Run on the Crunchy Stuff!

Dear Winter of 2014, 

My joints hurt; my lower back is sore; I had to use the heating pad on my neck last night; my ankles are clicking again; I'm covered in odd little bruises and scrapes from my knees down; my lips are raw; my shoulder blades are on fire; and I've never been more sure of myself or my body.

To say you have been brutal is obvious and does you a disservice.  To say you have made training for a Spring Marathon excruciating is equally as offensive.  But to say, just between us runners and the toughest of the seasons, that there is a hidden pleasure in the safe and successful completion of a 15 miler on the ice with inches of fresh snow falling and every muscle tense with the potential of a fall, is to share a secret few people will understand. 

It is because of you, Winter, that I've been called everything from "crazy" to "excessive" with my personal favorite, "stupid," lodged firmly in between.  Yes, I've left  the house wearing 3 pairs of socks and 2 pairs of pants with approximately 3-5 shirts, a face mask and 2 pairs of gloves on.  Yes, I've run in a whiteout.  Yes, I've run down long stretches of Kelly Drive where the ice turned out the lights for a while.  Yes, I've run scared of the wind chill, wondering whether my eye lashes would freeze, thinking of smaller, safer loops and imagining the worst possible scenarios miles from my finish line.  But, still I went out.  I owned my fear and used it to propel myself through some of the toughest runs I've encountered in my last 4 years of training.  Through that and those storms full of knee-high snow, slippery and uneven ice, frozen branches and rivers, and resolute darkness, I discovered that while I most certainly am not "stupid," I am pretty damn tough. 

So, I want to thank you, once and for all, for pushing me in a sport I thought I owned and grew complacent in, for pushing me to overcome fears I didn't realize I had, and for pushing me to become a better, more grateful competitor.  Because of you, I know no limits and no fear of the unknown in my training.  Because of you, and the, at times, faith-zapping temperatures, I could only embrace the warmth of the idea that not everyone can run and so every run becomes a blessing. 

And so, I am forever grateful for every frigid mile and the revelation that if you run on the crunchy-looking ice, traction abounds and muscles can relax for a few seconds. 

Thank you again for the crunchy stuff, JC

Feel the Love 5K 2014: For the Love of Polly

What is it about both faith and fear that is such a great propeller of people?  The Feel the Love 5K put on by the Brynmawr Running Co. is the race I think about all year - with faith and fear - until my feet hit the starting line.

If I'm doing intervals, I'm thinking about how sick I feel after pushing it hard for 3.1 miles and tell myself to suck it up for just a few more seconds of any given stretch of speed work.  If I'm hurting at the end of a marathon, I'm questioning whether I'll be able to kick it into high gear as I near the finish line.  If I'm out on a super hot August morning and struggling, I remember how cold this particular race is and return to the grateful garden of humidity, summer and sweat.  For one reason or another, this race sticks with me and grounds me during the toughest workouts.

I admit that this race intimidates me.  I'll say it: A snappy and impossibly fast 3.1 Winter miles is a complete mind f*** for a distance runner.  The temperatures over the years have included, single digits, snow and fierce wind.  There are icy corners, lanes, people flying around in personal competitions for PRs, long, hard strides and footfalls that are rapid enough to steal your breath... and serious runners.  These are the kind of runners you hope to count yourself among but never actually do - out loud.  Rather, you let them silently count you among their ranks.

Rolling up to this race, the first thing you notice is that everyone is at fighting weight.  At 5'9 and 130 lbs, I do not stand out.  Rather, I mix right into the crowd of ultra thin, tall and gangly people covered in thin layers of legitimate vintage running clothes.  The organizers run out of Women's XS and S T-Shirts.  100 of us can fit into 12 by 12 tent easily.  This is the no frills, just run this bitch of a race crowd. We are tiny, cold, huddled and waiting to crush a coarse.  Jaws set, eyes focused and hearts pounding.  We stand and watch our breath hit the air.

What I love about this race is exactly the thing I dread about it for 12 months out of the year:  there are no first timers.  No one standing at that start line is wondering if they will finish.  This is a Race with people that are not there for the fun of it.  And sometimes, I think, you need that.  Runners need to check themselves and see if they still have it.  There is only so long we can convince ourselves that getting older has not effected our joints or our stride. There comes a time when we need to see the work payoff and make a note somewhere in some brightly colored running journal of the PR we sought and obtained on a freezing day in February against a lot of tough contenders.

