A Winter's Trail

Arctic running.

Secrets revealed.

It's the route, not the destination.

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.

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.

Bricked

This little story requires a bit of a soundtrack.

A funny thing happened on the way to the pool today, especially if by "on the way" I mean two months of worrying about swimwear and appearance and getting kicked in the head and drowning. None of this has happened, of course, except maybe the worrying. The open water start for the Bali Sprint Marathon is another thing, but that's at the end of June and I have lots of anxiety time between now and then.

I wore my new freaky past-the-knee swimskin thing to the pool today for the first time. But, before I did this, I tried it on for a friend over my clothes last night. Within two minutes of prancing around in this very tight suit over my jeans and dress (you had to be there), the door bell rang...as if on cue.  I wasn't exactly ready for my "close-up" so to speak.

The person at the door was very gracious.

Me, I peeled the suit off along with a little (just a tiny bit) of my dignity. I figured if I can live through this humiliation, why not wear the darn thing at the pool. So, I did. So there. I lived to tell the tale and no one even noticed.

So much for self-absorption.

Let the bricking continue: before the 20 minute swim today, I ran for 50 minutes. I wore the skin-tight-swimming-thing under my running stuff -- felt like a girdle, though not terrible. I can live with that.

And this sign would be a relief to anyone, don't you think?

Happy training or whatever.

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.

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.