I can't remember what I was listening to...
but I do remember that I was driving and I was alone and it was glorious.
You know those moments where you're zoned on autopilot, driving to some location that you could navigate to in your sleep and all of a sudden, you hear something in the background that catches your attention.
It must have been a program on NPR and the interviewer was quoting the famous Irish playwright, Samuel Beckett, to which he said,
"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
And I was riveted.
Lately, I've been passionate about the concept of imperfection. After so many moons of needing to be in control, worried about what others think or how I'm perceived, I've decided that the messy life full of authentic, real, raw relationships is the place I want to be.
I just simply don't have the energy, the means or the interest in putting on a show.
That said, there are parts of me that want to get better and I find that when it gets down to it, I will push, but often stop when it's clear that if I push harder, I will most likely fail.
This happened to me during my most recent race. I really wanted to PR or set a new personal record. Once you run a race of a specific distance like a half marathon, you have a benchmark time. Every subsequent race allows you the opportunity to run it faster or to arrive at a new PR.
Not knowing the course since the race was in its inaugural year, I decided that I would join a pace group. The question was do I join the group that is 10 minutes faster than my current PR or 10 minutes slower? Do I start fast and try to keep the pace or do I start slow, conserve my energy and then shoot out of the gate with a few miles left?
I started with the slower pace group because this is who I am at heart...radically fearful that I won't be able to hack the pace. And then literally less than two miles in, I took off, because that's also the person I am, fearful that I won't actualize my full potential if I don't and not very good at staying the course.
I was jamming for the first 10 miles and then, the monotony of the course hit, my mojo started waning and all of the sudden, I saw my original pace group not far behind me. Instantaneously, I kicked it into gear and ran as hard as I could vowing that I would leave everything I had on the course.
I PR'd but only by two minutes...not a huge win, but encouraging nonetheless.
In 2014, my mantra was "Fuck Fear." It served me well. I ran my first marathon, a 78-mile relay race and a half marathon. I started writing more. And I got closer to pushing the envelope with relationships that were important to me.
In 2015, I'm leaning towards, "Fail better." I want to go bigger, bolder, harder knowing that I'm absolutely going to fall on my face in the process, but that there won't be any regrets hanging by the wayside.
I read today that Sam Simon, co-creator of The Simpsons is dying of colon cancer. He's giving his $100 million fortune away to charity. At the age of 59, he said that cancer, while painful and heart breaking teaches you very quickly about what's important. And it's not money. It's going after what makes your heart sing and helping others pursue their dreams along the way.
Maybe we should all seek to fail better.
Showing posts with label Lessons Learned. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lessons Learned. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Sunday, April 13, 2014
20 Miles of Mistakes
It was the last one.
The final push.
The biggest training run to date...20 miles.
And in a nutshell, it was b.r.u.t.a.l.
To the credit of the run itself, I did sort of set myself up for a rough go. The night before, I got a 90-minute deep tissue massage. You know the one I'm talking about....where the therapist asks you if she's applying enough pressure right at the moment that you're certain she's broken your back and you meekly say, "Ya...I'm good," while you wince and try to focus on your breathing and stay calm.
And then, because she's dispelled the mother lode of toxins into your system, you're supposed to drink a trough of water and pee your brains out. Instead, I went to book club and drank vodka, took some ibuprofen and went to bed.
I woke up at 6am with the intent of getting out the door early. I was expecting the run to take me close to four hours and the temperature was already 60 degrees at 7am. So, after applying a shit ton of sunscreen and body glide, I said a prayer and left.
Almost immediately, it didn't feel right. I was hot, like sticky, can't get my breathing under control, nasty humid hot. And then, to literally add fuel to the fire, I decided to try a different brand of nutrition, hell bent to find some gu that I could digest. And my stomach was in knots.
The first 13 miles were more than doable, but by the time I got to mile 15, I was beyond sluggish. I play this game with myself where I refuse to walk unless I'm forced by another pedestrian, a cross walk, etc...but yesterday, I found myself defaulting to a walk and I knew I was in for it.
