40 Days

Easter marks for me (and many other folks, I'm sure) new beginnings. Spring, blooming flowers and trees and of course, Christ's rising.

This weekend, I watched a History Channel show about Jesus' Crucifixion and his subsequent rise from the dead. The story is told that he appeared for 40 days to various individuals and then ascended. 40 days is a long time. During that time and those appearances, what Jesus actually said to those he appeared to can be summed up in one line: "Jesus said a lot of stuff."

Great. My thought is this: If a man who inspired so many with his teachings is murdered ; rises from the dead three days later and then spends the next 40 days appearing to his followers, don't you think that no matter WHAT he said you'd write it down?!? If he said, "I'm going to the bathroom", I'd have recorded it. Seriously! It's not every day that something like that happens. 

I gave this some thought as we went about our weekend. We stopped to put together furniture and install a light fixture for Ken's mom. Then we helped a friend hang a door. I thought to myself, this is in the spirit of what Jesus was getting at, be a good Samaritan. Lend your talent, skills and time to others to lighten their load and make their lives better. Take care of each other. Leave joy in your path. Jesus was all about honoring the Divine in others. What you see in your world and in others is a reflection of who you are and what you've created. You are not removed from that process or a victim of it.

Which begs the question. Why would a man with so much insight into the human spirit and  subsequently the celestial heavens bother to come back to say so seemingly little? The short answer, at least as I see it, is that he didn't. 

I suspect, Jesus had a lot to say. He probably talked about how at the end of the day, we are all one spirit. We are all Divine. Famous for saying,"God is within you", Jesus probably got to experience what that meant first hand. He probably told the disciples that everyone is in effect his/her own version of God. Being made in the image is a metaphor, how could we not be a part of that life force? We are all 1% away from being physically identical. Why would we be so different metaphysically? The biggest thing that I bet Jesus said was that if we honor the Divinity in each other and the Divinity in ourselves, we don't need regulators like war, religion and law. We would not do anything to harm the Divine if we could see it for what it really was. A spark of God in all of us.

I suspect that though Jesus may have relayed these truths in great detail, they weren't what worked well with the human motives of the time. There was a need for the larger populous to feel inferior to God so that the religious hierarchy and the manipulation of that hierarchy would work.  In essence, the disciples did not spread the simpler, purer message that we ARE the spark of God and that as such we are our own Creators. In fact, I am sure they would have met much the same fate as Jesus had they tried. 

Jesus probably also explained in greater detail Karma or the laws of cause and effect. It's not personal. There is a Universal balance to be maintained. You reap, without judgement, what you have put into effect. Conscious of the power we all possess - the Power of the Creator, Jesus refused to manipulate or coerce. At the close of his 40 days, I suspect he reminded everyone  that we are all Divine and it's embracing that Divinity that creates peace in our souls and a better world around us. We are responsible for being our own Creators. And frankly, we don't need an intermediary to bridge the Divine conversation. The Kingdom of God is within us always. It never leaves us because it IS us. We can access it any where, any time.

I think Jesus did say many, many things during his 40 days. Much of it so simple and powerful that it frightened the people responsible for spreading that particular part of the gospel. So in the end, we got the CliffNotes. Could explain why we aren't exactly making an "A" on the ensuing test.

Grateful for the burn

Friday ended up being long run day by weather default. According to the forecast (which is NEVER right, by the way. How DO those people keep their jobs?!?!) it was the only day of the weekend that didn't promise an outright or near down pour. 

I am forever changing up my long run routes to ward off the ennui of turning my legs over a billion times for a couple of hours each weekend. This week, I decided I'd do a destination run. Circle a new neighborhood and then end at happy hour! Two missions accomplished and delicious fish tacos waiting at the end.

The day was sunny and nice. 55 and low winds. I set out. I chose a route that seemed hilly but not too terrible. BOY was I wrong! The first hill I coasted down made me worry. I knew that when I turned around to go back, that hill would be a killer AND it was close to the finish which meant I'd be spent. I put that thought out of my mind and kept my focus on the road - a sort of busy one with (thankfully) wide shoulders. 

I cruised down the hilly road lined with country offices that seemed to go on forever. I finally took the left I'd calculated with the map tool and looked straight up, almost literally, at a monster climb. SIGH. I thought for sure that I'd get a break this close to the water. I continued on, picked up the main road and realized my water bottle was almost empty. I was very far from "home". I spotted a Chinese food place in the shopping center and decided to beg for water. Language barrier notwithstanding, the owner took pity on me and filled my bottle from a rickety tap. I prayed the water was potable. 

