 12 degrees and cloudy. Thankfully I was dressed moderately well and after the first mile my hands warmed up inside my SmartWool liner gloves. My running friend Jo joined us this morning and we chatted about the state of our worlds, up until we got to mile two and a big hill.

I was in the middle of some explanation about a book we had just read for book club called “The City of Thieves”. I was yakking away about the plot and the time frame when we came up behind a few other runner friends. Adriana heard me coming and said, “You have breath for talking and running up a hill, you go first!” so we passed her and Marcia.  A minute later I was still talking and we came up behind two more friends. I passed them and turned around to talk to Jo some more… she had disappeared.

The trail wasn’t muddy at all today. The little snow we received yesterday didn’t do any damage to the single-track, and it was easy to find footing on the soft dirt. I didn’t have my sunglasses with me and was grateful that the blazing sunshine didn’t come out to ruin my eyeballs.

Another hill and I kept pushing pace. Fragments of a conversation I had with a friend a few days ago kept rolling through my head. I had been telling him about a time back in April when I was so numb from emotion that I ran hard just to feel the pounding of my heart that told me I was still alive. I said that I could never do that again but he heartily disagreed. He opined that maybe I wouldn’t TRY to do it again, but I had the ability. It’s always with me. I thought about that as I looked ahead and saw the leaders of our pack. I was gaining on them.

I cleared my mind, breathed deeply and concentrated on the slight chill of my legs, my rhythmic breath and the uneven terrain in front of me. I rolled my ankle last week and there was no pain. I was 100% again.

The hill kept going, I pushed pace and suddenly I had caught up to the leaders. I carefully put my hand on my friend’s back to let her know I was there; she jumped a mile high and I grabbed her arm to steady her. Guess I should have told them I was coming up behind them. We said Hi and I kept going up the hill, grinding out my own pace.

Two minutes later I was at the water tower, on the top of the hill overlooking all of Boulder Valley. Snowcapped mountains and swaths of brown, bare trees dotted the landscape. A dormant, cold January morning that pulsed with a thread of possibility.
I pushed pause on the Garmin and walked for a minute to keep my muscles warm as I waited for my two friends to crest the hill. Behind them, about a half-mile away, another group of women were making their way towards us. I couldn’t see the tail end of the gang; they were still somewhere farther behind, hidden from view by a rolling hill.

Alison and I decided to do the 8-mile loop. Immediately my small friend in the red jacket that had jumped out of her skin decided to turn back with the group. The cold was hurting her lungs and she described it as “breathing through charcoal”. Alison and I headed to the bottom of the hill where we took a sharp turn to the south and circled the base of the neighborhood that butted up against the open space. Frost clung to the hair that peeked out from under her cap. Our legs got a slight reprieve on the flat on the meadow, and then we headed uphill again and elevated our heart rates on the soft dirt trail.

We rounded out the lollipop loop and headed back. It was mostly down hill from here and since everything still felt good (but cold) we picked up the pace. Chatting all the way, the miles melted away and suddenly we came up behind the caboose of the group that had turned around early. They scooted over for us and let us pass. Alison was getting tired.

Another big descent and suddenly she wasn’t there anymore. I had a brief moment of déjà vu on a sharp turn that catapulted me back into reality and the present. My mind had drifted and it returned with a jolt. I tucked in my arms, navigated a tight hairpin turn, said Hello to a runner heading the opposite direction and added a bit of speed. A quick glance at the Garmin told me I had dropped into the 7-minute/mile range.

Two minutes later I passed another runner from our group and cranked up the speed just a little bit more. Could I catch the next group before the trailhead? Alison had cheered for me as I pulled away from her, calling out “Go catch them all!”. Could I do it?

Three runners were in sight now; I added a little more juice to the legs and dropped to a 7:30/mile pace. Reel them in. A quarter of a mile later I passed them, and plowed up the last 200 yards to the trailhead, hitting Stop on the Garmin.