By mile 18, I ran out of water. I carry my agua on my back in a 70 ounce Camelbak. And well, given that it was sunny and 80 degrees at that point, I was fucked.
I barely eeked out the final two miles, when literally two blocks from my house, my knees buckled and my ass hit the trail and I called my husband to come and get me. I was furious. I came home and puked and cried.
I had done the mileage, but it was the most miserable run to date and it was the last one before the race. Not a good way to go out.
Feeling like a failure, I got dressed up and headed to a friends' surprise birthday party and chatted with one of my besties. It was in that dialogue that it all came together...
"I feel like a fucking loser." (me)
"Naw...what did you learn?"
"Good God, what did I not learn. No massage the night before. I need to start hydrating in mass quantities days before the race. I must take advantage of every aid station along the way. I need to pace myself stronger on the first half of the mileage, so that as the heat kicks up, I can still maintain the back half. I've got to have a mantra and fall back on it over and over again when I find myself in the dark places." (me)
"Well then, thank God you had this piece of shit run. You were meant to. It served it's purpose. You're working these kinks out now, instead of on the day of. And, you survived. Which means you can do it."
As hell bent as I am in my life to thrive and to accomplish, it was in that moment that I recognized that failure has more often served me than success. The lessons I've learned when I'm on the ground writhing in pain, humiliated, fearful, regretful, angry and frustrated have always stuck with me. And the greatest lesson has always been to get back up again.
Three weeks from today is race day.
The physical taper has begun, but I'm using these 21 days to get strong mentally and to let the lessons sink in...because as my friend taught me, it's never too late to capitalize on that which you thought was a huge failure.
The final push.
The biggest training run to date...20 miles.
And in a nutshell, it was b.r.u.t.a.l.
To the credit of the run itself, I did sort of set myself up for a rough go. The night before, I got a 90-minute deep tissue massage. You know the one I'm talking about....where the therapist asks you if she's applying enough pressure right at the moment that you're certain she's broken your back and you meekly say, "Ya...I'm good," while you wince and try to focus on your breathing and stay calm.
And then, because she's dispelled the mother lode of toxins into your system, you're supposed to drink a trough of water and pee your brains out. Instead, I went to book club and drank vodka, took some ibuprofen and went to bed.
I woke up at 6am with the intent of getting out the door early. I was expecting the run to take me close to four hours and the temperature was already 60 degrees at 7am. So, after applying a shit ton of sunscreen and body glide, I said a prayer and left.
Almost immediately, it didn't feel right. I was hot, like sticky, can't get my breathing under control, nasty humid hot. And then, to literally add fuel to the fire, I decided to try a different brand of nutrition, hell bent to find some gu that I could digest. And my stomach was in knots.
The first 13 miles were more than doable, but by the time I got to mile 15, I was beyond sluggish. I play this game with myself where I refuse to walk unless I'm forced by another pedestrian, a cross walk, etc...but yesterday, I found myself defaulting to a walk and I knew I was in for it.
By mile 18, I ran out of water. I carry my agua on my back in a 70 ounce Camelbak. And well, given that it was sunny and 80 degrees at that point, I was fucked.
I barely eeked out the final two miles, when literally two blocks from my house, my knees buckled and my ass hit the trail and I called my husband to come and get me. I was furious. I came home and puked and cried.
I had done the mileage, but it was the most miserable run to date and it was the last one before the race. Not a good way to go out.
Feeling like a failure, I got dressed up and headed to a friends' surprise birthday party and chatted with one of my besties. It was in that dialogue that it all came together...
"I feel like a fucking loser." (me)
"Naw...what did you learn?"
