Someone Else's Race

Three weeks from today, right now, I'll be celebrating the finish of my 9th marathon in Albuquerque, NM.

Yesterday, I ran a 5K.

If there's anything I've told the people who've asked me about getting in to running over the years, it's that you can't expect to see fast results.  Unless you're genetically predisposed to an elite-level endurance and lithe, lean body (and kind of if you're a guy- they really are divinely "made" to run since they're supposed to be hunting for dinner) it might take a minute or two to see some progress in running.  You can add to your 'handicap' if you're starting out at a less than optimal running weight, if you've had kids (things change all up in there thanks to those little boogers), and if you lead a lifestyle that is naturally more sedentary than you'd care for.  You can also expect to see little or no progress if your commitment level is mediocre or less- running is fickle.  Three days of good workouts can be completely erased by two weeks of "too busy".  Once again, unless you're one of the lucky ones who can throw on some shoes and crank out an Ultra while barely breaking a sweat, deciding to have some running goals is largely dependent on your level of commitment.  Not unlike getting a puppy.

That's why people quit before they really get to see what their bodies are capable of.

What I found out, early in my own running, was that progress seemed elusive.

I remember slogging along on a treadmill, barely able to keep a 12 minute mile pace for five minutes, just wishing for the day that I could run three miles without stopping.  I even wrote that down on a list of goals I found in some old journals I went through a couple of weeks ago.  I remember feeling completely spent after the first 10K I did, and how disappointed I was that I walked a good portion of it.  I remember, at the end of my first marathon, how I questioned my own sanity and why anyone would knowingly subject themselves to so much pain and misery and was completely baffled by my immediate urge to do it again, and to do it better.

A couple of weeks ago, I got a note from my coach that there were going to be some coaching changes due to her schedule and current commitments.  I was a little miffed but also impressed that my coach's training group Mind Right Multisport discussed my training program and goals and paired me up with a new coach.  Funny thing, though.  He lives in New England.  Don't know him, he doesn't know me.

In my introductory conversation with him, I thought I heard an undertone of "you can't do this", sort of based on his questions and comments and what he had seen so far of my training.  "Yes, I know I'm slow," I told him.  I know I'm "slow" now.  I also told him that yes, Boston is the goal.  But that I have a realistic view of the goal.  If we spend a year or two working on ME, and I do everything I can to move the needle, and we get close but never make it- I'll be okay.  That I'm well aware that not everyone can get there.  I am okay with his doubt, because I am confident that I will know when I have hit my "arete", my elite.  I will know when I have given everything that I can give, and if it's not enough, then that's that.  But I'm not even close.

Yesterday was also the first time I was nervous toeing the line.  I'd tossed and turned all night, thinking about the way progress works for me in running.  It's a long dance of better and worse, and then one day my body decides it's capable of leveling up.  I know when I reach a new level that I'll be there for a while, slogging out the miles, until I see another big improvement.  This happened before I left New Mexico.  I was an 12-minute-mile runner for a VERY long time, and any longer distance included walking.  Then one day, 10s where in my wheelhouse and walking was out.  Before I left NM, I was easy with a 9:30 pace, really proud of that progress, could hold it for 7 or 8 miles pretty easily, and knew I still wasn't at my peak.  I ran my best 5K in 27:15 during this time.

So yesterday, I had convinced myself that a mark of my progress in training would be that I could PR in a 5K. I planned the race in my head, working out a 9:15, 8:50, 8:25 for a 26 minute finish. But I got nervous, and I got to talking with the lady next to me, and I took a position in the pack toward the front.  (Which I never, ever do.)  She was shooting for a 25 or 26, and I told myself that if I stuck with her I'd hit a PR.  My starting pace was 6:40.  I do not run 6:40.  I was sub-8 for almost 5 minutes and logged the first mile at 8:19.  I knew I was in trouble, and I was pissed at myself for forgetting everything I know about pacing yourself.  My next mile was 9:28 and my last, 10:06 for a finish time of 28:49.

The lesson was: do what you know.  Don't expect to run 7 minute miles when your body only knows how to run 9 minute miles.  Don't expect more than you are currently capable of.

I had a good text conversation with my coach about it, basically letting him know that I blew it.

I think I could've done it the way I planned, but I got ahead of myself and I let someone else's race become my race.  That's the biggest mistake a runner can make- in fact one of the biggest mistakes we make in a lot of ways.  What I love about running is the metaphor it becomes for life.  We have to use our own brains, depend on our own hearts, run on our own two feet.  Don't let someone else's race become yours.

Weird Science

This Tuesday marks four weeks of my Paleo/LCHF/Keto "diet".  I'm going to fondly refer to it heretofore as my Primal Instinct Lifestyle of Eating. Or PILE.

Here's whats happened so far.

I've lost about 7 pounds.  1.5 inches around my waist and 1 inch around my hips.  1 inch around my thigh- gone!

Two weeks ago, I was subjected to a workout with my running coach on a high school track.  She had us doing ladders.  Last week, on Monday, we did 15x200m at better than 5k pace.  In the past, workouts like these KILLED me.  Usually, somewhere in the middle, my muscles ache and my brain rebels and my body backs off.  I was surprised when, in the middle of the first workout I mentioned, I did a whole-body mental check and realized I was fine.  I was better than fine, in fact.  I was hot, because LOUISIANAINJULY=HELL but really, my legs had plenty left.  My chest heaved with the effort I was putting forth but I could feel energy circulating in my body and propelling me forward.