The gang assembled at the trailhead and we laughed to see the frost covering everyone’s hair. Apparently only one side of my braids were white; maybe my exhale was caught in the breeze and froze only the right side? No matter. It was time to get out of the cold and head to the warm coffee shop where piping hot beverage awaited us, our reward for a job well done.

In my car I caught a glimpse of my face in the rear view mirror. My eyes were bright and my skin was red with cold. A smile floated over my features and the crinkles around my eyes were loud and happy. This day felt good. The run felt great. The friendship and laughter of the women was warmth that filled my belly with happiness. Each piece of the puzzle melded together to create a huge canvas that held the message “This day is a gift. You are loved. – the Universe”.

I tucked that love in my back pocket and headed to the Brewing Market where I placed my order for a Mint Mocha, a decadent little coffee treat to celebrate the gift of the day.

Words are a way of connecting us to our thoughts and ideas. Words allow us to move pure emotion and sensation into a different part of our brain that stores and accesses memories. My selfish desire to access my own memories of trail running and whatever else has floated through my mind led me to create this blog; the process of writing about a specific moment in time and what has connected me to those emotions, colors and sensations of movement has helped cement certain feelings and pictorial memories into words that now are less a piece of my mental landscape than stories that can be told to others to create a sense of space, time, energy and place. Now I have something tangible to share.

Words allow us to speak with others and connect with members of our species. We can share commonalities, teach our children, debate with others and learn new languages, thus expanding our reach and understanding. The universal understanding of what individual words mean creates infrastructure that allows us to use words as building blocks to create whole sentences, concepts and expressions for our ideas.

Children are fascinating to watch as they learn language. They start with individual sounds, simple sounds such as “ma-ma” and “da-da”. When my daughter was first learning to talk she loved this simple combination of sounds and would say it over and over and over: “Bah-bee bah-bee bah-bee bah-bee bah-bee bah-bee…”

Her dad and I would laugh with delight and say, “Who’s Bobby?” just to hear her say it again. I always noticed that when she said it her dad and I thought of the sounds in terms of a name, whereas she was just saying sounds that felt good on her tongue. We weren’t communicating in that we didn’t agree that certain sounds meant certain things.

Fast forward eleven years and she’s a 6th grader in middle school. She’s articulate and literate, and yet she came home the other night and told me with sadness that she must not be very smart. Her Language Arts teacher says that a test measures how smart you are and she doesn’t always get the best grades on her tests. She connected the dots and came to the obvious conclusion that her mental faculties are lacking.

As you might imagine, I hit the roof. I told her that her teacher is wrong, tests are not a measure of intelligence, and this is why. Cupping each of my hands, I held them shoulder-distant apart and told her:

Imagine that my left hand is the bucket of all the things that are in your head. Now imagine that my right hand is the test. How is the information going to get from your head to the test? Well, there’s a pipeline that connects the two together. If the pipeline is clear, then all the information in your head can get to the test. But what if it’s not clear, what if there’s a blockage somewhere and only some of the stuff in your head comes out? Then what happens?

She said, “Not all the stuff in your head gets to the test.”

“That’s right,” I told her. “It doesn’t all get to the test. So if the pipeline isn’t clear somehow, does that mean that your bucket of knowledge isn’t full?”

She shook her head. No. It means simply that there are a few possibilities: either all the information that was in your head made it to the test and in fact, there was insufficient information to do well on the test. Or, the information was there but something prevented the knowledge from formulating into a way that the teacher found acceptable for the test. Either way, there’s a gap in communication, learning and knowledge.

I thought about this as I ran today. Words are incredibly special to me personally, but they are also an absolute treasure trove to the human species as well. With words we can convey thoughts, feelings, emotions, and questions. We get to connect with people on every possible level. Here’s the catch though; if the words that are used as the “pipeline” to convey ideas from one bucket (person) to another get stuck somewhere because there isn’t enough knowledge or ability to express a complex thought or idea, does it mean that the person lacks intelligence? Sometimes, but not always.  Sometimes it just means that the words aren’t always there.

Anyone who’s read this blog has probably figured out that I use writing as a way to help me make sense of what I’ve done, seen or experienced. Words help me make sense of my world, both internally and externally. This doesn’t mean that I have all the words I need at my disposal; it just means that I’m doing the best I can.

