On the glorification of busyness

This morning, I met up with a good friend and went for an early (but not crazy early), long (but not crazy long) run in the mountains outside of Seattle. As many of my one-on-one runs with ladies go, we wound up talking a lot about our lives.

At some point, she shared a mantra she's focusing on in her life: Stop glorifying busyness.

This, coming from a woman who works full-time at a fairly stressful job, but in a compressed schedule that gives her four days off each week to devote to things like raising chickens, growing vegetables in her garden, making jams and canning pickles, traveling, neighborhood bartering, and having some awesome running adventures here and there. To someone like me who hardly finds time to cook dinner once in a blue moon, she absolutely gives the appearance of someone who's figured out the balance thing in her life.

But, in our different ways, we confessed to struggling with this same issue of glorifying busyness.

What an apt phrase, I thought. I'm sure my mother would agree...I have an insidious habit of overcommitting my time and energy. Facebook friends and readers of my blog sometimes ask me, "Are you even employed? Where do you find the time for everything?"

I find it, of course, the way most everyone else in our fast-paced society finds it - by cramming it in. I multitask. I sleep less. I sacrifice time with friends. I'm a zealot for to-do lists. As I've blogged about here, I do things like read books while I'm on the treadmill, listen to podcasts while I cook, run up and down mountains between work and evening classes, or watch TED talks while doing crunches on my bedroom floor at 11:30 PM. I've gone from being an avid journaler who filled entire notebooks in a couple months to someone who hardly manages a few pages of written introspection each month.

Generally, I take pride in my productivity. I work hard; I play hard. "How have you been?" people ask me. "Pretty good," I say, "but busy!"

But does busy always equal awesome? Many times, yes; I wouldn't trade my adventures for the world.


Pacing at Cascade Crest 100: Photo by Glenn Tachiyama
But sometimes, awesome is also just a weekend at home, with no alarm clocks and absolutely nothing on the docket. For the past 12 consecutive weekends, I have had big (awesome!) things going on: being out of town for a race or all-day hike, having out-of-town guests stay with me, or staying awake for 40 hours straight to volunteer and run in the mountains. Of those 12 weekends, eight involved ultramarathon-distance runs. The last truly "unscheduled" weekend I had was June 2, and even then, it was two days before moving to a new apartment...hardly relaxing.

Part of it, I'll write off as an affliction of living in the Pacific Northwest. When so many nearby beautiful places are covered in snow for 80% of the year, I think it's natural to want to go soak up every hour of sunny summer daylight playing outside. But part of it, too, is indeed my tendency to glorify busyness. As if being constantly doing stuff somehow gives my life value. As if a to-do list can be an identity.

Where did that come from?

When I was growing up, I begged my parents not to schedule up my summers. Aside from our annual June trip to Colorado, where I happily attended a week of day camp to play in the mountains, I wanted my summers clear. I had novels to write, magazines to design, books to pore through, art projects to do, bike routes to explore, treasure hunts to design, and yes, I'll admit it, one summer, a virtual kingdom on Neopets to develop. (That was the year I had to explain to my parents and pediatrician that yes, I still had friends in the real world, too.)

Don't get me wrong: to-do lists have their place in my life. As I learned this morning, I'm not the only one who makes them on my fancy phone in bed at night. Oi vey. But how productive am I, really, when I put relentless, often exhausting, pressure on myself to do, do, and do more? Isn't it okay to sometimes just be?

This weekend I gave myself permission to just be. What a gift. Did I do nothing? Of course not; I read books and took naps and went for walks around the neighborhood and met up with good friends for tea, sushi, and backyard salmon grilling. I watched some Seinfeld over a pint of Haagen Dazs. I spent an entire morning in my PJ's honing my elementary programming skills. But none of it came from a list; it was all what I felt like doing spontaneously, in that moment. I feel calmer tonight than I have in ages, and am no longer panicking that I burnt myself out on running this summer. It's not the running per se that did me in; it's busyness in general that's left me metaphorically gasping for breath.

So. To my blog readers, to the bottom of this evening's mug of tea, to the almost full moon out my window: I am pledging tonight to stop glorifying busyness...at least for entire summers at a time.

