Garbage Juice

I was grouchy yesterday and I had someone snidely say to me, "Wow, Suzy... think it's time for a run?" Ha HA... hilarious, eh? Clown. But you know what? I'm glad that that was the only option. There are so many outlets out there, most of which don't exactly promote health. And for people who have no outlet...well, their stress is burbling inside of them like green garbage juice--it leaks out eventually.

 My boys take the garbage out for me, and one time one of the bags was leaking or something. They came bursting back through the front door freaking out because the garbage squirted "garbage juice" all over them. I'd freak out too! And then I remember one time last summer I was running behind a garbage truck and there must have been a river-full of dead fish in its box, as the road was all wet with stench, cooking in the sun. It took everything in me not to hurl.

 I'm not perfect. I have my share of burbling green garbage juice! I'm just glad that I am able to run most of it out. And if any of it accidentally gets onto some cheeky bystanders, then all the better!

Website!

I finally did it! I have been mulling this around in the back of my mind for years. I've led running clinics through SportMed BC and on my own (I trained a group of people for the Abbotsford Police Challenge 10k in 2009) and I've done some one-on-one running training as well. Besides that, everyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I have probably written up a training plan for almost everyone I know! Why? Because I LOVE it. I'll never shove the sport of running down people's throats but if you approach me and ask me for some help, I'm all over it.

I decided to start up my own business, launch a website, and throw myself on Facebook. Check it out!

The Runs Coach

BMO Vancouver Marathon Race Report

It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, the crisp air pregnant with promises of sunshiney splendor. I lined up in my corral with the other zoolander-esque party people in our finest technicolor nerdery and anxiously awaited the start. I chit-chatted with other nervous runners and confessed to them that maybe my Indian food wedding buffet dinner the night before wasn't one of my best choices and perhaps I should have stuck with the dinner buns. They wagged their fingers at me but I knew that all they were concerned about was making sure they were running ahead of me... for obvious reasons.

We took off, and I flew. We had to climb a beast of a hill at around the 10-12 km mark at which point I shed my long-sleeved shirt. It was getting warm. I ended up hitting the half marathon mark at 1:31 which was a mistake, as I needed to be a lot closer to 1:35. I reined it in a bit but I knew my legs had already been kicked around a little too much at that point.

My leg muscles started to fade after that and I starting feeling my left hip flexor kick up a fuss. I focused on gliding along as softly as I could, which bought me some miles. But at the 30km mark, everything fell apart. My left set of toes started to cramp and curl under and my right calf muscle would ball up and spasm from time to time. All I could think about was to keep moving as softly as possible. I knew I was slowing down but I kept plugging along. The only way this thing was going to end was for me to cross the finish line.

I'd get waves of nausea but I'd fend them off with a squeeze of my gel. I use Vanilla Bean Gu for fuel (electrolyte replacement) and I'd hold one in each hand. Whenever I'd feel my guts turn I'd give my gel a little squeeze in my hand and the nausea would pass. It was the weirdest thing, but it worked!

I rounded the bends and lengths of the SeaWall until we came back out onto the roads of Downtown Vancouver. Knowing that I had the last km stretch of the race to go, I gave it my all and dug deep. As soon as I crossed that finish line I swear every muscle in my body balled up into fists and beat the living daylights out of me. YOWCH. I wanted to run it in 3:10 and I squeaked in at 3:10 and change.

Soar

I'm not going to be an Olympian but that doesn't stop me from leaving everything on the road this weekend. Whether someone is aiming to complete their first 5k in under an hour, or if their goal is to clock an Olympic qualifying time, all of us have put in the hours, days, weeks and months of training to get to race day. It's that momentous day where our work translates into reward. Where we can look back and say "it was worth it."

The tougher the climb, the more beautiful the view is at the top.

To me, and from what I have learned about most runners, running is an outlet. It's the vent through which our stress passes so that we don't carry it around like a sewage tanker truck. It feels much better to sweat it out than to let it fester in our blood and organs. So a lot of us, when we look back at those months of training, we don't just see sore muscles and sweat. We see adversity. We see emotional struggles. We see obstacles and climbs that we have scaled and conquered, that have strengthened not only our muscles but our wills.

It takes a lot of work to get to race day. The struggle is over--now it's time to enjoy the view.

Fright or Fight.... or Flight?

Where do you carry your stress? I carry mine in my stomach...I always have. When I was a little girl I would get stomach aches so bad that my mom took me to the doctor to see what was up. I’m sure he said something about anxiety and stress but as a doctor back then, he did what he could do and ruled out food allergies. I was taken off of dairy and for several months I was forced to dunk my cookies in that sweetened soy milk stuff and I still got stomach aches.

Some people eat more when they’re stressed out as if somehow the food they’re consuming is going to slide off track somewhere in the middle of their esophagus and fill up that gaping hole in their heart left by the boy who called them fat in grade 4. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not judging. I fill up that gaping hole too but in different ways. Nobody called me fat, but just like every other human on the planet, I got hurt. And we all have our coping mechanisms.

