Grief and Twine

Joy and woe are woven fine        
A clothing for the soul divine        
Under every grief and pine        
Runs a joy with silken twine.

Do you think William Blake is onto something about running?

At this time of year, many teachers I know claim to die a slow and mainly meaningless death by paper. Paper cutting, editing, grading, revising and shuffling. I don't mind so much because I can't imagine doing anything else, or rather I can't imagine procrastinating the doing of anything else. In fact, I'm not much good at anything else, except for this reading and writing business...and even then. I've got the twine, for sure, and some of the joy and woe. I say now and forever, long live William Blake's "mind-forg'd manacles", but here's to getting out of that rut.

...and "through the world we safely go", with our bus pass, house keys and whatever gets us from point A to B.

Happy running or whatever it is you do when you're not thinking about it.

Fail Better

Dear Mr. Ms. Mme.  I-think-we'll- pass-on-your-poem-this-time-around:

I'll go running anyway.

I will write anyway.

Anyway. Right. Where was I?

Oh yes. I was sitting on the bus across from a nun with a deep cut on her index finger, wondering why on earth I rushed to get to somewhere I didn't have to be.

And, planning my next long run at the same time.

Defiantly indefatigable might be another way of spelling s-t-u-p-i-d.

Pronoun diminished.

My luck

... has been incredible, though doesn't replace training. I don't own a bicycle.

Confessions:

1. Today is my 4th anniversary of quitting cigarettes.

2. I have only quit the one time.

3. I smoked for 30 years.
 

Around the corner...

Change, temptation, hope: find them in the ordinary and the extraordinary taste of salt enhanced 70% bitter chocolate.

The training continues, though the reality of potentially drowning in open water surfaces and resurfaces. I don't like my local pool and have been travelling across town to another site that shall remain nameless so as to prevent traffic jams of folks heading out there to swim in near perfect indoor conditions: competition size, practically private lane swimming. Haven't I become the swimming diva...an irony of olympic proportions given my utter lack of skill and endurance. Still, though, how is it that the newbie is the only one observing proper pool etiquette?

Also, for the record, I'm paying an outrageous amount of $$ to rent a bicycle and helmet for the bike segment of the triathlon. No doubt, this is equivalent to a local Indonesian's monthly salary and I hate getting hosed like that. I'm happy to contribute to the local economy, but not in this particularly odious, foreign-run way. I'm sure the locals aren't seeing the $70 U.S. it has cost me to have a bicycle and helmet for two hours. Anyway. I continue to train past this and understand my absolute privilege in being able to participate in the first place.

In the meantime, thankfully I've remained injury-free. I've moved apartments, finished a second job and submitted the final grades for my day job...almost.

Departure for Indonesia: three weeks. Ready or not.

Cheers.

Soundtrack Pace

This was the last song of today's run, and perhaps I should show more restraint in sharing it.

My taste in running music usually runs a little less mainstream (arguably) and a little more house, i.e. faster, louder & less lyrical. What do you listen to?

The overall training continues, but I can't seem to do split shifts on this. By the end of the day, I'm too tired and unmotivated. I work at 8:00 most days and just can't get up at 4:30 to run before teaching. I make it out most days doing some combo of running, cycling and/or swimming, and this will have to do for now. And since I'm never in contention to win and/or become professional, it's all good. The miracle, thus far,  really comes down to how my body from the waist down really hasn't had to deal with any major injuries or strains recently, considering that I'm not endowed with what anyone would call a runner's physique. I wish.

A friend recently suggested that the internal script of not calling myself a runner might have to do with my consistent lacklustre results. Maybe I'll have to commit to something. She's a pretty smart person too.

This week, though, Paul and I had great fun registering for the ING Miami Half Marathon coming up in January 2013.

Lots to do between now and then.

Happy training.

New Perspectives

Chasing Rainbows...

There is nothing quite like a sports cliché.

*putting the miles in
*getting your face wet
*taking it to the limit
*hitting the wall

Whatever.

As in training, I seem to get all of these things mixed up. Last week, for instance, my husband and I travelled for a three day weekend to Los Angeles for the Hollywood Half Marathon. I trained religiously as I always do, or as I always think I do. Something happened there, though, that forced me to examine how I do what I do. This added self-consciousness is signature for me, and practically ruined grad school and most of whatever it is that I've attempted to write over the years.

However, training requires this, I'm learning. What you think you do, versus what you actually do  seems to create a mysterious gap that manifests itself in the middle of a competition. You hit the wall. You get injured. You experience pain in new places. You don't have a very nice time, in other words.