Angel's Death March 60K, featuring Zombie Tom and other friends

Alternate title considerations include:
 - In which it is discovered that I am not Van Phan
 - What cans of spinach are to Popeye, jars of kale smoothie are to Yitka
 - White River stole my mojo
 - Humbled!

Let's begin with the letter I spent 9 hours on Saturday composing in my head:

Dear White River, you fabulous, cunning beast,
You remind me of falling in love at 14. You wooed me, you made me giddy, you gave me the world. Turns out that I gave you everything, too - so when I tried my best to recreate the euphoria you let me taste, I found I had nothing left to give. You took it all, White River, you handsome, sly devil, you.

On Saturday, I attempted to run a 60K in the stunning Methow Valley of northern central Washington. I think that when I signed up for it months ago, my thought process was this: Well, I'll be such a badass by the time I've run White River, I'll be able to handle running 38 miles with 10,000+ feet of elevation gain two weeks later, no big whoop.


Granted, I have crazy friends who encourage this sort of thinking. I consort with folks like George and Van and Jason and Jenn and Stacey who do things like run a couple hundred miles in one go, or run across the desert in Jordan, or run from Seattle to Vancouver in a few days for the hell of it. Unfortunately, often as I associate with the nutcases, I am not quite (yet?) of the same blood. After Van finished running her own 200 mile race, she marched gracefully right into the role of race director/cheerleader/pizza-wrangler, and likely ran a cooldown marathon the next day. I'm pretty sure I'd be comatose at that point, not jogging.

All this to say that two weeks had somehow come to seem like a reasonable amount of time to recover between ultras. This turned out, for me, to be less than accurate.

Like any runner, I have a plethora of excuses ready to explain why I felt so miserable for approximately half of the Angel's Staircase 60K:

• 90+ degrees Fahrenheit = 25 degrees above Yitka's melting point; I'm Dutch, not Kenyan
• Not enough sleep for two weeks leading up to it
• No green smoothie or boiled egg morning of (I am nothing without kale!)
• Crappy diet overall the week leading up to it
• Running at 6,000-8,000 feet elevation all day, where the air is certainly thinner than at sea level
• Intense headache verging on migraine that lasted about four hours

The funny thing is, I did a better job than ever setting myself up to have an enjoyable race. I truly accepted that I would not think of it as a race, but rather as a gentle, easy recovery run with a ton of great scenery. I put no pressure on myself whatsoever. Naturally, there was a tiny part of me that hoped I'd magically feel like a million bucks and be able to pull off a fabulous race anyway - but I was pretty confident going in that that wouldn't be the case. After the first few miles, I was certain.

But I was okay with it! In fact, I'm still okay with it. I loved the course. I loved all the fellows and ladies who absolutely rocked it; seven of the top 15 finishers were female - woohoo! I loved feeling no hurry whatsoever, taking my time along the way to think, take photos, chase butterflies in fields of wildflowers. (You think I'm kidding...)

Mentally, though, I had nothing to give on Saturday. There was no inspirational drawing on deep stores of psychological prowess. If there'd been a van at mile 27 offering to take me to the finish, I would have hopped in it without a second thought. Fortunately, (given the old slogan that pain is temporary, pride is forever), I was instead very much alone at mile 27, very deep in the backcountry at that point, where the only way out was on my own two feet. The mountain, not my mind, deserves credit for the lack of DNF on Saturday.


And furthermore, I wasn't the only one. People puked. Runners had to be fetched off the mountain. My friend Tom died somewhere along the course, and came across the finish line seven hours later as a purple-skinned, muscle-twitching zombie.

Of course, I'm being dramatic - though, only really about the Tom dying part. To be fair, the course was amazing. 100% pure sunshine, spectacular views, fun familiar faces, plenty of Snickers bars. I felt pretty good for the first half. I think I was in the women's lead for a mile or two - though, for what it's worth, all us top seven women finishers were within about 20 minutes of each other the entire race...pretty awesome to be surrounded by so many strong, inspiring women.


