Saturday Morning Zen

This is a quick update on a few things going on, just to keep current!

1.  RACES!!!  I’m in the mood to race, and am succumbing to peer pressure.  My dear friend Gwen keeps saying “Boston is in your future”.  I never really had the urge to run Boston, but maybe, just maybe, I could qualify and then do it?  A bucket-list sort of mentality, at the very least.  That being said, to qualify for Boston means I need to run my FIRST EVER MARATHON.  That’s right, folks, Lara’s longest races have been Half’s.  I’m thinking of making the California International Marathon (CIM) my maiden voyage.  Gwen ran CIM last year and tried to talk me into it.  Last year I wasn’t ready, but this year? I’m ready to give it a shot!  Question:  what’s your favorite method for training for a marathon?  Who has the best tips?  I’m open to all suggestions!

2.  I just registered for the LaSportiva Eldora 11K Trail Race, held in Eldora, CO on August 8.  That’s in a week and a half.  Those of you following this blog know that I’m just coming back from a long vacation and the flu, which means my endurance and strength is pretty low.  I’ve had a few good runs this week, but don’t have any illusions that I’ll be PR’ing at this race.  I’m going to have a good time, and that’s about it.  Is anyone else running this race next weekend?  Come on, it’ll be fun!

3.  I’d like to do a Half in September, and am thinking about the Boulder Backroads Half Marathon on September 12.  It’s pricey for a Half, which might actually make me look elsewhere for a more reasonable race.  I’ve heard this race is great, but $80 for a Half?  Yikes.  Do you know of an awesome Half in September somewhere in the Colorado area that’s under $50?  If so, PLEASE tell me about it!

4.  I’ve been working with a nutritionist/acupuncturist on my chronic digestive issues.  I’m cautiously optimistic that she has recognized some pieces in the puzzle, and that the supplements and treatments will actually make things improve.  She says that if this works, I should actually have more energy within a few weeks, and a ton more in 4-6 weeks.  This is huge.  Will add more to this later, when I have something concrete to report.

5.  I gained about 3 pounds this past month, and feel incredibly flabby.  There’s a roll that hangs out over my bikini bottom now, and I’m incredibly self-conscious about it.  Here’s the funny thing though; when I complained about it to my husband, he didn’t have any idea what I was talking about.  He LIKES the softness of my belly, and what makes me cringe is actually something that is desirable.  I’m still a little flummoxed by this difference in perception between us, and need to think on this some more.  Men and women, what’s your perspective on a little belly softness in an athletic woman?

Okay, that’s all I’ve got right now.  I have to go look at a bug house my daughter made out of sticks and bark.  See ya this weekend after my Saturday morning run!

Sixty parts of an hour.  Lots of activities can get squeezed into sixty minutes.  I can pound out a medium-length run, dry a load of laundry, give the house a good once-over before company arrives, do a few errands while my kid is at basketball practice, get a massage, have a good sit-down dinner with the family, or see a therapist to delve into the mysteries of my soul.  I can kill an hour in a running store trying on shoes or having my stride examined, fit in a spin class at the gym, sweat through Pilates, get zen through yoga, have a good chat with a friend or read a few chapters before bed.  Sixty minutes is an hour, a small piece of my day that is like an afternoon snack.  It’s important, yes, but isn’t the main course.

I ran sixty minutes today, the first run in a week due to a nasty flu that blind-sided me right after I got home from a 3-week road trip.  When I got the weekly email on Thursday announcing today’s 10-mile Saturday morning run, I immediately bowed out and congratulated myself on being smart enough to know my limitations.  Instead of running with the ladies, I planned an easy solo run on Bobolink trail with my iPod.  This would be a recovery run and I didn’t want any self-imposed pressure on pace or distance; I wanted to be able to stop when necessary and check in with my body to see how it felt.