I set off again. My left toe had a blister and my legs burned. My glutes were so spent that I was shuffling along and systemically I was starting to feel the impact of the effort. I ate my last Hammergel and tried to put that last hill out of my mind. Then, before I knew it, looming in the distance there it was - a seemingly endless ribbon of pain. I tucked my head down, checked my form and kicked it up. Mid-way up the hill I could hear my labored breath above the din of 80s rock. I could feel the burning in my glutes and aching quads. I started to give in to the pain by letting the anguish seep into my mind. Then, I caught myself. I WANT THIS. I have been obsessed with getting back to my long run routine since my last bout of tendonitis. I thought about Das Boot and how that first 17 minute run was my old walking pace and how I felt like I'd never get back to normal. I decided then and there to be grateful for the burning and aching. To be grateful that I could push myself hard enough to feel this sort of pain. I smiled. The wind was picking up but I didn't care. I felt grateful. Grateful to be alive. Grateful to be running and grateful that both my feet seemed happy to oblige. 

I crested the hill and saw Parole come in to view. AH YES, happy hour was mere minutes away. I checked my watch. Right on time, I would arrive by 5p. 

I cruised up to the restaurant and stretched. Ken was just getting there and greeted me with a fresh change of clothes. I sat at the bar eating fish tacos, drinking sangria and basking in the glow of a long run, well done. I CAN. I DID and I AM GRATEFUL. 

26,000 years in the making

In late September of 2012 I received what I'd been hoping for and working toward for the better part of a year - an offer on my house! For almost a year, Ken (the better half) and I had been living in a virtual prison also known as the "show house". 

For those who may not be familiar with putting your house on the market, it requires tolerating an almost constant stream of interruptions to your regularly scheduled program when the automated scheduling system gives you 30 minutes notice of a "showing". It also means that you are on constant patrol and must maintain a Buddist-like dedication to keeping your show house spotless (see 30 minutes notice for potential buyers to come by, take what is probably a 15 minute tour and make catty comments about your choice of shower curtain colors). I dreamed about the offer, how it would come in and I would show up to sign on the dotted line and live happily ever after. SCREEECH. Stop the music. No such luck! I have never done anything harder than sell a house and move twelve years worth of collected STUFF.

For forty-five days after everyone agreed, I worked like a woman possessed hiring contractors to fix the "wish list" of shit the new buyers insisted they could not live without. OK, the skylight was legit and maybe the loose stair railing but, still. Finally, on October 26th (two days before Hurricane Sandy, thank you Mother Nature). I closed on the house, arranged the movers and watched as the moving truck slowly pulled away. 

Before I left for the last time, I walked around that empty house and remembered all of the times I'd had there. Like moving in during the summer of 2000 and throwing a paint party with my best friends. After a couple of bottles of wine, Kim spilled orange paint on the carpet and we all laughed. She was mortified. Coming home from the UK and finishing up the decorating. I would walk around the house and just marvel sometimes that I lived there. Coming home and soaking in the jetted tub after a particularly hard marathon, pissed off that I missed my goal time (I should have been grateful). Showering after my first 70.3 race with tears in my eyes at what I had accomplished. Healing from tendonitis and lamenting the loss of my fitness. The first time Ken stayed over and all the great times we had grilling on the deck, laughing with our friends and dreaming about our future. 

As I locked the door for the last time, I smiled. It was the end of an era and the beginning of something exciting and new. Just in time for 2013, a new 26,000 year cycle. Perfect timing.

With the stress of home ownership, repairs and showings behind me, I rededicated myself to getting fit. My friend Bobbi, who remembered that I'd said if my foot held up to the Grand Canyon, I would train and participate in a 70.3 race with her, sent me a link to her race of choice. So true to my word, I signed up. A local race for a great cause - fallen warriors (a cause I am a sucker for).

I created a training plan, got new shoes, Spenco covered orthotics and went to work. I set my sights on a "warm up" race in Pensacola, FL in January. A 13.1 mile race that seemed as laid back as the residents. I also signed up for a master's swim class with a swim instructor the tri club raved about. I bought a set of fins, hand paddles that look like something Hannibal Lector would wear and a new swimsuit to replace the one in the back of my drawer that looked like I fished it out of a gutter.