James and Candice, as always, did a fantastic job putting this amazing race together for the handful of nut jobs who showed up for it. Bonus points for the rattlesnake and alpaca sightings on the mountain, and for the awesome volunteers, and for whomever furnished the Trader Joe's Just Mango Slices at one of the aid stations. As broken as Zombie Tom and I were at the end of this saga, I'd be lying if I said we weren't already planning our return for next year.


Please note that my legs are not as pale as they appear, nor does the lack of filth on them indicate that I stayed clean during the death march. Ladies just know where to find the wet wipes at the finish line.

Lastly, for a dizzying video that's apt to make you feel as nauseated as I did for 4-5 hours on Saturday (and give you a little taste for the stunning nature of the course), here ya go:

Ultra-Rambly Race Report: White River 50 Endurance Run

One week ago, I ran my first 50-miler, the White River Endurance Run. I'll borrow a couple lines from my friend and fellow 50-miler-first-timer Tim's race report on his blog, A Little Runny, and warn you that what follows is "kind of long, but whatever. You all have proven that you have the stamina for this kind of thing - either by running freaking forever, or by putting up with me to this point in life."

For those who aren't familiar with White River, a quick primer on the course: it's essentially a figure-8 course, with a 27ish-mile loop and a 23ish-mile loop, each of which has a monster climb, totaling about 8,700 feet of climbing (+ the same in descent; 17,400 ft. total elevation change) altogether.

The White River course profile superimposed over the Boston marathon course profile
Two weekends before the race, Jenn and I spent the better part of our Sunday doing a training run on the White River course. We ran 75% of the first loop, including most of the climb, and then ran the entire second loop on duly tired legs. This, probably more than anything, gave me all the confidence I needed for race day.

Our 38ish-mile training run had been tiring, but not awful. We got to know the terrain. In training, I felt wiped out and got grumpy by the time we hit Skookum Flats (6.6 mile from the finish; see course profile above) - but after an honest check-in with myself, determined that the exhaustion was purely mental, not physical. Once I shifted my perception of the last stretch on Skookum as a miserable slog to pretending I was just out for an unusually scenic lunchtime run (since Lauren and I frequently run 6ish miles in the middle of our workday), it actually felt pretty good. I promised myself to tuck that lesson in perception into my arsenal come race day.

Fast forward two weeks. I rode out to the course on Friday with Jenn and her boyfriend Greg, who was our supportive, exceptionally patient weekend chauffeur and cheerleader. Of the 340-some pre-registered runners, as well as volunteers, I counted several dozen whom I'd consider good friends. Most everyone camped out at the starting line on Friday night - so the evening was a great time, hanging out with so many of my running buddies, sharing in pre-race jitters, sitting around the campfire and packing our drop bags.


They let us request our own bib #s. Obviously, I chose my lucky number! I attribute at least 50% of my success to having this one pinned on my shorts :) The other 50% I attribute to, as I've said before, the spectacular training advice and encouragement of Major Jonathan Shark. A huge shoutout to him in Afghanistan - present with us in spirit, always, at these races.
Morning of, I got up to see off some of our friends who took the early start - Linh, Ras, Van, Maylon, Simon, Tracy, Dana, Craig, Lars, among others - at the crack of dawn. Breakfast was the usual green smoothie (blended at home the day before, mason-jarred in a cooler), boiled egg, and dark chocolate - plus a little leftover quinoa/berry porridge that I'd had for dinner the night before.

Somehow, Jenn and I both kind of lost track of time after that, dilly-dallying back at our campsite. At 6:27 a.m., we were both still hanging out in our tents, taping our feet, lathering on Body Glide, and doing who knows what else. When we suddenly realized how late it had gotten on us, we dashed toward the starting line, pinning our race bibs on our shorts as we ran, and made it just in time. Takao, who photographed the race along with Glenn this year, snapped this of the two of us as we took off. I'm in green; Jennifer in blue.

Amazingly, I felt pretty darn great the whole first 27-mile loop. There were so many familiar faces on the course, I had plenty of awesome company with whom to enjoy the course - George, Jenn, Kevin, Ben, Mike, and quite a few other folks running their first 50 milers, too - a couple young, energetic guys from Spokane, and an awesomely strong runner from Canada named Meredith. It was mostly cloudy for the first few hours, which was pleasant.