 The second workout- 15 reps- I honestly felt like I was getting slower with each rep.  Every time I finished one, I half expected to feel the protest from my body I've felt before.  That feeling that one more step, one more rep will be too much.  It never came.  And I impressed myself when I examined my Garmin and found that all of my reps were similar- every 200 was run in around 50 seconds.  For those of you who don't know, 200 meters is half the track.  One full lap is a quarter mile.  So 15 sets of 50-second 200s amounts to about 1.9 miles ran at about a 7:30 pace.  Which may be just another day at the track for some athletes, but that's really good for me.  My rest laps did get longer, but GOOD LAWD, it was hot out there.

So what does this have to do with PILE?

I've been doing the research, and reading all the pros and cons of being a meat-and-fat eater.

I really have come to realize that I can't subscribe to any one notion on what works and what doesn't except for that our bodies and metabolisms and propensity for change are all VASTLY DIFFERENT.  You're a vegan athlete?  Awesome.  You want to build a macro plan that fits your goals? Cool.  You want to drink your nutrition and workout to videos? Fantastic.  You're built to burn fat and you're possibly allergic to carbs... well, okay!

If I have learned anything the last three weeks it is that I have always done a pretty good job of being in touch with my body and what it's telling me.  What I have not been good at is giving it what it is asking for.  In the last three weeks, I have had some times of tiredness and fatigue- remarkably noted only after nights that I drank wine.  Supposed to not be a big deal on PILE to have some red vino, but I did notice a difference.  Does that mean I'll quit indulging?  Hell to the no.  I'm happy to understand how it affects me.  On days I kept a 75% or more fat with 20% protein and 5% or less of carbs mix, I have felt more awake, focused and capable than ever.

I realize the body needs carbs to function in some capacity for endurance activity. The benefit I can see for what I have done the last few weeks is that I can incorporate good quality carbs when I actually will need them. But the body doesn't need sugar in its most diabolical forms- sports drinks and preservatives and complicated breads.

I keep going back to McDougal's account of the Cretan adventures where mere mortals lived off of only the things available around them from farm animals and game and fish.  They were healthy, agile and capable of great feats of endurance.  Knowing what I know now about how my body doesn't like me at all if I deprive it of meat, that I have a natural aversion to vegetables and a natural love of all things fatty and nutty, I have to surmise that maybe a person's ancestry and where they come from has a large part to play in what kind of diet will work for them.  I think it goes beyond the three body types and is really linked to who we are, primally.  I'm not a scientist, or a dietician, or elite athlete.  But I think I'm on to something.

Mixed Messages

A girl can lose her mind trying to figure out the best way to pair training with diet for the most favorable outcome possible.  I hope that, if you have an opinion on the subject, that you share it. Because in this arena, I am truly interested in personal experiences.

I have tried the vegetarian way.  I'm not good at that though, because... BACON. But really, the couple of times in my life that I have tried to follow plant-based raw regimens, I have experienced some of the worst side-effects in my life, even after what should be the initial shock-your-system detox or whatever.  It seems that when I rely on plant based protein, I feel hungry all the time, I feel like I am going to black out when I stand up or bend down to pick something up, and in general I just feel weak.

Conversely, as my diet over the last few years has improved considerably but included mostly protein, I started to worry as I also experienced fatigue that I wasn't including enough good-source carbs.  I notice very easily when I am lacking protein- I get shaky and feel headachy and irritable.  It only seemed like carbs came in to play the longer my runs got-  I started drinking BCAA and eating more bananas but began to think that I wasn't eating enough carbs for the amount of running I was doing.

It seems there are plenty of people who function highly as athlete and never eat anything with a face. I don't have any political or ecological reasons for being interested in vegatarianism- I believe that animals are on the food chain and we are at the top, and God meant it that way. Sorry.  Just makes more sense to me.  And, BACON.

So years ago I subscribed to the Maffetone Method, it made sense- for a long time now I've been pretty processed-sugar-free.  I hadn't really thought much more about this philosophy until I read Natural Born Heroes by Christopher McDougal. I actually remembered why I eat the way I do and had an a-ha moment when I realized that the heart rate training my coach is doing with me originated here too.  Maffetone's research says that we react poorly to carbs, which is the same science behind Atkins, Paleo and Bulletproof coffee.  Interestingly, McDougal recounts in his book, in between scenes about the greatest wartime kidnapping shenanigans to ever take place, how he met with not only Maffetone, and tried the method himself, but he also caught up with Dr. Timothy Noakes.   Noakes wrote the running bible back in the 80's that seemed to fuel the big-corporation intervention of sugary electrolyte drinks into the endurance sports, touting carbs as the magic ingredient all athletes couldn't live without.  But he changed his tune, and now supports Banting which is pretty much protein and fat rich, low carb living.

So, what's a girl to do?

I may be the textbook study on this.  Flashback about three years ago.  I got really good at high protein, good fat, low carb.  Then I moved. (Cortisol levels through the roof maybe?). I felt tired, lethargic almost.  I blamed my new environment on my lack of energy. I drank more than I had been, and ate more fried food (bad fat?). I had a year of adjustment.  During the adjustment, I crash dieted, because that's my default mode when I feel like life is controlling me instead of me, it.

Now I am here.  Clear headed, and with a running coach.  I got back on track with my diet with Amanda, who put me on macro tracking and refilled what had previously been an empty furnace- if metabolism is akin to a fire stove oven, then all I had left four months ago were ashes and absolutely no fuel and definitely no fire. I trusted her advice and began to feel stronger, more energetic, alive and able.  We gave the furnace something burn, and now it's time to relight the fire. Now, I am just looking for the optimal fuel for my life to keep that fire burning as long and as hot as possible.

I have decided to try Maffetone's 14 day test, starting Tuesday, July 5.  It isn't about dieting, it's about finding out how different foods affect my performance.  After all, I am obsessed with the idea of finding out what my brain and body's version of Elite is.  Wish me luck!

When $&!# gets real....

I hired a running coach.

I am terrified.