Then I went outside for a run. Then another. Then an indoor trainer ride and then a swim. And so it has gone. The foot is holding. I am cautiously optimistic. Here's hoping for a strong come back for this mechanically deficient, middle of the packer. Could it be that in closing an era and a slightly more significant celestial cycle that I might also have closed the book on posterior tibial tendonitis? I certainly hope so. Only time will tell.

Grand Adventure

It all started with a conversation at happy hour. A couple of glasses of wine, a little dreaming and before I knew it, I was researching a Rim to Rim hike of the Grand Canyon.

Yep, you read that right, THE GRAND CANYON.

Given my foot issues, the very prospect of this was daunting. Four hiking days; decending and ascending over 7200 feet; a 30lb pack on my back with everything I need to live for those precious, life altering, unwashed days and no way out if anything went wrong. EEK! I was scared. Soon though, the fear began to fade and an odd excitement took its place.

This was my chance. If I could make it through this, I could declare my foot, healed. A broken tendon does not withstand this sort of abuse without being, dare I say, somewhat fixed.

We booked the trip and started "training". Weekend hikes, endurance rides and some running. We even tried to slim down a little. Nothing could have prepared us for what we encountered and I could not have hoped for a more glorious ending.

As August rolled around, I started feeling antsy. Only 30 days until "THE" day. The day we'll don our packs and head out. I could feel my stomach do a couple of loops at the prospect. We were smart. We hired the Cadillac of adventure companies, Just Roughin It. So the logistics, equipment and food were covered. Now it was not just a matter of physical fitness.

The better half and I put the pedal to the metal for all of August and really upped the ante on our fitness program. Interval training, long rides in the blazing sun and weight specific training had us feeling good. We also did some test hikes with full packs to get a feel for how we'd do from a weight and balance perspective. In addition, I used the techniques in the foot book like a religion. Stretching, icing, stretching, massaging. Anything to make sure the flexibility of my tendons remained intact.

August 30. Our flight leaves for Phoenix. We are in the air for four plus hours and cross a couple of time zones. By the time we get to our hotel, it's 11p our time. We are tired but oddly hungry so we head out for a little food followed by some much needed rest.

August 31. We meet our driver in the lobby of the hotel at 4:30a! We didn't sleep well the night before for obvious reasons. We take our duffle bags and head for the van. We are excited, tired and a little nervous. Or at least I am.

We arrive at the trail four hours later. We'll begin our hike in the heat of the day. All of us are nervous. The group consists of my friend Laura, my better half's brother, the better half and me. We pick up a singleton, a lovely woman from Vancouver, BC named Lenora. She hasn't seen 90 degrees for most of her life. We sit in silence at the prospect of hiking in what might be 115 degrees!

We pick up our guide, The Steve. An awesome guy with a wicked sense of humor and superhuman strength (he carried all of his gear and all of our meals).  We are ready.

The hike begins with a descent into the Canyon. We will have descended just about 4000 feet when we reach the first camp site. It is hot when we start. The trail is narrow and treacherous.

 

 

By the time we reach the camp site, my feet feel numb. I am very anxious. I am not sure that I can go on and am almost certain that my feet will not be able to take this abuse and last. I put on my flip flops and try to move slowly around the camp site. I flex my feet and stretch them gently. I long for ice. I know the river is 50 degrees but it's dark and I can't find the river now without a significant effort. I eat my delicious dinner, massage my feet and head for the tent. REST. RECOVERY. Tomorrow is another day.

 

The next hiking day is a bit of a blur but somewhere outside of Phantom Ranch I felt my feet connect to the Earth. I have the sensation that after this hike, my feet will be healed. I feel an internal peace. I smile. I have this inherent knowledge that this is the type of immersion therapy my feet need and that I needed on so many levels. I let go and let it happen. I feel content and pick up the pace.

 

At Phantom Ranch my wishes come true! I find a wonderful little sliver of the Colorado River where I can "ice" my tired feet, a glass of wine (OK two) and the chance to splash into river in my shorts for a quick whole body cool down. I love it. I am in the moment.

 

The next hiking day is a blur. We arrive at Indian Gardens and camp. I realize that the next day will be the last and I feel sad. We hike to Plateau Point and see the most breathtaking views I've ever seen. I am entranced.