This year:

I was the 22nd female to cross the finish line out of 158;
I was the 6th female, 30-39, to cross the finish line out of 53 in my division;
I came in with 21:47 and took 23 seconds off of my previous, nearly year old, 5k PR; and
I ran two loops looking for the other bright pink shirt matching mine and reading "For the Love of Polly"worn by the woman that has propelled me back into believing in myself as an athlete.

This means something to me above and beyond the validation of a PR.  It reaffirms that I'm still a contender; that my training, even though I've backed away from straight forward running 6 days a week, is working well; that my plan is solid; that my nutrition and fueling is spot on; that, 4 years into this wild ride, I'm starting to figure it all out.

Lessons Learned in a Women's Locker Room

I was never one for gyms, classes, gyms, weight lifting, gyms, treadmills, gyms, stationary bikes and stair masters, and, well, gyms.  And then, on October 5, 2010, a doctor told me I had a stress fracture.  There would be no running; there would be no walking; there would be crutches if the pain got too bad; and then "maybe you could swim" came out of his mouth just to round out the horror of the overall message.  When I replied, "I'd rather die," he suggested joining a gym. 

That was about three years and four months ago.  Today, I'm a different woman and a different kind of athlete because of the time I've taken away from running, because of what I've learned at the gym about strength training and tenacity, and because of what I've learned from other women in the locker room. 

These are those lessons:

1. Everyone, even the most put together, beautiful, intelligent woman, has her own demons and sometimes crying happens just as loud, angry phone calls happen and throwing an empty water bottle across the room happens - you don't always have to show a perfect, pretty face; instead be true; be honest - it's way more endearing;
2. Keep a toothbrush, toothpaste and floss in your gym locker if only for those two days per year that you're heading straight to the Dentist after your workout and before work - your dental hygienist will thank you;
3. Dry shampoo can change your hair and your entire morning - own some;
4. Everyone forgets things at 5:00AM.  I've seen everything from bras to tampons change hands in those wee hours; it will happen to you - lend freely and be lent to; 
5. If you're on your phone, people will roll their eyes at you and otherwise try to intimidate you into ending the conversation - let them and hang up;
6. In a pinch, grab a hanger from the gym's coat closet and steam almost any fabric in the sauna while you shower - max is around 3-5 minutes;
7. Repeat a name when it is given to you over and over in your head and, if possible, associate it with something distinguishable about the person because, after 3+ years of seeing someone naked almost every day as you discuss her children and your job, it becomes awkward to ask it - trust me;
8. As in life, there will be varying degrees of self confidence expressed in levels of nudity:  own yours and don't get overwhelmed by others';
9. Bandaids, bandaids, bandaids!  Invariably, we cut ourselves shaving - don't be the bleeder running around looking for tissues or toilet paper;
10. This may offend conservationists BUT, if you're an early bird at the gym like me and it's approximately 11 degrees outside - that first shower of the day is going to be cold!  Realize this and work a warm-up of your chosen shower into your routine.  For instance, I'm a hop off the treadmill, grab a towel, pop on the shower and stretch in the rising steam sort of girl; and
11. Laugh when you hear something funny. Because you will.  And if you stand there stoically pretending you hear nothing or see nothing, women will start to treat you like you're nothing.  So join in.  Be part of the community and have a good belly laugh about another girl's horrible first date!

Understanding that we're faced with situations, almost daily, that we are uncomfortable with is an incredibly humbling thing.  Using that nervous energy and making a concerted effort to participate in the lives of others, even if they are strangers, and actively learning about ourselves in so doing, is probably the reason we're all here.  From the locker room to the office and out on the running trails, personal connections, ever so slight that they may seem, tone down the anonymity of a city and empty us of our insecurities.  So on I will go, stepping outside of my comfort zone and into the great wide open, with clear eyes and a full heart (can't lose!).  

Snowflake Prediction Run: No watches, no worries!

I am in charge of how I feel 

and today I am choosing happiness.

Today I stepped off the pavement and back onto Forbidden Drive for 5 snowy miles on my old time trails.   The last time I covered this particular section was in late October during a marathon qualifier with Students Run.  That last run was heavy on the burden side of "must qualify these kids for that marathon" and light on the magic.  In contrast, today was a prediction run where watches were not permitted and I got to run short and hard without the pressure of pacing.  

