Races

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Purpose

This poem by Nadine Stair moved me when I was a teenager which is surprising that even at that young age I'd be thinking about how I would live my life if I were to live it over. But here it is:

If I had my life to live over, I'd dare to make more mistakes next time. I'd relax, I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.

You see, I'm one of those people who lived sensibly and sanely, hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat and a parachute. If I had to do it again, I would travel lighter than I have.

If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds. I would pick more daisies.

Did I live that out during the period of time between being a teenager and now? I'm not sure. I made more mistakes, absolutely. I climbed more mountains and swam more rivers, definitely. And ohhhh the merry-go-rounds... I'm still nauseous from those rides. But I can be sure that now I've stepped out of the spinning and staggered dizzily into the open field, I will go barefoot so that I can feel every pull of earth beneath my feet, myself centred and steady, walking forward with purpose and following my heart toward the sunrise of new beginnings.






Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Moon

I have a little chalkboard wall in the kitchen that I designate for special quotes that are meaningful to me that day/week. This afternoon I wrote out a quote by Masahide: "Barn's burnt down... now I can see the moon..."

Except Jake comes down the stairs and erases the word "barn" and writes "pants" instead.

Excellent.

But really, I love this quote for so many reasons. I can get so caught up in everything going wrong that I don't notice all the things that are going right. Or, what if I had been stuck inside the safe familiarity of the barn for eternity, yet been robbed of experiencing the beauty of the moon? Or maybe good things can come out of bad situations?!

Or maybe a bare bum is totally hilarious and the joke never gets old.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

It's a Slow Fade

As a young runner, I wore only soccer shorts and cotton tee shirts for my runs, even for marathon training. They didn't have technical fabric back then, and the only spandex available was designated for swimmers, exclusively. I'd finish up my runs with my tees stuck to me, twisted around my torso and with my soccer shorts scrunched up my thighs. It sucked. The mess those things made of my skin was even more criminal.

As the years ticked by, I'd find more and more tech shirts and shiny lycra in my running clothes drawer. I'd try to keep them to night-running only where I'd be slinking through the streets seemingly undetected. But as I kept adding on the miles and had to find ways to fit my runs in during the day, I noticed that these nerd factory-produced threads became like second skin and soon became a part of my new Zoolander-esque identity.

Then I stopped caring.

And so I show up to school at drop off and pick up wearing spandex tights pulled up to my neck, dorky mittens and toque on, vaseline smeared under my nose and I'm pretty sure I left zit cream on once.

If dorky running outfits are a crime, then lock me up and throw out the key. Or wait, I have a little key pocket zipper thingie wingie in my tights, so just give the key to me and I'll hang onto it for you.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Redemption Time

Does anyone remember this story from when I ran Seattle two years ago? The marathon is coming up this Sunday the 27th. I'm thinking that I might need to try and earn that 3:16:49 time that they accidentally tagged me with...

If you haven't read it or if you want to laugh at my expense yet again, here it is (dated November 2009):

I ran the Seattle Marathon on Sunday morning, and now, 24 hours later, I feel great. I really do. Absolutely fabulous. Just as long as I have at least 2 ibuprofen in my bloodstream and I'm not moving, then sure. I feel great.

There were seven of us runner-friends who traveled down to Seattle to run. I drove the van, and we only just about died once. Some moron wouldn't let me change three lanes at the same time to cut him off and take an exit. Obnoxious, eh?

I was the only one signed up to run the full marathon; the rest of the runners were signed up for the half. However, once we had all stayed up WAY too late on Saturday night, I felt run-down and sick to my stomach, and so I decided to run the half marathon instead.

Since it was too late to switch to the half on race day morning, I decided to just pin my full marathon bib on and put on my full marathon timing chip so I could at least prove that I paid for my registration.

Mark, Gord and I stuck together for the first 7km until a fork in the road steered halfers one way, and fulls the other. Since I had felt quite fresh once I started running, I thought I would ask a race marshall if I can just go ahead and take the full route.