 

As we crest the South Rim on the very last day, I check my feet. Covered in moleskins for blisters but they are still structurally whole. They have survived and so have I. I did it! I feel tears rush to my eyes. 100 yards to go. When I get there, I will have done something that only 1% of the people who have visited this great, massive canyon will have ever done. I feel a sense of pride like I've never felt before in my life. I feel myself coming back into that bad ass body that I knew so many years before. The one that got me through four half iron races and three 6:34 miles off the bike in my first triathlon. That body. Those feet. They are back. I am grateful. I am thankful. I am ready for the next adventure.

 

I stare out at the Canyon for a long time before I bid it farewell. I will likely be back but the first dance is always special. Learning each other, supporting each other and allowing for the experience of both. It was the most amazing experience of my life. A healing transcendence to the next, most amazing me that I can be.

 

 

 

Happier Feet

I am reading a book called, "Every Woman's Guide to Foot Pain Relief. The New Science of Healthy Feet." by a Katy Bowman a physical therapist and apparently a very smart and practical woman.


Things I've learned about my feet:

• They should be more like fingers. Mine are more like bricks
• Foot alignment is important - especially if you tend to "kick" one foot out more than the other
• You need to strengthen your feet
• Flip flops are the devil

There are even exercises to "train" your feet so they are healthy and more functional. So giving it a go, I tried a few. My conclusion? I have the couch potato equivalent of feet - no wonder they get injured. My remedy? What I always do - get 'er done!


I started with walking correctly. Believe it or not this means pointing my feet straight ahead and standing up straight. This is very hard if you have not been doing it. Minute changes to pelvic position and foot alignment left me SORE. Like" ran a few miles", sore. Seriously. Who knew? But it does explain a lot. I have decided to delve deeper into this foot book and try a few other things.


But the net of all of it is, my feet seem .... happier! I have been able to run (albeit it painfully slowly) every other day for an hour. This is no small feat (pun totally intended)! I really had to work up to it.


Posterior Tibial Tendonitis has left me with one lasting truth. I will always be injured, it's just a matter of degree. Getting "better" means running without lasting pain. This is about all I can hope for now. It's ok. I have no races planned and I may never actually race hard again. But being able to run, truly RUN and lose myself in the luxurious nothingness of it cannot be beat. I relish the time and am happy to be out on the road. 


I am now a religious wearer of the orthotics. I have grown to love them despite my aversion to anything that "helps" the feet. They do help. They help me to stay aligned properly, particularly when I get tired and my form suffers. They help keep me solid and keep my feet from traveling. SO they are a staple now despite it all. 


I have a goal to run 13.1 miles by the fall. I'd love to run a fall half marathon. My personal trainer is on the case. He is on board with the plan and frankly, it will be nice to have a goal again. Not that I am not enjoying just doing "stuff". 


At any rate, the feet are happier and so am I. I ice, stretch, ice, stretch and ice again..... but alas, I am making more progress every day. That's a good thing! Count the blessings, no matter how small. Progress is progress even if it's running one minute more than I did last time. 


Slow and steady wins the ultimate race. I'm OK with that.  

End of an Era

My house has been on the market for just about two weeks now. As I walk through each room, perfectly neat and neutralized it feels as if I am in someone else's house. Don't get me wrong, I like the colors just fine (in a Picasso's blue period sort of way) and they serve the very important purpose of helping me subtract my preferences and "self" from the environment. The softer colors and less offensive hues are also meant to attract a larger number of buyers. Here's hoping! After four months of back breaking work, it's nice to know that all of this DIY will be appreciated by someone.


I stood at the top of the stairs yesterday, where I've stood many times before, looking down on the foyer reflecting back to twelve years ago just after I moved in. The last box had been left in the appropriate room, the movers were gone and the house was silent. Light streamed in from the skylight and lit up the loft. I remember thinking, "This is mine. I can do whatever I want." Flash forward to yesterday, months of agonizing primer, paint, repeat; repairs and yard work later and I found myself thinking, "I hope the new owner loves living here as much as I have." I also thought, "It's the end of an era". 


This past year has seemed like the end of a couple of eras. I resisted this for a long time. I am not a person who is comfortable with change. It's not that I am stuck in my ways or don't want to evolve, it's just that I get used to things as they are. Like a lot of people I guess. Selling a house I've lived in for twelve years (my first house) and moving to a rental is truly the end of an era. I've had so many great times here, some heartache too but this house has been a witness to a decade of growth and regeneration. I started a business here, became a serious athlete here, fell in love with the man of my dreams here and sat many nights on my deck underneath the stars, sipping wine and just being grateful for being here. 