I trained and trained for that race. And basically died there. I'm not really a sports person, but it does also seem to me that there needs to be a post game/post competition analysis and so in (after)thought,  I had a kind of Joycean epiphany, hopeless as it is, that I'd never be able to improve. It wasn't so much a conscious aha moment, but rather an overwhelming sinking feeling: you are running up the wrong hill with this training regime. I called a professional. I mean I got in touch with an old highschool friend who is basically a world-class athlete. I don't give up that easily.

A Sign on the "Walk" during the "Run"

I haven't had such a brutal finish or recovery in years. My legs ached and ached, during the race itself. And, with a two-mile uphill finish up Cahuenga hill, you'll forgive me for saying that the darn thing turned into a walkathon and that I actually felt anger. As I flew down that same hill two hours earlier, I knew exactly what was coming. Yet in a classic Breaking Away "I-am-as-good-as-the-best-without-knowing-it-talent," I really wanted to be the one to charge up and over in a moment of absolutely stunning personal victory. This did not happen. There was nothing left in me and my shame grew as finisher after finisher approached from the other direction, casually running (still!) down this same hill with their star medal in full shining glory. I had (at least) another 30 excruciating, humiliating and painful (double blistered baby toe) minutes to go. I could barely walk. I had trained for months and months. I have a blog! What the hell?

Anyway. I am persistent, though that might be the wrong word. It occurs to me that I could have a contest for a better one word description of this type of behavior.  I will dig myself out of this apparent training and perceptual rut, starting today. No bricking for the moment and I will try to train twice a day for shorter duration. I have another half (the Scotiabank Montreal) in two weeks and I will report my progress. It might be that I'm training for two very different types of events (half and sprint tri), but I'm not sure. Muscle confusion or just straight up confusion.  Remember: I am not a runner. This is what I tell myself all of the time.

* Also, got a really nice running belt, which is awesome. No more safety pins. Definitely a new beginning there.

When in doubt...

Register for a race:

Montreal Half Marathon

This race is coming up April 29 and it's good for a few reasons:

a) it doesn't start at 6:00 a.m.
b) it's local!
c) it's a great procrastination device.

Also, I miss Gil Scott Heron:

All the best.

Commitment

...a morning run full of surprises like this one:

Winter on Mount Royal: Montreal February 28, 2012

The Proof is in the Footing

...or footwear.

The truth is I haven’t been having the best time in the life outside of training for the Bali Sprint Triathlon or Hollywood Half or any other imminent race that I haven't signed up for yet. Then again, is there really life outside of these events? I’m not even sure what that means. What I do know is that I’ve never called myself a runner and I still don’t.  So,  I am in a perpetually ironic state, though this is nothing new. 

Robyn, thank you for getting me up and down some pretty treacherous times. And hills.

For now, I focus on the gear and the right gear will see me through. I’ve got my sights set on a race belt.  Also, I think I bricked. That’s the term, I’ve heard, for training two events back to back. I’m doing this in full force, though indoors in this chilly Celsius Canadian winter.  Cycling and treadmilling  one after the other at least four times a week. Swimming will start this week. I just can’t bear to be in the water in winter. It’s deeply psychological. Montreal: where folks really know how to form a queue for a bus.  Incredible.

And happy shroves, too.

Also, I joined a little Facebook running group called #IWouldRun500Miles -- I'm "Mary Shelley" and please don't ask. I don't care about identifying myself fully on this blog, but can't do this on Facebook for some reason. Anyway, the group is growing and is currently at 95 members.  I'm running the back of the pack there too. So what. Why don't you join us?

Running Stories

 It is easier to read about running than it is to actually run, isn't it? It is certainly much easier to run if you are avoiding swimming.

Getting to the point of any kind of committed training involves a series of decisions. Lately, I've been saying to Paul that his training mainly consists of the races themselves as there is not too much going on for him in the way of hitting the pavement in between these organized events.  And, of all people, he should know better as he BROKE HIS LEG and collapsed 50 feet from the finish line of his first marathon about ten years ago.

When Paul talks about running, I know what he's saying. It's symbolic and literal with all that subcutaneous liquid seeping into or out of the bone marrow just before he fell. Guts or ego (or something else) prevented him from pulling out of the race sooner.