The day after I talked with my daughter about the bucket and pipeline metaphor, she came home from school and told me that she was frustrated in science that day. She and her friend were working together and she told her friend my metaphor, and how frustrated she was that the information was in her head and couldn’t get out. Her friend understood immediately, said, “Oh! That happens to me sometimes too!” and immediately went to work helping my daughter organize the jumble of information in her head into a format that made more sense. They were both thrilled that they could recognize the problem and then work together with their words to piece together the knowledge that they both possessed.

I’m glad that my daughter believed me when I told her that her teacher was wrong and that a test is not a measure of intelligence.  Tests can measure many things, but a 6th grade Language Arts test or book report does not tell anyone how smart my kid is.  If anything, it can tell you that she didn’t read the book, didn’t understand the concept, doesn’t know how to write a summary, doesn’t understand punctuation, or simply didn’t do her best work.  Any of those things can be addressed by a teacher that is paying attention.  But to simply announce that THAT test measures intelligence?  Nope.  You’re wrong.  In so many ways.

Words help us communicate, but they also help us to understand the possibilities of HOW to communicate. That’s the beauty of language; we get to constantly experiment with different ways to make ourselves known.  My use of words helped my daughter understand the places that intelligence lie, and that an external source might not be a good indicator of what’s hanging out in her brain.  And that was a good use of words.

I can really go off on this subject in a million different ways because people feel disconnected from things all the time. I’ve felt this way. Sometimes it feels like you’re on the outside, looking in. Sometimes it’s a surreal feeling of going through the motions, of being seen but not felt. Of knowing that your physical presence is all that is required.

Marriages have ended because of this. Friendships have been lost when one person stops engaging with their heart and thinks that sitting in front of you is all that’s required. Jobs have ended, careers have shifted, adventures have started and rivers of tears have been shed over not feeling connected to the world.

There’s a gut sensation related to these feelings. Discontent. Anxiety. Depression. Isolation. Fatigue. Anger. And probably a million more. All this points in the same direction; you’re not connected to the world in the way that feels good. You’re not doing that beautiful exchange of ideas and energy with people that value you not just for your skill set but also for your unique perspectives and ability to really be present.

The gut is an amazing source of intuition and doesn’t get nearly enough credit for its wisdom. I’ve decided that I need to let my gut lead the way instead of my head (at least for a while). My brain can rationalize a lot of different things but my gut knows when something feels good or it just… doesn’t.

So what does it look like when you open yourself up to the connectedness of living? For me, it starts with consciously choosing which relationships to engage in, what conversations have meaning, and hanging out with myself. And it means doing things that feel good instead of doing them because I think someone else thinks I should.

Recently I walked into a business and got such a good energy from the people and the place that I thought, “I want to work here. Even for a few hours a week. I LIKE it here. This feels good.” I have nothing else to base this decision off of, other than I felt connected to the place and the people as soon as I walked in. My gut was happy.

So maybe that’s what my life is going to look like for a little bit. Maybe I stop letting my tiny little brain dictate the course of my life and let my wise, intuitive gut show me how to connect with people and the energies that feel good.

The Boulder Trail Running Breakfast Club met at Dowdy Draw at 8am. I didn’t know anyone that was going to be there, and figured this would be a good way to meet some new people and see some new territory.

I pulled into the parking lot and saw a lot of people and several dogs. Everyone was super-friendly and it was easy to strike up a conversation. The first person I talked with was a guy named Matt that lives in the North Boulder area. He’s relatively new to the area and has attended a few of these meet-ups.

And then, my friend J pulled into the parking lot! We made eye contact through the windshield and hugged hard when she jumped out of the car. What a great surprise!

It was windy at the trailhead and about 30 degrees, though everyone was aware that the temp was supposed to hit a high of 60 by early afternoon. As we stood around the sun crested the hill behind us and flooded our little valley in golden light; immediately the air felt a good 10 degrees warmer. I thought about stashing my jacket in the car then decided to keep it on. I’ve run one too many times this winter under-dressed, and I’ll be damned if I do it again. Besides, I had the Nathan hydration pack on my back and could easily slip the jacket through the loops and carry it once I needed to strip off a layer.