Here's the deal. Up to this very moment in my life, that little "I want to run Boston" seed that was planted years ago was growing somewhat silently, slowly, in the dark.  I've watered it fairly consistently, fed it some fertilizer occasionally, have let it spend a few seasons in drought.

It's there, but honestly no one would ever notice if I just quit.  Changed my mind.  Let it die.

A big part of me has always been completely convinced that I would never see this through.  After all, I'm your starter. Your driver.  The person with great ideas, visionary dreams, and fizzles out when the reality doesn't manifest fast enough.  I happily leave details to other people. I never finished building the kit Victorian dollhouse my dad bought for me when I was ten, even though I could see it in all it's teeny tiny glory with lights and plumbing.  If a book doesn't catch my undivided attention in the first two pages, it can sit in book purgatory on a shelf for years before I pick it up and try again with enough conviction to let it try to win me over.  I have left countless things unfinished in my life, often looking for the next thing that seems interesting.  Obviously, I get bored.  I'm happy to report that in my 15 plus years of becoming a professional, I've learned a bit how to follow though and definitely have gotten better at it.  But it isn't easy for me.

So I spent a lot of time this weekend contemplating the fact that I HIRED A RUNNING COACH.

What is it about this particular journey that I haven't given up already?  Because if you asked my history, it would say I've been there, done that, and I should be done with this by now.

But I'm not, and it's fear.

We talk a lot in my line of work about fear being a motivator.  I'm afraid of living and dying and never figuring out what I'm really capable of.  The run doesn't take away this fear- it fuels it.

This past weekend, we met my parents in Chattanooga to get my kids back from their first summer vacation trip.  My daughter desperately wanted to go Ziplining at Ruby Falls.  There was a ropes course and four Ziplines.  We recently experienced Ziplining over some tired gators at Gators and friends a few months ago, and working up the courage to climb those towers and let go was exhilarating and nerve-wrecking.  We had a great time but I won't even lie and say I wasn't afraid.

As we had a guide explain the ropes course at Ruby Falls to us, I secretly wanted my daughter to change her mind.  Because I had never done a ropes course, and Ziplining still kind of scared me, and well, I would have been fine just checking out the underground waterfall.

She was all about it though, and my husband and son were in.... Which if you know my husband.... Wow.  The fact that he was willing to go- now there was no way I could back out.

They put us through a short safety course and then we set out with a guide.  There were several ropes obstacles, everything from tight-rope walking to moving bridges to swinging poles to skitter across.  It was unlike anything I have experienced before and I realized, through that experience, how much growth occurs when we put one foot in front of the other, regardless of fear.

I think they call that courage.

There were SO many times that I have wanted to stop running.  There were several times on that ropes course that I wanted to be rescued, to come down, to just say, "Let's be done with this."  But I didn't.

The desire to find out just how mentally tough I can be outweighs my desire to feel comfortable and safe, and that is why I run.  I found myself on that ropes course, almost meditating as I concentrated on every footstep, aware of my weight and my muscles and my balance, fully present inside my body.  This only happens when I run.  I realize I will never be "elite".  But I am ready to see what my body and mind's version of elite is, and I won't quit until I'm satisfied.  Hiring a coach is paramount to reporting your annual sales goals to your manager, to doing ropes courses and trying not to appear afraid because your 13 year old daughter doesn't seem afraid.  It's taking the commitment to the next level. It's taking a risk by trusting someone who I don't really know with my dream.  It's looking fear in the face and saying, "I'm not going to quit."  I can't wait to see where this goes.

It's not about the Run.... wait, no. It is.

Let me just start by saying that Marie Kondo is a little batsh*t crazy.  Which is okay in my book, because I like crazy.  I picked this book up at Barnes and Noble one day when I was feeling lonely and probably PMSing, and was amused that someone *actually* could write a book about tidying up.

I was intrigued.  So I brought the book home and did what anyone would do- put it in a pile of "stuff to do later" in an obscure catch-all corner in my house.

One day a couple months ago, I picked it up and thumbed through it.  I immediately got the gist of Marie Kondo magic, but was more interested in the psychological aspect of tidying up than the physical one.  I always believe that books will come to you when you need them the most, sort of like "when the student is ready, the teacher appears" kind of thing.

I have been feeling, for a while now- that even though I've moved and the landscape has changed drastically- that I'm holding on desperately to some old ghosts.  That sometimes, I don't feel like I moved on, I feel like I ran away.  And either way, some things followed me.

That small voice that has never steered me wrong has been nudging me for a while now to clean out the cobwebs- emotionally, physically, mentally.  Lately, I started making the connection- what if that feeling that I'm stuck in mud and not progressing in running has more to do with some emotional baggage I'm carrying around than it does the ten pounds I've gained since we moved?

And what should I do about that?  Because, for all intents and purposes, the run has always been the therapy.

SO, I speed-read the book, decided that this weekend I would begin the process of letting go of anything and everything that doesn't serve me, isn't meaningful and isn't necessary.

SO, this.

After I took step one and cleaned my closet out of every shred of everything that was in there, I wanted to just move and leave it all behind.  If there is a better metaphor for taking stock of your state of being mentally, I don't know what it is.  And I don't know why I so mistakenly thought this process would take two hours.  It took TWO DAYS.

Marie tells you to keep or toss based on joy.  I'm not really good at following rules, so I made up my own. For something to stay, it had to be an item I felt comfortable in.  It had to be useful.  Some things went because I evaluated a memory associated with that item and realized I wanted to let it go. Some things, like my old prom dress- which was the ONE thing I tried on during this task- held a great memory but really no longer has any tangible value.

 

The fact that I fit into the junior's size 7 was enough of a win that I don't need to hold on to that thing forever.

