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."
Sunday, July 7, 2013
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.
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