When Haruki Murakami talks about running, he's articulating drive, force and commitment. The ebb and flow. Something of that is in Paul's continued running. After two operations and "the boot", cane and limp and full recovery (more or less), he runs with a massive hockey stick shaped scar that goes from his knee to his ankle and enough screws to set off a metal detector. Paul also told me that he was so close to the finish line when he did collapse that he heard the announcer over the loudspeaker state that "There appears to be a woman down on the course." The emergency workers placed Paul's chipped shoe on the finish line so that he could complete the race and get a time.

In our three event, Bermuda Triangle Challenge, Paul placed 264th and I 265th out of 331 participants. Our total time for the one mile, 10K and Half-Marathon was under 4 hours. Just. But still -- we were very happy with the results, and I will be donating $50 to a charity -- send in suggestions.

Stay tuned for a mini interview with one of the organizers of Bermuda Race Weekend. 

Some cross-training in the works and I still haven't gone swimming yet.

Out the Window

This is the view above the clouds and rain on our flight from Toronto to Bermuda.  Thirty minutes or so after this was taken, the plane went through a bit of turbulence and there was lightning, rain and stereotype. You know...something like that famous Twilight Zone episode and the Bermuda Triangle and all that. Really. Even our taxi driver mentioned it.  Plus, it was the eve of Friday the 13th.

 Louise Mallard in The Story of an Hour looked out her bedroom window and saw rich new possibilities. Me,  I want to throw it all out that window: all the negativity, worry and anxiety.  In yesterday's local paper, The Royal Gazette, there was a 12 page supplement on Bermuda Race Weekend and all of the participants were named.

Tonight, we will run a one mile invitational, tomorrow a 10k and then, if we are lucky, a half marathon on Sunday. I've tweeted it before, and I'll tweet it again: if I don't finish last, I will donate $50 to a charity; if I am last, I'll donate $100 (probably World Wildlife Foundation, though I will take suggestions).  No one loses.

Signs and Symbols

The bathing suit has arrived. It was left on the porch unceremoniously and was in a much smaller package than I imagined.

Its arrival reminded me of a worry I had many years ago when I was preparing to live in Japan as an English teacher. I had heard that it was a cash society and I knew that the first few days there would be busy with meeting colleagues and getting settled and all of those kinds of things, not to mention the jetlag and nervousness and all of that. So, I wanted to be sure that at least I had some of that cash on hand, especially if the society was based on it, as I had been told. I went to the bank a few days before departing Montreal and ordered something like 150,000 Yen which seemed like an enormous amount to me. I couldn't really imagine how much that money was worth, even though at the time I had paid about $1,000 Canadian for it. The bigger issue was how I was going to carry that around with me AND what kind of wallet I was going to use with such a huge wad of dough. As I recall, I was very preoccupied with the details surrounding the money: how much money,  researching the money, getting the money, carrying the money, the value of the money, what I could get with that money,  even just having the money period. I understand now that the money (even the word itself) and its being researched, coddled and carried were distractions from what was really going on. At this time, too, I was in the early stages of becoming a fairweather runner, but was not terribly concerned with gear and the like.

I was leaving Montreal and all of my friends whom I adore and I'd ended a four year long (very problematic) distance relationship, though remained deluded (for many months to come) that we'd get back together (somehow) in Japan. A lot of that relationship was bracketed, now that I think of it. I'd also spent a year or was it two (?) trying to write a thesis on a postcolonial autobiography by Sara Suleri called Meatless Days. I never completed the thesis, but did learn all about rice. This whole Japan thing was a both an adventure and failure. Anyway, I was a bit of a wreck and the Japanese cash and its carrying were welcome respite. I was very excited and even felt a little bit important when I was called at home by someone at the bank to tell me that I could pick up the cash. I nearly collapsed in embarrassment when the teller handed me the slimmest envelope of currency I'd ever seen. My paper phone bill used to be thicker. 

I will have to develop a little courage to wear this suit in the pool because the truth is I look like a bit of a circus clown in it. I'm not a tall person and so the bottom half goes past my knees. Also,  it's fortuitous that I am flexible because I had to do some pretty kooky moves to get my self into the thing. They don't call it a skin for nothing. I think I am beginning to understand what is behind the bathing suit anxiety and it's not just my large ass. Let the training begin. Finally. For Real. Yes.

Spin Cycle class today. Paul and I leave for Bermuda on Thursday and technically we are on our "taper" for the half marathon we are supposed to run on Sunday, preceded by a 10 K and a one mile invitational. I will let you know what happens.

