It's the little moments in life. I've become convinced that the only thing I need every day is just one thing to make me smile. I'm not talking about the little grin I give the barista at Starbucks as they make small talk over my extra shot of expresso, or the sluggish chuckle that falls out of my lips as a customer answers that they "didn't find that 100 dollar bill" when I ask if they found everything okay. I'm talking about a whole-hearted smile, one that starts on the inside and makes it's way out. It's slow and bright, like a sunrise peeking over some clouds on the beach. Sometimes we (and by "we" I mean "I") need to be reminded that overall happiness doesn't come from the big things in life. It comes from a compliment from a stranger, the way the sun reflects off the clouds on an early morning drive to work, or running in the cool of the rain; the smallest of successes.
Oftentimes, we look to the objectives to determine how our lives are going at the moment. We set our goals, and set them high. We pay little attention to the subjective trail that leads up to achieving the said goal. I'm familiar with this conundrum, often looking to the numbers in order to gauge my abilities. But it's not about the numbers. The things that matter the most in life are those that can't be quantified. Sometimes they can't even be put into words, as I'm trying to do now. For example, I couldn't tell you every detail of how I felt when I jumped off the bar after completing my 10th pull-up, (I had been trying to do so all summer) or how great of a hug I received when I ran my marathon PR. Emotions simply can't be described. I know that we've all felt something in which the words "sad" or "happy" fails to represent the emotion flowing through our bodies. Part of dealing with the ebb and flow of life is allowing emotions to have this mystique; this misunderstood understanding that we won't always know why we feel a certain way.
We all are focused on "the next big thing". Whether it be graduation, a promotion, the birth of a child, marriage, a big race, taking a job, or retiring. What we should be doing, however, is reminding ourselves where we are in the present. This day, this hour, this moment. Without fail, looking too far into the future will cloud the present. Take each step in stride, and find joy even when it isn't apparent. Find those little moments that make your heart smile, because that is the only true smile to be smiled.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
Savannah
Allow me to preface this race report with the fact that I regretted signing up for this race. It was a spur of the moment decision (and a bargain) that arose from a tough race in Boston. I guess I felt like I needed revenge from the 26.2 distance; I really hate anything that kicks my ass as hard as that race did. However, this race meant much more to me than I thought it would.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
As soon as I heard the first few beats of my alarm (Clocks, by Coldplay), I jumped out of my king-sized hotel bed and commenced pre-race prep. I was awake, excited, and ready to go. Any anxiety escaped me; I thought only about the finish line, not the 26.2 daunting miles I had to traverse before getting there. After a quick breakfast of a pumpkin bagel, a banana, granola, and some Gatorade, I loaded myself and my GU's into my car and headed for the International Trade and Convention Center. I arrived in the parking lot at 5:20 am, with plenty of time to spare. I sat in my car and listened to some music before foam rolling a bit in the parking lot. I then boarded the ferry to the start, chatting with other runners along the way about marathons past and the one in front of us. I was talklative and at ease, soaking up each and every moment up until the start.
I reached the start line with an hour until go time. I wandered around, walking to stay warm and take in the sights. The temperature was a cool and humid 46 degrees, and I was waiting until the last minute to take off my sweats. Several runners were huddled underneath the gas-powered lights because they gave off quite a bit of heat, but I preferred to walk around and watch the sunrise over the Savannah River. Once I dropped my gear bag off, I headed to corral one, where I would begin my journey for the day. I stretched and jumped around, met a few friends, and traded finishing time hopes with a few other runners. When the time came, the announcer began a countdown: 10...9...8... It's going to happen today, I thought. 7...6...5...4...3...2...1... and then we were off, running down the streets of Savannah with the echo of "Good luck, y'all, see you in Forsyth Park!" careening off of the buildings.
At mile 5, there were speakers blaring the Wobble, and a big group of spectators dancing in a line. I had to fight the urge to join them for a sequence or two, but instead did a little shimmy and shake as I ran by. Man, I love the Wobble. I maintained a really even pace, splitting every mile off between 7:27 and 7:40. Perfect. We winded through neighborhoods with front porches akin to those you read about in books, crising through tree-lined streets before heading up a ramp to a freeway. The sun beat hard on my body, and I began to sweat a lot more than I had been previously. I remember feeling slightly annoyed by that stretch, but as it turns out, that freeway led to the best part of the entire race.
I came up to a water station around mile 18 (this was one I wanted water from, I had been taking fluid from every other water station and that seemed to be working out well), and I could hear a volunteer yelling "Roll Tide" obnoxiously as all of the runners passed. Once I came up to him, I shouted "Go Gators!", and went to grab a water cup to him. To my surprise, he yanked the cup away from my reach. I called him a special name (it's like itch, but with another letter in front), and ran up to the next volunteer. Everyone around, including myself were laughing hysterically. It was like the comedic relief to a Shakespearean play. It somehow made the race for me, even though there were far more amazing things that occurred that day.
We headed towards Savannah State University (at about mile 16 or so at that point), which had a beautiful campus. We winded through small groups of college students before exiting the university through a lap around their track. I high-fived their tiger mascot and went on my way. I couldn't believe how good I was feeling. In the two marathons that I had done before this one, I began to suffer around mile 16. I was at mile 20 and still feeling great. I was wary of hitting some sort of wall; they usually seem to come without warning. But no such structure was constructed. I knew I was at the final push as I ran up the ramp back onto the freeway. I knew that once I got back across that long stretch of beating sun I would be close to the finish line and that clock. I took a quick inventory of my body, which still felt strong, and my form remained intact. I felt almost as if I were running outside myself; on some sort of physiological autopilot that was inexhaustible. Based on this assessment, I took off at the 23 mile mark, pouring the rest of my effort into the last 3.2 miles.
I flew down the last street with a lot on my mind. I thought of my coaches, who got me physically where I was in that moment. I thought of my friends, who got me where I was mentally in that moment. I could feel the "good luck" hugs that I received, wrapped wound my heart and body, both of which were still going strong. I thought about dropping the anchor and flying away. The whole race seemed like such a perfect storm. I entered the finishing shoot, which was lined by cheering spectators on either side. As the finish line and clock came into a view, a smile spread itself a mile wide across my face. I saw the "18" next to the "3", and it became real. I did it! Just after crossing the finish line, I jumped and did a little spin (in mid air I worried a bit if my legs would buckle upon landing, but it turned out okay). "I got your best side", said the finish line photographer after snapping a few pictures. I'm assuming he was talking about my back side. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed; it went as well as it could have gone.
A 5 minute PR in the marathon should indicate that I am as fit as I've ever been. But I don't think that's it. The difference in this race was my mindset and approach. I think I'm beginning to grasp what endurance sports are all about: having confidence with grace, appreciation of the little things, fierce but friendly competitiveness. Before the race, I felt like I knew the outcome already; but I also was already at peace if that didn't actually come to fruition. I had the perfect mix of the here and now and there and later. I am grateful for everything and everyone who led up to this race; I gained so much more than a medal and a PR. I gained perspective and genuine happiness. Thank you, Savannah.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Mirror, mirror...
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Do you even tell me anything at all?
How much weight I can lift?
And what about how swift?
As someone who works in the fitness world, I see a lot of people who are clearly dissatisfied with their bodies and musculature. As I peruse the gym, I see multiple attempts to duplicate the cover of a fitness magazine. There's "that guy" bicep curling so close to the mirror that he's fogging it up with his dramatic exhalations. There's "that girl" on the elliptical, drowning a Law and Order re-run with her sweat. Obviously, the college population is quite skewed towards the stereotype direction and isn't completely representative of the country as a whole, but it's a stigma that permeates fitness facilities everywhere. Everyone wants to look good and feel good, but not everyone looks and feels good the same way.
For example: How are all of these women different?
Everyone is a product of their day to day activities and choices. Obviously, these three women exercise very differently from one another because they have diverse goals. They all look great, but do they look the same? Of course not. Yes, I know you must be shocked that I have yet to mention the genetic chasm of difference displayed here. I would, but that's not my point. My point is that fitness takes form in a variety of ways.
similarly, take a look at these two groups of guys:
They are similar in that they train very hard and very specifically, but for very disparate goals. What would happen if they swapped training regimens? Over time, their bodies would change...but would they really change that much?
Aesthetics are by far the number one motivation for people to work out. What happened to working out because it's fun? Or because it makes you feel, well, awesome?
Don't get me wrong, I love muscles and leanness just as much as the next girl (or guy), but I also have a firm belief that fitness is something that you feel, not see. We learn from early on that in biology, structure equals function. However, at the organismal level, this isn't always true. There's a lot of unassuming people out there that can do some really awesome things.
Judge your body by what it can do, not by it's reflection.
Do you even tell me anything at all?
How much weight I can lift?
And what about how swift?
As someone who works in the fitness world, I see a lot of people who are clearly dissatisfied with their bodies and musculature. As I peruse the gym, I see multiple attempts to duplicate the cover of a fitness magazine. There's "that guy" bicep curling so close to the mirror that he's fogging it up with his dramatic exhalations. There's "that girl" on the elliptical, drowning a Law and Order re-run with her sweat. Obviously, the college population is quite skewed towards the stereotype direction and isn't completely representative of the country as a whole, but it's a stigma that permeates fitness facilities everywhere. Everyone wants to look good and feel good, but not everyone looks and feels good the same way.
For example: How are all of these women different?
Everyone is a product of their day to day activities and choices. Obviously, these three women exercise very differently from one another because they have diverse goals. They all look great, but do they look the same? Of course not. Yes, I know you must be shocked that I have yet to mention the genetic chasm of difference displayed here. I would, but that's not my point. My point is that fitness takes form in a variety of ways.
similarly, take a look at these two groups of guys:
They are similar in that they train very hard and very specifically, but for very disparate goals. What would happen if they swapped training regimens? Over time, their bodies would change...but would they really change that much?
Aesthetics are by far the number one motivation for people to work out. What happened to working out because it's fun? Or because it makes you feel, well, awesome?
Don't get me wrong, I love muscles and leanness just as much as the next girl (or guy), but I also have a firm belief that fitness is something that you feel, not see. We learn from early on that in biology, structure equals function. However, at the organismal level, this isn't always true. There's a lot of unassuming people out there that can do some really awesome things.
Judge your body by what it can do, not by it's reflection.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
2 months till my next marathon! Wait...WHAT?
I have the worst excuse for registering for a race that you've ever heard. I hope you're somewhere where a chuckle or two is appropriate. Ready? Here it goes...
I registered for the Rock n Roll Savannah Marathon because it was National Running Day, and I got $10 off of the entry fee. Yes, that's it. It was literally like window shopping in New York, walking by a boutique with a big sign that said "SALE", and proceeding to make frivolous and obnoxious purchases.
Lucky for me, running was the most accessible form of training to me over the summer, so I've been running relatively consistently over the past 3 months or so. As I look at the date: September 9, 2013, I realize that my bargain is now just 2 months away. Whelp, I guess I better start training for this thing. I find myself struggling with my approach to this race. To me, marathon training is serious stuff: you have to train with a plan, have a goal time, take extra care with nutrition and sleep, and be mentally prepared for 20 awesome miles followed by 6.2 miles in which you question your very existence, wondering how it's even possible to feel such a level of pain. It's hard to line up an air of intensity with such a whimsical decision.
Another factor that can't be overlooked here is that I'm three weeks into my last semester of undergraduate classes. Needless to say, I have laundry list of things that I want and need to do. Throwing this marathon into the mix is somewhat of a tight squeeze. It reminds me of when I was on the subway in Boston and had a 6' 4" guy leaning up against me as if I were a pole on the train, not a human being. I, like many city residents and endurance athletes, think that there is always room for one more thing. Even if the situation is akin to fitting an elephant into the passenger seat of a car to take him to the circus, we believe that we can do it. We stretch our realm of ability as if it cannot, and will not, break.
There are many practical, intelligent solutions to this problem. I could not run the race (it was cheap in the first place, right?). I could run, but not consider finishing time a factor. I could switch to the half, since it's a R n' R race and offers both distances. Of course, none of those solutions appeal to me. There something in my hard-wiring that will just not allow me to do so. My rationality and common sense wires don't always, or rather rarely, connect. It's funny, sometimes I think that those connections are there...but when I check the wires, it appears as if a rat has chewed straight through them. Yet another attempt at being smart and grounded has been foiled, once again.
So, of course I have a goal in mind. It's the same one I've had in marathon's past, and the same one that I've come up short (i.e., slow) on twice. Even though it's not right for me to chase after this right now, I'm going to. It's in my nature to chase; it's not like I'm unfamiliar to the view of something's rear end. In all reality, there's nothing wrong with chasing. Sure, the one in front gets the medal and the glory; but their suitor has something that they don't: resilience. Parading around in victory is easy, not giving up after falling short is hard.