"Good God, what did I not learn. No massage the night before. I need to start hydrating in mass quantities days before the race. I must take advantage of every aid station along the way. I need to pace myself stronger on the first half of the mileage, so that as the heat kicks up, I can still maintain the back half. I've got to have a mantra and fall back on it over and over again when I find myself in the dark places." (me)
"Well then, thank God you had this piece of shit run. You were meant to. It served it's purpose. You're working these kinks out now, instead of on the day of. And, you survived. Which means you can do it."
As hell bent as I am in my life to thrive and to accomplish, it was in that moment that I recognized that failure has more often served me than success. The lessons I've learned when I'm on the ground writhing in pain, humiliated, fearful, regretful, angry and frustrated have always stuck with me. And the greatest lesson has always been to get back up again.
Three weeks from today is race day.
The physical taper has begun, but I'm using these 21 days to get strong mentally and to let the lessons sink in...because as my friend taught me, it's never too late to capitalize on that which you thought was a huge failure.
Friday, April 4, 2014
30 Days Until D-Day
It is insane to me that I'm 30 days out from the day I run my first marathon.
How did that happen?
Focused on an 18-week training cycle, the actual day of the event felt like an eternity away and now, well, I'm inching ever so closely to the day that the magic happens.
To be honest, training for a marathon has been one of the most gut-wrenching experiences of my life. I've gone through three different pairs of running shoes, umpteen different types of gels, gus, sports beans, chews, bars, physical therapy, massage, essential oils, tears, screaming, dehydration, chaffing, loneliness, lack of self-confidence and overall, exhaustion.
And to be even more fair, I have not done a good job of logging in all of my training runs and my pace is as slow as a snail.
But short of experiencing significant injury or a gunshot wound on the course, I should by 12pm on Sunday, May 4th be able to claim that I am a marathoner.
It's hard to know why this goal was on my bucket list of crazy things to do before I turn 40, because it's really not crazy, it's more masochistic in nature. And let me let you in on a little secret that really sucks, I've not yet met a marathoner in training that loses a shit ton of weight in the process. The truth is that you're hungry for carbs, for red meat, for sugar, for your own hand and you want to replace the calories as fast as they depart from your body.
But what you don't lose in weight, you gain in self worth....and there is no myth to that. Last week on a 19-mile training run, I thought I was going to lose my marbles on the last mile. I was dying. I was caving. I was not in a happy place. And like second nature, I fought. I fought hard. I put one foot in front of the other and I forced my way, inch by inch until the Garmin told me to stop, the clouds opened and God said, "You did it." I was about to collapse, but I didn't. I forged on.
And that's what marathon training does. It takes you to places physically and mentally that you didn't know existed. It creates a coat of armor that teaches you what to do when you get scared, unsure, in peril. And it builds a skin that is tough...and that has been worth all the while.
I still have a lot of running left before the race. My biggest training run of 20-miles is in a week. And so, I tread lightly, knowing that anything can happen...but being extremely hopeful, that it will all come to bear fruit...that I can eat instantly.
How did that happen?
Focused on an 18-week training cycle, the actual day of the event felt like an eternity away and now, well, I'm inching ever so closely to the day that the magic happens.
To be honest, training for a marathon has been one of the most gut-wrenching experiences of my life. I've gone through three different pairs of running shoes, umpteen different types of gels, gus, sports beans, chews, bars, physical therapy, massage, essential oils, tears, screaming, dehydration, chaffing, loneliness, lack of self-confidence and overall, exhaustion.
And to be even more fair, I have not done a good job of logging in all of my training runs and my pace is as slow as a snail.
But short of experiencing significant injury or a gunshot wound on the course, I should by 12pm on Sunday, May 4th be able to claim that I am a marathoner.
It's hard to know why this goal was on my bucket list of crazy things to do before I turn 40, because it's really not crazy, it's more masochistic in nature. And let me let you in on a little secret that really sucks, I've not yet met a marathoner in training that loses a shit ton of weight in the process. The truth is that you're hungry for carbs, for red meat, for sugar, for your own hand and you want to replace the calories as fast as they depart from your body.