Now, this is important: The reason that I would have to ask someone for permission is because the full marathon did not start until 45 minutes AFTER the half marathon had started.

So, I asked someone and she kinda shrugged and replied, "SURE!"

Off I went.

All by myself.

I ran all by myself for the next 23 kilometres.

I did not think about the implications of my decision until I hit the half-way point. All of a sudden, as I realized what was about to happen, I was filled with dread.

You see, the elite marathoners finish their race at around 2 hours and 30 minutes. They would hit the halfway point at 1 hour and 15 minutes. I hit MY halfway point at 1 hour 50 minutes, which means I had about 10 minutes before the elite would come up behind me with police escorts and sirens.

Yes, yes. This really happened. *sigh*

So off went my music and up went my anxiety. Waaaay up.

I shoulder-checked and ran backwards until finally I heard the sirens, at which point I just stepped off the race course and watched them all run by me. Gobs and gobs of extremely fast marathoners. These people are machines.

When I would see a large gap, I would hop back onto the course, and shoulder-check and run backwards some more, until I'd see more runners and then I'd hop back off.

Repeat 10,000,000,000,000 times.

And you know what would happen when I'd be on the race course? Crowds of people would cheer and shout, "Here comes the first WOMAN! THE FIRST WOMAN!!! ALL RIGHT!!! WAY TO GO!!!" Cheer cheer hooray hooray yay yay.

Meanwhile I would be making the "no, no, no-cut it out" motion with my hands. And then I would tell them that, "I started early."

Repeat 10,000,000,000,000 times.

This is a HUGE city race. These elite runners are dead serious. They win money.

So at this point I decided to just stop at an aid station and chat it up with some people. They were all friendly and they laughed along with me at my awkward situation as they ladled fresh Gatorade into the cups and lined them up on the table.

I sat and drank some Gatorade, laughed and chit-chatted, fixed my shoes, put some vaseline on my blisters. And then. AND THEN. I tossed my empty Gatorade cup into a giant 100 Litre container of fresh Gatorade, thinking that it was a garbage can.

And then I ran while I tried not to cry. I was HUMILIATED.

The elite women passed, and more and more runners went by me as well until I could eventually get back into a running rhythm. I still got told things like, "You're fourth in your category! The next woman is just around that corner! Go catch her!"

At this point I turned my music back on because I couldn't stand telling any more people that I STARTED EARLY!!!!!!

All in all, it was a great race because a) I had great friends supporting me, b) It is good fitness-maintenance for pre-Boston training and c) I think I came in ninth place and now I'm going to be on the cover of running magazines (they might need to spend a year or two photo-shopping my thighs, though).

I'm still shaking my head in disbelief...

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Whistler 50 Recap

My official time for 50 miles is 7:17:25.

The first loop of 17km was in the dark and we all carried flashlights and wore headlamps. It was during this loop that I talked the very most to the other runners. We pretty much found a similar pace group and stuck together and got to know each other. My group took a wrong turn at the golf course and had to backtrack a bit but not by too much. My first loop was quite slow, slower than I had anticipated, but it worked out to be a very good thing. I sorta just let myself "sleep" through that first loop.

The second loop felt like a million bucks. The sun had risen and it was a gorgeous day. I had SO much energy during this loop but I really forced myself to hold back and stick with a runner I had found a groove with. He told me later though that he could tell that I was dying to take off. But again, holding back proved to help me in the end.

The third loop started to hurt a bit so I took a couple of Advil. I was still freezing cold (it was below freezing the whole day and my hair had frozen around my hairline) so I kept my jacket and gloves on. Near the end of the third loop I felt dizzy when I stopped at the last aid station so I really made an effort to keep eating food, taking gels, etc. and then I was fine.

When I saw Tracey and Melody at the exchange between the third and last loop they looked at me worriedly, asking me all sorts of questions and I just breezed in and out of there and took off again. When I started my fourth (final) loop, I shouted out a big "WHOOHOOOO!!" and then took off.