We headed out and there was a collective beep as everyone hit the Start button on their Garmin. I was curious about the elevation gain/loss on this run, and wanted to be able to upload the info after the run.

This run starts with a steady uphill climb. A few hardy guys took off ahead of me, and the rest of the pack was behind me. I ran for a few minutes with Scott, the group organizer. We chatted briefly before someone else passed us and he dropped back to socialize with someone else.

Then we were on single-track and the ground got muddy and wet in sections. Ice layered other pieces of trail and there was no looking up at the pretty; I had to keep my eyes focused on the ground. If there was any conversation behind me I didn’t hear it. The metronome of my breath and the wind in my ears was all the music there was.

At the trail junction we paused and waited for everyone to catch up. J and I chatted about the status of our lives and then laughed really hard when a gust of wind came from the west and pushed us both backwards. She said, “We need rocks for our pockets!” and I thought that was a good way of saying that two skinny runner girls are no match for Boulder winds.

We wove through the fairy forest on our way to the fire road that eventually leads to Eldorado Canyon and pulled over for another runner group that was headed our way. Scott apparently knew these guys and told us they were running a 50k today; looping through the forest a few times to get in the miles. These guys all wore shorts, doo-rags and had hydration packs on their backs. As we made a hole and they turned left to hit the next junction they smiled at us. Just a walk in the park, Kazanski.

At this point the people with dogs took another route and those of us without 4-legged friends headed up the single-track of Goshawk Ridge. This is a beautiful loop in the summer, full of wild flowers and popping with color. Today though ice littered the trail and I found myself speed-hiking through some sections, picking foot placement and trying to stay upright by missing the slick ice that hadn’t seen sunlight in days. I could hear someone breathing behind me but since they didn’t ask to pass I didn’t turn my attention from my feet. We continued this way for what felt like about 10 minutes, until we popped off the single-track onto the main Mesa Trail.

The woman behind me finally spoke and said, “Thanks for leading the way. I wasn’t sure how to get through that so I just attached myself to you and followed your feet.” I laughed because there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to my meandering; I had zenned it the whole way down.

We paused again and waited for the group. Scott talked about some different runs that he’s led, most on sections that I haven’t tried before. In the summer time he heads up elevation and hits the Continental Divide; these runs in the Foothills in the winter are just training runs for the good stuff later in the year.

A few minutes later everyone was gathered and we ran a few minutes down to Fowler Trail. Imagine 20 trail runners all bunched together on a one-lane dirt road that sits in the shade on a steep hill. Now imagine that there are some big guys and small women. Now imagine that you’re one of the small women and two big guys are in front of you and you can’t see more than 5 feet ahead of you and suddenly Big Guy Number One slips and careens into Big Guy Number Two. He bounced off Number Two and we all kept going, never breaking stride. When we stopped again I told Number One that I was really happy he didn’t hip-check me; I would have gone flying.

We ran through Eldorado Canyon and down into the town, where we crossed to the north side of town and headed onto the Old Mesa Trail. This was new territory for me; I had never jumped onto this trail and connected the two sides of the mountain like this. Scott told us, “Hope you’re warmed up. The first six miles were fun and all, but the real running starts now.”

He was right. Immediately we headed up again. My pace fell to a whopping 17:51/mile, as I was mostly hiking now. We gained about 2000 feet over the next two miles and my right glute started complaining about the climbing. I didn’t care too much; as long as my heart held out, my butt was along for the ride.

Finally the trail leveled out, we dipped down for a minute, did one last ascent and then we were on Big Bluestem, heading down. Scott stood at the junction, made sure those of us heading back to the parking lot took the right trail and waved to the folks who were extending.