Most things were an easy decision.  Some items, though- man.  No wonder we're a mess.  The mental fixation we have on things, and moreover the reasons we keep things around- they don't make any sense.  My goal here was to bring sense to chaos, to begin to organize my life- not exactly in the Steve-Jobs-All-I-Wear-Is-Jeans-And-A-Black-Shirt kind of craziness, but more like, I-should-totally-develop-the-habit-of-being-more-organized-so-I-can-at-least-find-my-shoes so that I can develop a better routine.

I took breaks about once an hour or so and looked for other corners of my universe to organize and apply my rules to.  I rearranged my furniture, organized my laundry room (while doing laundry, which, if you know me, isn't normal!), and really just started taking stock of all the things around me and deciding that if things don't have a home in my home, they should belong to someone else.

Somewhat adhering to the Kondization method of doing things, I got rid of about 20 books.  That was harder for me, because I love my books.

In the end, I ended up with this:


I don't know that I've ever, in my life, "mindfully" cleaned.  Usually, cleaning is done as a last ditch effort with a time crunch when someone's coming over or I just can't stand it anymore, or I'm mad about something and the mad maid shows up.  Cleaning- tidying up- has always been a necessary thing to do, a chore- something I do not want to do and feel forced into- not a task I take upon myself in order to help me grow and to prune my life.  It is very true that the way we are living on the outside is a manifestation of what's going on on the inside.  I think it's imperative that we get the two things aligned, and now more than ever I am willing to do the work to clean EVERYTHING up... and get rid of all the junk in my trunk for good.

Today was pretty cool.  I know it's a process.  I know I have more running clothes than anyone probably needs, even after letting go of a lot...

I feel very accomplished.  Now it's time for a bubble bath and a glass of wine, and in the morning- a good run.  The book I'm reading now:

I love Brendon Burchard.  Check him out.

On Just Doing It

I've been doing what I do, professionally, for sixteen years.

I've not been all that great at keeping score throughout those years.

Over and over again, regardless of the company or the management or the pep talk- there is always something to be said about keeping score.  Sports teams do it.  Education systems do it.  The entertainment industry does it.  The best in my industry do it, faithfully.

There's always someone keeping score- and furthermore- keeping statistics.  How many yards? How many words? How many people watch and listen and buy?

When you think about it, all of the things we love the most are carefully weighed and measured.

But for whatever reason, some people in some industries, namely sales- some people have a hard time keeping score.  I have a hard time keeping score, and this translated into my new Macro IIFYM way of eating.

It's natural, when the score is good, to want to write it down and show it to someone.  It's also natural, when the score is bad, to rationalize all the reasons it's dumb and pointless to keep score and hide from the people who might be looking, especially when you're in a position that makes you doubt that anyone is really looking.

If the last four weeks have taught me anything, it taught me that I wished much, much earlier in my life, I valued keeping score even when the score was hateful.  That if anything, I'd learned earlier the motivation that comes from really, truly caring about the score.

This macro thing- this part of the journey- I won't say I'm obsessive about it but I will say that meaningfully keeping score for four weeks, good, bad or ugly, has created an unintended habit of awareness.

I am now fully aware that there's more protein in cow's milk than almond milk and that you can get high quality lactose-free, fat-free milk that tastes great.  I'm aware that if I get close to 50 grams of protein first thing in the morning, I'm not hungry all day long- but I'm aware I need to stoke the fire so I focus on getting another 30 grams within two or three hours after my first meal.  If I do this, then naturally I find that my last two full meals of the day provide the balance I need of macros almost naturally.  I find that paying attention more makes me crave things that aren't beneficial less. Keeping score has made it so I don't ransack my kitchen at 9:30 PM looking for 65 grams of fat-free protein, which literally amounts to eating a tub of fat-free cottage cheese and downing a protein shake.  Not really the best move for a good night's sleep.

I've always known that keeping score is vital to progress and success, and anytime I have focused on keeping score, I've improved my results.  I also know that I stop keeping score when failure is looming.  When, for whatever reason, the score isn't going to favor me.  Maybe it's a fear of facing the things I'm not doing, or a die-hard willingness to be lazy instead of productive, or an all-out serious denial of the truth.

Because the truth is that we can always do more.

I used to make fun of press conferences that are held after major sporting events.  Like, why do you think you lost this game?  Clearly, the answer is always that you didn't do something as well as the other team did.

Now, I think I understand the question a little bit more.  It's not just that the losing team lost, it's about what went wrong.  And if we don't pay attention to what what wrong, we can't make it right.  And we have no chance of even knowing what's going wrong if we don't keep score, or if the score is a fabrication made up to appease someone who may or may not be paying attention, rather than for our own assessment.

I wish I had understood this earlier, and that I had become a raging fan of self-statistic-keeping earlier.   In all things- I understand now, more than ever, that every little thing counts- not just the score.  The practice that came before the game.  The hours of good sleep logged, the steps taken, the time spent just trying to be better.  The moments spent in silence, reading or in prayer or just being. Every rep, every mile, every drop of sweat. The moments of joy, the moments spent ugly-crying... they all matter, and they all become part of the score.

Confessions of a Recovering Mindless Grazer

Don't lie.

You know you've been there.

You're doing something around the house, perhaps taking a load of laundry from a bedroom to the laundry room.  Maybe picking up the random things your teenagers leave lying around the house- shoes, water bottles, empty Lunchables...  and the next thing you know, you're standing in front of an open refrigerator looking for something to eat.

In my case, I'm not even hungry.  I'm not really bored, and I'm not stressed.  And these days, I generally go for something "healthy"- greek yogurt or an apple.  I think there's just some weird disconnect in my brain that may or may not be related to a primitive need to survive- if food is available, I feel compelled to consume it. Grazing is making IIFYM that much more difficult on me.