I arrived at Bobolink a few minutes before 7 AM.  The parking lot was empty, save for two other early birds already on the trail.  Taking a last swig of water, I powered up the Garmin, pushed play on the iPod, and tucked the car key into the zippered pocket of my shorts.

Mile 1:  A high layer of clouds blocked the early morning light.  I started slowly, a snail’s pace.  I was startled to see the numbers on the Garmin land on 11:30 per mile.  After a minute or two I checked the numbers again; I was down to 11:25 per mile.  The last time I clocked an 11-minute pace, I was dodging rocks while running uphill at altitude.   Crazy how a small bug, invisible to the naked eye, can take four minutes off my usual pace in the span of a week.

South Boulder Creek, running next to Bobolink Trail.

Uneven breath and no rhythm.  The feet on the end of my legs didn’t act like my own.  Trying to settle into something resembling a runner’s posture, I waggled my hands, shrugged my shoulders and tried to notice the beautiful creek next to me.

Mile 2:  My feet felt like they were slogging through quicksand.  “Dear God, if you see my legs, could you send them back?  I miss them.” This was a mental shout-out to God, figuring if He happens to see the runner legs that used to be attached to this body, He’ll knows where to send them.

The trail dipped slightly and gravity pulled me along.  The pace reading on the Garmin fluctuated before settling into a sedate 10-minute mile.  Okay, I guess this is all I have today.  Well, at least I’m out here.  Hope I make it to the gate; this is going to be a long run. Crossing over South Boulder Road to the south end of the trail, I was surprised to see unbroken sections where weeds and prairie grasses grew over six-feet tall.  The cows that usually decorate the fields were noticeably absent.  My hip ached and sudden twinges behind the IT Band on my right leg kept my brain occupied.   I paused to take a few pictures and decided not to look at the display for a while.  I didn’t see the lap pace at the end of mile 2.

Looking west toward the Flatirons next to a newly mowed field.

Mile 3: The music in my ears was a total crutch.  I don’t know if I would have had the fortitude to keep going without it, as my run was so obviously sucking.  Stopping after the long bridge for a minute, I did a few stretches and rubbed my knee, knowing it was the tight right glute that was messing with the other muscles.  I toyed with the idea of turning around at the beginning of Mile 3, then dismissed it.  I would put in the miles.  The Garmin rolled over to a new lap and informed me that my pace for Mile 3 was a whopping 9:50/mile.

Mile 4:  Stopping again to take a picture, I finally made it to the gate, gave it a cursory sweep with my fingertips, and jogged back the way I had just come, glad that I was on the downhill side of the clock.

The sun is starting to emerge and offered nice backlighting for a group of thistles.

I lifted my hand to wave as several groups of runners passed on their way to the gate.  The dirt was dry and dusty, a breeze was blowing, and a trickle of sweat fell into my open mouth before I could wipe it away.  Momentarily distracted by the salty taste of my own sweat, I was completely amused by the sensation of rivulets coursing down cheeks when suddenly it hit me: I don’t hurt anymore!  I glanced at the Garmin and noted the distance– 3.9 miles.  It had taken almost four complete miles for my body to remember how to get into the groove of running.  I almost danced with joy, but let my legs celebrate in their own way.

Mile 5:  The sudden strength in my legs was a salve so complete that a smile split my face wide open.  This is me, I thought.  This is what I was looking for. The twinge in my knee was gone.  My feet remembered how to step and lift, my shoulders were rotating with actual strength now, and my hip didn’t ache at all.  I did a quick mental probe and found that there was indeed still some tightness in the glute, but it felt more like an invisible hand applying pressure on a sore spot than a red-hot burning like before.  I’ll take pressure over burning any day.  Checking the Garmin every few minutes, I noticed the pace numbers decrease into the 8-minute range, and once it even dipped and hit 7:50 per mile.  More and more people were passing me on their way to the gate, and it wasn’t hard to offer a cheery “Hi” or a wave.  I didn’t hurt anymore.  Mile 5- 8:40/mile.