Mine is running. I know, right? Shocking. But it’s not just the physical *grunt* outlet that does it for me--it makes my stomach feel normal. If I carry my stress in my stomach and running takes care of that anxious, nauseous feeling, then I keep running. People think I stay slim because I run so much but it’s the opposite—I actually put on a couple of pounds during the super high mileage weeks. When I get injured and can’t run? I get stressed out, I get stomach aches, and then I lose weight.

When life rocks my happy life boat, I pound pavement. I do it to remind myself that I am on solid ground. I do it to sweat out the angst… but I also do it to feel normal. I want to feel hungry, to eat a satisfying meal, and to fall asleep exhausted. It’s like, basic life stuff. We sleep, we wake up, we work, we eat, we go back to sleep. If my life turns upside down or even hits some turbulence, I widen my stance, stare it in the eyes, and then beat it. After I run, my tummy settles and then it growls, and then I feed it. It’s like what wild animals do out there, you know? They’re all crazy and hungry in the jungle feeling super pissed off and irritated that it rained all day or something, and then all of a sudden they see a little bunny bounce around in their peripheral vision and it’s all BAM!... blood and guts and dinner. Normalcy returns, and they collapse into a pile of hot bodies in their dens and fall fast asleep, peacefully.

You see, there’s no possible way for me to run a 20 miler and not be freaking starving. When I’m stressed out and anxious and worried about life, there’s nothing more comforting to me than feeling something normal. When tragedy happens and people ask me, “Suzy! What do I do NOW?” I tell them to do something normal. Go to the grocery store and buy milk and bread. Bake cookies. Pet your dog. Get the mail.

My first car was an ’87 Pontiac Firefly, and when it would stall, I’d stick it in neutral and I’d get people to push me down a hill and as my car would roll and gain momentum, I’d start her up. That’s what running does for me and for my stress. Sometimes I can’t feel my face for the stress I’m carrying, but I robotically lace up my runners and walk out the front door. I put it into neutral, and with the help and support of people around me, I start her up.

My Shadow

I had dinner with a Confident Person about 7 months ago. As someone who notoriously blushes with shyness at even the thought of public speaking, I asked him how he, who is known for being well-spoken and confident, interacts with people so well. He told me to look around the room at all the people in the restaurant. He said that every person in there started out as a little boy or a little girl, and keeping this in mind helps him to see people for who they are no matter their age, societal status, financial situation, etc. How do we treat kids, in general? We are gracious and kind and nurturing and sensitive. Kids are innocent, not yet hardened or jaded by life. They don't have up as many walls or defense mechanisms. It's easier to see a child for their person than it is to see an adult for theirs. I like his perspective, and I gave it a lot of thought over the last several months.

I saw my shadow at the track yesterday and it brought me back to what I looked like when I was a little girl running home from school with my backpack on, pigtails flying behind me in a fury. I went to the track to do 800 metre repeats which, to the non-runners out there, just means running 2 laps around the track so hard and fast that puke is possible and sore legs are probable... only to rest for a lap before doing it all over again. I did it ten times.

There's something so primal about running hard. My heart rate accelerates to the point where my body changes gears from physical strength to emotional strength, tapping into where my anger and angst are stored, drawing them out and exorcising them into sweat and breath and fight. All that fuel is stored deep within me where the centre of Suzy exists, where I've always been. Like that little girl who ran home from school with her piggy tails, and like the woman who ran the 800 metre repeats yesterday.

Life can happen over the span of 30 years. People come and go, pets die, love is found and lost, sickness comes and goes, people and houses and bodies break down and are restored, but me, who was lovingly created to be Suzy, will always be Suzy. Maybe a little weathered around the edges of my heart and eyes, but the fuel within is always me, the little girl who was and the woman who is now. Same person. Same huge hair. Some things never change.

Squirrely

I was trudging through the grey air, dodging melting icy piles of wet snow along the edge of the roads today when out of the corner of my eye I saw a little streak of brown fur bolt out of the field to my left, across the sidewalk and, without a single second of hesitation, book it like a badass beeatch across Glover Road in Fort Langley. This girl was fierce. She neverminded the traffic of cars and delivery trucks. She had neither caution nor tactic, but encompassed absolute adrenalin-fueled insanity as she laid her life on the line with each teensie footstep.

I like her. A lot.

She made it across the road but just barely, as the rear right wheel of a Chevy Cavalier nearly squashed her... I stopped, clasped my hand over my mouth and gasped... but then cheered wildly when I saw her come out the other side intact and as fluffy as ever.

I can feel my own fur ruffle and stand on end every once in a while when the familiar feeling of adrenalin rushes through my body. Many times I've stood in that field with my eyes fixated on the other side, barely noticing the trucks zooming by. I'm on my tippy toes, leaning toward the road, eyes wild with anticipation, feet aching to taste the danger. And then... I charge. Hair streaming behind me, mouth agape and arms flailing like branches in a windstorm, I beeline it for my goal without any sort of sensibility.

Sometimes I make it, most times I don't.

I've settled into myself much more comfortably and healthfully in the last few years. I've been told that I am much more stable and calm now than I used to be, and way less impulsive. I sleep much better at night and my heart races much less when I'm awake. I believe it comes with life experience which births wisdom, and I am pleased with my growth.

But every once in a while, I wonder what it would be like to see something I want and without thinking much at all, go for it: all in, balls out. Or are they nuts?