But what you don't lose in weight, you gain in self worth....and there is no myth to that. Last week on a 19-mile training run, I thought I was going to lose my marbles on the last mile. I was dying. I was caving. I was not in a happy place. And like second nature, I fought. I fought hard. I put one foot in front of the other and I forced my way, inch by inch until the Garmin told me to stop, the clouds opened and God said, "You did it." I was about to collapse, but I didn't. I forged on.
And that's what marathon training does. It takes you to places physically and mentally that you didn't know existed. It creates a coat of armor that teaches you what to do when you get scared, unsure, in peril. And it builds a skin that is tough...and that has been worth all the while.
I still have a lot of running left before the race. My biggest training run of 20-miles is in a week. And so, I tread lightly, knowing that anything can happen...but being extremely hopeful, that it will all come to bear fruit...that I can eat instantly.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Lessons Learned on an 18-Mile Run
Let me begin with a very irreverent but completely necessary...Holy Fuck! I did it..I God damn did it...my body just ran 18 miles and I am still alive.
For the last several days, I've been dreading today's upcoming training run pretty much ever since I ran out of water last week on a 17-mile odyssey and nearly crawled home dehydrated and deflated.
So, in an attempt to stay among the living, I quickly ordered a new, sparkly purple 70 ounce Camelbak that absolutely did the trick.
Once I had enough agua, I needed to tweak my nutrition. The last five or six long runs have wreaked horrible war on my intestinal track and rendered me doubled over in pain which is no bueno. So, I experimented with different gus, eliminated sports beans, introduced real food like beef jerky and parted ways with caffeine.
After my nutrition was in check, I needed to get my play list in order. I've always run with music, but I needed a shift...a better combo between heart pounding tunes and those that slow me down a bit and focus on great lyrics.
And so it was, I woke up this morning with a cold which is always the name of the game with me, swallowed a ridiculous amount of ibuprofen, drank gallons of Emergency, ate a piping hot bowl of oatmeal and a fried egg....body glided the shit out of parts of me that shall not be named, dowsed myself in sunscreen, charged my Garmin, laced up my Brooks, grabbed my grandmother's medal for protection and headed out.
Along the way, this is what I learned...
At this point in the game, the first 13 miles are quick...relatively painless, redemptive, serotonin filled joy which is why I'm pretty sure that the Half Marathon is the sweet spot. And unless you're a masochistic fuck who has designs on delirium and disillusionment, you should never run a marathon when the Half is such a beautiful accomplishment.
That said, if you are training for a marathon...this deal is 150% mental. Do not get me wrong, by 16 miles, my left leg cramped so hard that I actually sang, "Eye of the Tiger," out loud in front of kids playing baseball at the park and didn't give a rats ass. I envisioned myself eating raw eggs, running up stairs in a grey hoodie shadow boxing to try to remove the fact that I was basically limping down the bike path until my leg got the memo and showed up for the end of the run.
Knowing that it's mental, you've got to know what you're going to tell yourself when it hurts...because it hurts. Your eyes sting from the salt, sweat, wind combo. Your knees and hips start to throb. Most of the time, you end up chaffing somewhere and it's not a pretty place. Your feet swell and hopefully, you don't get a blister or lose a toe nail, but you probably will. Your form gets contorted when you fatigue and you get really bitchy when the college, 20-something runs by you and you just want to have a label on your forehead that says, "Fuck you...I'm on mile 17." Or at least, I do.
And so, in the beginning, I thought I would tell myself things like, "You're stronger than you think you know. You're powerful. You're beautiful. You've got this. You're amazing." And from time to time, I do...but what really works for me is tough love. So, often I find myself saying, "Stop being such a pussy. You've done harder. You've come this far. You're not going back now. This day...this run...this experience is yours and this train is going 18 miles. Get your ass on board. Now."
And that's worked so far.
Mostly, what I've learned is that it's hard. It's really hard. But aside from giving birth, it's the best feeling at the end. It's a true...you showed up today, you kept going even when you literally knew you would die, and now you know what it really means to be alive. Heart pumping, legs crying out, soul believing...you earned your footprint today.