I'm the girl that will snag a french fry or three from her daughters plate.  I will take a handful of Cheerios the kids left out before I shut the box and stash it back in the pantry all while yelling at no one in particular to put the cereal back where it belongs.  Then I will stand in the pantry and stare, like if I just hang out long enough a genie with a bag of Oreos will show up.  When he doesn't, I notice a near-empty bag of black bean chips.  Doesn't seem prudent to keep it, and would be wasteful to toss it, so I might as well eat the three chips and handful of crumbs at the bottom before throwing the bag away.

I don't keep much junk food in the house, and over the years I have progressed from Girl-Scout-Cookie-binge-eating diet-coke junkie into a mindful grazing animal, but a grazer nonetheless.

Which makes keeping score that much more difficult.  On a scale of 1 to Root Canal, keeping score for me is like major dental work.  The past month, I have gotten good at understanding what I need and why I need it in terms of nutrition, and I've even gotten good at not hating myself while I'm eating an extra plate of food specifically designed to reach my macro goals that may or may not include strange amounts of fat-free cottage cheese and sweet potatoes.  I've even gotten really good at staying accountable and adding those fries-here and cheerios-there into my log.

What I am not good at is planning.

I am really over plugging all of my triumphs and transgressions into MyFitnessPal only to find that I am way over on fat grams and no where near my protein goal.  Even if the fat was "all good".

So what is a girl to do?

Well, last night I stayed up into the wee hours of the morning reading articles about runners and running and people who cheat to get into Boston.  I read a piece from my old hometown local newspaper where two teachers I knew, both older than me, made it in to Boston this year.  And I had this thought.

I've been progressing toward my goal.  I have been doing the right things, I have been getting serious about training.  I would even say that I have been quite committed.

But I haven't been relentless.  And I haven't planned like someone who really wants it.

I know what I need to do and that I need to map out a plan and stick to it.  I need to map out my macros BEFORE the day I'm in, so that I have a plan.  So that I can get closer to them early instead of trying desperately to catch up on them at 9PM.  I need to make the effort to find the hills that, now that I have become familiar with my new surroundings, I know exist.  I need to go to bed earlier.  I need to drink less wine and drink WAY more water.  I need to preempt the mindless grazing by having measured and counted snacks available when my brain and stomach wage war over my goals.

I preach and teach all day long to people who are new in my industry that planning, preparation and keeping score are the foundations to their success.  It's time to practice what I preach.

When Commitment Takes a Vacation

Last week was Spring Break for us, and we decided to go visit my parents in Reston, Virginia which is right outside of Washington D.C.  I was pretty excited because, having grown up a military brat, I've been all around the world- I've seen Rome and Germany and Greece, castles and relics and really old art.... but I've been to very few historically meaningful U.S. locations.

So, if you're keeping track, I also committed to going all-out hard-core balls-to-the-wall for the goal of qualifying just a mere three weeks ago.  You may be wondering (or not) how my vacation affected my commitment.

We left on Friday night, meeting up with my sister in law from NM in Dallas.  We were catching an early morning flight on Saturday, me and her and the kids.  The hubs didn't get as much time off, so he would be flying out to join us on Wednesday.

We ate at PF Changs on Friday night and I managed to hit my macros.  I ordered based on what I needed and and ate what I calculated I should in MFP (My FitnessPal henceforth and forevermore).  I thought, MacrosShmacros, I can keep this up for a week!!

Hah.

Every day of vacation started with good intentions to keep up with MFP.  But by Wednesday, I gave up on keeping track altogether.  I mean, how are you supposed to report homemade pop-tarts at Ted's, Braised Beef at District Commons with carrot grits and kale (but you tried your son's duck and your hubby's steak and you had a few bites of the amazing pretzel bread and hot mustard butter and then you did top that off with a homemade vanilla bean ice cream float made with Coney Island Hard Root Beer).  I mean, some things just can't be weighed and measured.  Then there was the Chicago style Supreme Pizza at Pi... I still made better choices than I every used to while on vacation, I didn't feel compelled to eat just for the sake of eating and I enjoyed al of the meals my family shared without stuffing myself. I genuinely enjoyed them.  It was a good balance.

I think sometimes progress doesn't feel like progress.  Sometimes, I think, you have to go back further in that personal history book and realize that some of your successes are a positive but subtle change in habit.  I can't think of a vacation taken recently where I kept up with early morning workouts- this is a huge change for me.  On the days I woke up early to work out, I had much more energy and felt far less exhausted by the end of our touring than I did on days I skipped.  In the past, being on vacation meant I didn't need to keep up the workout routine at all- I was always happy to skip it.  So the fact that I didn't- progress.

I also used to come home from vacation feeling like my panda friend here-  with a food and drink hangover and usually a few extra pounds.  I didn't lose any weight last week, but I didn't gain any either, so I call that a win.

As far as the vacation- WOW.  We walked and walked and rode the metro and walked some more.  I logged, including my workouts,  a total of 60.33 miles for the week.

My favorite things were the Pentagon 9/11 Memorial, Arlington Cemetery and Smithsonian Art Museum.

I like to do things I've never done before when I take a vacation.  In the past this has included jumping off buildings and running long distances.  This time, I opted for some pampering and tried a blow-out.  This was fun, relaxing, interesting... but I don't understand how people keep the results for a week.  Even with dry shampoo.  Hair gets dirty.

This was a great experience for my family and was an excellent opportunity for me to prove to myself that I can live the life I've envisioned with physical and nutrition goals that make sense, are attainable, and don't make me give up living, or feeling like I failed because I went on vacation.  Here's to balance in all things.

Don't Believe Everything You Think

It's been about a week and a half I've been on this quest.  This week was a lot like breaking in a new pair of shoes, literally and figuratively.  I have the blisters to prove it.