I'll be the first to admit (and have admitted several times over the previous paragraphs) that this marathon is quite extraneous in the scheme of my life right now. I'd even argue to say that training for anything competitive should be on the periphery. I know and believe this to be true, but I still can't put it down; I can't let go. I may complain about having to put in the runs and about even having to race in general, but I really couldn't have it any other way.
I know what I'll be doing November 9th. I'll be racing.
One of my favorite marathon memes...
I registered for the Rock n Roll Savannah Marathon because it was National Running Day, and I got $10 off of the entry fee. Yes, that's it. It was literally like window shopping in New York, walking by a boutique with a big sign that said "SALE", and proceeding to make frivolous and obnoxious purchases.
Lucky for me, running was the most accessible form of training to me over the summer, so I've been running relatively consistently over the past 3 months or so. As I look at the date: September 9, 2013, I realize that my bargain is now just 2 months away. Whelp, I guess I better start training for this thing. I find myself struggling with my approach to this race. To me, marathon training is serious stuff: you have to train with a plan, have a goal time, take extra care with nutrition and sleep, and be mentally prepared for 20 awesome miles followed by 6.2 miles in which you question your very existence, wondering how it's even possible to feel such a level of pain. It's hard to line up an air of intensity with such a whimsical decision.
Another factor that can't be overlooked here is that I'm three weeks into my last semester of undergraduate classes. Needless to say, I have laundry list of things that I want and need to do. Throwing this marathon into the mix is somewhat of a tight squeeze. It reminds me of when I was on the subway in Boston and had a 6' 4" guy leaning up against me as if I were a pole on the train, not a human being. I, like many city residents and endurance athletes, think that there is always room for one more thing. Even if the situation is akin to fitting an elephant into the passenger seat of a car to take him to the circus, we believe that we can do it. We stretch our realm of ability as if it cannot, and will not, break.
There are many practical, intelligent solutions to this problem. I could not run the race (it was cheap in the first place, right?). I could run, but not consider finishing time a factor. I could switch to the half, since it's a R n' R race and offers both distances. Of course, none of those solutions appeal to me. There something in my hard-wiring that will just not allow me to do so. My rationality and common sense wires don't always, or rather rarely, connect. It's funny, sometimes I think that those connections are there...but when I check the wires, it appears as if a rat has chewed straight through them. Yet another attempt at being smart and grounded has been foiled, once again.
So, of course I have a goal in mind. It's the same one I've had in marathon's past, and the same one that I've come up short (i.e., slow) on twice. Even though it's not right for me to chase after this right now, I'm going to. It's in my nature to chase; it's not like I'm unfamiliar to the view of something's rear end. In all reality, there's nothing wrong with chasing. Sure, the one in front gets the medal and the glory; but their suitor has something that they don't: resilience. Parading around in victory is easy, not giving up after falling short is hard.
I'll be the first to admit (and have admitted several times over the previous paragraphs) that this marathon is quite extraneous in the scheme of my life right now. I'd even argue to say that training for anything competitive should be on the periphery. I know and believe this to be true, but I still can't put it down; I can't let go. I may complain about having to put in the runs and about even having to race in general, but I really couldn't have it any other way.
I know what I'll be doing November 9th. I'll be racing.
One of my favorite marathon memes...
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Focus
This post has nothing and everything to do with training. This is about how I finally realized that you have to let some things go in order to achieve focus; and to have that focus where it needs to be. We generally are able to handle a lot (more than we think, most of the time), but we also have to have a sense of when the load is a little too wide for our shoulders.
I'm not sure when I realized it, (probably during one of my extra-packed weeks of this long and taxing summer) but I wear tasks like a badge of honor. I love telling people about the things I'm involved in. I often would think that with each addition to my schedule, I was making myself stronger and a better person. Which it did. But at times it would make me miserable and unable to put effort where it was needed. I realized that the reason I was frustrated with my abilities wasn't because I'm not capable, but rather because I was spreading myself too thin. Until recently, I would see such a revelation as giving up or admitting defeat. True maturity is knowing when and how to pick your battles, and how many to put the armor on for.
You have to treat your focus as a limited and nonrenewable resource, and remind yourself that it is inseparable to time. It is impossible to be engrossed in a task if your mind keeps wandering to some obligation elsewhere. Sometimes you have to take a step back and ask yourself , "Am I spending the majority of my time doing the things I love, or things that take me down the path that leads to what's really important in life?" If the answer is no, then it's time to re-evaluate and think of what it would take to get you there. Usually, it's not to work harder, but rather to have direction. It's kind of like re-orienting the sails of a sailboat. The wind could be perfect, but you still won't go anywhere if you don't have the sail pointed in the right direction. Spend your energy moving the sail, not fighting the wind.
So, where's the tie to training? Like focus, our energy is limited. We can only exert ourselves so much before our bodies break down. A huge part of training is finding out what we can and cannot handle. However, our capacity is viscoelastic. We have the ability to stretch our abilities and cause permanent change, but still have to fight that resistance to return to baseline. For that reason, we have to be focused to cause the change that we want to see...or else we'll end up either injured or disappointed. Having no plan in training is like going on a road trip without a map.
The best part about life is that it will always surprise you. Rarely is it ever what you expect. You never know when something that you've been struggling with will click; change of attitude isn't always as deliberate and laborious as it appears.
I've closed some doors and opened others. I can't wait to see what lies beyond that doorjamb.
I'm not sure when I realized it, (probably during one of my extra-packed weeks of this long and taxing summer) but I wear tasks like a badge of honor. I love telling people about the things I'm involved in. I often would think that with each addition to my schedule, I was making myself stronger and a better person. Which it did. But at times it would make me miserable and unable to put effort where it was needed. I realized that the reason I was frustrated with my abilities wasn't because I'm not capable, but rather because I was spreading myself too thin. Until recently, I would see such a revelation as giving up or admitting defeat. True maturity is knowing when and how to pick your battles, and how many to put the armor on for.
You have to treat your focus as a limited and nonrenewable resource, and remind yourself that it is inseparable to time. It is impossible to be engrossed in a task if your mind keeps wandering to some obligation elsewhere. Sometimes you have to take a step back and ask yourself , "Am I spending the majority of my time doing the things I love, or things that take me down the path that leads to what's really important in life?" If the answer is no, then it's time to re-evaluate and think of what it would take to get you there. Usually, it's not to work harder, but rather to have direction. It's kind of like re-orienting the sails of a sailboat. The wind could be perfect, but you still won't go anywhere if you don't have the sail pointed in the right direction. Spend your energy moving the sail, not fighting the wind.
So, where's the tie to training? Like focus, our energy is limited. We can only exert ourselves so much before our bodies break down. A huge part of training is finding out what we can and cannot handle. However, our capacity is viscoelastic. We have the ability to stretch our abilities and cause permanent change, but still have to fight that resistance to return to baseline. For that reason, we have to be focused to cause the change that we want to see...or else we'll end up either injured or disappointed. Having no plan in training is like going on a road trip without a map.
The best part about life is that it will always surprise you. Rarely is it ever what you expect. You never know when something that you've been struggling with will click; change of attitude isn't always as deliberate and laborious as it appears.
I've closed some doors and opened others. I can't wait to see what lies beyond that doorjamb.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
The Comfort Zone
I'll be honest, this is probably my fifth attempt at writing this post. I thought I had plenty of material, and certainly experience, to write about something I love--the comfort zone. Maybe I like it too much for an endurance athlete, but that's besides the point. I had almost given up on this topic, and was close to leaving it for dead on the side of Idea Road. I had written and re-written the first two paragraphs, only to read them and discover that they were paradoxical and flowed just about as well black strap molasses. So, what led me to finally be able to write this post? The Melon Run. My first 5K-ish distance race since...oh dear, I don't even remember.
I decided to do this patriotic and melon-themed Fourth of July run on a whim. If anything, it would be a "fun" workout and a way to gauge how my fitness is coming along. It did cross my mind about how I hadn't raced such a distance in recent memory, and how I had been on marathon mode for a solid 8 months or so...but I pushed it aside. It was three miles, how hard could it be? Oh boy, would I find out. Surprisingly (or maybe not-so surprisingly) it was my brain that gave up before my legs did.
The morning was on the cool side because of the barrage of rain that we had been getting (typical Gainesville summer), but the temperature was rising rapidly and the humidity was thick. I found myself at the starting line feeling devoid of nerves, or really of any feeling at all. I felt almost out of place. The only races I have done over the past few years have been triathlons, half marathons, or marathons. What was I doing here, running only 3 miles?
The siren went off, and I turned my legs over to a 6:30 pace. It wasn't anything crazy for me right now, at least through the first mile. As I coasted past the one mile sign, I glanced down to see my watch tick to 7:15. Confusion spread through my body, starting from the back of my head and shooting to my toes. I knew I was running faster than that, and I've always understood that small races like this weren't always marked accurately. But I wanted no part of that rationale. I began to convince myself that I was struggling, and some imaginary fatigue began to settle in. It took me until the 2-mile marker (which I think was off as well) to get my head under control, just in time to go up the biggest hill of the race. Chugging up that hill was probably the most physically challenging part of the race, but it was ironically in that moment that I had an interesting epiphany. My legs weren't tired. I was breathing hard, yet under control. Why, then, did I want to stop or back the pace down? I was out of my comfort zone. My legs had the fitness, but the unfamiliarity of such exertion made me want to quit. Yet another struggle with something out of my security bubble.
So, without further ado, here is my post about the comfort zone:
The comfort zone is familiar. There is little ambiguity, and you know what to do and how you should feel. There's nothing that can sneak up on you; no reason to look over your shoulder. It's not necessarily that the task at hand is easy, but any difficulty is met with confidence and seems manageable. The comfort zone helps you feel like a superstar: you feel proficient, talented, able. It's that workout that you do when all else fails, the city you live in, the things you're good at, the job that you've worked at for years, the people that know you best. There are plenty of positives that come along with stability and consistency. Consistency is the key to anything in which you wish to accomplish, and builds ability over time. But there becomes a point where you stop growing; where you suck all of the benefit from a situation. That doesn't mean that you get worse or that something suddenly becomes awful...but rather you stop changing. There is no change without challenge, and I think all of us want change on some level. But before we can meet the challenge, we have to take that leap. It's like trying to cross a fast-paced river by way of stepping stones. We have to try to leap to that stone that seems an inch or two too far away.
In training, we have to be able to do those workouts that make us uncomfortable or feel like we suck (pardon the informality, but there's just no better word to use for that "I can't do this" feeling). We have to be willing to suck...something not many type A's can come to terms with. A certain level or frustration is good, and by "certain level" I mean as much as you can stand. I'm convinced that the best athletes and the best people are able to handle a large spectrum of obligations.
Lately, I've had a good dose of things that have made me uncomfortable. It has felt like getting pushed into the pool at a party...unexpectedly disturbing and taking a while to dry off. It easy to understand that all will improve with time, but it's difficult to find the patience and bide that time. It's a process that involves little successes and sometimes big failures; and ironically progress is made during the failures, not the successes. Once you completely sell yourself on that idea, you're over halfway there.
"Nothing worth it in life is easy."
I decided to do this patriotic and melon-themed Fourth of July run on a whim. If anything, it would be a "fun" workout and a way to gauge how my fitness is coming along. It did cross my mind about how I hadn't raced such a distance in recent memory, and how I had been on marathon mode for a solid 8 months or so...but I pushed it aside. It was three miles, how hard could it be? Oh boy, would I find out. Surprisingly (or maybe not-so surprisingly) it was my brain that gave up before my legs did.
The morning was on the cool side because of the barrage of rain that we had been getting (typical Gainesville summer), but the temperature was rising rapidly and the humidity was thick. I found myself at the starting line feeling devoid of nerves, or really of any feeling at all. I felt almost out of place. The only races I have done over the past few years have been triathlons, half marathons, or marathons. What was I doing here, running only 3 miles?
The siren went off, and I turned my legs over to a 6:30 pace. It wasn't anything crazy for me right now, at least through the first mile. As I coasted past the one mile sign, I glanced down to see my watch tick to 7:15. Confusion spread through my body, starting from the back of my head and shooting to my toes. I knew I was running faster than that, and I've always understood that small races like this weren't always marked accurately. But I wanted no part of that rationale. I began to convince myself that I was struggling, and some imaginary fatigue began to settle in. It took me until the 2-mile marker (which I think was off as well) to get my head under control, just in time to go up the biggest hill of the race. Chugging up that hill was probably the most physically challenging part of the race, but it was ironically in that moment that I had an interesting epiphany. My legs weren't tired. I was breathing hard, yet under control. Why, then, did I want to stop or back the pace down? I was out of my comfort zone. My legs had the fitness, but the unfamiliarity of such exertion made me want to quit. Yet another struggle with something out of my security bubble.