A minute later heavy breathing alerted me to someone coming up on my six and I moved over to let him pass. It was Scott; he didn’t want to pass so we ran together down the remainder of the trail. This part was soft on the shoes but not icy, a welcome relief from the protected sections of trail on the higher elevations. As we made our way down the pace picked up and we coasted along. My foot rolled suddenly and I made a noise; Scott checked in and chatted with me to keep my mind off it for a minute until the owie went away.

Big Bluestem dumped us onto the Mesa Trail, and we were home free.  The air was warmer now, probably sitting pretty at 50 degrees. My pink jacket bounced along in my hydration pack and my legs were sticky with sweat in the black running pants. I pulled off my SmartWool hat and carried it the rest of the way in my hand, hoping the breeze would cool my head a little.

Back at the parking lot I stripped off my gear and hit Stop on the Garmin. 9.88 miles in 1 hr 59 minutes and 15 seconds. I considered doing a quick tenth of a mile around the parking lot to round out the mileage and then decided that I was okay with what I had run. Time to stretch and head to breakfast.

Later at home I checked the stats of the run. Ascent: 17,631 feet. Descent: 22,180 feet. Overall pace: 12:04/mile. 9.88 miles total in approximately 2 hours. This was a sweet trail run and a good start to my marathon training!

Instead of heading to Core Power for an hour of hot yoga that would highlight every ache and pain in my weak ass, I went out for a run during a break in the massive windstorms of the past week. It had been four days since I last ran and my legs felt like a milk-logged Fruit Loop; colorful on the outside with no substance on the inside.

I turned to my tried-and-true comfort food run and headed up to Davidson Mesa, hoping that the exercise would clear my head and give me a chemical endorphin high because lately, my best friend caffeine hasn’t been cutting it.

Except I was tired. Couldn’t feel the love of the motion. I pushed through it by refusing to look at the Garmin to see how slow I was actually going. At the backside of the Mesa the wind kicked up again and I held onto my hat and tucked my head so the breath wouldn’t get ripped from my mouth. At one point the wind actually pushed me sideways into the path of an oncoming cyclist; it crossed my mind that we might become intimately acquainted on the ground if one of us couldn’t stay upright.

But no, that slo-mo movie sequence never happened, and a few minutes later my back was to the wind and I was alone with my thoughts. Those thoughts of mine aren’t always the best company… I’m just sayin’.

Today, six miles into the run and I’m ready to be done. I’ve been putting off making a Marathon Training plan for the upcoming Colorado Marathon because I didn’t want to face reality. But today, feeling like a soggy Fruit Loop, reality barged into my head and refused to leave.

When I signed up for the marathon I was coming off of my first Ultra and felt like I could do anything. I was such a bad-ass… 35 miles was no big deal, so sure, I should sign up for a marathon with my friends. Nice logic, hunh?

But now, six miles into the run and I’m whooped. I remembered how tired I was after 18 miles on the road. I remembered how much my legs rebelled after a long run and how I was a couch potato for the rest of the day. I remembered how tired I was, so often.

Over the next two miles this little pity-party in my head that had started as a side show on open mic night threatened to morph into an all-night dance club complete with electric guitars, drums and raging hormones. I thought about my friends running the race; they all have spouses to support them emotionally and logistically during the training cycle and considered pulling out of the race.

So then I started thinking about how other single parents balance training cycles and their dreams. If no one is there to lean on, how do people find the support they need to keep going?

The last piece of the puzzle for me was Expectation. In my first marathon I didn’t know how it was going to feel or what my time could be, except that everyone I talked to was sure that I was going to qualify for Boston and pull in something around 3:30-3:40.

This time around I’m not racing in another state and I’ll have friends running the marathon too. This time around I don’t have a spouse to support me during the training cycle. This time around, I have to support myself by sleeping enough, eating the right calories, and cross training enough so I don’t hurt my body.

The other morning I ran with a fellow DailyMiler trail runner. He’s running the Colorado Marathon as well, and follows the same training plan I do. Run when it feels good, hit the trails as often as possible, and enjoy every step of the way. Cross train. Sleep. Eat. Have fun.

After looking at typical marathon training plans and feeling that lump in my stomach that only usually visits after eating a Gluten-Free Buffalo Burger with bacon, cheese and mushrooms, I decided to do what I do best.