The past ten days have been a new uncomfortable for me.  I'm eating more than I usually eat, I'm holding myself accountable to process, and I'm trying to fit my goals into my life, rather than to let my goals take over my life.  That said, my feet hurt, my arms hurt, I've logged great mileage this week in spite of traveling and weather and wine.  But I have a smile on my face, because I'm learning.  I'm learning that some of the things I thought about myself and my ability to accomplish this goal are completely wrong.

Back in High School, I wanted to participate in a sport not because I was good at anything, but because I was bored.  In fact, I was not good at ANY sport, really.  I joined the Cross Country team my Freshman year at Naples American High School, and I hated every minute of it.  One of the reasons I hated it was because in my mind, not even I could be that bad at running, but I was.

It's just running, right?   I had convinced a friend of mine to join the team with me and from about the second week of practice it was clear that she was WAY better at it than me.  I huffed and puffed through workouts, did a lot of walking, did even more whining (sorry, coaches, wherever you are) and really never got into it.  Half way through the season I was having asthma attacks which were brought on by the sulfur in the air in and around Naples.  I was pretty grateful that I had a really good excuse to bail out.

The next semester, though I found myself signing up for track.  I was far more committed to getting to travel all of Italy on the co-ed track team than I was actually excelling at anything.  I tried long-jump, shotput and discus.  Shotput turned out to be my 'best' sport, once I got my body to learn the throwing form.  As a team member, I was mediocre at best.  I was in to have fun, anyway.  My second season of track my sophomore year, my season was also cut short thanks to a run in with Mononucleosis.

Fast forward a million years.  I have never wanted to be better at something than I want to be at running right now.  And this week I pondered on the thought that all these years I've built these images in my mind of what "success" at the sport of running looks like.

Since reading Born to Run several years ago, this has been it.  Dean Karnazes.  I'm pretty sure no one disagrees with me- that lean body, brow furrowed in concentration, perfect stride- this is what running well looks like.

And when I created my goal, I had it in my head that unless I continued to move forward into achieving a lean physique, I could never run fast.

Well, that's bullshit.

Mostly.

Obviously I have to move toward a body more capable of running faster to achieve a 3:40.  More importantly, though, I need to exercise my mind into being capable of running a 3:40.

There are plenty of people who can run a Boston time in their age and gender groups and they don't look like Dean.  Are they lean?  Probably.  But are they perfect?  I bet not.

I have to change my perception of what I believe a body type is capable of, and following this gal has helped me-

There are stereotypes in all things, and if you visit Jessamyn's page or follow her instagram account, you will be challenged to think differently about what you think you know.  The armstand she's doing here is an advanced pose, yet she looks as effortless, balanced and beautiful as her stereotypical yogi counterparts who are sporting 17% body fat and chiseled physiques.

When 'they' say that the only limits we have are the limits we create in our minds, 'they' are 100% correct.

I am beginning to challenge the mindset that I will have to create the perfect running body in order to run my goal---  My body will do it. My body has already proved to me it is capable of more than I ever would have dreamed possible back in my high school days and my limited exposure to endurance training.  I don't have respiratory problems anymore.  I run faster than I did in high school, and I actually love it this time.

My body will catch up to my goal. It's the mind that needs the makeover.

We will, we will... stalk you...

Let's face it.  If comparison is the thief of joy then social media is Bernie Madoff.

Don't worry, this is not about the Kardashians.

You know those people that act like they don't care what anyone thinks about them, they are going to live their truth, blah blah blah?  Those people are full of crap, especially if they have a Facebook, Instagram or Twitter account.

I'd like to think that I don't look to social media for validation, but on some level I guess that's what anyone who posts anything is looking for.  Having an online life is only one side of the coin... I think more important question is, whose online lives are we looking at?

And what does that do to us?

A couple of days ago I was perusing my Instagram feed when I crossed paths with this fitness model in Australia who had had TWINS (who were also children #3 and #4) and was posting pictures of herself in a bikini WITHOUT STRETCHMARKS and nary any evidence that she'd just brought two human beings into this world who were plus or minus five pounds a piece.  She had her six pack and thigh gap back like three days postpartum.  I really wanted to hate her, I did, but I'm not an inherently hateful person.  But I found myself subconsciously listing things about her that made me feel better about myself.

Like, haha, she won't get good sleep for like the next five years.

And, she can probably afford to rub caviar all over her stomach every day to ward off those stretch marks.  I mean, I would've done that too, but I didn't know caviar worked back then.

And, I guess if your paycheck revolves around your looks, you have to make pregnancy look that awesome too.

So I wasn't trying to be a hater, but some peoples' reality is so far removed from my own that there's just no way to make a real connection.  And that, I think, is the real sadness of social media comparison.

But here's another one.  I actually "follow" her....

This woman is a superhero.  I mean seriously.  Look at her bio.  Then look closely how fast she runs.  I totally stalk her.  She's another one who had a baby and seemingly didn't take a day off or miss a workout.  Based on her posts she is trying to qualify for Boston too and I dig that. So when I need motivation, I go look at her feed and think, I don't have five kids.  I don't have a chronic disease.  If she can do this, so can I.  I am truly inspired by people, women in particular, who post this kind of unreal realness.   Her life, I can get a little closer to.

Then there's my yoga girlcrush.  

This woman makes bendy an artform.  I am not as concerned with nor do I ever desire to be an accomplished yogi, but the affirmations in her posts and her encouraging enlightenment make me want to continue practicing yoga.  Boston is one thing.  Handstands are totally another.