I felt like I was running a *little* faster than I should...but I used my breath as my pace gage; as long as I felt like my breathing wasn't getting labored, I maintained that pace - which, after two weeks of serious tapering, was a pretty darn good clip. I ran without a Garmin or pace chart of any sort; my biggest priority, truly, was to enjoy the course and have a good first 50 experience, so I didn't want any kind of time pressure hanging over me. I've been working a lot on trusting my intuition more (with running, to be sure, but also in life in general!), and as I said to Jenn during our training run weeks before: "I don't need to worry about pacing myself; I'll let the mountain pace me."

On a funny sidenote: I did run with a simple Suunto stopwatch. At 9 hours, it beeped off. Apparently, at that point, it assumes there's no possible way you're still exercising. Silly watch.

But rewind a bit. I got a great boost at the Corral Pass aid station around mile 17, where there were so many familiar faces among the volunteers. Fellow 50-first-timer Linh and I hit the aid station at the same time, and Deby snapped a photo of us before we took off again for the woods.


The terrain up near Corral Pass is absolutely stunning. It cleared up by the time we got up there, so we were rewarded with spectacular views of Mt. Rainier. The scenery reminded me a lot of Colorado - rocky, remote, bathed in sunshine, dusty dirt and the delicious scent of pine. I felt high as a kite - alive, strong, verging on euphoric.


Photo by Glenn Tachiyama
The descent back to Buck Creek was a blast - though I resisted going full-throttle on the downhill, having been properly warned not to blow out my quads here so early in the race. Plus I had developed a blister on my pinky toe that was starting to give me some trouble. And my tummy, as usual, got a little hot and bothered during the high-jostling downhill.

At Buck Creek, I plopped down in the grass to change socks and deal with my blister before it got out of control. I also discovered that I had rivers of blood down my left leg, as I'd apparently gashed open my left knee climbing over a giant downed tree on the course, and failed to notice that it had been bleeding for miles. Thank goodness for the Best Volunteer Ever, who came over and took care of my every need, without my having to articulate a single one of them (good thing, because I was tired, panicked about losing time by stopping too long at the aid station, and generally a little loopy). He wiped off my legs, refilled my hydration pack, emptied out all my GU gel and energy bar wrapper trash from my pack, took my shoes and socks off and helped me change socks...all while I was sitting there, a little loopy and dumb-founded. What a hero!

Kathy was there to help me get my hydration pack all situated again, and cheered me on my way. I probably spent about ten minutes total at Buck Creek; once I got back up to run again, I didn't feel like it at all. I wolfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as I trotted through the woods toward the second monster climb, and at this point, hit my lowest point mentally. A lot of cheery runners who looked like they were in far better shape than I had blasted through Buck Creek as I was sitting in the grass with my guardian angel wiping blood off my legs. My muscles were grumpy. My stomach was grumpy. I was grumpy.

As I began the next big climb, I felt pretty negative - frustrated I'd lost time at Buck Creek, worried I'd done the first loop too fast, berating myself for not moving faster on the climb, feeling panicked and unnecessarily competitive with other runners as they pulled ahead of me. But I quickly realized that there is ZERO room for negativity in endeavors like this; it would be a long 23-mile loop if I couldn't shake it.

So I shook it. I let it all go. I gave myself total permission to walk the entire climb and feel no pressure to run. Others pulled ahead; I fell back. Then, abruptly, I felt a deep sense of peace, because I was alone on the course for the first time. I must have gotten quite lost indeed in the joy of this temporary solitude, because without even realizing it, my legs got their mojo back. Before I knew it, I was passing people again on the climb, and energetically trotting up the very terrain I'd given myself permission to walk.

I even found it within myself to jump for Glenn (at his cajoling!) at mile 37, approaching the summit of the second climb at Sun Top.


The next stretch of the course is infamous: six miles of straight downhill on a hard-packed gravel service road. This was, by far, my body's favorite part of the whole course. Sophia and I fell in step with each other for nearly the entire descent, cruising hard at 7:30ish miles or so the whole way, making up loads of time, passing people left and right, and chatting it up. It was at this point that I started paying more attention to my stopwatch, and realizing that a sub-10-hour finish might be within reach.