Trail run. Train on the mountain as though I were training for an Ultra. Mix it up a lot, cross train, lift weights, swim, and take it easy on myself. I know that for me, 40-45 miles per week is about the limit of what I can do before I get burned out. So I need to make those miles count in the best possible way, and running trail is the best bang for my buck.

I’m a natural runner that has never tapped into my potential. I get that and embrace it. I probably won’t get a lot faster before I start getting slower with age. The days when I’m feeling really competitive and frisky are the days I’m bothered with this, and other days I see myself through my Zen lens and I have a pile of compassion the size of Super Target for the soul and body that hang out together under the heading of “Lara”.

I don’t know how this training cycle is going to play out. I just hope that when I toe the line for the Colorado Marathon in May, I don’t look like the Fruit Loop that I am.

There’s a saying about Colorado that sums up a lot of what I love about this state: “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes, it’ll change.” I love that you have to be prepared for anything, you have to roll with the punches, and after a blizzard there’s always a few hardy souls on my twitter feed that have taken to the trails or roads to see what the world looks like after a white-out. In the heat of the summer or the frozen cold of the winter, you can drive three hours into the mountains and find a place that’s 30 degrees colder than where you just were, and maybe you’ll get caught in a sudden downpour or snowstorm on a mountain pass. You just never know. Colorado weather is a crapshoot; it’s changing, dynamic, exciting, and completely alive. It takes a certain kind of crazy to love Colorado.

My ex-husband is from Ohio, and it took me years to realize that you can take an Ohio boy and put him in Colorado, but you can’t put the Colorado in an Ohio boy. He lived his life in the crazy of Colorado as though he were in Ohio, constantly surprised by the changes and unable to keep up. He spent his life as a hamster in a wheel, running in place and never getting anywhere. He liked his life to be completely status quo, and I was a drain on his energy because I was anything but status quo. He adapted to the changes in the weather by staying indoors, not joining me in my mountain adventures, watching sports from the safety of his TV in the basement and generally burying his head in the sand.

I kept running my Saturday morning trail runs, tried to keep the family together, organized their lives and got the kids to soccer games, school functions and playdates. After years of trying to incorporate an Ohio boy who hates the changing seasons of Colorado into my life, I woke up one day and realized that I had begun to watch the nuanced variations of the place that I love from the safety of my house. I had ceased to be a part of the changes in Colorado.

I was competent at being a mother and wife, and my insecurities about my geekiness took a backseat to the daily machinations of my world. They were still there in the background though, the unlovable pieces of me that had somehow been overlooked in the molding of Lara into adulthood.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life trying to suppress my inner quirky geek. I didn’t want anyone to notice that her eyebrows are three shades darker than her hair, her sense of fashion would make a gay man weep, and her smile is the brightest thing on her face.

I didn’t want people to notice that my moods change frequently, I have no capacity for small talk when I’m in sensory overload, and I may not run fast but I have an enormous capacity for endurance in all aspects of my world.

I’ve been embarrassed about being multi-faceted, multi-talented, and unable to tell anyone that I’m a complete workaholic because I most certainly am not. I’m passionate about the things that I do and apathetic about the things that I don’t do because I simply don’t have time or interest in adding them to my life.

Last summer I dated a guy that gave me one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. He said, “You’re like Colorado. You’re so changeable, there are so many aspects of you. You’re a fast runner that’s a deer on the trails, sure-footed and quiet. You live in your body and experience emotions through a cellular filter, and then when you need to put away your tears you’re a Mama-Bear to your kids, competent and loving and capable. You’re a savvy businesswoman and an intuitive listener, and then you change again to a sexy seductress that made me notice how special a sundress can actually be.”

I was thunder-struck when he told me this, and obviously I’ve been rolling it around in my brain ever since. Something about being compared to the changeability of Colorado, the place that I adore, was different and more intuitive than anything anyone has ever said about me.