I think all the hate and negativity that is associated with what social media is can be completely undone when we realize and accept that what motivates us, motivates us.  And we shouldn't be ashamed of that, nor should we shy away from it, nor should we begrudge someone their perfectly sculpted abs and superawesome lighting if it fires us up and some how makes us want to be better too.

I also just read this story and while I was reading, I equally hated this woman for being older than me, faster than me, and more dedicated to a crazy goal than me while loving her for having the balls to do it in the first place.  When I read her "why", I thought, See.  I get that.  I get her why.  I get wanting accomplishment.  And I was inspired.

I often wonder if stalking people for the specific purpose of fueling your own inner fire is some strange form of self-bullying.  But then I remember some of the things I've learned about stoking that fire, and I think, stalk on.

Tim Grover's book Relentless is one of my all time favorite reads, especially when I'm feeling mediocre.  He talks a lot in this book about what motivates ultra-driven people- CLEANERS, as he labels them.  They clean up after everyone else.  They come in, they get the job done, they do what they have to do at all costs, and they are relentless.

If you're going to pursue some sort of greatness, you have to learn to be relentless.  Maybe that means getting up earlier, working later, dedicating yourself to your cause regardless of who's out there loving and hating you. Either way, don't be ashamed to stalk those who inspire you. Let what motivates you, motivate you.

Food is your Friend... Food is Fuel...

Me and food, we don't get along so well.

Well, some days we get along WAY too well.

This isn't the whole "let's talk about disordered eating" post.

Nor is it the "I'm going to share everything I eat with you" post.

Yesterday was the beginning of my quest, and one of the first things I am working on getting right in my brain is that my coach issued a Macro daily goal based on my activity, and I ain't gonna lie.  The amount of calories I'll be consuming if I am hitting these macros will be a good 500 to 600 calories more that I typically TRY to consume.

I've known it for a while, especially after St. George when I tried to get even leaner and even faster and really ended up more tired- I hardly ever eat enough food.  When I do consume enough (or more than enough) calories, they are generally empty, sugar-driven, soulless calories that are the result of red wine at the end of a long day or a stack of Chips Ahoy that didn't stand a chance.

There is no "cheat day" for me.  I either am eating clean and well, or I am on a downward spiral of pizza, wings and wine.  My brain doesn't see it any other way, I am either succeeding with my food choices or failing.  There is no happy medium.

I don't know why I'm wired this way, but if you know what I mean it's pretty irritating.  I enjoy food in the moment and generally harbor serious eaters remorse afterward.  If I'm being stringent and staying on a plan, I daydream about cupcakes and M&Ms.

Maybe other people don't have these issues, maybe it's just me.

Anyhoo, one of my first focuses this week is to have this mantra of "Food is Fuel".  I am not counting calories, I am USING macros. My body NEEDS this many macros in order to do what I am asking it to do.  I have to get used to that.  I will get used to that.

Ten Years in the Making

I'm not fast.

I'm not particularly athletically inclined.  In fact, sometimes the fact that I can stay on my own two feet is quite the accomplishment.

On March 25, 2007, I flew to Hong Kong with my sister-in-law and my son.  It was his birthday on the 30th, and he would be turning 8.  Having been a military brat, it was important to me that if I had the opportunity to let my kids experience the world, I would.

While there, we took several pictures.  I remember the air being heavy and humid, the city being tall and encroaching, the landscape foreign and beautiful.  I also remember thinking, as I looked at the pictures when we returned (this was SO before the era of smartphones, we had to take OLD FASHIONED digital pictures with an ACTUAL camera...) that I was awfully bloated.  That my skin looked pasty and I looked unhealthy, but it must have been the haze of the city, the crazy food I didn't want to eat... or the fact that we were basically at sea level and I somehow looked better at my hometown elevation of plus or minus 5,000 feet.

At the same time, my size 14s were getting tight and little did I know that the eighteen months that would follow the return of that trip would be the beginning of a season of my life that would challenge me in every way.  That's me on the left in 2007, in Hong Kong.

Sometime in 2009, I had a "come to Jesus" talk with the Man Upstairs on a drive home from work.  Everything about my life had become complicated and crazy all most too much for me to bear.  At the time I was working in Las Cruces, a 65 mile straight-shot through the desert commute from where I lived in Alamogordo.  On that drive, that day, I found myself thinking about how easy it would be to just floor the gas, yank the wheel to the right and hope I didn't survive.

Crazy thoughts of a desperate person...

Instead, I heard a small, firm voice telling me to put on some shoes and get out in the sun. I didn't even know if I had shoes suitable for exercise.  I dug around in my closet, found an old pair of Nikes I wore when I was pregnant and couldn't see my feet.

Six miles later, I had changed.

I jogged some.  I walked a lot.  I hurt, and was sore, and my son commented that my face was pale when I arrived home.  I thought I might pass out.

But I was changed.

For the first time in a really long time, I saw a glimmer of hope for something in the future.  What that something was, I didn't know yet.

I bought a treadmill.  I started losing weight.  I got frustrated when after months of "running" I could still barely run for 5 minutes without stopping to walk.  I felt defeated when I started paying attention to other people and what they could do, and would run with a friend who stoked my competitive fire by never looking back.  I vowed to some day be able to keep pace with her.  And then one day, I could.

My newfound hobby made room for lots of introspection.  I wanted to be strong.  I wanted to change my life, in all the ways that I could, for the better.

I joined a high-profile ladies' gym in my community and found that I wasn't the only one who felt the way I felt and faced the same challenges I faced.  Turns out, there's a lot of us.

One day, while running with a different friend (who's pace always challenged me, too) she asked me if I had ever heard of the Nike Women's Marathon.  She proceeded to tell me to the beat of our easy tempo about Tiffany necklaces as race medals, handed to you by SF Firefighters dressed in tuxedos.  And oh, a Girardelli chocolate mile....

