Happy Thanksgiving

I live my life in a constant state of Thanksgiving, and those of you who actually read this blog are well aware that it is more about being thankful than it is about running, although running is one of the big ways that I find joy in and celebrate my life on a daily basis.  Six and a half years ago I remember standing on the rubber track that I used to train on prior to the plane crash.  It was cold, Seattle ice-rain and pitch black outside.  I had no more halo, no more casts, and no more scheduled surgeries.  I had put on about 20 pounds (get-well weight, as I call it) and would put on about another 20 before long, had chopped my hair all off and had stopped taking all pain medication against the recommendations of my physical therapist and doctor, who thought that the pain I would be in if I did not take it would preclude me from wanting to continue the grueling physical therapy.

They were wrong.

The smell of that rubber track in the rain became an obsession from the moment I lay in the hospital, actually aware of what was going on, to now, seven years in the future.  As odd as this may sound, it represented something that was mine, something that I carried deep inside that I knew no matter what happened to me physically, would always be mine.  It was my gift from God, and it was pure determination, for better or for worse.

I very much believed that for a reason I will never know, God was merciful and decided to leave me with the ability to walk, and I knew if I could walk, then I would run again.  They're the same thing, it's just one is faster and you move your arms and breathe more.  What relevance does pain have in this?  Well, I got very good at ignoring pain in the years following, so good, in fact, that I developed the ability to ignore it even when it was trying to protect me (this is the "or for worse" part of the gift of determination).  What I have realized now, of course, is that pain is also a gift, for better or for worse.

The best gift, and the gift of the greatest runners out there, is the true wisdom that is the ability to balance pure determination and ignoring pain.  Like a beautiful singing voice, some have been blessed with it and others have not.  I am convinced that anyone can learn to sing with the proper training and coaching, and it is in this conviction that I will continue my quest for balance.

I am thankful to be able to appreciate and see beauty in the world through which I run.

I am thankful for the reminder of the fine line between endorphins and pain (physical mortality).

I am thankful for the angels in my life who have so freely given their own gifts of healing, words, and nourishment.

I am thankful for the opportunity to give these things back to you.        

Beautiful Rhode Island Rest Days

Beavertail Lighthouse (1856) Jamestown, RI

Narragenset Bay, Jamestown, RI

Beautiful geologic formations framing Narraganset Bay

BAH looking hot and overlooking Narraganset Bay

Me overlooking Narraganset Bay, sporting some orange-on-orange action there

Birdwatching at the Norman Bird Sanctuary, Newport, RI

Norman Bird Sanctuary on the way to Hanging Rock

BAH on Hanging Rock in his signature O.A.R. sweatshirt

Some really pretty shell fungus, which I was more enthralled with than the birds, for some reason

9 Mile Party - Wahoo!!!

We live on the third floor of this old house in Newport about a mile and a half from the beach, which you can see from our window on a clear day. Perhaps all of Newport is a wind tunnel, or it’s just where our house is, but when it’s windy out, our entire little apartment shakes. This morning the wind shook us awake and we listened to rain scrape the window. Two things went through my mind upon waking, 1. I wonder how cold it is, and 2. I wonder if I should skip hiking tomorrow and go then because it’s supposed to be nice and sunny tomorrow. Hmmm…I continued to lay there. 9 miles isn’t the longest run ever. It’s not the shortest, either. The wind and rain, meanwhile, continued to bang the window, and I thought about going out to meet them.

Wind and rain are like your wild and crazy friends from college who want you to come party with them, and they’re all together, sounding like they are having the best time ever, and you don’t want to miss out, so you go with them, and you know before you head out that you might end up having the best time of your life, or you might end up babysitting these crazies and regretting the decision.

My badass husband (BAH) is awake. He opens his eyes and utters his first words of the morning: ”I’m going tomorrow.” Hmmm…BAH is a pretty wise man who also happens to be an ultra-marathoner. His whole philosophy on running really centers on wellness and flexibility, and I’ve always been impressed by it because I've never seen him sick or injured due to over-use. He makes several good points, including but not limited to, 1. Running in sideways rain is a good way to get sick and miss the majority of one’s training; 2. Why would one choose to run in this when one knows tomorrow is going to be the most amazing weather ever, and 3. Allowing flexibility into one’s running schedule opens up the potential choices and outcomes to include fun while allowing for goals to be met, concurrently.

I’m intrigued. A very balanced approach. I can’t stand it any longer. I decide to go for it. This run must be experienced NOW, and I feel it to the marrow of my bones. 

The rain is pelting my face like hail, and it feels like little rubber bands snapping my ears and the inside of my nose.  I come to an area along the bluff where the trail is made up of just beach boulders and you have to hop from rock to rock. Not bad on a sweet summer day, but when the tide is within arm’s reach, the waves are higher than your head, and black as night and ice, for a split second you think, maybe it would be a good idea to turn back. Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not turning back, I tell myself. The rain eventually pours down my face in sheets, the temperature of my body and the salt from my pores mix with it to seem like tears as it pools in the corners of my mouth.

I ended this run thankful to be alive in a time in my body’s life where this is physically possible, and I remember a not so distant past where this type of enjoyment was so far off. And for the record, it was not hope that got me here; it was the Grace of God and a spreadsheet.

Sweet Tooth for Hope

The discussion of the word “hope” is a frequent one in our household because we were always under the impression that “hope” as a verb is synonymous with the word “aspire”. “I hope to (fill in the blank)”, and “Hopefully I will (fill in the blank)” are non-committal phrases that should never be uttered preceding the outlining of a goal or an endpoint, and if you find yourself believing that these phrases will get you to your finish line, you are dead wrong. Maybe you are already dead because your brain got fat on a dream instead of strong by your actions.

The next time you find yourself saying that you hope to do something, I challenge you to stop, take 5 minutes, and jot down 3 ways that you WILL do this thing. Then, never use the word again as a verb in your vocabulary.  Hope isn't something you do, it's something you live off of in a desperate hour.

The Perfect Run

This weekend's 9.0-miler was one of the most beautiful and perfect runs I've ever done.  The concept of the perfect run is hard to describe, but if you are lucky enough to recognize and appreciate them when they occur, the gift is yours to keep, like the memory of a fine wine, a perfect kiss, and a breathtaking symphony all at once.  The last one of these I can remember was a 12-miler in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona, about 3 or 4 years ago.  The experience is a real blessing because you can draw from it during the hard times of running, such as when you start over because you get plantar fasciitis or break your neck or ankle or you get really sick or some such nonsense :)

Scenery is only about 33% of the experience for me, personally, but for what it's worth, here is one-third of a perfect run: