I'm back to running, and thinking about that label "Special Needs"

Did I mention that I'VE BEEN RUNNING?

It's true. Huzzah. I ran 13 miles last week and I'll probably run about 20 miles this week. The hamstring is feeling pretty good, not perfect, because it feels kind like it's weak. Um, because, it is. Lame.

I can barely explain how wonderful it has been getting back into my dusty old running shoes. I work through a lot of crud in my head when I'm out running. I don't process my life's worries as easily while doing the dishes or driving. This week, my son has been weighing heavily in my thoughts during my miles.

When our kids were small, my wise sister-in-law said, “I think easy babies are boring. It's much more fun to have a spirited child.” At the time, I wasn't so sure. I wished for a baby that would sleep contently in a car seat, or a toddler that I could take to a restaurant. That wasn't in the cards, but I wouldn't change out my hand, now.  Last week, you could say that I've been anything but “bored” with my challenging 12-year old.

Recently, while I was running, I was listening to a Podcast and a woman mentioned that she was with her “special needs daughter” who had “ADHD.” I said out loud for everyone on Fanno Creek trail to hear, “ADHD is not Special Needs!”

Maybe because my son is diagnosed with ADHD/ADD, I had a knee jerk reaction to the label “Special Needs” when it comes to ADHD. I've always thought that it was a label for a condition or diagnosis that is more serious and all encompassing, like Autism, Down Syndrome, or Cerebral Palsy. Maybe that is a fallacy? Maybe I've been deluding myself into thinking that because I don't want my kid to have such a label? Honestly, I'm not sure.

Hmm...there it is: ADHD

Jude is now 12 and in the 6^th grade. As with any child and any age, there are trying, demanding, unpleasantly surprising, but also loving, quiet and carefree times. Jude has many fantastic traits, but he also has struggles. This last week, he and I have been having a tough time working together. I know what he needs to do, but getting him to comply is the problem. I'm sure that many parents feel this struggle.

 

 

Dysgraphia. Luckily, we are in the digital age.

In addition to his diagnosis of ADD, he also has dysgraphia (difficulty with handwriting such that it's illegible and nearly impossible for him to do). Given these challenges, school has been less than a stellar place for Jude. We've struggled the last 6 years because in spite his challenges, Jude also has very high test scores (we're talking 98 percentile), and a very high IQ (yeah, probably a lot higher than mine, little brat). You may not think so, but it was a disadvantage for Jude to score well on tests, but actually NEED help in the classroom beyond that of other students in order to complete his work.

At the end of the last school year, we finally got more specific help for Jude with an IEP [Individualized Education Plan]. The psychologist remarked during the IEP meeting, “we've never had a kid with test scores THIS high in Special Ed.” And, that's when it hit me:

Special Ed.

Special Needs.

My kid is...well, Special.

In my heart, I've always known this. Even now, I have to remind myself daily that what is expected from other kids his age isn't a fair measurement because his brain is disorganized. At the same time, in other ways, he's light-years ahead of other kids, so again the expectations are different. He needs outside assistance to stay on track, but he fights this constantly. It will probably be this way at least for a while until he matures enough to realize that you have to work for what you want. What else is there to do? I have to keep helping him succeed, until he can do it on his own.

Why? Because I know that with perseverance and hard work something special will come from my intelligent, messy, argumentative, fun-loving son. Like my slow come back from this annoying hamstring injury, I know Jude's success won't be easy, but it will be worth it.

A Sixth of Firsts: The 2015 Holiday Half Marathon

As I'm sure you've just read, Melissa has been nursing an injury to her leg for a few weeks. The morning of the Holiday Half she decided she would not try to compete. Instead, she offered to run with me to help stay on my goal pace. In six years of running this race, we've never done it together.

I also lost my iPod (temporarily), so Melissa let me borrow hers. Since she wasn't racing, she said, she would be able to just enjoy the holiday music, carolers, and cheering fans. Sadly, the headphones I brought didn't want to produce any sound. In six years of running this race, this would the be first time I'd done it with no music.

Rupp behind Mo Farah in the 2012 Olympic 10,000m Final. (AP Photo/Anja Niedringhaus)

This was also the first time we were able to see an elite, professional runner compete in this race. Olympic silver-medalist Galen Rupp was running this one, possibly to qualify for the Olympic Marathon. Since the race is out-and-back, we got to watch him run by. He looked amazing, focused, but barely working hard. At least, that's how he appeared in the second or two we could see him. He was at least 10 minutes ahead of the second-place finisher.

Finally, this was the first race I've run that was canceled part-way through. Fortunately for us, it was after we finished, but hundreds of runners were not able to finish at all. When we were about six-and-a-half miles in--not long after the St. John's Bridge--I heard what I thought were some train cars banging around. The course is not far from the Willamette River, and much of it overlooks the freight terminals of the Port of Portland. The sound was similar to one I'd hear when running on a certain stretch of the Wildwood Trail (on the opposite side of the river), and I'd always imagined they were coupling freight cars. That, or something huge was being loaded or unloaded down there.

A few minutes later, as we turned on to St. John's Avenue, I looked to my right and saw a huge, black plume of smoke. "Oh shit, look at that!" Seconds later, we heard the sirens. It occurred to me then that I'd heard an explosion, not some coupling cars. For the next three miles or so, the skyline was dominated by the towering pillar. Something was obviously on fire, but I didn't know enough about that part of town to know what it could be. Heading back toward the bridge, I got a better idea. Eventually we had to run through it, though the wind had shifted and it wasn't all that bad for us. I glanced over just after passing under the bridge, and I could see the flames. A spectator nearby said it was "oil cars" that blew up. OK, well, he didn't sound too concerned. We'd later learn that a driver was killed when he lost control of his truck and slammed into train cars carrying asphalt. We also learned that the race directors opted to cancel the race after the smoke became too thick.

I shifted my focus back to the race, because the smoke was behind us. At that point, I realized I hadn't asked Melissa how she was feeling. "I'm OK," she said. "If you need to go, then go." "No," I said, "I don't." We were climbing up the hill toward Mile Marker Nine, and I really didn't feel like doing anything but stopping. I walked a few steps at the water station then powered up the rest of the hill.

For the first six miles, we had been right on my goal pace. But we slowed down to get some water at one point, and also as we started the long, slow climb back from the turnaround. By the time we hit the Bridge again, we had been off the pace for a few miles. I really didn't want to lose anymore time, and I tried to just keep up the same effort level and not back off. I could still try beat my old time, even if I couldn't meet my stretch goal of breaking an hour and 43 minutes.

Having passed the race's tail-end, everyone around us was running about the same pace in the same direction. (Except Galen Rupp, that is. He won the race handily, then decided to go back out on the course for his cool-down. He breezed by in the opposite direction when I was around mile 9.) For a little while, I thought Melissa was right behind me--I even thought I recognized her breath. Afterward, she would tell me that I left her behind at that water station. She couldn't hold onto the pace, and didn't want to hurt herself even more.

Usually by this point in a race, I'm feeling pretty crappy. Melissa and I have chalked this up to my nutrition, which I could discuss at length. Suffice it to say that I've had success with eating more before and during races and long runs, and that was my plan today. I passed the 10-mile marker feeling very full and began rethinking. The daunting logistics of opening a packet of gel, sucking it out, then trying to gulp down some water would do little to help my focus. I opted to leave the gel in my belt and see what happened. Maybe it was foolish, but I actually felt strong with only 5K remaining. Plus, I didn't want to feel sick.

By now I knew I was running alone. Melissa was somewhere back there, probably a few yards, but not going to catch up. I hoped she really was OK.

As I turned onto the bluff on Willamette Boulevard, a wave of fatigue washed over me. Damn. I still had the gel packet, but still didn't want to attempt it. There were only 2.1 miles to run. I had to hold onto this, which meant pushing just a little harder. Seconds later, a runner passed me on the left and I immediately tried to make him my focal point. I couldn't catch him, so I started picking out other people to pass instead. I've heard this is a tried-and-true strategy, but I've never felt competitive enough to try it. It was tough, but the 12th mile was my fastest of the race--by about 20 seconds!

Finally, I turned onto Greeley Avenue to see the finish line. I didn't have much left, but I laid it all down. Since my first time running the Holiday Half, my main fear at that point has always been tripping right before the finish. It's downhill and there are timing mats on the ground to negotiate. I know, I know, but it's scarier when you're sprinting in front of scores of spectators while listening for the announcer to mispronounce your name.

As I closed in, I saw that the race clock read, “1:42:45”. Wow, I had actually done it! Just then, a guy right in front of me tripped and tumbled to the ground. "Oh, shit!" I yelled, then slowed down to ask if he was OK. He looked up, bleary-eyed, and grunted that he was. In that split second, I decided to finish the race then come back to help. As soon as I crossed the final mat, I turned around to see him getting to his feet. As he crossed the line, I checked with him one more time.

I crossed at 1:42:56, but my official time was one hour, 42 minutes and 44 seconds. That is around 40 seconds faster than my previous best time. I really could not be happier with this finish. Like Melissa, who finished just a few minutes later, I spent much of this training cycle (and most of the year) with a nagging injury: tendinitis in my knee. It's certainly not as bad as hers, but I never felt like I recovered the speed I had last year. My workouts were always sluggish, and only a few of the long runs actually felt good. I figured it would be a push to even reach my old PR.

Usually, going into a race I have a decent idea of my potential. OK, so I didn't win first place, but this may have been the first time in six years that I have so drastically underestimated myself.

This is Not the Injury I Was Looking For (No STAR WARS spoilers)

You know that you are an injured runner when you're envious watching the STAR WARS Episode 7: The Force Awakens. I won't spoil anything for those who haven't seen the movie by telling you that some of the characters run a bit. As they were dashing around the screen, I stared at them with great longing.

Seriously, who does that?? A runner who can't run. Right now, I can't jog across the theater parking lot without my right leg whimpering. A few weeks ago, my right leg started hurting right where my hamstring inserts into my ischial tuberosity. FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. Proximal Hamstring Tendonitis. As if that wasn't bad enough, I was about 10 days out from a race, the Holiday Half Marathon.

If you're not familiar with proximal hamstring tendonitis, it makes your butt hurt. Every single time my right foot makes contact with the ground, my butt hurts. And, like the STAR WARS craze right now, it is simply impossible to ignore. It got so bad during an easy run that I was relegated to walking, and then trying butt exercises and stretches to relieve the pain. That helped zero, but I'm sure I looked really cool rubbing my butt with my fist on the side of the road. Sadly, I ended up hobbling home the best I could. I took a 4 days off, then tried 3 miles. It felt better but it wasn't fixed. Against my better judgment, I ran the race anyway. It was awful, big surprise. It felt like someone was stabbing my butt with a hot poker every time I took a step.



That's no moon. It's a race medal!

When I hung up my gigantic medal after the race, I thought of Clark's boss, Mr. Shirley, in Christmas Vacation saying, “Put it over there with the others, Greazeball.” There was no satisfaction in finishing a race that I'd limped my way through on the verge of tears.





Look at my running shoes. Patient. Cute. Reflective.

The pain has forced me to keep my running shoes neatly on their rack. I'm not running, but I'm not someone who can just lay on the couch holding my butt and crying. And, my leg doesn't hurt when I'm not running on it. So, that leaves lots of other exercise besides running. Weight training, yoga, stair climbing, plyometrics, cycling.





 

 

 

 



Enter my new exercise buddy. This is Jesse. My trusty steed has been around for a while, but we've now become like besties. Isn't he handsome? I can ride my bike anytime, except that I have to give myself some breaks because the seat isn't all that comfortable day after day. Hamstring tendon feels fine. I'm smiling because I just started riding.

After spending an hour at the gym this morning working out indoors, I know that running outside without pain will be worth waiting for.  Not unlike Episode 7, right?  Maybe when I can run again, I can tell you more about how STAR WARS relates to running, but for now, we'll just have to wait.

What I find on the Trail: Flow, Hobbits and Vertical Leaps

I take a class at the gym weekly called, “Functional Training.” At one point, we were doing squat jumps and the instructor walked over to me and said, “Your jumps look great. You must have played Volleyball.”  NOPE. “Basketball?” Not unless you count playing in 8^th grade, uh, like 25 years ago. “Ballet dancer?” Ha! Perish the thought.  I laughed about that for days.  


Pretty sure Lucy and I are kindred spirits when it comes to ballet

I wasn't brave enough to say what was in my head, “No, no...I'm just a runner.”

Who would have guessed that a runner might be good at vertical jumping? Surely, you MUST do something else because running isn't really athletic. To many non-runners, running is what you do to condition yourself for your chosen sport. To others, there isn't really any skill involved so running doesn't improve overall athleticism. Running is just a tad harder than say, walking, right? And, walking is easy, so.... Come on, is it really that simple? Let's consider not only the physical challenge of running, but also the mental aspect that accompanies any type of competitive running.

I've been reading all about the mental side of running the last few months. From “Elite Minds: Creating the Competitive Advantage” by Dr. Stan Beecham to “The Rise of Superman: Decoding the Science of Ultimate Human Performance” by Steven Kotler, I've been taken in by how and why we can use our minds to push our bodies for better performance. Further, one of the most fascinating parts of our mind/mental state is something called Flow.  Not Aunt Flo, you Weirdos. 

What the heck is a “Flow State,” you ask? Simply put, it's an amazing phenomenon that happens when people are deeply focused on a challenging task. In his article “Locking into Flow” in the August 2014 issue of Running Times, Phil Latter, wrote,“in flow, your concentration locks onto the task at hand. You feel invincible, confident that your well-honed abilities will meet any challenge you encounter, even as the energy you expend feels effortless.”

Runners aren't the only people who find themselves tapping into flow. Musicians, artists, writers, computer programmers, surfers, extreme snowboarders, and even rock climbers are often working in a “flow state” when they complete their best work, most challenging tricks, or personal bests.  Think Michael Jordan when he couldn't miss a shot---that's flow.

Laird Hamilton had to tap into flow to tackle this monster wave.

What helps us get to this fabled “Flow State?” Much of that is dependent finding the right challenge for the skill level that you possess at the time. Often our skills are beyond where we generally work because we refuse to challenge ourselves outside the comfort zone.  Most of the time we take the path of least resistance.

I know that I am most definitely guilty of cruising on Easy Street. Hey, it's comfortable for me to slip out my front door, slog out 5-7 miles at an easy pace around my neighborhood. I know that recovery runs are important for my body, and easy runs are also generally when I can think about my day---work, appointments, dinner. We generally don't find ourselves working in flow every time, but when we do, it's magical.

Last Thursday, I ran 11 miles in Forest Park on Wildwood Trail. The rain was furious and unrelenting. My fingers were wrapped around my 18-ounce hand-held water bottle, and all five of them had turned into white water-logged mini prunes. Water rolled off the brim of my hat onto my already soaked clingy long-sleeved t-shirt. The trail was sticky in spots like peanut butter, filled with downed twigs and branches, and scattered with ankle-deep puddles. Maybe, it's something in my subconscience, or the fact that I keep seeing a certain “Lord of the Rings” book lurking around my house, but there is one part of the Wildwood trail where I swear I am going to see Froto and Samwise step out from behind a tree. No joke.

The book that is laying around everywhere.

I knew they were out there hiding behind a tree.

Last Thursday, I breathed in the foggy mist and smiled to myself. I felt happy. Trails help me find myself running in flow since I have to be aware of every foot placement, root, and puddle and can't just daydream or plan my weekly menu. I have to focus and concentrate solely on the moment. Running in a flow state is all together different than just going out for a jog around the neighborhood. Somehow during the process of running in this hyper-focused state, the run itself melts away all the hard choices and messy emotions I may have had floating in my head prior.

I feel blessed to have running to thank for giving me the ability to find flow and move through life differently as a result. Not to mention all that bounding over puddles, rocks, and tree limbs makes me able to jump higher, and then strangers think I must play a “sport” like basketball or volleyball. No way. I am just a runner. But, if you ask me, that in itself is pretty special.

Against All Odds: Mixed Up Weekend

Have you ever noticed that Jude Law looks remarkably like Phil Collins? I know, the world is not fair. But, it's a true story.

Jude is on the left. For reals.

 

Ok, so now you want to know why or how we stumbled on pictures of said aging, hair-receding hunk? Well...

It started innocently enough. It always does, doesn't it? It snowballs into surfing the web for aging actors so easily. We were listening to “Riptide” by Vance Joy. The lyrics say: "I swear she's destined for the screen, closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you've ever seen."

That led to Scott to say, “Michelle Pfeiffer.? Was she in Batman? Or wait, was that Kim Basinger?”

To which I replied, “Michelle Pfeiffer was Catwoman. There's no way Kim Basinger was Catwoman. She was...um.,Vicky Vail.” Not sure how he mixed those two up? Hello.

This lead Scott into looking up various 80s stars. At one point, Scott said, “Well, Catherine Zeta-Jones, no one else could come close to her.” I said, “Yep, she has a flawless face.” Then, I remarked, “You know who is truly flawless? Jude Law.”  Nowadays, I guess that makes Phil Collins flawless, too.  "...It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all."

They ARE like crazy flawless, no?

 Earlier today, we ran 16 miles for our long run. We usually run long on Saturdays, but I felt weary, tired, and worthless, so I talked myself and Scott into saving it for Sunday. When I whispered to Scott at 5:30 am on Saturday morning, “let's run long tomorrow and do a short run later this morning.” Scott said, “Can't. It's against your religion.”

"You're the only one who really knew me at all." Damn, Phil Collins, you got us.

It's true I never like to run long on Sundays. I channel Larry the Cable guy and say let's “Git-R-Done.” On Friday, I had admitted to Scott that I didn't think it was wise to try to run the Hagg Lake 50K. We just didn't have time to train properly for it. We were slated to run 26 miles on Saturday. My plan was to run on Wildwood Trail for 17 miles, then run home from there for the final 9 miles. Thinking about that run was making me feel sick---I knew my body wasn't ready. Sometimes, you have to listen to your body. I could see the relief on Scott's face.

Today, we ran the road section out and back toward the Wildwood Trail. It got colder as we cruised up, up, up Cornell Road. At one point, there was a sign that said, “500 Feet.” Geez, that's nearly the Alps for us Valley Dwellers. Brr. For once, gloves were a good idea.

As we were floating down the hill on Cornell we stopped at a traffic light. I glanced at the car coming to the light to make sure it was going to stop, then proceeded. That's when I felt Scott's arm across my chest, and heard him yell, “DON'T GO!!” Tires were squealing to a stop. I looked up to see a young woman with her hands over her mouth, then my eyes darted to the traffic light to confirm that it was indeed still RED. We were almost run over by an idiot running a red light.

I am usually SO vigilant; I never trust drivers. She came out of nowhere, and I think that's just how it happens. That is how my children would have become orphans. I know, I know...let's not get all crazy with the “what ifs”



The waterfall from the Larry Vincent Bridge.

While running through the rather quaint part of Cedar Hills, we ran by a beautiful waterfall, with a sign telling us it was the “Larry Vincent Bridge.”  Scott commented that Larry Vincent was only 15 years old when he died. Larry died. We nearly died. I was struck by the parallel if only for an instant. We later learned that Larry was an avid runner and loved running in that beautiful area of Cedar Hills. I bet back in 1977 there weren't as many cars and Larry didn't worry about young women running red lights.

 

We mixed it up this weekend...against my religion and against all odds, and stuff. Yesterday, I noticed that my new socks were labeled for RIGHT and LEFT. Nice. Of course, I had them on backwards.

Mixed up my apparently labelled socks.

We ran before lunch on our favie stretch of Fanno Creek Trail with the kids on their bikes. It was so much fun, I suggested we do it for all of our short weekend runs. It's nice cause the kids can carry our HUGE new phones. Less weight=faster, right?

After lunch, we registered for most of the races we will be running for the next 6 months. In 2015 we're mixing it up and running longer races. We AREN'T doing the 10K Series. 2015 will bring a big ole half-marathon at Y2K in January, a trail 25K at Hagg Lake in February (just not ready to run the 50K this year), 30K at Champoeg in March (Scott is running the 10K). Then, we reserved our hotel room for May 30th for the Newport Marathon. Scott hasn't decided if he's running the marathon. I think he will. :) I will probably run around Hagg Lake on the roads, too, on May 2nd for 10.5 miles.

Finally, I'm vying for Scott to run this cool looking 50K up at Point Defiance in Washington in October. What better way to celebrate 15 years of marriage? Have to find some nice family member to watch the kids though because filling up water bottles and leaving out bowls of cereal is looked down upon unless you are leaving a cat for 3 days.  It will work out because I know when I hear Scott singing "Riptide" he's thinking about running 31 miles with me near Puget Sound.

"Lady, running down to the riptide
Taken away to the dark side
I want to be your left hand man."

Running and Parenting: Perfection, Failure and Finding Peace

Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it.” ~ Salvador Dali

Pretty much.

I'll start this blog entry with a story. Well, this story is 3^rd hand, so of course it's good. What story that's been retold more than once isn't fantastic, right? Ok, so my husband told me that he overheard my children talking to each other while they were in the kitchen making their lunches for the next school day.

As my son grabbed the handle on the refrigerator, he said, “Oh man. I hope Mom cleans this handle soon. It's really gross!”

 

My daughter replied, “Yeah, I know. I think you got peanut butter AND jelly on there this time.”

 

Heck, why not grab a piece of bread to rub on there and call it a sandwich? They want Mom to clean it because well, Mom cleans it. I love my children, but cleaning up after themselves doesn't come naturally. In fact, I think it barely occurs to them most of the time. My daughter likes to tell me that I want their rooms or playroom to be “PERFECT.” Nope. I just want things picked up enough that I don't break my neck on a wayward pencil while trying to let the dog out in the pitch black of the morning. I don't think my demands are unreasonable.

 

Over the years, I have had to let go of the idea of having the space that my kids inhabit clean or even neat. Um, not going to happen. Instead of driving my self insane, I now focus on smaller goals. They need to make their spaces reasonably decent once a week. It's somewhat agreeable for everyone now.

My children in their "natural habitat." The back door is just to the left.

 

 

If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude. Don't complain. ~Maya Angelou

 

We tied a nice red bow on the ORRC 10K Series on Saturday. Yep. It's wrapped, folded and gently stowed until it starts again in January. I haven't quite decided if I will run the Series again next year, but you never know. I love everything about running 6.2 miles. Gimme shoes and a 10K starting line, and I'll say “yes!” every time. I love that race distance almost as much as I love coffee, and that's a love affair that will surely never come to an end. But, I am getting off topic.

 This year I finished the Series this year with a good, hard effort that brought me a new PR (41:51) which I hadn't seen since 2012. We won't talk about the not-so-awesome year that 2013 was, it's gone and dusted. And, like so many things in my life that I can't change, the past is one of them.

 

Finishing the Series made me come back to 2013 but just for a second as I was reflecting on how 2014 has unfolded. The first race of this series was awful. I ran Y2K very poorly for so many reasons: just coming back injury, out of shape, dressed too warmly, and trying to run a pace that was too aggressive given my lack of training. Boo-hoo! It sucked. But, I was determined to change all that.

 

This is how we enjoyed our ice baths this summer.

What did I do? I did a few things to get back to where I wanted to be fitness-wise (at that time I still had the Boston Marathon on the my to-do list). I started training with the ORRC Tuesday Night Workout group running intervals. What a difference! I noticed almost immediately that my fitness improved. I also read, “Racing Weight” and started implementing Matt Fitzgerald's nutritional advice. I focused a lot more on stretching, rolling, ice baths, and even yoga. In short, I started focusing on what I could do to make my running better.

I felt strong and capable for nearly all of the races this year. For 3 of the races, I ran nearly the exact same time within a few seconds. Huh? I guess I am consistent.  

 

Barely holding on: Greenway Trail Trial

Unfortunately, I had a really hard race at the Greenway Trail Trial (GTT). I put a lot of pressure on myself to try for PR, and my fitness wasn't really in the right place. I blew up with about 2 miles to go, and that made the last miles murder on my overextended legs, and torture for what felt like my weak mind. I was bummed since that was my home course. Shoot, I run on that trail at least a couple of times a week. I practically own that trail!! Jogging home that morning, my only consolation was that the course was short (only 5.9miles), so any PR would have been null and void.

About a week later, the fine people from the GTT sent me a plaque that said, “First Place Female.” How sweet of them! I think it's neat that they give out plaques to us amateur athletes. Ribbons are cool, too. But, the plaque didn't really make me feel any better about the crummy race.

You see, getting shiny plaques and colorful ribbons is not why I am out there. I started this journey to get better than the runner I was yesterday. I'm not there to win the race or get in the Top 3, Top 10, or Top 100. To be honest, I never have any expectations going into a race about what place I will take. It's nice to be able to compete and push hard with other people, but I when I'm racing I am thinking about me, not them. I can't control what other people are lining up on race day. I don't know what someone else has for a goal. I only know my goal.

I am seeing this theme more in my parenting life as well. I can't control what other people do or what their motivations are. I would like my kids to CLEAN the PLAYROOM much more often and more thoroughly than they do, but I have given up on trying to make that a priority for me because I can't control what they will (or won't, in this case) do.

“Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

On Saturday, I was the 5^th place woman overall at the Best Dam Run. I was extraordinarily happy with my time (a PR!!), but also with my effort. I worked as hard as I could. Bad races like the Y2K and GTT are a part of the running landscape. Not ever race will be “amazing” like are you are running through a beautiful rainbow, all the while beating that mean leprechaun to the pot of gold. We've all had failures in life which were necessary in order for us to figure out a better way. I am grateful for the lessons that the bad races have shown me this year. Those poor performances have helped me become a better runner.

Fighting on the hill at The Best Dam Run.

I hope this works at some point for my children. While cleaning up may never be a big priority for them, I know that they have true ambitions that will be hard to attain. When we try hard to achieve something, but we miss the goal, we have to ask ourselves:

• Did I do my best?
• Do I have more to give next time?  
• What would I change to make it better next time?

We will never be perfect. We will fail. It's what we learn and how we move on that counts.

 

 

 

Sometimes Life Imitates Running

“You gave away the things you loved, and one of them was me.” ~Carly Simon

The tears flowed, but I swallowed them back, ran faster and harder. Crap. It was a hard day. I kept thinking about the how my work day had just ended. My boss had called me into her office. She said, “We don't have time to have a meeting...but, it looks like we just don't have a need for all the therapists we have on staff. I don't want to decide who should go, so I am just telling everyone.” She showed me a list of facilities within our area that had open positions. The list wasn't long and all the places were far away. McMinnville, East Portland, Oregon City...they may as well have been on Mars. All I saw was “BFE” in my head. My face was hot from the afternoon sun, but also from the anger in my mind. WTF, change jobs? I turned up my music and tried to forget about my burning face, tired legs, and that stinging feeling of my heart in my throat. Don't. Cry.

 

“Fuck it, fight it. It's all the same.” ~Sublime

At some point during that run, I came to terms with the fact that I would soon be leaving the job and place where I've worked for the last 10 years. Time to move on. Change is scary, new, different, uncomfortable, but at the same time I was excited about the prospect of being somewhere else.

It occurred to me that day that I needed to take action. Sit back and wait to see who she “picks” to leave? Nah. I'll go willingly. I realized that this “issue” at work was the catalyst but I that I was ready for something else.

I may have said this before, but I don't know what people who don't run do to sort out their problems. Running has always helped. As I reflected on the workplace challenges I was facing, I couldn't help but think about the 50K I ran this summer. It was called the SOB 50K. Nice name, huh? It's actually the Siskiyou-Out-and-Back, and it was really freaking hard. A real SOB.

I am not good a giving full “race recaps.” Mostly because I can't remember every minute detail of a race that was a month ago. Instead, we'll just reel the highlights. The race started at about 6200 feet at the Mt. Ashland Ski Area. Oh, right, I live and train at oh, 6000 feet lower than that. No problem, right? For the two days before the race, my family and I had driven up to the start area and ran around. I remember the pain in my diaphragm when I ran for 40 minutes around the mountain trails. My diaphragm hurts?? I tried not to freak out, but cripes, until that moment, I forgot I even had a diaphragm.

Enjoying the pre-race morning.

On race morning, it was a beautiful day. Sunny, cool, clear, slightly crisp. Lovely. Diaphragm felt fine, so I knew I was going make it. I smelled like a mix of bug spray, sunscreen, and peanut butter. I must have had PB on my hands before I rubbed in the sprays. Sexy. The race started on a road, but less than a mile into it we were on the single track trail of the Pacific Crest Trail. I felt trapped. Stuck. SLOW. I told myself it was a good way to start out by not going too fast. 31 miles is long way. Cruising down the awesome PCT about 6 or 7 miles into it, I thought “this downhill is going on forever. It's going to be a real bitch to climb back up at the end.” I'm so smart.

Out on the trail. I'm the girl in the picture. Copyright SOB50K.

I bypassed most of the early aid stations, since I had my hydration pack. I was carrying what felt like 10 pounds of water on my back, so why should I stop? The water was warm, and tasted like chlorine, but so what if I felt like I was drinking out of swimming pool, I didn't have to stop like those other suckers. I had a tough patch coming into the half-way point. My left hip and foot hurt. The trail was slightly slopped so my left leg had to work harder than my right. My left leg is my naughty leg. It's weaker and tighter, but I try not to say mean stuff about it directly in front of it. Anyway, I was looking forward to getting to the half-way point,. I just need to get there, then I will feel better I kept telling myself. I had big plans rest my legs while I enjoyed the comfort of the port-a-potty, grab my iPod from my drop bag, and scarf some plantain chips. Yes, I had so much to look forward to!

Except when I got there, I couldn't find my bag. WTH? Oh jeez, maybe they didn't bring it because I didn't write my name and number on it. Oh well. I didn't really NEED anything from it. I grabbed a few GU's from aid station, and a wonderful volunteer refreshed my electrolyte bottle. Oh, and there were ZERO Potties. That was a bust, but I left there feeling better. The course opened up a bit, and at that point, even though it was less shady, and hot, the course was pretty flat and the view of Mount Shasta was breathtaking. My left leg was instantly better, too.

Not too long after, I saw another pretty teal colored POTTY. But there was a line of people waiting to use it's wonderfulness. I didn't want to wait. Surely, there will be more at some point. The course got back onto the trail, and there were more climbs. I am pretty sure I saw the very top of Mount Ashland. The trail was rocky, some parts scattered with slippery pieces of shale. I had to concentrate really hard on not dying. Seriously. It wasn't hard to imagine catching my toe on a rock, and tumbling off the side. NOPE. Stay positive. Focus, Melissa.

Thumbs up!  Copyright SOB50K

Luckily, the trail changed back to the shady loveliness of the PCT. I had to stop to dump out the baby rocks that had found their ways into my shoes. Funny, they felt much bigger than they looked. That's when I realized I still had to pee. Um, my body wouldn't wait anymore. All the pool water I had consumed needed to exit. Fortunately, dense forests make for decent privacy, not that I cared at this point. I felt bad to have polluted the world with my liquid waste. Human are disgusting.

At the next Aid Station, I realized something important. Turns out, I had incorrectly remembered where they were leaving the drop bags for the 50K. The 50 MILE bags were at mile 15. Idiot. At mile 21, I saw my bag, but I was so mentally and physically tired, I didn't bother getting out my iPod. It's only 9 more miles. I don't need it. Besides after getting off that scary side of Mount Ashland alive, I only wanted to hug my family.

“I ain't wasting time no more, 'cause time goes by like a hurricane.” ~Allman Brother's Band

The last 9 miles were the longest 9 miles of the my life. I was now running UP that part I had so easily cruised down. Everyone was hiking up those exceedingly long hills. I ran when the trail flattened out, but I had to hike most of the steep hills. I could hear my pulse in my ears. I didn't bother trying to find my heart rate, but I knew instinctively that it was too high to try and run.

The last Aid Station was my favorite. A guy dressed as pirate squeezed ice cold water onto my back from a huge sponge. Oh my god, the feeling was almost as good as the ice water I drank from the cups. I felt like I was drinking from the fountain of youth. Instantly, I felt refreshed. Then I ate a handful of potato chips and went on my way. I had been on the trail for 5 hours, and just want to see my family. I knew my daughter , Maya, was going to run the last mile in with me. I couldn't wait to see her sweet face.

And before I knew it, there she was, along with my husband, son and our 12 year-old dog. As she ran along with me, I heard her say, “Good job, Mama, you're almost there.” I got a little choked up. There is something special about hearing your child give you encouragement. The course came back onto pavement. That asphalt was like an old friend, and I ran like I was finishing a 10K all the way to the finish line.

Maya taking me to the finish.

The SOB 50K was a totally different experience than my other (mostly paved) 50K or any of my marathons. I actually stopped at the Aid Stations, ate food and talked to people instead of just choking out a “thank you” and gulping down Gatorade. I walked during the race. I stopped to use the bathroom, and empty out my shoes. It was different, but it was still familiar. Running is running.

I have a feeling that my new job will be similar. Different but familiar. Oh, I should tell you that, yep, I start a new job on September 8^th. I will have the same job title and responsibilities, but at a new facility. All new co-workers, all new physical environment, but the same me. This 50K taught me not to be afraid to take my legs on a new course with a longer distance, and to run at a higher elevation through the mountains. Now, I'm using that strategy in my work-life, too. Don't think about it too much and don't be afraid because in the end you all you have to do is keep on running.

“Put a candle in the window 'cause I feel I've got to move. Though I'm going...going, I'll be coming home soon. Long as I can see the light.” ~Credence Clearwater Revival