So, without further ado, here is my post about the comfort zone:
The comfort zone is familiar. There is little ambiguity, and you know what to do and how you should feel. There's nothing that can sneak up on you; no reason to look over your shoulder. It's not necessarily that the task at hand is easy, but any difficulty is met with confidence and seems manageable. The comfort zone helps you feel like a superstar: you feel proficient, talented, able. It's that workout that you do when all else fails, the city you live in, the things you're good at, the job that you've worked at for years, the people that know you best. There are plenty of positives that come along with stability and consistency. Consistency is the key to anything in which you wish to accomplish, and builds ability over time. But there becomes a point where you stop growing; where you suck all of the benefit from a situation. That doesn't mean that you get worse or that something suddenly becomes awful...but rather you stop changing. There is no change without challenge, and I think all of us want change on some level. But before we can meet the challenge, we have to take that leap. It's like trying to cross a fast-paced river by way of stepping stones. We have to try to leap to that stone that seems an inch or two too far away.
In training, we have to be able to do those workouts that make us uncomfortable or feel like we suck (pardon the informality, but there's just no better word to use for that "I can't do this" feeling). We have to be willing to suck...something not many type A's can come to terms with. A certain level or frustration is good, and by "certain level" I mean as much as you can stand. I'm convinced that the best athletes and the best people are able to handle a large spectrum of obligations.
Lately, I've had a good dose of things that have made me uncomfortable. It has felt like getting pushed into the pool at a party...unexpectedly disturbing and taking a while to dry off. It easy to understand that all will improve with time, but it's difficult to find the patience and bide that time. It's a process that involves little successes and sometimes big failures; and ironically progress is made during the failures, not the successes. Once you completely sell yourself on that idea, you're over halfway there.
"Nothing worth it in life is easy."
Sunday, June 2, 2013
I don't have a watch, but I'm still watching
This summer, all 4 weeks of it, has been tough. I've been spending hours upon hours working and interning, and the remaining hours slumped on the couch or in my bed. I've had to drag myself to the pool, track, and gym, usually arriving with a chorus of grumbles and a long face. I leave each workout the same way, still feeling sluggish and genuinely glad that it was over. The intensity has been mismatched with the output; my arms, legs, and lungs give out far before the norm. Undoubtedly the work is taking a toll on my body, but it's not a toll I understand. I'm used to suffering, as all of us endurance athletes are. I'm used to sore muscles and heavy legs...the aftermath of the previous training day. It's baffling how something like scanning groceries or guiding patients for 9 hours a day can make me feel more exhausted than a 20 mile run, 50 mile ride, or a tough set in the pool. I've wondered at times if I'll just have to sacrifice this summer's training for the work and responsibility, but then I found the solution: take off my watch. It bares my horrible watch tan to the world, but it is all together worth it.
All too often, myself and other athletes judge their workouts on the metrics. They allow the watch to dictate how successful a given workout is; each split like another brick in the wall. The truth is, though, is that there are only certain phases of training (or life) in which this method is valid. Splits are for when you're clicking on all cylinders, rolling through the workout like an unstoppable steam engine. They aren't for those days when you show up to a workout with half of your heart and a dull or distant gaze. Classic athlete dogma will proclaim that you should work out at any cost, no matter how you feel, because it is lazy if you don't. I agree that 95% of the time, a workout will make you feel better than when you started. But what if it doesn't?
So then, what is the troubled, time-slaved endurance athlete to do? By nature, not working out isn't an option, and neither is simply backing down the intensity. The answer is to run, bike, swim, and lift naked (I mean of a watch, of course. Although I'm sure working out naked would be liberating in it's own right). Strip your workouts of time, meters, miles, pounds, sets, and reps. Do what you're body can, and what intensity comes naturally. Yes, maybe the interval or average speed will be slower than you expect, but what will it matter if you aren't wearing a watch or if you turn over your speedometer? Instead of touting the numbers associated with a workout, the victory becomes that the workout even happened in the first place, and the intensity was manageable. As hard as it can be to accept, this has the same affect as working on the clock. Time, after all, wouldn't exist if we didn't make it so. Time was created to quantify life passing us by, with each second, minute, and hour giving tangibility to something that can't be touched. As long as we achieve the necessary intensity, the workout suits its purpose.
Along the same wavelength, one thing worth measuring is heart rate. It tells you exactly how hard you're working, how well you've recovered, and, if taken in the morning, how physiologically ready you are for the day. I've read multiple times about how important waking heart rate is in determining if one is overtrained or not, but had never put it into practice. I started taking my heart rate every morning, and have become intrigued with it's fluctuations. For example, last week on a day when I got less than four hours of sleep, my HR was higher than my typical resting heart rate...just upon waking up. I also notice that it will be anywhere from 3-8 beats per minute higher the morning after a hard workout. This helps me put into perspective the damage that training (and life) does to my body, and will hopefully keep me on the injury-free track when I begin to seriously train for races again.
Taking a new approach to training is something I think we all should try every once in a while. Not only in the way I described above, but also just varying routine or trying something new. You never know when you'll stumble across something that will work for you. So I'll be watching my body, but not my watch, closely. I'll still wear it, but only to make sure that I make it to work on time. You can only rebel time for so long.
Kind of like this:
All too often, myself and other athletes judge their workouts on the metrics. They allow the watch to dictate how successful a given workout is; each split like another brick in the wall. The truth is, though, is that there are only certain phases of training (or life) in which this method is valid. Splits are for when you're clicking on all cylinders, rolling through the workout like an unstoppable steam engine. They aren't for those days when you show up to a workout with half of your heart and a dull or distant gaze. Classic athlete dogma will proclaim that you should work out at any cost, no matter how you feel, because it is lazy if you don't. I agree that 95% of the time, a workout will make you feel better than when you started. But what if it doesn't?
So then, what is the troubled, time-slaved endurance athlete to do? By nature, not working out isn't an option, and neither is simply backing down the intensity. The answer is to run, bike, swim, and lift naked (I mean of a watch, of course. Although I'm sure working out naked would be liberating in it's own right). Strip your workouts of time, meters, miles, pounds, sets, and reps. Do what you're body can, and what intensity comes naturally. Yes, maybe the interval or average speed will be slower than you expect, but what will it matter if you aren't wearing a watch or if you turn over your speedometer? Instead of touting the numbers associated with a workout, the victory becomes that the workout even happened in the first place, and the intensity was manageable. As hard as it can be to accept, this has the same affect as working on the clock. Time, after all, wouldn't exist if we didn't make it so. Time was created to quantify life passing us by, with each second, minute, and hour giving tangibility to something that can't be touched. As long as we achieve the necessary intensity, the workout suits its purpose.
Along the same wavelength, one thing worth measuring is heart rate. It tells you exactly how hard you're working, how well you've recovered, and, if taken in the morning, how physiologically ready you are for the day. I've read multiple times about how important waking heart rate is in determining if one is overtrained or not, but had never put it into practice. I started taking my heart rate every morning, and have become intrigued with it's fluctuations. For example, last week on a day when I got less than four hours of sleep, my HR was higher than my typical resting heart rate...just upon waking up. I also notice that it will be anywhere from 3-8 beats per minute higher the morning after a hard workout. This helps me put into perspective the damage that training (and life) does to my body, and will hopefully keep me on the injury-free track when I begin to seriously train for races again.
Taking a new approach to training is something I think we all should try every once in a while. Not only in the way I described above, but also just varying routine or trying something new. You never know when you'll stumble across something that will work for you. So I'll be watching my body, but not my watch, closely. I'll still wear it, but only to make sure that I make it to work on time. You can only rebel time for so long.
Kind of like this:
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Choices
We face choices every moment of every day. What to say next in a conversation, what to eat for lunch, how to react to an extra long grocery line, whether to smile or frown after a long day of work. Some choices are more automatic than others, but they are choices nonetheless. Some of us do little thinking before lacing up for a run at 6 in the morning, while others have a fitful internal argument with themselves before hitting the snooze button and rolling over. At lunch, a salad may be an automatic choice for one, while another may be trying to decide between a number 2 or number 6 value meal.
What makes these choices automatic? Are they habits, or just who we are? Are they a product of a certain phase of life? Are they situational? Yes, yes, yes, and yes. How we make our everyday choices is determined by multiple levels and scales. We consider both the here and now and the absent and later. For example, if you forget to pack your healthy lunch for work/school, how likely is it that you will replace that lunch that you don't have with a less-healthy option? I won't name names, but I'm guessing that it's easier to find a burger of some type than a salad worth eating. Then the question is, are you buying a burger because it is easier and more available, or because it's what you actually wanted and the forgotten lunch presented an opportunity to do so? It's hard to say. Life is so dynamic that it is difficult to blame a vice on a singular cause. Reasons are always multifaceted; originating from experiences past and projecting to future consequences. I used the food example because it is easy to pick on lifestyle choices such as diet and exercise. But what about the other choices we make throughout the day?
How we react to a situation is a choice too. We can't always change our perspective about a given situation, but we can change how we respond to it. This idea is presented in this graduation speech by David Foster Wallace:
We all have a "default setting". This setting has been dialed up based on our past, current, and future mindset. These are the aforementioned "automatic choices", those decisions in life that we just don't think about. Before we know it, we are feeling or acting in a certain way. What's important to realize, however, is that we can change that setting. We can choose at any point to simply act differently. Sure, paths are easy to follow, but what if, just this once, we decided to blaze a new trail? If we like this new and better trail, we can keep taking it--until it looks clear and the old one appears overgrown. Fear and the discomfort of new patterns make this trail hard to find. Or, perhaps we see the trail and perceive it too be too dangerous to traverse. Fear can be hard to conquer, but the caveat to fear is that it only takes one step, or one choice.
Seeing life as a series of choices helps to change your perspective of who you are and how you interact with the people around you. Ironically, you can also choose to be okay with your bad choices. I only call a bad choice a mistake if I don't learn from it.
I'm not talking about being optimistic, perpetually rosy, or wildly altruistic. I'm talking about putting the best version of yourself forward through making the choices that allow yourself to do so.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Tied By Tragedy...and Running
I wasn't by the finish line when it happened. I was in a car, glowing from my achievement 20 minutes away from Boston. I was drenched in sweat and adrenaline; the crowds' cheers was still ringing in my ears. The race had been beautifully tough and exciting, and as I watched the Boston skyline disappear from the rear view mirror, my thoughts turned from the race to catching my 5:40 flight. Knowing what I know now, I should have been thinking of something else.
I ate my recovery meal in the airport with my back turned to the TV. On a passing glance, I saw the footage of the Boston bombings, and recognized that I had been close to that exact spot a mere two hours ago. I wasn't directly affected by the tragedy, but I still felt like I was. I was connected by the fact that I was there; I traversed the course that day. All of the "what ifs" bounced around my brain and a sense of deep gratitude washed over me. What if I didn't have a 5:40 flight, and wanted to hang around the finish for a while? What if I got a cramp on mile 23 after Heartbreak and limped in around 4 hours? What if, what if, what if.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that such a turn of events would occur. Since our sport is built on some of the most basic principles, we falsely believed that it was immune to attack. Running is simple; it is one body against another, your training versus that of the opponent, and who is willing to give more on that day. Running epitomizes a healthy lifestyle and sportsmanship. No matter if you break the tape or finish last, you are a runner because you ran.
Why would anyone want to taint the best marathon experience in the United States? Many of us find ourselves searching for an answer that we'll never have.
The running and endurance community has responded in full force. There have been multiple Boston memorial runs in my area and all over the country, moments of silence before races from local 5K's to the London Marathon that took place on the weekend that followed. Addidas made a shirt that said "Boston stands as one" and will donate all of the proceeds to the One Fund Boston, Inc to help the victims and city to recover. Blue and yellow ribbons were distributed by various running stores and organizations. As we mourn the lost and attempt to help the injured, we as runners are the only ones who are also able to understand the impact on those who didn't finish the race. Of course, everyone who left Boston unscathed was extremely grateful to be healthy and able to run on for those who can't. But there was a sense of disappointment wafting through the air for those who undoubtedly trained so hard to stand at that start line in Hopkinton on April 15th, 2013. We know what it's like to pour your energy into a race, and the sting it leaves when it doesn't go as planned. The magnitude of Boston and the arduous qualification and registration process amplified the effect of the turn of events, both for those who finished and those who didn't. Luckily, the BAA acted quickly and graciously, helping to make the runners who didn't cross the line feel like they did.