There were about 70 of us, gathered in our brightest Winter gear and shining against the snow, ready to run and raise money for Team in Training.   We shook out the jitters, bounced off the chill and huddled together, a skinny pile of athletes fighting the fight of a lifetime against the big C.  

After looking at my left wrist for the 30th time in 5 minutes, my mind finally caught on that there would be no quick runner-math or need to amp it up or slow it down.  My job was just to run straight, take in the snow and the trail, wonder why the river wasn't frozen, marvel at the kids climbing in the woods, fantasize about hot chocolate and coffee, and just be there.  There was blissfully no pressure.  The absence of intervals or tempo; the complete void of race pace and despair; the way runners chatted and smiled back at each other.  All of that was evidence of people at their best:  filled with wonder and touched by peace.  

It was the uncaged and remarkable run I needed to launch back into marathon training with a more grounded heart.  The miles flew and my feet fell without hesitation over the ice.  I was not afraid of rolling that left ankle but I was keenly aware that an injury was always a possibility.  And in those thoughts, I found my gratitude for the very idea of a run without time and for every powerful stride that took me to the finish line at almost exactly the time I'd predicted.

To see Behind the Walls.

When I think of January, I think of a goal setting, resolution showcasing 31 days when we allow ourselves to believe that anything is possible again.  And just as I re-set my 2000+ miles in 2014 resolution, this beautiful powerhouse of a month turned on me like a petulant child deprived of an afternoon snack.   Yet still I pushed through the boredom of a treadmill, the crowds at the gym, washing my one face mask almost daily, shopping for "winter" running socks for the first time since 2010, and falling: up steps, down steps, going around turns, running down the middle of a street, stopping short and sprinting in.

There were new community yoga classes that began and ended in the dark with new people and a cold studio, old yoga favorites that kicked my ass, excruciating gym workouts, spin classes that left me punished and soaked, and of course the frigid runs fueled by the kind of adrenalin that only hits when you're questioning your own decision making or, of course, safety.  There was too much wine and a few too many brownies and altogether too many mornings where "I don't wanna" replaced "I can do this."   There was horrible music at the gym, crowds, COLD showers, and the swift end of my other resolution to stop picking my thumbs once and for all.  

But there was also success in crow pose at 6:15AM in the new studio; multiple nights when 9 hours of sleep floated in like a beautiful, quiet butterfly; time to spend however I chose; no schedules; no guilt for lack of miles or exertion; no need to force anything that didn't feel right; powerfully scary runs in ice with small waves to other crazy runners; successful layering and brilliant smiles across the snow at sleds and geese; rocks thrown from bridges at the frozen Schuylkill River; and a new found appreciation for the super un-fancy, bare bones bench press.  

And in the middle of the January freeze when I was beginning to question whether I truly hated training, there was a letter from my Middle School field hockey coach that reminded me of days when all I needed was an open field and room to run.  She was the picture of an athlete and keeper of kindness.  She was the purveyor of "warm fuzzies" [imagine actually telling someone on your team or in your life what makes them great in any given moment] and spirit pin slogans.  She began every practice, quietly presiding over a heap of 6th - 8th grade girls, with a quote that never failed to make me see farther and bigger for myself.  She was the one that showed me the power in positivity and the genuine connection between faith and results.  And, as of this letter, she thinks I'm living my best life.  Such reminders of the power in each of us to make appropriate choices, listening to the chorus of our hearts, minds and bodies, is what an athlete builds her foundation upon.

January ended with a 10 miler that built confidence and tore down the walls of doubt I'd been building over the last few weeks.  I went in nervous, overdressed and unsteady.  There were the hills in UPenn, the traffic out on 76 by the zoo, the icy way back down to the loop and, by the time I hit Kelly Drive, nothing standing in my way.  I came away from that run stripped down, raw and ready to fight again.  The resolutions of January, I've found, can knock us down and hurt our pride or can force us to see behind our walls and draw up, ready to pounce.  Our failures, like our successes, force us to feel.  And feeling forces us to keep going.  And if we do keep going over the miles and miles, then we are, indeed, living our best life.  

To see the world, things dangerous to come, 

to see behind walls, to draw closer, to find each other and to feel.

That is the purpose of life.

- The Life Motto -