Unfortunately, my stomach got pretty upset during the last mile or two of the downhill. Fortunately, I knew from my training run with Jenn that there was a little outhouse at the bottom of the road; I made a beeline straight for it. Unfortunately, there was already someone in it, taking her time. I waited several minutes longer than I wanted to, watching runner after runner blaze by me...but waiting my turn for the luxury of a bathroom was ultimately the right decision.

I hit Skookum Flats with renewed energy, drawing on the same psychological games I'd played with myself in training two weeks before. My legs felt remarkably lively. I'd fueled well all day, and still had plenty of energy to burn on those last few miles - so I cruised. I passed more runners. I wanted that sub-10-hour finish badly.

When I emerged from the woods to the cheering sounds of the crowd at the finish line, I felt so happy. What a crazy sense of accomplishment. JB - who I'd originally met when he came to rep SCOTT shoes at the Seattle REI Running Expo I helped put on this year - gave me the biggest hug as I came across the finish line in 9:53:34.

The wonderfully awesome team that is Jamey and Heather captured this great moment for me:


Thank you, thank you, thank you to absolutely everyone in my life who helped me pull this one off. To all of you, your support has meant the world to me - whether in the form of planting the seed in my mind to register for this (thanks, as always, Tom!), running with me in training, listening to me ramble about running, sharing WR-specific training advice, or for simply believing in me...thank you all. This day rocked.

Cheating my inner productivity-drill-sergeant

I intended to sit down and write an entry about habits, but I got so sidetracked elaborating on the first one I wanted to discuss - reading - that I guess I need to resign this entry to being solely about that. I'm all right with that.

Reading has been huge for me this year! I'm thrilled, because I struggled for a long time with giving myself permission to read. Curling up with a book often felt like too much of an indulgence. It still does, sometimes, but I've found a few ways to cheat my inner productivity-drill-sergeant and allow myself the indulgence anyway.

1. Track books I read on GoodReads. That way, even when I'm snuggled up in my papasan chair with my cat, a mug of tea, and a ratty paperback, I can feel like I'm making progress toward a goal - and I'll have something to show for it at the end.
2. Read while "hiking" on the treadmill. In training for the White River 50 this year, I was advised by the wise White River veteran Major Shark to get myself on the treadmill to train my legs for steady, steady climbing. Prior to this, I'd never done anything but run on the treadmill...mile repeats, check; 16-mile runs, check; Yasso 800's, check. But crank it up to a 15% grade and walk briskly for 6 uphill miles? Never before. Lo and behold, it's been great. Not only have I gotten in great shape, I can easily read half a book in one workout.
3. Vanpool! James and I got a new vanpool off the ground that runs from Seattle to Kent. (One of these days, I will devote an entire blog entry to the amazing vanpool program in King County.) We share driving duties, but when I'm not driving, it's a great opportunity to read. What better way to start the morning than being immersed in a fabulous novel for half an hour before even checking my email?
4. God bless the iPhone. After reading The Shallows a couple years ago and being quite sure I'd never find a place in my heart for ebooks...well, I've gone and done it anyway. Mostly because I can log on to the Seattle Public library's website on my phone and within 30 seconds, download a complete book - for free - onto my phone. Then, best of all, unlike regular books or even a Kindle, it's literally in my pocket all day long, ready to be pulled out and read while I'm waiting in lines, riding the bus, eating lunch, etc. I find all sorts of ways throughout my day to sneak reading a page here, a page there. I love it!

Did all that type-A stuff just spoil the romanticism of my bibliophilia? I hope not. I love books all the same - which is to say, very, very much.

It's just that...young adulthood has a way of making time accelerate, and that acceleration prompts a kind of nostalgia for the languid summers of childhood, swaths of unscheduled, uninterrupted free time to pursue whatever creative pursuits struck your fancy. Then you grow up, and time doesn't come around like that anymore. At some point, the question is no longer the presumptuous 'When shall I do this thing I really want to do?', but rather, an urgent, half-desperate 'Will I ever do this thing I really want to do?'