I had never, ever considered that my body or my mind could survive a marathon.  That run took place in maybe November or December.  We decided to form a team and enter the lottery, and based on what I had researched I thought there was pretty much no way in hell we'd get picked, so I wasn't too worried about being kept on the hook to run a marathon.

I'll be damned, we got picked.

 We trained.  We ran.  And in the 5 hours and 50 minutes it took me to finish my 26.2, I ran through every emotion known to man.  At the end I was in pain. Lots of it.  But I knew immediately that this was something I would do again.  And maybe again.  And that the best version of myself would be the one who could conquer the run.

After that first race in October 2012, I ran the Little Rock Marathon.  5:40... not as good as I'd wanted but I felt better than the first time, stronger and more capable.  Progress.

It was after this marathon that I got my first meaningful tattoo-

"For those who hope in (wait on) the Lord will renew their strength.  They will mount up with wings like eagles.  They will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:31

That year, we returned to San Francisco for the Half Marathon, my husband joining me in my running by then.  We ran it together, but the half didn't quite satisfy.  He also had found that little voice inside that urges us all to see what we can do, and agreed to register for the Rock N Roll Phoenix full marathon with me.

This guy's heart is huge... he trained and sustained an IT Band injury that practically hobbled him... we slogged through the first ten miles of this marathon and walked the rest.  I hurt in places I had never hurt after a run before.  But we talked, met new people, bonded over the difficulty of endurance sports.  It was one of the best trips we've ever taken together.

In March, I was determined to run Little Rock again, and wanted to work on my endurance and time.  Little did I know that this race would challenge my belief in the run.  The weather turned bad, an ice storm covered the region, and I was called off the course by safety personnel at mile 18.  I had never been so uncomfortable in all my life, chugging along in freezing rain, my hands turning bright red and my body feeling numb from head to toe.  The theme was "Epic" and I was running behind this guy dressed in a speedo and a cape and little else, and I kept thinking, "As long as he's running, I'm running."  We made our way up Cavanaugh Hill and down through the neighborhood that had been the best part of the run the previous year, and were told the course was getting closed down.  I was satisfied that I had made it as far as I did and overall had a 12 minute mile pace even in those conditions.  My hubby ran the half at this race, and I think he finally realized that running marathons was going to be a thing for me.  Like really, a thing.

About a month later, this happened.

at 04:09:44

What got to me was this: If you wanted to kill as many people as possible, you would set off bombs during the start when people are in corrals.  But to set off bombs when people are finishing... when the emotions are at their peak, when the spectators and the runners alike are experiencing the epitome of the run...  there is not a word to describe how sinister that is.

I thought a lot about Boston that spring. I wasn't sure I'd ever be "elite" enough to qualify for Boston, but it was in the months after this happened that I started thinking that I really wanted to try. That making Boston, in my own way, is showing people who seek to destroy that the power to rise is still and will always be greater.  That my quest to qualify, even though it's not much, is my contribution to the running community that suffered such loss that day.  That if I could make Boston a goal, that running would have taken me from a suffering sad soul who used to be in denial about her health to a strong and victorious woman, capable of handling anything the world dishes out.  A woman who is not a victim of anything.

My husband joined my new beginning, even decided himself that he wanted to attempt a better run than what we'd experienced at Phoenix.  So we trained and got into the St. George lottery... and I'll be damned, we got picked.

I was in the best shape I've ever been in in my life, here.  My time (and current PR) here was 04:58.  I was doing great til I had some GI issues, a problem that had plagued me in all of my previous runs too.  Needless to say, I was on fire for my goal, progressing, getting leaner and faster.

And then everything changed.

Life was still going on, even with my goal in the background.  Changes and problems with my businesses became priorities, and I took an offer to move two states over, from New Mexico to Louisiana.  In the meantime, I still wanted to run.  My sister joined me in January of 2015 at the Phoenix RNR again.

I finished in 5:32:06.  The best thing about this try was that when I finished, I felt relatively good.  No where near as sore or fatigued as I had in past runs.  I also realized this meant that I had stopped pushing myself.  That even though I kept my goal out in front of me, I wasn't fully committed.

Even after six months in a new state, a big move in the middle of the summer that included uprooting two teenagers, and navigating new corporate management waters, I desired to find my way back to my goal.  Problem was, I was gaining weight, not running and OH MY GOD THE HUMIDITY.

All excuses aside, in August of last year, I reevaluated where I was at and what I wanted to do.  Again, with my sister, we took on the Dallas Marathon in December.  I wanted to get a feel for where I was at.  Having felt like I lost ground, I approached this marathon more like a social event and if I was honest, I'd say I felt out of shape enough that I was worried about surviving it.  I did.  In 6:04:32

Right after this one, it was only natural that I try Little Rock again.  To be honest, I was afraid of that race.  The bad weather in 2014 was something I really had no desire to experience again.  But my run in Dallas did what my runs do best for me- it provided perspective.  Little Rock would be my first real try again, my recommitment to my goal.  I would get it out in front of me, overcome the excuses that I had let linger for too long, and get on with it.

So right before I ran, I contacted a woman who, when I first met her, I felt like I'd known her a million years.  Her energy was contagious, her spirit too large to be contained in her body, her ferociousness something like watching a tiger on Planet Earth.  She's become a personal trainer and moved to Dallas, a measly 3 hours away from me.  I reached out to her and begged for her help.  We came up with a plan, and I committed to a full-on, no-holds-barred, kick-my-a$$ training plan to get me leaner and faster.  

I ran Little Rock for the third time this past Sunday.  It was, to date, the best run of my life.  Not because I PR'd (my time was 5:26:59) but because I found God again, the way I had on that very first run back in 2009.  I found a different version of myself.  I found my fire.  This is my quest.