It's also the end of a running era. The end of trying to come back to an athlete that I will never be again. The end of striving to keep up with an old version of myself that no longer serves my new trajectory and what I want to have moving forward. I took myself off the racing circuit and am taking the time to let my injury heal, work on my mechanics and find other interests that will light me up as much as running fast used to. I look back on my athletic self of 2006 and marvel!  I am thankful I could experience that sort of success on the physical plane. I hope to run distance again but am fairly certain that it won't be at those same speeds. So another era ends but with that ending there is a new beginning. An opportunity to experience new things and grow in new ways. 


Getting better doesn't have to mean getting faster (though I am faster than I've ever been on the bike). It does have to mean that the experience is fulfilling no matter what. 


I am looking forward to renting, having the freedom to move if we need or want to, having a little more money to travel with or save. I am also looking forward to taking my time as I get back into the rhythm of running. No need to rush, push or try to chase the ghost of the runner I was. I get to take my time. Enjoy the process and be open to the possibilities. 


When I decided that the experience was more important than the things my life shifted. What seemed so valuable once, isn't really any more. End of an era. I think I'm OK with it. In fact, I think I can even welcome it. 

Gaining Momentum

My decision to drop off the racing circuit this year has been a good one. As soon as I decided not to race, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I cannot do anything half-assed. I never have been able to. So, declaring that I wouldn't race because I knew that I'd push myself past reasonable, healthy limits to compete is both humbling and self-aware.


Know thyself.


I also know this about myself. I am tenacious and willing to work hard for what I want. I am run 5.8 (when I used to breeze through at 7.5 or 8.0) miles per hour for two months, tenacious. Try every available shoe, sock and distance combination, tenacious. Slog through grueling strength and plyometrics training, tenacious. I have been doing the work to rehabilitate my ankle/foot and it seems that this investment is paying off - FINALLY.


On Saturday, a beautiful day in Annapolis, MD, I ran my "long" run. This was a one hour run on a course I call "Tour de Annapolis". It takes me over a bridge with a stunning view of City Dock, past the Naval Academy and back down a lonely stretch of Rowe Blvd until I make it back to town. It's a "nothing" course for me typically. Something I'd run on a week night just before it gets dark. But not having run outside in months or for more than 45 minutes at a time, this was a monumental run. 


I suited up. Orthotics, Balga socks, sunglasses and iPod. I felt nervous but excited. Once out, there was no other choice but to run back in. I couldn't stop the treadmill and just get off. I had to keep running or risk freezing in the wind. I set out. I turned the corner and headed up the hill. As I passed my gym, I looked at my watch - 7:45. The gym is a mile away from my house. SHIT. I need to slow down. Oddly, my cardiovascular fitness was great - all that break neck, crazy ass cycling at the bike store put me in a very good position. I slowed down. I told myself, you still have the better part of an hour to go. Take it easy. Keep your form. 


I made my way through town and eventually crested the arch of the bridge. I looked out over the      Bay and sighed. I could feel my legs beneath me and my heart ticking over the beats. I love this run. I love the view. I love being outside, I even love the wind in my face. I love everything about it. 


I monitored my foot - all systems go. I kept the pace and kept moving through downtown. I dodged people and dogs. I dodged strollers and people meandering between shops. I used to curse them but frankly, I was happy to be running outside. I didn't care. I headed for the lonely stretch. I could feel my ankle but everything seemed fine. Past the St. John's Boathouse and around the corner, I headed back to town. A stiff headwind met me on the way back but for once I relished it. 


1:07 later, I reached my front door. I stretched. I relaxed and basked in the glow of a run well done. No pain, no issues apart from a couple of blisters from new shoes. I was this day, a runner again. I may not have run my usual pace but I was out there RUNNING. 


I felt free. There was no race hanging over my head, no time to keep or workout to record. I ran just for fun. Just for the joy of it all and I loved it. I stretched a little more  before I went inside and got on with the rest of the day. I knew I'd be sore and achy the next day but I didn't care. I had the world's biggest smile on my face.


Blessings, no matter how small should always be counted. If you can run, that's a blessing. That run is one I will definitely count.