I believed, at twelve, that I could be a scientist. I believed I could be a writer, an actress, a professor of English in Rome, an acrobat in a purple spangled outfit. Days opened for me like the pulling apart of curtains at a play you've been dying to see. I had a microscope on my desk, shelves full of books and treasures that I found outside: rocks, wood, abandoned nests of hornets and birds, notes to myself for things to do tomorrow because I hadn't had the time today. I believed the way to ride bareback was to get on and go, the rising heat of the horse against your bare legs the only instruction you'd need. The how of everything was simply in the doing of it. - From The Pull of the Moon, by Elizabeth Berg

I miss having the time to pursue all the how's that pique my interest - to write a novel in my afternoons, to design my own board game for the heck of it, to teach myself to juggle in front of a mirror in my basement with hand towels and plastic bowling pins. I miss the limitless ambitions of the young imagination.

But I also recognize that simply missing free time doesn't make it magically appear. So instead of going around mumbling all the time about how I wished I had more time to read, I'm reading on treadmills and in vans and on my fancy phone. Pardon the pragmatism of growing up in the modern world.

Of course, there are limits to the number of things that you can "make time for", no matter how passionate and committed you may be to them. What I have learned so far, though, is that it's no good to throw your hands up in the air about it all. You can set new priorities, small ones, one by one, and eventually (I'm talking years here) they weasel their way into your daily life and eek out a little bit of room for new ones.

So. Reading, juicing, running, career building, today. Social life, PHP wrangling, banjo playing, new blog launch, book proposal, sleeping, traveling, tomorrow*. Ah life!

*figuratively speaking

How to Shave 38 Minutes off a PR (or: 3rd Annual Vashon Ultra 50K Race Report)

Two years ago, I ran my very first ultra. Cajoled into it by my friend Tom (not the first, nor last, thing that's followed this pattern; see also: Vibram Fivefingers, MovNat, green smoothies, and chia seeds), I ventured across the calm waters of Puget Sound to try my hand at running 31 miles on Vashon Island. A perfect little getaway from the city, Vashon boasts a lively community of folks, including many artists, musicians and, evidently, runners. It's always a treat to visit this rural, small-towny oasis.

The race directors - Bruce, Lisa, Kevin, and Claudine - did a spectacular job with the race this year. They've been great every year, but this year, they truly outdid themselves. To honor me and a couple other runners who've done the Vashon Ultra all three years of its existence, they made posters for the mid-loop, Western-themed aid station:


Their race blends what I love most about trail runs - beautiful wooded scenery, a great community of friendly runners and volunteers, a homegrown post-run BBQ - with a couple of the perks you typically only see at road races - finishers' medals, and (relatively) flat terrain for posting (relatively) fast times.

I carpooled over to Vashon with Glenn, who was shooting the race (lucky us!), and his friend Kathleen - an accomplished ultrarunner and overall awesome woman I had the happy fortune to finally meet in person. Kathleen, who signed up for the race last minute, I have largely to thank for the slightly ridiculous feat alluded to in the title of this entry.

So, a little background on my history with the Vashon Ultra, for those who don't know: Having won the women's race the first year, then having run pretty much the exact same time last year and thereby gotten my butt whipped by Canadian badass Mel Bos, I returned to Vashon this year with a bone to pick. I had three tiers of goals: (1) Beat last year's time of 5:36:24, (2) Run sub-5:00, (3) Win.

I started off at a pace that fell somewhere between relaxed and hard - gently challenging, perhaps? I was breathing a little harder than I wanted to be on the first loop (of three), but rather than slowing down, I tried to catch my breath through moving meditation, muscle relaxation, nasal breathing, and a controlled sense of calm I've been working to cultivate during training runs these past few months - a kind of active, experimental biofeedback, I guess. Pretty cool stuff.


Photo by the illustrious Glenn Tachiyama
Kathleen had jetted out ahead of me at the start, and I quickly lost sight of her. I wasn't quite sure where I fell in the lineup, but at some point, got wind from other runners that I was in second place in the women's race. As I approached the main aid station at the 11-mile mark, I caught a glimpse of Kathleen on her way back out for her second loop - probably about three or four minutes ahead of me. I blazed through that aid station pretty quickly, energized by Bruce's awesome loudspeaker race-announcing (made me feel like a real athlete!) and buoyed by the knowledge that Kathleen wasn't too far ahead.