Mile 6:  It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t crossed over South Boulder Road, which meant that there was still almost two miles to go.  A quick mental check assured me the body was still in good shape.  I kept up the pace and even let myself push a little harder when it felt right.  The mile passed more quickly, and I said a mental Ha! when I finally hit the pace that carried me through my first Half-Marathon two years ago.  Mile 6- 8:08/mile.

The last .7 mile to the trailhead was easy, and I cruised back to the car.  My legs still felt good and my mind was clear.  The fog that had trapped me in slow-motion was gone.  I didn’t have to work hard to pull the pace into the 7-minute range, and when I punched the Stop button at the end I laughed.

I had just run for sixty minutes.  Sixty minutes ago I could barely lift my legs.  My knee hurt, my hip ached, and I couldn’t find a rhythm.  I couldn’t find ME in the mess of a body that had just exorcised a viral demon.  I was hesitant, unsure, scared of pain and withdrawn.  Now, sixty minutes later, I was ready to do battle; sure of my strength, purpose, passion, ability to take a hit and get back up again.

I don’t know of any therapist that, in the span of sixty minutes, could have unraveled the drama, anxiety and pain that had taken root in my head and body.  Thankfully, I can run.  I found the space and time to push through the mental and physical pains that were festering, and waited them out.  We did a little dance to see who would be the victor in this contest.  I won.

The road trip is officially over; I’ve been home since Thursday.  I ran my easy 4.5 mile loop on Friday and met the ladies for our Saturday morning run the next day at Chautauqua, but noticed how pooped I was.  I didn’t even make it to the Radio Tower at the end of the trail on Saturday because of a general sense of fatigue.  I couldn’t figure it out, but chalked it all up to “Road Trip” and decided that a few hours of yoga would put all my aches to right again.

Fast forward to Monday morning, and perspective has changed.  It turns out I had a mild flu bug.  I napped on Saturday and slept most of Sunday, interspersed with guzzling water and Tylenol for the body aches.  My temperature spiked a few times, but returned to normal within a few hours.

It’s times like these that I give thanks for the strength of my body.  I can’t run today, and could barely walk yesterday due to the stiffness.  I slept in spurts last night, moaning when I had to turn my head because of the soreness in my neck.  This wasn’t health in any sense of the word, but I realize that many people live with this sort of pain, and worse, every day of their lives.  I am truly thankful for the relative health of my body and the fact that it can get up most days and put in a solid day of activity according to my whim.

No running for this girl, at least for another day or so.  Since it’s quiet at the moment, the kids are at camp and I’m parked on the couch, here are a few memorable pics from the road trip.

Arrowhead! Found this in the field just below the house. Indians have been in this valley for thousands of years; this one is about 5,000 yrs old.

Saturday morning run on the farm. The woods are dense in West Virgina, and the sun was struggling to penetrate the leaves.

Love the ferns!

The speed limit sign is a piece of humor, as it's parked on a 4-wheel trail on the farm. I thought it was funny to see the outhouse behind the sign; a little "then-and-now" collage.

The massive tree outside Monticello (Thomas Jefferson's house). We visited on the hottest day of the year in 98% humidity.

We visited Seneca Caverns, truly worth seeing!

The kids and I rode the Old Greenbriar Trail, a "rails to trail" that follows the Greenbriar River. When we got hot, we just put down the bikes and waded into the water.

I’ve been on the road for almost two weeks, traveling with my two kids in our trusty Dodge Durango with three bikes hooked to the back.  We left Colorado at the end of June and are currently parked in West Virginia, in the shadows of the National Radio Astronomy Observatory.  The area we’re in is called “the quiet zone”; no radio towers, cell phone towers, television, etc.  Even my computer decided to quit on me.  No Internet, cell phone coverage, radio or TV to distract us.  It’s quiet here all right, save for the traffic that roars down the one road in the valley just outside the bedroom window.