He saw the real me, and loved me for it. He loved that I don’t live life on a surface level, but that I dive deep into all areas and weave them together in a way that is purely instinctual, creative and 100% mine. He loved my faded jeans, scuffed Danskos and purple nail polish in the winter, and when the weather turned warm he sucked in his breath when he saw me in a sundress and orange wedge sandals. I appreciated the way he appreciated my quirkiness, and how special I felt BECAUSE of it, not in spite of it.

I had an epiphany moment the other day when I realized the gift I have in that memory. He showed me that my inner geek is actually the one that needs to be loved. Yeah I’m smart, I’m a mom, I’m physically fit. But it’s all the other stuff in the package that makes the boring stuff more interesting. I’m thankful that someone finally loved me for all the aspects of me instead of the fact that I can do the laundry and balance the checkbook while carrying on a conversation with the kids and sending school-related emails while dinner simmers on the stove. I guess it took another person to show me my real worth; I couldn’t see it for myself.

Now, in the cold days of a Colorado January, I realize that I want to be loved and seen for my unique brand of crazy, not the masks that I wear in public. I will always be a competent woman, but I want to be adored for the other stuff, just like Colorado. No one moves to Colorado for the consistent weather patterns or the fact that you can swim in the Reservoir every day of the year. People move here because they love the variety, the seasonality, and how every few months you let go of the old, dust off the next season’s clothes, and get outside to see what the world has to offer.

Colorado is alive, changing and completely fluid. Just like me.

The good news is that the crud never sank deep into my chest, which would have made breathing hard for a few weeks. Instead, it hit my vocal chords and rendered me hoarse for a few days while I tried desperately to not talk much at all.

My voice has returned (mostly) but my windpipe feels bruised from the effort of coughing up a little post-nasal drip that isn’t even worth mentioning. So today, instead of running like my head wanted to, I dusted off my swim gear and cycled myself over to the Rec Center where I bought a 10-punch pass (bringing the total cost to each visit to a cool $4.50). They have a gym and weights, some cardio equipment and even some yoga classes, so I figured this would be a good temporary investment for the remaining cold months of the winter.

Mostly though I realize that I’m just extremely unmotivated to run right now. I like doing it once I’m out there, but the past month has drained me. The cold hits my bones like never before, and even dressed in fleece-lined running pants in 20-degree weather I feel like I’m running around butt-naked. I got chilled to the bone on December 23 and 24 during back-to-back runs in 2 degree and 6-degree weather and now I’m screwed.

So let’s talk about today. Instead of chancing any cold air hitting my windpipe while running, I biked 2 miles to the Rec Center and hit the pool for some cross training. I used to be a regular at the Master’s Swim over in Lafayette a few years ago but haven’t swum in forever. At least a year. Maybe two. I dunno. Time has a funny way of being fluid like that.

The first thing I noticed when I got in the pool was how warm and silky the chemically water felt against my bare arms and legs. And because I’m just a little touchy-feely like that, I pushed the water around for a minute before adjusting goggles on my face and examining the underworld.

I used to be a really good swimmer. Well, maybe that’s stretching the truth a little too much. I used to be a decent swimmer. I can get from one end of the pool to the other just fine, though any swim coach will give me a ton of pointers for my form. I broke my collarbone when I was a kid and now that shoulder tends to want to compensate for some smaller muscle movements that happen naturally on the other side. I’m aware of the problem, I’m working on it but good God, today I was winded. After 10 minutes.

Yup, you read that right. After 10 minutes of doing a few laps of freestyle and then some breaststroke to give me a breather, I was breathing pretty hard. Since I had forgotten to bring my flippers poolside I jumped out and grabbed them from the locker room. This was a good little 90-second break that gave me the oomph to make it another 10 minutes.

Let’s not linger on the fact that I swam for 20 minutes, okay? Instead, let’s focus on what I did in those piddly few moments. I swam 5-6 laps of freestyle, along with another 5-6 of breaststroke, and a few laps of drills for the arms. I guess after not swimming for a few years I can’t really expect to have the endurance I used to have in the water. No matter. I don’t really care. It just felt good to be in the water and focusing on my body and the feel of warm wet stuff sliding around.