 
I only ran with a bottle this year, instead of my full hydration pack. I guzzled liberally, refilling the bottle with water every 5 miles, taking plenty of Endurolytes and some gels - though probably not as many as I should have. I stopped for fresh fruit and fizzy drinks at the aid stations, but not much else.

Partway through the second loop, I caught sight of Kathleen ahead of me. Without even being fully cognizant of my insidious competitive spirit, I instinctively fell into a steady pace, with just enough distance behind her that she'd be unlikely to notice me. I guess that counts as stalking? I ran behind her like that, at a distance, for several miles, noticing that she was slowing down, thinking (foolishly!) that this would mean I'd be able to overtake her at some point.

Well, just about when that some point came, it just so happened that she started to take a wrong turn and veer off course. Realizing immediately that she'd taken the wrong trail at a fork, she turned back around - and saw me. Here, I thought (again, foolishly!) that we'd fall into step with each other and have a nice little chat in the woods as we ran together - but the sight of me sent her foot straight to the gas pedal. I ran on her heels for a mile or two at a challenging clip, before she pulled away from me for good - never to be seen again until hours later when I crossed the finish line at 4:57:50 - 38.5 minutes faster than last year, 6.5 minutes behind Kathleen, for a 2nd place women's/10th place overall finish.

Nevertheless, it made a huge difference to have someone on the course who challenged me at such a higher level than what I'm capable of on my own. I spent the last two thirds of the race running at the edge of my ability level, trying to keep Kathleen within sight, within reach - wanting that win, knowing I probably couldn't get it, but also knowing I'd better damn well do my best trying for it. I know I wouldn't have smashed my own Vashon PR so thoroughly without her presence to push me. We collapsed into laughter at the finish line, marveling at how competitive we'd gotten with each other during the race - but how it was the best kind of competition, the healthy kind that drives you to do better than you thought yourself capable of. To yet another woman who kicked my butt in a race, I say thank you.

I also say thank you to Glenn, for yet again letting me have some bonus fun in front of his camera lens.


27ish miles in (I think). Ladies like to be ninjas in woods.
So! What else was different this year? For one, my body has simply gotten accustomed to running/racing 50K's. I went from running one 50K (Vashon) in 2010 and one 50K (Vashon again) in 2011, to running four (Orcas, Gorge Waterfalls, Yakima Skyline, Vashon + a handful of 30-38 mile training runs) already in the first six months of 2012. Two, in the same vein, I trained at a MUCH much higher volume, mileage-wise, than last year.

 
Last year, in the 8 weeks leading up to race day, I averaged 22 miles/week (peaking at a 41-mile week).

This year, in the 8 weeks leading up to race day, I averaged 49 miles/week (peaking at a 90-mile week.)

Apparently, training makes a difference. Imagine that! So here's to three weeks of last-minute cramming for my first 50-miler...woof.

Mid-Year Sobriety Report

Running on Bandera Mountain
It's July! This means that I am officially halfway through my self-imposed Year of Sobriety. Pretty hard to believe that it's been six months already. While the first couple months dragged a bit, and I wondered how I'd stay motivated to stay the course for a full beer-free year, the last few months have flown by.

I can't claim that I've been all health, all the time. I had a crackers-and-fancy-cheese phase that went on a couple months longer than it should have. I get crabby and irritable if I stay away from sugar for very long. I have a weak spot for dark chocolate, and I still eat ice cream pretty much all the time.

What I can say is that six months of self-discipline in one realm trickles over into self-discipline in other realms, too. Declaring such a clear priority for myself has invited the respect and support of my friends (thank you all!) - which has, in turn, encouraged me to be diligent about other goals, too. My running/training has been great; I've been working on some really exciting writing projects; I'm ahead of schedule on my goal to read a book a week in 2012 (I'm at 31 for the year so far!); I've been juicing regularly and eating more plant-based foods than ever.