Family circumstances being what they are, I am visiting my Dad’s farm for the first time in seventeen years.  I was here the first year he owned the place, eighteen years ago, and haven’t been back since.  Back then, I hunted for arrowheads in freshly plowed rows, and found enough flint to overflow a shoebox.  The kids and I have found a few arrowheads this past week (they’re really spearheads, arrowheads are smaller) and about a pound of flint chips, but nothing like the haul that’s sitting on a shelf in my closet back home.

Back then, I wasn’t a runner.  I toured the place on an ATV and most likely went too fast on the machine.  In the space between my visits, a kid sent one of the ATV’s over a 50-foot embankment and landed in the hospital with a concussion.  The remaining ATV’s are gone now, and have been replaced with a solitary John Deere golf-cart machine called “The Gator”.  It’s a lot more stable and doesn’t have the get-up-and-go of its predecessor. My kids don’t know the difference, but I sure do.

Now that I’ve hit the prime of my life, I’m touring the place on foot.  There’s almost 1800 acres to explore, and I like a challenge.

Every other day I’ve laced up my running shoes and headed into the woods.  There’s a great lollipop loop that’s approximately six miles.  That is, if you can find the right trail to do the loop.  The first morning I followed my nose and didn’t make a wrong turn anywhere.  I meandered through the woods and startled many white-tailed deer and countless birds.  I took pictures with my easy-carry Nikon and couldn’t shake the feeling of being in Nature’s green womb.  The woods were multi-hued with so much green, I couldn’t begin to describe the nuances of the singular color.  I returned to the house to find my son in the drivers’ seat of the Gator with Grandpa giving driving tips.   My daughter was rustling around upstairs, giving signs that she’d finally given up on sleep.

A few days later I hit the same trail, but ran with a slight twist.  I wanted to see where some of the trails went, even though I was forewarned that they dead-ended farther up the mountain.  Since I had nowhere to be, I extended the run by following two dead-end trails into the woods (and thus backtracking to the main trail) before accidently finding my lollipop loop.  As it was the start of an East Coast heat wave and the humidity was already high, I stopped running after eight miles because of dehydration.

Three’s a charm, and so I ran the trail for the third time.  On this day there was no sun.  Haze covered the sky, erasing all shadows.  Lacing up my shoes, I left my sunglasses on the table as a challenge to the sun God to show his face.  My challenge went unanswered.  Instead, the God of wet air laid the smack-down on this Colorado girl and laughed all day long.  I was hot after the run and hit the shower immediately, trying to cool down before the days’ activities began.  We were headed to Charlottesville Virginia, home on Thomas Jefferson’s and the nearest Whole Foods.

Colorado doesn’t have a lot of moisture.  Hot steamy showers are great for a few minutes, but the steam evaporates quickly.  The sauna at the Rec Center is fun for a few minutes.  Even the occasional fronts of moisture are enjoyable.  But if Colorado is a tea-cup of moisture, then Charlottesville Virginia is the Garden of Eden of sweat lodges.  The sky was white with haze; it was so hot that shadows left for cooler ground.  We emerged from the car and sweat began pouring from every pore.  My son’s cheeks turned blister-red within five minutes, and he began doing the drunken walk of a child who’s severely tired.  During the tour he sat down on the ground and at one point, leaned against the ropes like he was going to fall asleep.

The return drive that should have taken a little over two hours took a full four hours. The heat hit me so hard that I couldn’t concentrate on the map, and deciphering directions became an exercise in futility.  A headache took hold of my brain and only the incessant swigs of water held it at bay.  We canceled dinner plans because we were lost in Virginia, and my son pulled a tooth during the drive back to the farm. The cast of Glee covered Journey, Neil Diamond and Cindy Lauper for our entertainment, and we joined the Dixie Chicks discussion in a lively tale about where Earl is laid to rest.