As I sat in Boston Logan Airport that Monday, my phone buzzed with concern from friends and family, my fingers working a mile a minute to let everyone know that I was okay. The amount of people who reached out to me was outstanding. Although I was shaken up by the proposition of lingering danger in Boston, my heart was warmed by all of the love and support thrown my way. I spent the majority of my 3.5 hour flight back to Florida thinking not only about how lucky I was that I was safe, but also how blessed I am with so many people who care about me. It didn't seem to matter the level of interaction that I had with that person; they still took the time to make sure that I was okay.
Life has a funny way of reminding us that we take things for granted too often. In this case, I became tied to people that I hadn't spoken to in years by tragedy. The event was like a big web of rope, with some new knots being tied while others were tightened a bit. As humans, we bond together and seldom allow anyone to deal with hurt on their own. We have this inherent sense of cohesion in dark moments, working together to maintain equilibrium. Our best defense mechanism is each other, because we know that we can't do it on our own.
Even ten years from now, I will get the same wide-eyed look that I get now when I say that I ran the 2013 Boston Marathon. The footage and pictures of the turmoil will always remind me of how I was there 45 minutes before it was taken. Runners who have had the privilege to run Boston will tell you that you take a piece of the race with you; I've never believed this to be more true. I think that everyone who laced up that day will be tied by the tragedy, and running, of course.
I ate my recovery meal in the airport with my back turned to the TV. On a passing glance, I saw the footage of the Boston bombings, and recognized that I had been close to that exact spot a mere two hours ago. I wasn't directly affected by the tragedy, but I still felt like I was. I was connected by the fact that I was there; I traversed the course that day. All of the "what ifs" bounced around my brain and a sense of deep gratitude washed over me. What if I didn't have a 5:40 flight, and wanted to hang around the finish for a while? What if I got a cramp on mile 23 after Heartbreak and limped in around 4 hours? What if, what if, what if.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that such a turn of events would occur. Since our sport is built on some of the most basic principles, we falsely believed that it was immune to attack. Running is simple; it is one body against another, your training versus that of the opponent, and who is willing to give more on that day. Running epitomizes a healthy lifestyle and sportsmanship. No matter if you break the tape or finish last, you are a runner because you ran.
Why would anyone want to taint the best marathon experience in the United States? Many of us find ourselves searching for an answer that we'll never have.
The running and endurance community has responded in full force. There have been multiple Boston memorial runs in my area and all over the country, moments of silence before races from local 5K's to the London Marathon that took place on the weekend that followed. Addidas made a shirt that said "Boston stands as one" and will donate all of the proceeds to the One Fund Boston, Inc to help the victims and city to recover. Blue and yellow ribbons were distributed by various running stores and organizations. As we mourn the lost and attempt to help the injured, we as runners are the only ones who are also able to understand the impact on those who didn't finish the race. Of course, everyone who left Boston unscathed was extremely grateful to be healthy and able to run on for those who can't. But there was a sense of disappointment wafting through the air for those who undoubtedly trained so hard to stand at that start line in Hopkinton on April 15th, 2013. We know what it's like to pour your energy into a race, and the sting it leaves when it doesn't go as planned. The magnitude of Boston and the arduous qualification and registration process amplified the effect of the turn of events, both for those who finished and those who didn't. Luckily, the BAA acted quickly and graciously, helping to make the runners who didn't cross the line feel like they did.
As I sat in Boston Logan Airport that Monday, my phone buzzed with concern from friends and family, my fingers working a mile a minute to let everyone know that I was okay. The amount of people who reached out to me was outstanding. Although I was shaken up by the proposition of lingering danger in Boston, my heart was warmed by all of the love and support thrown my way. I spent the majority of my 3.5 hour flight back to Florida thinking not only about how lucky I was that I was safe, but also how blessed I am with so many people who care about me. It didn't seem to matter the level of interaction that I had with that person; they still took the time to make sure that I was okay.
Life has a funny way of reminding us that we take things for granted too often. In this case, I became tied to people that I hadn't spoken to in years by tragedy. The event was like a big web of rope, with some new knots being tied while others were tightened a bit. As humans, we bond together and seldom allow anyone to deal with hurt on their own. We have this inherent sense of cohesion in dark moments, working together to maintain equilibrium. Our best defense mechanism is each other, because we know that we can't do it on our own.
Even ten years from now, I will get the same wide-eyed look that I get now when I say that I ran the 2013 Boston Marathon. The footage and pictures of the turmoil will always remind me of how I was there 45 minutes before it was taken. Runners who have had the privilege to run Boston will tell you that you take a piece of the race with you; I've never believed this to be more true. I think that everyone who laced up that day will be tied by the tragedy, and running, of course.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Boston
"This line is NOT moving! You need to make these lines straighter!" I looked over to see a disgruntled runner standing on a planter box, making her case to the clueless volunteers. I had been standing on the Tremont side of the Boston Common for 45 minutes now, and runners were getting impatient with the amount of time that was taking to load all of the buses to Hopkinton. The runners' "for the people" moment seemed to work, though, and I finally caught a bus 15 minutes later.
After an hour bus ride, I finally was in Hopkinton (SUCH a cute little town) with my start time 90 minutes away. I was wearing old sweatpants with holes in them and an XL sweatshirt from Steamboat, Colorado (I don't remember how I acquired such a thing, but it was perfect for the job) over my highlighter green sports bra and matching arm warmers. Upon disembarking the bus, I made a quick decision to duck into the woods in lieu of waiting in a porta potty line. The forest was a little spotty for my taste, but so many runners were doing the same thing, so it was quite acceptable. I then milled around the staging area, taking in the scene and grabbing some water and a Powerbar to augment my second breakfast. I found an Addidas tent that was giving out shamrock tattoos, and so I naturally plastered one on my left cheek. Tattoo in place, I finally let one of the millions of photographers take a pre-race picture (after removing my frumpy clothes, of course). I then headed towards the starting line, heart racing and excitement bursting from every pore.
I made my way to the second corral of wave 2, jogging a bit to loosen up. I danced to every song that came over the loudspeakers during my stay in the corral; it helped to ease my nerves. Then, as the clock struck 10:20, there was a loud CRACK, and I started bounding my way down the course of the 117th Boston Marathon.
Miles 1-13 were a breeze. I smiled almost the entire time, laughing at the spectators' signs ( "those shorts make your butt look fast" was one of my favorites), high-fiving kids along the course, and running on pure adrenaline. The best part of the opining miles, though, was the girls of Wellesley and the "scream tunnel". I ran to the side so that I could stow away some of their excitement that I would undoubtedly need later on. I saw a friend from high school that I used to play soccer with (who now attends Wellesley College), and so I was happy to accomplish one of my missions for the race. I ran a 7:25 mile through that stretch...whoops. I couldn't reel in my excitement; I had been struggling to back down my 7:30 pace to something closer to 7:40, but to no avail. Until the course made me.
I can't put my finger eon the exact point in time when my legs decided they had had enough, but it was somewhere around mile 16 that I noticed the downhills had taken their toll. With the looming hills ahead, I became concerned that I wouldn't be able to hold the pace for much longer. The worst mistake that I made, though, was confusing the hill before Heartbreak with the actual heartbreak. This happened because kids were handing out "Heartbreak Lemonade", and my delirious and tired brain wanted to believe that the hill I was pouring all of my energy into was Heartbreak. I completely ignored the fact that I was on mile 19, not 20. I crested the hill gasping and grimacing, and my heart dropped when I saw the steep downhill ahead. My IT bands began to scream with every step, and I finally sobered up to the fact that I had not conquered Heartbreak yet. After a painful half mile of the steepest downhill since the start, there it was: Heartbreak Hill. There were broken hearts drawn in chalk on the pavement, and the crowd screamed hill-related motivational cheers. I struggled up the most famous part of the course, taking small steps and feeling like I was barely moving. Let the suffering begin.
I'm most proud of mile 21 and 22. I managed to run about a 7:45 pace, despite feeling gassed from the hills. I fought really hard to try and hold the pace, and the drunk Boston College students helped as well. They were chanting "BC! BC! BC!", and I pretended that they were instead chanting "Kacy! Kacy!...". Weird, I know, but it seemed to work. I ran off to the side and high-fived hundreds of BC students, but towards the end of mile 22 I realized I was getting too tired to do so. I tucked into the middle of the road to conserve energy. I stopped fighting to hold pace when I looked down at my watch upon passing mile 23. 9:00. My legs were cooked, and so was I
The last 4 miles were a shuffle. I was too tired to do any more than acknowledge that the awesome crowd was there. Finally, when I took the turn for Boyston street, my heart fluttered (skipping a beat would have been really inconvenient at this time) as the finish line stood there like a lighthouse, guiding me to the end of my long journey. I stumbled across the finish line and stopped my watch. 3:26. Slower than I wanted, but hey, I just finished the Boston marathon.
I walked gingerly through the finishing shoot, using whatever energy I had left to talk to other runners and laugh about how hard the course was. I kissed the medal as it was roped around my neck. From last September to this moment, right now. It was an unbelievable feeling.
As I hobbled to my ride out of Boston, I assessed the damage. My quads were in the most pain, with my IT bands feeling tighter than ever. Both of my 1st metatarsal joints resisted further bending, a duty made difficult by my tender tibialis anterior muscles. I gingerly climbed into the car, still feeling slightly disorientated by the exertion, and headed out of Boston in order to catch my cutting-it-close flight at 5:40 (it was about 1:45 when I finished). I took as quick of a shower as I could, and as I dressed myself in my race shirt I put my medal back on. That's when I found my phone, the screen of which was crowded with missed calls and texts. Two bombs had exploded where I had crossed an hour before.
I feel incredibly lucky, and my heart aches for those who weren't so lucky. I can't help but to think that I was a bad cramp from being in the area when the fire met the sky. I'm also thankful for my hasty travel plans, for without them I may have wanted to soak up Boylston Street for a little longer. I woke up Tuesday morning extremely sore yet extremely grateful that I was in my bed in Palm Harbor rather than a Boston ER. My thoughts and prayers have been with those affected by the awful act of violence, and as I look at my splits I think of the 4,000+ who didn't get to finish.
I want to thank everyone who texted, called, or even thought about me on Monday. I was taken aback by all the love and support everyone sent my way, including before the race, after the race, and in the light of the tragedy. Although there is plenty of ugly in this world, love will always win. Boston will get back on it's feet, and we will all heal together.
I know that I will be hugging everyone much tighter from now on. I didn't need such a situation to be thankful for the people in my life, but it served as a reminder never to let an opportunity to tell someone that you love them slip by.
After an hour bus ride, I finally was in Hopkinton (SUCH a cute little town) with my start time 90 minutes away. I was wearing old sweatpants with holes in them and an XL sweatshirt from Steamboat, Colorado (I don't remember how I acquired such a thing, but it was perfect for the job) over my highlighter green sports bra and matching arm warmers. Upon disembarking the bus, I made a quick decision to duck into the woods in lieu of waiting in a porta potty line. The forest was a little spotty for my taste, but so many runners were doing the same thing, so it was quite acceptable. I then milled around the staging area, taking in the scene and grabbing some water and a Powerbar to augment my second breakfast. I found an Addidas tent that was giving out shamrock tattoos, and so I naturally plastered one on my left cheek. Tattoo in place, I finally let one of the millions of photographers take a pre-race picture (after removing my frumpy clothes, of course). I then headed towards the starting line, heart racing and excitement bursting from every pore.
I made my way to the second corral of wave 2, jogging a bit to loosen up. I danced to every song that came over the loudspeakers during my stay in the corral; it helped to ease my nerves. Then, as the clock struck 10:20, there was a loud CRACK, and I started bounding my way down the course of the 117th Boston Marathon.
Miles 1-13 were a breeze. I smiled almost the entire time, laughing at the spectators' signs ( "those shorts make your butt look fast" was one of my favorites), high-fiving kids along the course, and running on pure adrenaline. The best part of the opining miles, though, was the girls of Wellesley and the "scream tunnel". I ran to the side so that I could stow away some of their excitement that I would undoubtedly need later on. I saw a friend from high school that I used to play soccer with (who now attends Wellesley College), and so I was happy to accomplish one of my missions for the race. I ran a 7:25 mile through that stretch...whoops. I couldn't reel in my excitement; I had been struggling to back down my 7:30 pace to something closer to 7:40, but to no avail. Until the course made me.