Suit Tracking

After much fanfare and starting up anxiety, my bathing suit still hasn’t arrived. The exact details of who was supposed to ship what and when are not all that important, except to note that I’ve never seen such corporate finger pointing. This is the new retail, I guess, with clients who are online and at the mercy of invisible companies and shippers.  The insipidly obsequious and insincere customer service made me kind of sick. Anyway. As it turns out, on a bus to Montreal from Toronto I totally pulled some sort of muscle on my lower right side. I’ll look it up in an anatomy book, but it feels thoracic to me. Thoracic…sounds like indigestion. My husband, Paul, has always said that if you eavesdrop on conversations in any running event, you’d think you were in a hospital emergency room.

 

I will believe the suit when I see it and then I will open the package and attempt to squish myself into it. 

 

Gym-bound for some cycling and treadmill work.

The Inaugural Entry

Okay. It's January 3rd and late into the night and early morning, I spent hours online looking at gear for training. I just ordered this suit and am hoping against hope that it isn't too small. I mean, who in God's name orders a bathing suit (or anything for that matter) without trying it on. Especially a bathing suit. The TYR Fusion Aeroback. I am sure it won't be too big.

 My theory on swimsuits has always been that there is no such thing as too big, not on me anyway. Then again, I am no competitive Olympic swimmer...plus, I figured this getup offers massive coverage. Massive and complete coverage. Also, swimming lessons wouldn't hurt. I don't want to be disingenuous here by emphasizing how naturally non/un-athletic I am.  I'm in decent physical condition. I don't want to present the the humiliation of sharing some watch-me-suffer-the-extreme-indignities of training. I want to document my progress, such as it is and may be. I don't even really talk about this with my closest friends. They don't know how I wept when I could not run a half marathon for which I had trained religiously in grotesque winter conditions: the first distance race ever for me... after I'd quit smoking (another story, one that has ended very well). Pulled calf: I've never had the injury since, though live in fear. I'll let you know how the suit works out -- a UPS truck will be delivering it in the next day or so.

My main recent training activity has been running, although I am a bit of a gym rat in less than fairweather conditions, which can be extreme in Montreal, where I currently live. I don't own a bike, but I have run over a dozen half marathons and other short distance races in the last three years. The truth is I have not improved my completion times at all. My inaugural 21K race in Toronto three years ago had a PB of 2:20, and I'm not talking peanut butter. My very first officially chip-timed race, a 10K,  resulted in what has become a PB of 1:03. Slow. I know.  Talk about peaking early and ironically, the finishing times have been going kind of downhill since then. I did cross the finish line last on a 5K fun run over fours years ago, but I thought (and still believe) that this had to do more with starting too fast, chatting as I was with the elite runner who eventually won the event.  How was I to know that this colleague (and now friend and mentor) would actually win? Oh how my arms felt like lead pipes and I couldn't breathe: a terrible sensation that I have been cautious not to repeat. You'll meet Barb, the aforementioned elite ultra marathoner and athlete, in this blog soon.

Anyway. I was the last Canadian to cross the half marathon finish line in Phuket, Thailand in last year's Run Paradise race event. Paradise indeed. And, two days ago in a New Year's Morning 10K run, in Toronto, Ontario, hosted by the Longboat Runners once again,  I found myself (last, with my husband, Paul)  behind a lovely 67 year old man who'd recovered from double hip replacement surgery.  We are in the background of all of his congratulatory finish-line photos and later had a wonderful breakfast with him. He's been running for 40 years. So this back of the pack thing isn't really new, but two days ago I almost quit the whole thing and had a kind of crisis. Why am I bothering was all I could ask myself.

I used to say that when something becomes a symbol, it's time to work on perspective. Running as metaphor...something like that.  I wasn't prepared for the symbol to become literal which seems to be happening to me.  My idea is to share something of myself as I train for my first sprint distance triathlon which will be in Jimbaran, Bali on June 24, 2012. I want to speak with other folks who are committed to training to tap into what drives them.  You'll have to believe me when I say that I am also critically aware that running faster would seem to be the most obvious and simple solution to this crise d'esprit. In the meantime,  I've signed up for two other distance races: The Bermuda Race Weekend, coming up January 13-15 (...and I've registered for three events for the Bermuda Triangle Challenge - one miler/10K/half marathon) and the Hollywood Half Marathon in Los Angeles on April 7.

Despite the whining about time, believe me again when I say I'm absolutely grateful to be doing this at all. Join  me in the ups and downs. Mostly ups, I hope. Could writing change the game, even slightly?