Gluten-free Thai peanut pasta with rice noodles, fresh asparagus, and pinenuts
Also, knowing that I can still have a social life outside of "getting a drink" with friends has meant - on the whole - more quality time with the people I care about, not less (as I was worried it might). Instead of yelling to hear each other in crowded bars, I have spent time with friends doing other things: hiking, running, cooking wholesome foods, taking walks, snowboarding, biking, going to book signings, doing yoga, reading, just sitting around and catching up over a cup of tea. I spent a day building homes with Ruth at Habitat for Humanity. I went to Folklife for Zoë's birthday and her now-annual tradition of gluten-free tupperware cake. My lady friends hosted Lady Brunchluck.

Brunchluck lap.
I also have learned that trotting alongside someone in the mountains for hours on end, with headlamps into the late hours of the night, invites just about as much silliness, laughter, and intimate conversation as you might expect after a few pints of ale.

Have I saved money? Can't say that I have; I've just chosen to spend the money I would have spent on booze on beverages that are far more nourishing to my body - fresh, organic fruit and veggies for the juicer!

Liquid sunshine: Apple, carrot, celery, kale, parsley, and spirulina
Have I lost weight? Can't say that I have. (I blame the ice cream!) Nevertheless, I have definitely gotten leaner overall. More muscle, less fat. Bring it on, mountains; my legs are ready for conquering.

Have my evenings felt significantly more productive and satisfying? Yup. Do I feel like I'm making good progress on the things that are important to me at this point in my life? Yup. Have I suffered significantly less from the heartburn/acid reflux that's plagued me in the past? Yup.

So, do I feel good about my Year of Sobriety thus far? Heck yes. It's been a great experience - a genuine challenge that I look forward to seeing all the way through. I realize a year without any alcohol is considered borderline extreme in our society. Indeed, I look forward to that first glass of champagne at midnight six months down the road. On the other hand, sometimes doing borderline extreme things is a good reminder that society's expectations need not define our path - and sometimes there are very real rewards to forging your own.

P.S. Vashon Ultra 50K Race Report coming soon.

Not what is engraved in stone monuments

This week, I'd like to express my gratitude toward the many wonderful folks in my life. My life is full of good folks...so full sometimes that I feel I must have somehow gamed the system to get them (you) all. I don't always feel deserving of this immense amount of love. My life is a constant work in progress to be worthy of it. Thank you, all of you...you know who you are.

When you live in a society as individualistic as ours, it's easy to forget - even momentarily - just how valuable community is. But there are times that remind us that, at our very human core, we're all quite vulnerable without one another.

Two of the people killed in yesterday's shooting in Seattle were friends of friends - proof that this city really has become my home, that the world is small, and that anything can happen anytime to anyone. There aren't words to articulate the horror of it, and I won't try to do anyone's grief justice here - but the sense of love and compassion I've seen unfold in our local community in the aftermath of yesterday's tragedy has been nothing short of profound.

"As terrible as this event is, tucked inside this experience is a rare chance for this community to shine. We are stuck with the darkness in our lives, but we can shine (our) lights stronger and stronger until that darkness is more of a shadow." - Vivian McPeak, musician, activist and friend of the victims

Allow me to share one more quote, this one from the book I started reading yesterday: in Pericles' speech to the families of the Athenian war dead, he said, "What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others."

As has already been seen in the past day and a half, it's obvious Drew and Joe wove themselves deep into the tapestry of Seattle's community - with their music, with their zest for life, with their love for those around them.

So, life is short.

Start weaving.

I am grateful to be a part of this community, too, even as we grapple with the aftermath of such violence. I try to remind myself that even on a day of utter tragedy like yesterday, the residual effects of which we'll be feeling for years to come...612,099 (roughly) people in the city of Seattle chose to live with each other in peace yesterday. Every one of us chose peace today.

This wasn't what I set out to write today. I wanted to write about other aspects of community, too: of Folklife, of Girls on the Run, of enduring friendships, of sharing trails with others, of the many wonderful hugs lately of which I've been the grateful recipient and which have kept me afloat through a challenging few months. I wanted to write about my friends who ran 200 miles on foot last weekend, and the sense of community, support and solidarity that allowed them to accomplish such an improbable feat. But now it doesn't all feel like the right addendum to this entry. So. Next time.

Rest in peace, Drew, Joe, Donald, Kimberly, and Gloria. Seattle loves you.