I can't put my finger eon the exact point in time when my legs decided they had had enough, but it was somewhere around mile 16 that I noticed the downhills had taken their toll. With the looming hills ahead, I became concerned that I wouldn't be able to hold the pace for much longer. The worst mistake that I made, though, was confusing the hill before Heartbreak with the actual heartbreak. This happened because kids were handing out "Heartbreak Lemonade", and my delirious and tired brain wanted to believe that the hill I was pouring all of my energy into was Heartbreak. I completely ignored the fact that I was on mile 19, not 20. I crested the hill gasping and grimacing, and my heart dropped when I saw the steep downhill ahead. My IT bands began to scream with every step, and I finally sobered up to the fact that I had not conquered Heartbreak yet. After a painful half mile of the steepest downhill since the start, there it was: Heartbreak Hill. There were broken hearts drawn in chalk on the pavement, and the crowd screamed hill-related motivational cheers. I struggled up the most famous part of the course, taking small steps and feeling like I was barely moving. Let the suffering begin.
I'm most proud of mile 21 and 22. I managed to run about a 7:45 pace, despite feeling gassed from the hills. I fought really hard to try and hold the pace, and the drunk Boston College students helped as well. They were chanting "BC! BC! BC!", and I pretended that they were instead chanting "Kacy! Kacy!...". Weird, I know, but it seemed to work. I ran off to the side and high-fived hundreds of BC students, but towards the end of mile 22 I realized I was getting too tired to do so. I tucked into the middle of the road to conserve energy. I stopped fighting to hold pace when I looked down at my watch upon passing mile 23. 9:00. My legs were cooked, and so was I
The last 4 miles were a shuffle. I was too tired to do any more than acknowledge that the awesome crowd was there. Finally, when I took the turn for Boyston street, my heart fluttered (skipping a beat would have been really inconvenient at this time) as the finish line stood there like a lighthouse, guiding me to the end of my long journey. I stumbled across the finish line and stopped my watch. 3:26. Slower than I wanted, but hey, I just finished the Boston marathon.
I walked gingerly through the finishing shoot, using whatever energy I had left to talk to other runners and laugh about how hard the course was. I kissed the medal as it was roped around my neck. From last September to this moment, right now. It was an unbelievable feeling.
As I hobbled to my ride out of Boston, I assessed the damage. My quads were in the most pain, with my IT bands feeling tighter than ever. Both of my 1st metatarsal joints resisted further bending, a duty made difficult by my tender tibialis anterior muscles. I gingerly climbed into the car, still feeling slightly disorientated by the exertion, and headed out of Boston in order to catch my cutting-it-close flight at 5:40 (it was about 1:45 when I finished). I took as quick of a shower as I could, and as I dressed myself in my race shirt I put my medal back on. That's when I found my phone, the screen of which was crowded with missed calls and texts. Two bombs had exploded where I had crossed an hour before.
I feel incredibly lucky, and my heart aches for those who weren't so lucky. I can't help but to think that I was a bad cramp from being in the area when the fire met the sky. I'm also thankful for my hasty travel plans, for without them I may have wanted to soak up Boylston Street for a little longer. I woke up Tuesday morning extremely sore yet extremely grateful that I was in my bed in Palm Harbor rather than a Boston ER. My thoughts and prayers have been with those affected by the awful act of violence, and as I look at my splits I think of the 4,000+ who didn't get to finish.
I want to thank everyone who texted, called, or even thought about me on Monday. I was taken aback by all the love and support everyone sent my way, including before the race, after the race, and in the light of the tragedy. Although there is plenty of ugly in this world, love will always win. Boston will get back on it's feet, and we will all heal together.
I know that I will be hugging everyone much tighter from now on. I didn't need such a situation to be thankful for the people in my life, but it served as a reminder never to let an opportunity to tell someone that you love them slip by.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Rebounder
When I was 5 years old, I played basketball at a local church with an organization called Upward Basketball. I had a had super cool reversible jersey and high Nike socks, and size 4 Air Jordans. My hair was medium length and bright blonde from the Florida sun; it draped over my face like a thin and wavy mop. I was tiny compared to my competitors, which included boys, as it was a co-ed league. I was pretty good for my age, but my small size left me to develop a niche of talent: rebounds and lay-ups. I would wait under the basket ( "I won't steal the ball, I'll wait for the ball to come to me!") This was obviously a clever strategy, as there were few 5-6 year olds who could make a basket. Our scores were frequently in the 20's. Now, 16 years later, I would say one of my talents is still rebounding.
I am the queen of self-sabotage and I rule the world of negativity. This would be awful if it were all the time, but thankfully it's not. I can be haphazard at times, and it leads me into a ditch of trouble. I'm really good at placing myself in situations in which I don't want to be in, saying things I don't mean, and making mistakes. But I'm also pretty good at picking up the pieces, after I've scattered them all over God's country. One thing I've noticed about how I deal with rough times is that I have to let it get really bad before I can remedy the situation. To the world, it may appear as if I have some combination of neurological disorders, but in reality I'm just coping with whatever life has thrown my way. I liken it to a controlled burn; I have to destroy everything to allow new roots to take place.
My weakness is that I allow any of it to happen in the first place, but my strength is that I'm able to rebound and make things better than before. I can get really low, but I seldom allow it to last for too long. In the back of my mind, I know that when I hit a valley like that, a mountain is somewhere in the near future. I think that's what gets me through it; somewhere in my derailed brain is a clear track, leading me back to sensibility.
You miss 100% of the shots that you don't take, and if you miss, you can always fight for the rebound. I may miss more baskets than I make, but I will fight like hell for that rebound.
I am the queen of self-sabotage and I rule the world of negativity. This would be awful if it were all the time, but thankfully it's not. I can be haphazard at times, and it leads me into a ditch of trouble. I'm really good at placing myself in situations in which I don't want to be in, saying things I don't mean, and making mistakes. But I'm also pretty good at picking up the pieces, after I've scattered them all over God's country. One thing I've noticed about how I deal with rough times is that I have to let it get really bad before I can remedy the situation. To the world, it may appear as if I have some combination of neurological disorders, but in reality I'm just coping with whatever life has thrown my way. I liken it to a controlled burn; I have to destroy everything to allow new roots to take place.
My weakness is that I allow any of it to happen in the first place, but my strength is that I'm able to rebound and make things better than before. I can get really low, but I seldom allow it to last for too long. In the back of my mind, I know that when I hit a valley like that, a mountain is somewhere in the near future. I think that's what gets me through it; somewhere in my derailed brain is a clear track, leading me back to sensibility.
You miss 100% of the shots that you don't take, and if you miss, you can always fight for the rebound. I may miss more baskets than I make, but I will fight like hell for that rebound.
Ready Or Not, Here I Come!
Confidence is a funny thing. Some people pour it over their Cheerios every morning, while others chase it like an elusive dream. I would place myself in a category in between these two groups. Sometimes I feel awesome, and other times I feel incapable of even tying my shoes correctly. It's important going into any big event to have your head held high, and I'm convinced that it's at least twice as important when a marathon looms on the horizon.
With Boston now two measly weeks away, I've pondered many questions.Will I be strong enough for 26.2 miles? Did I train enough? Will I plan the logistics properly? Am I capable of running a smart race? OH MY GOSH, AM I READY FOR THIS?????
That's just a snapshot into my brain over the last 3 weeks or so.
There's plenty of reasons why I might not run very well on April 15th. I didn't train enough for the down or up hills. I only ran longer than 2 hours 4 times, and topped out at 21 miles. My longest tempo run was only 10 miles. I didn't start training till midway through January (and that's being generous: I wasn't extremely serious about training till February). But I won't be thinking about any of that when I line up in Hopkinton. I'll be thinking of the few reasons why it is in the realm of possibility that I will run well. I'm not overtrained, am generally healthy, and have a lot of support on my side.
Therein lies the problem. As with any race, interview, exam, or other significant event, the preparation for said event doesn't determine the outcome alone. How ready you are for something is only a small slice of the pie. The rest is determined by your mindset going in and those things that you have no control over; things like the weather, the way your body feels that particular day, traffic....the list goes on and on. Once you become okay with the fact that you simply can't control everything, it becomes easier to handle the things that you can control.
I know that Boston can throw a lot at me: the crowds, cold weather, rain, hills, etc, but the only thing I can do is stand at the start line and be ready for the things that I'm not ready for. I'm going to do my best to just be grateful for the opportunity of running a race like Boston. Runners all over the country spend gallons of sweat on trying to be where I will be in two weeks. I also have to remember that as of February I wasn't sure if I should even purchase a plane ticket because of some nagging injuries that delayed my training. The fact that I'm healthy right now is a blessing in itself.
Just like anything else, I can only do my best. No matter the actual outcome, I know that whatever my best happens to be, it will be good enough.
With Boston now two measly weeks away, I've pondered many questions.Will I be strong enough for 26.2 miles? Did I train enough? Will I plan the logistics properly? Am I capable of running a smart race? OH MY GOSH, AM I READY FOR THIS?????
That's just a snapshot into my brain over the last 3 weeks or so.
There's plenty of reasons why I might not run very well on April 15th. I didn't train enough for the down or up hills. I only ran longer than 2 hours 4 times, and topped out at 21 miles. My longest tempo run was only 10 miles. I didn't start training till midway through January (and that's being generous: I wasn't extremely serious about training till February). But I won't be thinking about any of that when I line up in Hopkinton. I'll be thinking of the few reasons why it is in the realm of possibility that I will run well. I'm not overtrained, am generally healthy, and have a lot of support on my side.
Therein lies the problem. As with any race, interview, exam, or other significant event, the preparation for said event doesn't determine the outcome alone. How ready you are for something is only a small slice of the pie. The rest is determined by your mindset going in and those things that you have no control over; things like the weather, the way your body feels that particular day, traffic....the list goes on and on. Once you become okay with the fact that you simply can't control everything, it becomes easier to handle the things that you can control.
I know that Boston can throw a lot at me: the crowds, cold weather, rain, hills, etc, but the only thing I can do is stand at the start line and be ready for the things that I'm not ready for. I'm going to do my best to just be grateful for the opportunity of running a race like Boston. Runners all over the country spend gallons of sweat on trying to be where I will be in two weeks. I also have to remember that as of February I wasn't sure if I should even purchase a plane ticket because of some nagging injuries that delayed my training. The fact that I'm healthy right now is a blessing in itself.
Just like anything else, I can only do my best. No matter the actual outcome, I know that whatever my best happens to be, it will be good enough.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Not-So Great Clermont
I knew I shouldn't have worn that wetsuit. It has always been tight on me, even when I first bought it to brave the Black Warrior River in Tuscaloosa 2 years ago for Nationals. My body is significantly different enough (i.e, more swole) now such that it fits so poorly that my lungs can't really function.
After the race officials corralled a runaway buoy, we charged out into the water on a delayed start. I actually had a decent start, and found myself where I wanted to be in the pack of girls, (thank goodness they split the genders this year) for the most part. However, as my effort level increased to race level, my lungs were having difficulty expanding under the pressure of the too-tight neoprene. As I began to hyperventilate, I did little analysis of my situation before tarzan swimming over to a kayaker with the goal of getting the suit off to finish the swim (I probably only swam 200 m or so). The top half slipped off easily, but getting it off of my ankles was a challenge. I tried everything, it seemed. The kayaker even offered to try to pull it off, but to no avail. After a long and somewhat exhausting struggle, I found that I needed both hands to pull it off. I let go of the kayak and held my breath twice, once for each leg, and then it was off. I thanked the kayaker, left my wetsuit with her, and swam off in the direction of the turn buoy. I had difficulty cutting back on course, but after making the turn I felt strong and exactly how I wanted to feel the entire race.
I exited the water quite relieved, as my toes were going numb. I'm not sure how much time had been wasted on the kayak and in aimless swimming, but I knew it was a lot when I ran into an almost empty transition. My spirits were dampened a bit, but I tried my best to put down a decent bike split without killing it too much. I decided at some point in the opening miles that I would save myself for a decent run, since it's really all I have at the moment, fitness-wise. The bike was how I remember: long, hilly, and like a double-edged sword. I love the course, and it's really beautiful. But my legs disagreed with me. I could feel the marathon training fatigue, and my cadence slugged along as if in slow motion at times. I coasted into transition with my hopes set on a strong run split.
As I glanced down at mile one, my watch ticked to 6:45. Oomph. Maybe a little too fast after tackling the Clermont hills. After a rough next couple of miles (Ab cramps...the usual), I finally settled into a nice rhythm and felt like I was floating through the last two. I ran through the finishing shoot to some good cheers from my teammates, stopping my watch as if I had just finished an interval on the track. The race turned into a workout of sorts.
Races like these can be heartbreaking and downright disappointing. I hadn't expected much from the race in the first place, but it's always frustrating when things go wrong that are out of your control. Races rarely are completely smooth, and there's always an element of difficulty when you try to perform well at three sports in succession. I've always accepted that as a fact, but it never hurts less when something goes horribly wrong.