While wandering Monticello in 100-degree heat with 90% percent humidity, it occurred to me for a split second that I could actually acclimate to this and be a better runner, but then the thought of running made my stomach roll and I worked hard to hold onto lunch.   Later that night, while lying in my bed hoping for a passing breeze to float over my head, I thought about running in Colorado, and how much I enjoy it.  The runs that I’ve taken here have been hard because of the intense humidity.  There’s no sense of a runner’s high in humidity, there’s only survival.

Today was my day to run again, but I didn’t feel like it.  The heat broke last night and we enjoyed almost ten hours of solid rain.  The kids and I slept in the cool of the morning until almost 8 AM, and meandered our way through a lazy breakfast.  I meant to do sprints in the field, but after the intense rain last night, I wasn’t up for plowing my way through wet grass.

I’ve enjoyed the vacations of the summer this year.  I’m getting better at letting go of the small stuff and enjoying down-time.  I think I’m really getting the hang of it.  And since I wouldn’t be me if I weren’t always trying to learn something new, I can honestly say that I’ve learned how to relax on a vacation.

My Saturday run happened on Friday.  The newspaper called for HOT again; 98 degrees.  Yesterday it took until 2 pm to get really hot; now that the front is over us, I knew it would happen a lot faster and boy, was I right.

The real reason my Saturday morning run happened on Friday instead of the coveted Saturday is that we’re going rafting tomorrow!  This trip has been on the books for months, and it’s finally here.  A friend is an experienced river guide and is taking us on a personal boat ride.  The kids have never been rafting, so this will be a trip to remember.  He has all the gear we need and all we need to bring is lunch and quick-drying clothes.  Check!

Back to the run today; hot, hot, hot.  I left the house at 6:30 AM with just my thoughts for entertainment.  No Garmin, no iPod, no hat.  Luckily I remembered my sunglasses.  A girl can’t live without sunglasses, right?  I’d be doomed if I ever lost this pair, as it’s my one and only.

Last night was a hard one, and I didn’t sleep well.  Plus, it was hot. Plus, I slept wrapped in a blanket next to the wet spot where Connor accidentally peed while snoozing in my bed.

Kirby was dying to go for a walk in the relative coolness of the morning, so we took a leisurely trot around the pond before I headed out for my solo run.  She’s twelve now, and not interested in running more than two miles, tops.  The grass is super-high along the greenbelt due to City budget cuts, and there’s apparently a wealth of smells to be had now that nothing gets mowed.  Our pace was pokey, to say the least.

After dropping her at the house I headed out again.  No pep in my legs, I was glad I didn’t have the Garmin.  Today was about moving and processing thoughts, not about pace, strength or speed.  Today’s run was the epitome of running; for me, and me alone.  I savored it.

The loop was one of my usual jaunts, only 4.5 miles.  I broke a sweat early because of the heat but didn’t push pace at all.  Slow and steady, lost in my thoughts, the first two miles melted away.  When I looked up again, I was under a bridge and memories of a heart wrenching conversation that happened yesterday sprang into my consciousness.   Tears prickled my eyes and I gasped at the sudden onslaught of emotion.  Not stopping was the best thing I could do, so I did it.  I kept running.

The intensity of the moment wore off and I snuffled loudly into the stillness.  Lost inside my thoughts again, I didn’t notice the scenery.  My legs were on autopilot and thankfully they knew where we were going.  As I turned up the last street on the way home, another picture from last night played out in my memory.  I sat with the emotion while it burst like a volcano through my core, and shuddered when it was spent.  I kept running.

Minutes later, I was home.  Hot, sweaty and flushed, I felt better after getting out.  One kid was awake, one was still zonked out in bed, and the shower was calling sweetly.

Running is one of the best forms of therapy I know of.  I can run as hard and fast as I want, and I’ll always be there in the end.  I can’t hide from myself when I’m with myself every step of the way.  I move through space and emotion equally, ending when I’ve dived ever deeper into the mysteries and complexities that are me.