The course starts out by winding through and around Whistler village, around and about the golf course, through some trails and then up into a steep snowy patch for about 10k where the ground was covered in snow and ice and the air was significantly cooler. Then we'd come out and head down a patch of technical stuff, over a bridge to the last aid station before we run the final 3.5k to the finish. On my last loop, when I came to that final aid station I ran right through it and whooped and hollered and laughed and cheered. I was on FIRE for that last 3.5k and I kept passing people like nobody's business. I think I passed the fourth and third woman in there somewhere.

The last km is right through the village and I fought back tears the whole time. When I rounded the corner to the finishing shoot I got so emotional that my throat kinda closed a bit so I really fought it off, cleared my throat and dug deep.

I don't understand how I was able to run that distance in that time. I just shake my head in disbelief, and I am thankful! Thankful for a healthy body, for supportive friends and family, for the adversity that fueled a lot of my motivation to run long, for my buddies on Daily Mile who have encouraged me all along the way.

Not sure what's in store for me next. I feel pretty good, just a little stiff and sore...although the tops of my feet are inflamed and maybe even a little bruised, so I'm not sure what that's about. Putting ice on them, and anticipating a very good, long sleep tonight.

Good Deed

My dad always taught me to a) do good deeds and b) never ever tell anyone that you did them. Ever. It was something that stuck with me and I often wonder what sorts of secret good deeds my dad has done over the years and not told anyone about. I know he does them, because he's that type of person.

So although I like to model my behaviour after my dad's (secret good deeds as well as public noise-making) I am going to go against it just this once...

My feet hurt after running the ultra. I think the tendons in the top of my foot are all inflamed. It sucks. I can run a little bit here and there but only if I'm all hopped up on ibuprofen. I was out there today in the beautiful sunshine when I saw a girl struggling on the sidewalk. She had dropped a grocery bag full of stuff: binders, magazines, her wallet, some medicine, makeup, typical teenage-girl stuff. The bottom of the grocery bag had busted through and everything just dumped out.

The thing that makes it all worse is that she is a bit disabled and uses crutch-type things (Lori... what's the technical term?) to walk. She couldn't just bend down and pick it all up and keep going. She was stuck, literally. Now, I wouldn't even barely be able to call this a good deed because there isn't a human being on earth with a beating heart that wouldn't stop and help her. I told her that I'd run home and grab a new bag and run back in 30 seconds. She kinda blinked at me and said, "Sure! Thanks!"

I took off, grabbed a bag and came back and scooped all her stuff into the new bag and I carried it to her house while she walked beside me. I felt all smug as if I was the greatest human being to grace the earth. I swear I looked around to see if anyone was noticing how great I was. But you know how she reacted? She was kind of rather nonchalant about the whole thing! I half expected some tears of gratitude, a gushing paragraph of thank-yous and "you made my whole life" and "you're a dream come true"... but she didn't. You know why? I think it's because she has learned to accept grace in a way that I could only dream of. I'm sure she's needed help throughout her life so often that her heart is open and receptive and grace-full. She kicks ass, really. That's what I think.

She's the one that dropped her stuff all over the sidewalk, but I'm the one who was the loser in that scene. I've done my fair share of "dropping my crap all over the sidewalk" let me tell you! And do you think I just stand there and wait for someone to offer me grace? Not at first, anyway. I crumple into a dramatic heap of pathetic tears and with my butt in the air and arms flailing, I try to scoop all my mess up all by myself while binders and papers and medicine bottles go flying.

My point? I have a few.

1) Don't complain about stupid sore feet.
2) People who have needed grace are quicker to give it back to others who need it too.
3) Do good deeds and don't tell anyone about them. It grows integrity faster than a fat kid eats cake.

I think my dad would approve of my divulging of this "good deed" just this once, right pops? Hope so.