One thing that I have taken away from this race is that although I was by no means okay with how everything happened this morning, I was able to stave off the downward spiraling thoughts until after the race. I pulled off my wetsuit, pulled up my big girl panties, and finished. My mentality was so different than usual; it became a workout in which I paid for. It was admittedly hard to find the desire to put down good splits knowing that I was at least 10 minutes away from all of the competitors that I usually race against. I prepared myself the whole race to see that number on the clock, and my heart sank as it came into view anyway.
At least this race is a step up from 2 weeks ago, when I didn't even start. Maybe next time I can get past the swim. They don't call it multisport for nothing.
After the race officials corralled a runaway buoy, we charged out into the water on a delayed start. I actually had a decent start, and found myself where I wanted to be in the pack of girls, (thank goodness they split the genders this year) for the most part. However, as my effort level increased to race level, my lungs were having difficulty expanding under the pressure of the too-tight neoprene. As I began to hyperventilate, I did little analysis of my situation before tarzan swimming over to a kayaker with the goal of getting the suit off to finish the swim (I probably only swam 200 m or so). The top half slipped off easily, but getting it off of my ankles was a challenge. I tried everything, it seemed. The kayaker even offered to try to pull it off, but to no avail. After a long and somewhat exhausting struggle, I found that I needed both hands to pull it off. I let go of the kayak and held my breath twice, once for each leg, and then it was off. I thanked the kayaker, left my wetsuit with her, and swam off in the direction of the turn buoy. I had difficulty cutting back on course, but after making the turn I felt strong and exactly how I wanted to feel the entire race.
I exited the water quite relieved, as my toes were going numb. I'm not sure how much time had been wasted on the kayak and in aimless swimming, but I knew it was a lot when I ran into an almost empty transition. My spirits were dampened a bit, but I tried my best to put down a decent bike split without killing it too much. I decided at some point in the opening miles that I would save myself for a decent run, since it's really all I have at the moment, fitness-wise. The bike was how I remember: long, hilly, and like a double-edged sword. I love the course, and it's really beautiful. But my legs disagreed with me. I could feel the marathon training fatigue, and my cadence slugged along as if in slow motion at times. I coasted into transition with my hopes set on a strong run split.
As I glanced down at mile one, my watch ticked to 6:45. Oomph. Maybe a little too fast after tackling the Clermont hills. After a rough next couple of miles (Ab cramps...the usual), I finally settled into a nice rhythm and felt like I was floating through the last two. I ran through the finishing shoot to some good cheers from my teammates, stopping my watch as if I had just finished an interval on the track. The race turned into a workout of sorts.
Races like these can be heartbreaking and downright disappointing. I hadn't expected much from the race in the first place, but it's always frustrating when things go wrong that are out of your control. Races rarely are completely smooth, and there's always an element of difficulty when you try to perform well at three sports in succession. I've always accepted that as a fact, but it never hurts less when something goes horribly wrong.
One thing that I have taken away from this race is that although I was by no means okay with how everything happened this morning, I was able to stave off the downward spiraling thoughts until after the race. I pulled off my wetsuit, pulled up my big girl panties, and finished. My mentality was so different than usual; it became a workout in which I paid for. It was admittedly hard to find the desire to put down good splits knowing that I was at least 10 minutes away from all of the competitors that I usually race against. I prepared myself the whole race to see that number on the clock, and my heart sank as it came into view anyway.
At least this race is a step up from 2 weeks ago, when I didn't even start. Maybe next time I can get past the swim. They don't call it multisport for nothing.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Chronic
What if I told you that the reason that many endurance athletes go through more cycles of rehab than training is simply because of their personality? Would you believe me?
There are two different categories of people: people with intrinsically high stress levels and those with more moderate to low stress levels, even in the absence of external loads. High stress individuals tend to worry about things they can't control, exaggerate situations (both those that have already happened and ones that have not yet occurred), and have an endless supply of things to be stressed about. These people can get stressed on a Hawaii cruise, lying in a hammock, or while sipping Mai-tai's on the beach. Okay, that's an exaggeration. My point is, however, that there are just certain personality characteristics that create a person who is chronically stressed, whether they realize it or not.
Stress wreaks more havoc on the body than Big Macs, soda, or birthday cake. Being stressed all the time is equivalent (hormone-wise) to being injured chronically. Your body is constantly dumping those inflammatory hormones into the blood, even though there is no real "injury". During times of stress (life and training alike), Corticotropic releasing hormone (CRH) is secreted from the pituitary, causing the release of adrenocorticotropic horomone (ACTH). Levels of cortisol, epinephrine, and norepinephrine follow suit. Even if you've never taken physiology, you should gather that this can have some pretty negative effects on the body.
The issue with having chronically high stress levels is that the body never recovers from the external stressor of training. Training is, after all, controlled injury of the body's musculoskeletal system (and the nervous system hates it that it has to clean up the mess of microtears, whacked thermoregulation, etc.). The way the nervous system copes with stress is typically by down-regulating during sleep--brain waves are slower and more rhythmic, the heart rate slows and parasympathetic tone increases system-wide. This is the reason that one of the hallmark signs of overtraining is an elevated heart rate upon waking. This down-regulation never occurred, because the nervous system is still sending sympathetic signals to the heart, despite the body's resting state. It's also the reason for irritability in athletes who have been working too hard; the nervous system is overloaded and fails to elicit the proper response to certain emotions.
So, as athletes and overachievers, how do we deal with this? Although we may not be able to alter our intrinsic stress levels, we can manipulate our extrinsic stress levels. We all know the things that make us happy, and we have to use them as recovery tool. Just as we will spend 30 minutes on a foam roller, sit in an ice bath, or wear compression socks, we need to read a good book or magazine, watch a comedy, spend valuable time with friends and family, or go someplace beautiful. I know a lot of this is obvious, and many of us do these things already. But it's worth a reminder, especially when you're marathon or half-Ironman training and you think that your every move must be careful and measured. It's also important to remember that the timing of these modes of recovery is just as important as those that deal with the body itself. Be sure to get in that mental recovery shortly after a long training week, a 20 mile run, or those heavy deadlifts. Your body (and nervous system) will thank you.
There are two different categories of people: people with intrinsically high stress levels and those with more moderate to low stress levels, even in the absence of external loads. High stress individuals tend to worry about things they can't control, exaggerate situations (both those that have already happened and ones that have not yet occurred), and have an endless supply of things to be stressed about. These people can get stressed on a Hawaii cruise, lying in a hammock, or while sipping Mai-tai's on the beach. Okay, that's an exaggeration. My point is, however, that there are just certain personality characteristics that create a person who is chronically stressed, whether they realize it or not.
Stress wreaks more havoc on the body than Big Macs, soda, or birthday cake. Being stressed all the time is equivalent (hormone-wise) to being injured chronically. Your body is constantly dumping those inflammatory hormones into the blood, even though there is no real "injury". During times of stress (life and training alike), Corticotropic releasing hormone (CRH) is secreted from the pituitary, causing the release of adrenocorticotropic horomone (ACTH). Levels of cortisol, epinephrine, and norepinephrine follow suit. Even if you've never taken physiology, you should gather that this can have some pretty negative effects on the body.
The issue with having chronically high stress levels is that the body never recovers from the external stressor of training. Training is, after all, controlled injury of the body's musculoskeletal system (and the nervous system hates it that it has to clean up the mess of microtears, whacked thermoregulation, etc.). The way the nervous system copes with stress is typically by down-regulating during sleep--brain waves are slower and more rhythmic, the heart rate slows and parasympathetic tone increases system-wide. This is the reason that one of the hallmark signs of overtraining is an elevated heart rate upon waking. This down-regulation never occurred, because the nervous system is still sending sympathetic signals to the heart, despite the body's resting state. It's also the reason for irritability in athletes who have been working too hard; the nervous system is overloaded and fails to elicit the proper response to certain emotions.
So, as athletes and overachievers, how do we deal with this? Although we may not be able to alter our intrinsic stress levels, we can manipulate our extrinsic stress levels. We all know the things that make us happy, and we have to use them as recovery tool. Just as we will spend 30 minutes on a foam roller, sit in an ice bath, or wear compression socks, we need to read a good book or magazine, watch a comedy, spend valuable time with friends and family, or go someplace beautiful. I know a lot of this is obvious, and many of us do these things already. But it's worth a reminder, especially when you're marathon or half-Ironman training and you think that your every move must be careful and measured. It's also important to remember that the timing of these modes of recovery is just as important as those that deal with the body itself. Be sure to get in that mental recovery shortly after a long training week, a 20 mile run, or those heavy deadlifts. Your body (and nervous system) will thank you.
Boston Hopes
I said that I wouldn't have any goals for Boston other than enjoying the race. I wrote the word "goals" in dry erase marker on the board hanging in my room and drew an "x" through it. I did everything I could to eschew any thought that had even a hint of expectation.Then I couldn't do it any longer. With Boston a few sunrises more than a month away, I can't help but wonder (and wish) about what time I will run on April 15th.
My goal going into my first marathon was 3:20. I was fully capable of doing so, with training going extremely well...until a hamstring injury 3 weeks away from the race. But I honestly don't think that it was the injury that made me fall 3 minutes too slow. I didn't realize until I was Facebook creeping myself last week (I had the splits posted to my page that morning) that I went out too hard. It should have been obvious in the aftermath of the race, but I was feeling bulletproof at the time and thought that I could, in fact, hold a 7:30 pace the entire race. How fast did I start, you ask? I was still running sub 7:30 miles around mile 10, and I saw the 3:15 pace group up until mile 12 or so.
So, then, what makes me imagine that I can do it this time, considering training isn't going so well and I'm not near as fit as I was a year and a half ago? I don't think I have to be as fit as I was to run 3:20. In fact,being slightly undertrained may help keep the pace on the slower end in the beginning before I settle into that 7:37 pace.
I'm scaring myself with this belief. I just really wanted to float along the streets of Boston and into running history bliss. Now I'm going to have my best exertion-induced pain face on as I pass the girls of Wellesley on my way to Heartbreak hill.
The elevation changes in Boston are going to be hard for this Florida flat trained girl to handle. The hills are one of the many reasons that I decided not to make a goal for the race. On second thought, though, I've always believed that you can do whatever needs to be done on a given day. One of my favorite sayings is that my heart can carry me over the finish line faster than my legs ever will. If the desire is truly there, I should be able to handle the hills as if I've been training in Colorado since December.
Although I can imagine seeing 3:20:?? on the clock, I also won't be too disappointed if I don't. Just as I'm wildly optimistic, I'm also steadily realistic. I'm going to give it my best shot and cross the finish line with a smile (or a grimace that looks like a smile) on my face.
My goal going into my first marathon was 3:20. I was fully capable of doing so, with training going extremely well...until a hamstring injury 3 weeks away from the race. But I honestly don't think that it was the injury that made me fall 3 minutes too slow. I didn't realize until I was Facebook creeping myself last week (I had the splits posted to my page that morning) that I went out too hard. It should have been obvious in the aftermath of the race, but I was feeling bulletproof at the time and thought that I could, in fact, hold a 7:30 pace the entire race. How fast did I start, you ask? I was still running sub 7:30 miles around mile 10, and I saw the 3:15 pace group up until mile 12 or so.
So, then, what makes me imagine that I can do it this time, considering training isn't going so well and I'm not near as fit as I was a year and a half ago? I don't think I have to be as fit as I was to run 3:20. In fact,being slightly undertrained may help keep the pace on the slower end in the beginning before I settle into that 7:37 pace.
I'm scaring myself with this belief. I just really wanted to float along the streets of Boston and into running history bliss. Now I'm going to have my best exertion-induced pain face on as I pass the girls of Wellesley on my way to Heartbreak hill.
The elevation changes in Boston are going to be hard for this Florida flat trained girl to handle. The hills are one of the many reasons that I decided not to make a goal for the race. On second thought, though, I've always believed that you can do whatever needs to be done on a given day. One of my favorite sayings is that my heart can carry me over the finish line faster than my legs ever will. If the desire is truly there, I should be able to handle the hills as if I've been training in Colorado since December.
Although I can imagine seeing 3:20:?? on the clock, I also won't be too disappointed if I don't. Just as I'm wildly optimistic, I'm also steadily realistic. I'm going to give it my best shot and cross the finish line with a smile (or a grimace that looks like a smile) on my face.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Words
Much like the words get lost in the melody of a song, thoughts can get lost in their intangibility. Thoughts are literally electrical messages buzzing along the neurons of our brains, and oftentimes they don't make sense until they are made tangible by saying them aloud or writing them down. I can't tell you how many times I've written paragraphs in Microsoft Word in order to sort out a situation. Nine times out of ten I re-read what I've furiously typed out and come to the conclusion that what I was thinking doesn't make sense at all.
I write mostly because I just enjoy the act of putting thoughts to a page, whether eloquent or brash. There's something about the articulation of a thought into words that make the thought more understandable. Somehow, words in the brain are different than words on paper (or a computer screen). Most of my writing isn't, and doesn't intend to be, well said. The more I write, the more I realize that I have an unfortunate love affair with run-on sentences, outlandish metaphors, and strange similes. But that's why it's fun to me. I'm generally not a creative person, but writing gives me an arena in which I define the meaning of the word "creative".
I wrote countless essays in high school, most of which were four paragraphs of spoon-feeding my English teachers with symbolism, metaphors, and elegantly dressed sentences disguised as profound thought. I was pretty good at that kind of writing, and, albeit stressful, I enjoyed it in a strange way. Nothing was more exciting than getting an essay prompt that wasn't dreadfully annoying. That kind of writing was structured, rigid, and just plain unnecessary. I'm a firm believer that writing is up for interpretation by the reader, and the reader only; but I found myself writing pages upon pages about how an author foreshadowed certain events, used mundane objects as symbols, and making connections between characters. But whose to say I'm right or wrong? Who made up these extensive lists of what an author meant to convey when they wrote a given piece years ago? I could gripe about the multiple choice questions we had to answer, but I think that would become berating and boring for even me to read. Luckily, writing a blog has no structure or rules. Sure, it's called "On the Run", but here I am, writing about writing and not running. How empowering.
As long as I have thoughts, I will write. As long as I write, I will make up crazy metaphors and similes, and I will be impressed in how little sense they actually make. But they help me make sense of everything else.
I write mostly because I just enjoy the act of putting thoughts to a page, whether eloquent or brash. There's something about the articulation of a thought into words that make the thought more understandable. Somehow, words in the brain are different than words on paper (or a computer screen). Most of my writing isn't, and doesn't intend to be, well said. The more I write, the more I realize that I have an unfortunate love affair with run-on sentences, outlandish metaphors, and strange similes. But that's why it's fun to me. I'm generally not a creative person, but writing gives me an arena in which I define the meaning of the word "creative".
I wrote countless essays in high school, most of which were four paragraphs of spoon-feeding my English teachers with symbolism, metaphors, and elegantly dressed sentences disguised as profound thought. I was pretty good at that kind of writing, and, albeit stressful, I enjoyed it in a strange way. Nothing was more exciting than getting an essay prompt that wasn't dreadfully annoying. That kind of writing was structured, rigid, and just plain unnecessary. I'm a firm believer that writing is up for interpretation by the reader, and the reader only; but I found myself writing pages upon pages about how an author foreshadowed certain events, used mundane objects as symbols, and making connections between characters. But whose to say I'm right or wrong? Who made up these extensive lists of what an author meant to convey when they wrote a given piece years ago? I could gripe about the multiple choice questions we had to answer, but I think that would become berating and boring for even me to read. Luckily, writing a blog has no structure or rules. Sure, it's called "On the Run", but here I am, writing about writing and not running. How empowering.
As long as I have thoughts, I will write. As long as I write, I will make up crazy metaphors and similes, and I will be impressed in how little sense they actually make. But they help me make sense of everything else.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Personal training trained me
I walked into the Student Recreation and fitness Center here at UF in July of 2010 with the objective of finding out about the personal training class that RecSports (the campus recreation company) was offering that fall. Little did I know that my simple inquiry would turn into something that would change my life completely. Sure, I refined my knowledge about exercise and programming, but the biggest takeaway I've acquired thus far is the ability to interact with people and decipher them; not just the way that they move, but also the way they think.
I remember the first training session that I conducted; I still consider myself lucky that our training shirts are black. I was so nervous that I was sweating profusely and my voice was shaking. The word (if it even is a word?) "Um" stuck itself between my words, even as I explained a simple squat--something I have done a million times before myself. I never thought that exercise would be so hard to demonstrate. Sure, we had practiced exercise cuing multiple times, and I was definitely prepared to do so. But with my first client standing attentively in front of me, I froze like a shy middle schooler in a talent show. I knew what to do, but I didn't have the confidence to spit it out.
Let's just say that the trainer who couldn't explain a squat doesn't work at the gym anymore.
I've been lifting since 9th grade. I took a weight training class as an elective my freshman year and learned how to bench, squat, clean 50 lbs (also known as picking the weight off of the floor and bringing it to your chest, no form required to pass the class), and fall asleep on the leg extension machine. We did most of our lifts in pyramids, starting with 60% 1RM and ending sometimes as high 95% 1RM. So in other words, I lifted like a football player. I still like this technique, and it helped me increase my bench from 55lbs (that's the bar plus 5 lbs on each side) to 95lbs by the end of the year. But there's definitely much better methods than this. Over the next two years of high school, I played around with different workout schemes at my local YMCA, drawing exercises from other gym-goers and the occasional group exercise class that I attended. I knew a lot about fitness, but programming was another story; let alone monitoring that of someone else. I've learned how to progress, adapt, and track progress. I made up a system with blocks of 4 workouts in order to remain consistent yet innovative. It's a far cry from the mini spiral notebook that I haphazardly used to keep workouts in.
Contrary to popular belief (and perhaps at one time my own), personal training is not inventing crazy exercises in order to impress others and gathering stares from other gym patrons like daisies. You can't judge a personal trainer by their exercises, but you can by how they convey the exercises that they spent so much time putting together. So much of personal training is building a fitness experience; creating a one hour "world" of sorts. Understanding what type of world each client needs is the pillar of training someone to accomplish a goal. The large amount of psychology that is involved in training someone should have been obvious to me when I decided to become a trainer, but it somehow took me by surprise.(You mean, I have to apply all of my knowledge while being entertaining AND funny?)
I've learned so much over the past 2 years as a personal trainer, and the experience that I've gained will undoubtedly springboard me into an awesome future career. When I think about how far I've come from stuttering through my exercise cues, I can't help but smile. Learning how to train well has been a long and arduous process, and one that I doubted at times that I could complete. It takes a lot of confidence to hold someone's health in your hands and not being afraid of dropping it.
I'm not worried about that anymore. I have a firm grip.
I remember the first training session that I conducted; I still consider myself lucky that our training shirts are black. I was so nervous that I was sweating profusely and my voice was shaking. The word (if it even is a word?) "Um" stuck itself between my words, even as I explained a simple squat--something I have done a million times before myself. I never thought that exercise would be so hard to demonstrate. Sure, we had practiced exercise cuing multiple times, and I was definitely prepared to do so. But with my first client standing attentively in front of me, I froze like a shy middle schooler in a talent show. I knew what to do, but I didn't have the confidence to spit it out.
Let's just say that the trainer who couldn't explain a squat doesn't work at the gym anymore.
I've been lifting since 9th grade. I took a weight training class as an elective my freshman year and learned how to bench, squat, clean 50 lbs (also known as picking the weight off of the floor and bringing it to your chest, no form required to pass the class), and fall asleep on the leg extension machine. We did most of our lifts in pyramids, starting with 60% 1RM and ending sometimes as high 95% 1RM. So in other words, I lifted like a football player. I still like this technique, and it helped me increase my bench from 55lbs (that's the bar plus 5 lbs on each side) to 95lbs by the end of the year. But there's definitely much better methods than this. Over the next two years of high school, I played around with different workout schemes at my local YMCA, drawing exercises from other gym-goers and the occasional group exercise class that I attended. I knew a lot about fitness, but programming was another story; let alone monitoring that of someone else. I've learned how to progress, adapt, and track progress. I made up a system with blocks of 4 workouts in order to remain consistent yet innovative. It's a far cry from the mini spiral notebook that I haphazardly used to keep workouts in.
Contrary to popular belief (and perhaps at one time my own), personal training is not inventing crazy exercises in order to impress others and gathering stares from other gym patrons like daisies. You can't judge a personal trainer by their exercises, but you can by how they convey the exercises that they spent so much time putting together. So much of personal training is building a fitness experience; creating a one hour "world" of sorts. Understanding what type of world each client needs is the pillar of training someone to accomplish a goal. The large amount of psychology that is involved in training someone should have been obvious to me when I decided to become a trainer, but it somehow took me by surprise.(You mean, I have to apply all of my knowledge while being entertaining AND funny?)
I've learned so much over the past 2 years as a personal trainer, and the experience that I've gained will undoubtedly springboard me into an awesome future career. When I think about how far I've come from stuttering through my exercise cues, I can't help but smile. Learning how to train well has been a long and arduous process, and one that I doubted at times that I could complete. It takes a lot of confidence to hold someone's health in your hands and not being afraid of dropping it.
I'm not worried about that anymore. I have a firm grip.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Endurance sports are like rap music....ridiculous.
I think that part of the appeal of endurance sports, much like rap music, is the fact that it's ridiculous, and doesn't reflect real life. Just as it's crazy to spend hours on the roads or in the pool, it's quite outlandish that bandz make her dance. Or that starships were meant to fly (what's a starship, anyway?).
Training and racing are a life away from life. Reality doesn't exist whilst my body is in motion. I get lost in the effort, finding transient clarity that dissipates shortly after a workout is over. I often finish workouts and wonder "Why am I doing this again?" Similarly, when a rap song is over, I wonder "Wait, what did you just say?". So here's my attempt to tie-dye the two worlds of endurance sports and rap music:
I'm not sure what's it's like to move my body like a cyclone on the dance floor, but I can imagine that's what my swimming technique looks like.
No, Kanye, I don't know what it feels like to be drunk and high at the same time by poppin' champagne on an airplane, but it probably feels like finishing a PR-attempt 5K race.
I can identify with Jay-Z; I really do have 99 problems. My hip flexors are tight, my ankles don't want to flex anymore, my lats twitch when I reach for my cereal in the morning. Races get more expensive every year, I'm never satisfied with the amount of workout clothes I have, and I eat enough for two people. I won't go into all 99, but you get the idea.
I love to wobble, except when I get off my bike in an Olympic distance triathlon.
I pound the alarm every time I have to wake up at 5 for a race.I fill my glass up just a little more (with Gatorade) and get ready to show these girls that I own 'em(....some call me Nicki and some me Roman...) And I obviously get sexy and hotter during a race.
When I'm doing a triathlon, I run into transition thinking "on to the next one, on on to the next one..."
Running is my form of booty work. I can't work one cheek at a time when I dance, but I can when I run.
No matter how difficult a workout is or how outrageous a rap song is, (Thrift Shop, anyone?) I'll always come back for more.
Training and racing are a life away from life. Reality doesn't exist whilst my body is in motion. I get lost in the effort, finding transient clarity that dissipates shortly after a workout is over. I often finish workouts and wonder "Why am I doing this again?" Similarly, when a rap song is over, I wonder "Wait, what did you just say?". So here's my attempt to tie-dye the two worlds of endurance sports and rap music:
I'm not sure what's it's like to move my body like a cyclone on the dance floor, but I can imagine that's what my swimming technique looks like.
No, Kanye, I don't know what it feels like to be drunk and high at the same time by poppin' champagne on an airplane, but it probably feels like finishing a PR-attempt 5K race.
I can identify with Jay-Z; I really do have 99 problems. My hip flexors are tight, my ankles don't want to flex anymore, my lats twitch when I reach for my cereal in the morning. Races get more expensive every year, I'm never satisfied with the amount of workout clothes I have, and I eat enough for two people. I won't go into all 99, but you get the idea.
I love to wobble, except when I get off my bike in an Olympic distance triathlon.
I pound the alarm every time I have to wake up at 5 for a race.I fill my glass up just a little more (with Gatorade) and get ready to show these girls that I own 'em(....some call me Nicki and some me Roman...) And I obviously get sexy and hotter during a race.
When I'm doing a triathlon, I run into transition thinking "on to the next one, on on to the next one..."
Running is my form of booty work. I can't work one cheek at a time when I dance, but I can when I run.
No matter how difficult a workout is or how outrageous a rap song is, (Thrift Shop, anyone?) I'll always come back for more.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Finding out who you are...revised.
When presented with an obstacle, we can find out a lot about ourselves. Whether its dealing with the suffering in a race, a life disappointment, or even failure. I like to say that what defines my character is how I act when things are going well, however I'm starting to realize that the reality is the exact opposite.
Just like that quote from middle school-- "Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% of how we react to it", (err...something like that) we show our true colors in the face of adversity. It has a lot to do with perspective; how you categorize a situation in your mind. Sometimes even the most minor mishap can balloon to a catastrophe if you choose it to be so. To the same tune, a huge roadblock can become even taller if you panic about how to get around it. We seem most inclined to take the path of least resistance, which in most cases is allowing that negativity to get the better of us.
Okay, so I'm about to do something really weird with this post.
I was sifting through the multiple (scatterbrained) blog drafts that I have, and when I came across this one it stopped me in my tracks. I really like this pair of paragraphs, but there's something wrong, particularly with the first one. You can tell that I truly believed that I was defined by my occasional meltdowns...which was not too far from the truth at the time. I think I wrote this in November 2011, which was in the midst of one of my roughest semesters. Such a paradigm was not uncommon for me at the time. I can tell that if I had finished this blog, it would probably be a 500 word paradox. I would have tried to sort out my situation, arriving at the conclusion that I simply had a faulty outlook on life and that there was nothing that I could do about it. I had clearly lost my rose colored glasses. It's taken me about a year and a half, but I found them again.
There's no reason to believe that life is anything other than beautiful. Even if it's a beautiful mess, it's still beautiful. When you start to look at the world as something that keeps going round rather than something that stands still at times, it gives you a new perspective. As aforementioned, how we categorize events in our minds affects our outlook and attitude. Attitude is ours to own and to protect.
I had always believed (and told others) that people can change if they are willing and have the right environment. Sure, it sounded nice in my blog, but I realized that there is some intangible factor that must be added in. If I could tell you what it is, I would. It's a combination of the concrete and abstract;the product of other people, feelings, long thought trains, situations. Somewhere along the way I had a "life: you're doing it wrong" moment. I'm far from perfect (aren't we all?) and that's exactly how I want it.
Life isn't success.
Life isn't a GPA or test score.
Life isn't a race.
Life isn't proficiency.
Life is doing the things that you couldn't live without with the people that you couldn't live without.
PS: There was nothing too terribly wrong about what I wrote. But there was something wrong with the standpoint in which I was writing. I don't often publish emotional drafts, but when I do, I edit them first ;)
Just like that quote from middle school-- "Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% of how we react to it", (err...something like that) we show our true colors in the face of adversity. It has a lot to do with perspective; how you categorize a situation in your mind. Sometimes even the most minor mishap can balloon to a catastrophe if you choose it to be so. To the same tune, a huge roadblock can become even taller if you panic about how to get around it. We seem most inclined to take the path of least resistance, which in most cases is allowing that negativity to get the better of us.
Okay, so I'm about to do something really weird with this post.
I was sifting through the multiple (scatterbrained) blog drafts that I have, and when I came across this one it stopped me in my tracks. I really like this pair of paragraphs, but there's something wrong, particularly with the first one. You can tell that I truly believed that I was defined by my occasional meltdowns...which was not too far from the truth at the time. I think I wrote this in November 2011, which was in the midst of one of my roughest semesters. Such a paradigm was not uncommon for me at the time. I can tell that if I had finished this blog, it would probably be a 500 word paradox. I would have tried to sort out my situation, arriving at the conclusion that I simply had a faulty outlook on life and that there was nothing that I could do about it. I had clearly lost my rose colored glasses. It's taken me about a year and a half, but I found them again.
There's no reason to believe that life is anything other than beautiful. Even if it's a beautiful mess, it's still beautiful. When you start to look at the world as something that keeps going round rather than something that stands still at times, it gives you a new perspective. As aforementioned, how we categorize events in our minds affects our outlook and attitude. Attitude is ours to own and to protect.
I had always believed (and told others) that people can change if they are willing and have the right environment. Sure, it sounded nice in my blog, but I realized that there is some intangible factor that must be added in. If I could tell you what it is, I would. It's a combination of the concrete and abstract;the product of other people, feelings, long thought trains, situations. Somewhere along the way I had a "life: you're doing it wrong" moment. I'm far from perfect (aren't we all?) and that's exactly how I want it.
Life isn't success.
Life isn't a GPA or test score.
Life isn't a race.
Life isn't proficiency.
Life is doing the things that you couldn't live without with the people that you couldn't live without.
PS: There was nothing too terribly wrong about what I wrote. But there was something wrong with the standpoint in which I was writing. I don't often publish emotional drafts, but when I do, I edit them first ;)
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Reminiscing
While I was home over winter break, I did a lot of reminiscing. It was just so easy to do, with dusty old trophies, high school shirts, and our home cross country course a mere 3 minute drive from my house. And then I found this gem above. This picture was taken moments after I ran my high school PR at Polk Community College at the 2008 regional championship (time: 21:18). I love this photo because of the awkward contrast between the jubilant expression on my mom's face and the misery on mine. I remember exactly how I felt when this was taken: delirious, exhausted, but deeply happy and satisfied. Our team had a great race, and we qualified for states. Everyone had season PR's, and it felt even better because we went to the race knowing that we were on the borderline of qualification. Those were the days. I knew at this point that I loved cross country and running, and I can't wait until this awesome sport comes back into my life down the road.
I took a run to Wall Springs Park (our home course) and sat on the bench where our team convened before our races. As I ran my fingers down the imperfectly painted wood, I thought of all the memories I had there. My only cross country win. The mysterious calf cramps. Leading the race the wrong way, and making it a 6K (I'm getting everybody ready for college, coach...). From where I was sitting, I could see the finish line and the first mile marker. Every time I ran past that point, I would look to coach with hopeful eyes...and then hear "6:20...6:21...". Shi--, I remember thinking, that's too fast! Again! I'm gonna die! And I almost always did.
Cross country taught me a lot of things. It taught me that 5K's really hurt. It taught me perseverance. Being a captain taught me leadership, and the people that I met taught me about friendship. I learned about proper training, which I didn't do until college; but without that crash course and first-hand experience, I wouldn't have been able to be the athlete and coach that I am today. Cross country lit a competitive fire in me that was unlike any soccer match that I played. Although I may have been running alone at the time, I could always feel the weight of my team's accountability on my shoulders when another jersey passed me. It was like watching points getting added to the scoreboard, slowly and painfully.
Sometimes I felt like this......and other times I felt more like this,
but cross country will always have a place in my heart.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
How to make real resolutions
The end of the year is a popular time for people to assess the 365 days that have past and to look forward those that lie ahead. Although we could theoretically do this any time of the year, it just seems appropriate to look at the big picture as the curtains are opening to another year. Some people take the time to make New Year's resolutions, and others take the time to scoff at the people who do. Most resolutions float away like a balloon at a child's 3rd birthday party; dissipating into thin air somewhere around the beginning of February. Why does this happen? How can something that we care about changing become just another thought in dreamland?
It's not because most resolutions are too idealistic. Any change we want to see in ourselves is possible. The problem is that people are too focused on the outcome and not the little steps that they have to take to get there. Rome wasn't built in a day, and a lifestyle change is not likely to be built in a year. Sure, that "big picture" has to be there, because that is what you'll ultimately be painting. But just as you wouldn't throw a can of paint on a canvas, you have to plan out and execute the individual brush strokes. I find that the best way to do this is to work backwards. The hardest part is how to start solving a problem, (any physics student will tell you that) so it's comforting to start with what you know best: where you want to be. Think of all the things that must happen for your resolution to become a reality, and start with the easiest one to accomplish in the present. Then, you're on your way. Before you know it, you'll be looking at a long list of positives that you've introduced into your life. That's better than just looking at the big goal, if you ask me.
Resolutions fail because we tend to look at things through a superficial lens. Oftentimes, we look at certain aspects of our lives too objectively. We see something wrong, and so we attempt to fix it; we take little time in discovering what may have caused the problem in the first place. It's kind of like saying that a headache is a [insert pain medication name here] deficiency. People don't get headaches from not taking enough Advil...that's absurd. There was something that caused the headache in the first place, and ultimately remedying the cause is the best way to get rid of and prevent future maladies. Ask yourself why you want this change, and why you need this change. Take it a step further and ponder if the answer isn't the first one that comes to mind. One example of this is a musculoskeletal injury. Pain in one location is almost certainly caused by a weakness in another, less obvious location. A good metaphor for this (I read this in an article and therefore can't take credit for it's brilliance) is wrapping a thera-band around the back of your head and pulling tightly. You will feel the pain in the back of your neck, but that isn't the origin of the pain. The origin of the pain is the tension in the band, which is located distally from your head. Looking past the obvious is difficult, because it seems most logical. Take some time to delve into the reasons why you are making this resolution. It just might help you in making those little steps.
No resolution stands a chance when it's attacked alone. Even the most disciplined people in the world have someone to report to. It's disappointing to let yourself down, but it's even more disappointing to let someone else down. Whether it be a coach, a friend, a parent, or teacher...human nature has constructed this mentality that others matter more than ourselves. Surround yourself with people either with the same goal or who care about your goal. I've always said to surround yourself with people who model the behavior that you want to see in yourself, but it's even more important to have people who have a modulating role in your life. Fear of disappointment can be extremely powerful if it is handled in the right way.
The word resolution gets a lot of flack because it's usually associated with crowded gyms, sold out bags of spinach and boneless chicken breasts, and February blues. But it doesn't have to be that way. It's totally possible to stick to a New Year's resolution, even if they are a weird concept (I've always thought it strange that people think they have a clean slate and new lease on life because it's January 1st). The beginning of the year is as good as any other to make life improvements. In the meantime, I'll be grumbling through the new gym crowd.
For the record: I do have some resolutions this year, and none of them are fitness related. In short, my encompassing thought heading into 2013 is to make my "worlds" (school, friends, triathlon, personal training, work) work together better. I will live my life as a whole, rather than in sections. I will show people that I love them, rather than merely saying so. I will be healthier from the inside out, pouring into my passions without spreading myself too thin.
Happy New Year all! Make good choices!
It's not because most resolutions are too idealistic. Any change we want to see in ourselves is possible. The problem is that people are too focused on the outcome and not the little steps that they have to take to get there. Rome wasn't built in a day, and a lifestyle change is not likely to be built in a year. Sure, that "big picture" has to be there, because that is what you'll ultimately be painting. But just as you wouldn't throw a can of paint on a canvas, you have to plan out and execute the individual brush strokes. I find that the best way to do this is to work backwards. The hardest part is how to start solving a problem, (any physics student will tell you that) so it's comforting to start with what you know best: where you want to be. Think of all the things that must happen for your resolution to become a reality, and start with the easiest one to accomplish in the present. Then, you're on your way. Before you know it, you'll be looking at a long list of positives that you've introduced into your life. That's better than just looking at the big goal, if you ask me.
Resolutions fail because we tend to look at things through a superficial lens. Oftentimes, we look at certain aspects of our lives too objectively. We see something wrong, and so we attempt to fix it; we take little time in discovering what may have caused the problem in the first place. It's kind of like saying that a headache is a [insert pain medication name here] deficiency. People don't get headaches from not taking enough Advil...that's absurd. There was something that caused the headache in the first place, and ultimately remedying the cause is the best way to get rid of and prevent future maladies. Ask yourself why you want this change, and why you need this change. Take it a step further and ponder if the answer isn't the first one that comes to mind. One example of this is a musculoskeletal injury. Pain in one location is almost certainly caused by a weakness in another, less obvious location. A good metaphor for this (I read this in an article and therefore can't take credit for it's brilliance) is wrapping a thera-band around the back of your head and pulling tightly. You will feel the pain in the back of your neck, but that isn't the origin of the pain. The origin of the pain is the tension in the band, which is located distally from your head. Looking past the obvious is difficult, because it seems most logical. Take some time to delve into the reasons why you are making this resolution. It just might help you in making those little steps.
No resolution stands a chance when it's attacked alone. Even the most disciplined people in the world have someone to report to. It's disappointing to let yourself down, but it's even more disappointing to let someone else down. Whether it be a coach, a friend, a parent, or teacher...human nature has constructed this mentality that others matter more than ourselves. Surround yourself with people either with the same goal or who care about your goal. I've always said to surround yourself with people who model the behavior that you want to see in yourself, but it's even more important to have people who have a modulating role in your life. Fear of disappointment can be extremely powerful if it is handled in the right way.
The word resolution gets a lot of flack because it's usually associated with crowded gyms, sold out bags of spinach and boneless chicken breasts, and February blues. But it doesn't have to be that way. It's totally possible to stick to a New Year's resolution, even if they are a weird concept (I've always thought it strange that people think they have a clean slate and new lease on life because it's January 1st). The beginning of the year is as good as any other to make life improvements. In the meantime, I'll be grumbling through the new gym crowd.
For the record: I do have some resolutions this year, and none of them are fitness related. In short, my encompassing thought heading into 2013 is to make my "worlds" (school, friends, triathlon, personal training, work) work together better. I will live my life as a whole, rather than in sections. I will show people that I love them, rather than merely saying so. I will be healthier from the inside out, pouring into my passions without spreading myself too thin.
Happy New Year all! Make good choices!
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