We'll see what 19 brings...and I guess more importantly, what 26.2 feels like. Here's to sunshine, tail winds, great support, and enough tough love to see me through to the end.
For the last several days, I've been dreading today's upcoming training run pretty much ever since I ran out of water last week on a 17-mile odyssey and nearly crawled home dehydrated and deflated.
So, in an attempt to stay among the living, I quickly ordered a new, sparkly purple 70 ounce Camelbak that absolutely did the trick.
Once I had enough agua, I needed to tweak my nutrition. The last five or six long runs have wreaked horrible war on my intestinal track and rendered me doubled over in pain which is no bueno. So, I experimented with different gus, eliminated sports beans, introduced real food like beef jerky and parted ways with caffeine.
After my nutrition was in check, I needed to get my play list in order. I've always run with music, but I needed a shift...a better combo between heart pounding tunes and those that slow me down a bit and focus on great lyrics.
And so it was, I woke up this morning with a cold which is always the name of the game with me, swallowed a ridiculous amount of ibuprofen, drank gallons of Emergency, ate a piping hot bowl of oatmeal and a fried egg....body glided the shit out of parts of me that shall not be named, dowsed myself in sunscreen, charged my Garmin, laced up my Brooks, grabbed my grandmother's medal for protection and headed out.
Along the way, this is what I learned...
At this point in the game, the first 13 miles are quick...relatively painless, redemptive, serotonin filled joy which is why I'm pretty sure that the Half Marathon is the sweet spot. And unless you're a masochistic fuck who has designs on delirium and disillusionment, you should never run a marathon when the Half is such a beautiful accomplishment.
That said, if you are training for a marathon...this deal is 150% mental. Do not get me wrong, by 16 miles, my left leg cramped so hard that I actually sang, "Eye of the Tiger," out loud in front of kids playing baseball at the park and didn't give a rats ass. I envisioned myself eating raw eggs, running up stairs in a grey hoodie shadow boxing to try to remove the fact that I was basically limping down the bike path until my leg got the memo and showed up for the end of the run.
Knowing that it's mental, you've got to know what you're going to tell yourself when it hurts...because it hurts. Your eyes sting from the salt, sweat, wind combo. Your knees and hips start to throb. Most of the time, you end up chaffing somewhere and it's not a pretty place. Your feet swell and hopefully, you don't get a blister or lose a toe nail, but you probably will. Your form gets contorted when you fatigue and you get really bitchy when the college, 20-something runs by you and you just want to have a label on your forehead that says, "Fuck you...I'm on mile 17." Or at least, I do.
And so, in the beginning, I thought I would tell myself things like, "You're stronger than you think you know. You're powerful. You're beautiful. You've got this. You're amazing." And from time to time, I do...but what really works for me is tough love. So, often I find myself saying, "Stop being such a pussy. You've done harder. You've come this far. You're not going back now. This day...this run...this experience is yours and this train is going 18 miles. Get your ass on board. Now."
And that's worked so far.
Mostly, what I've learned is that it's hard. It's really hard. But aside from giving birth, it's the best feeling at the end. It's a true...you showed up today, you kept going even when you literally knew you would die, and now you know what it really means to be alive. Heart pumping, legs crying out, soul believing...you earned your footprint today.
We'll see what 19 brings...and I guess more importantly, what 26.2 feels like. Here's to sunshine, tail winds, great support, and enough tough love to see me through to the end.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
3 Half Marathons in 2012
One year ago, in November of 2011, I was ready for change.
I didn't know how it would morph, but I knew that it was inevitable.
After having my third child, I was desperate to inhabit my body again and to rediscover me. And so, I set out, to do some work.
I put one foot in front of the other and decided that I was going to give running a go.
I could barely run around the block or the track at the gym. I was frustrated...mortified at the place I'd found myself. My fitness level was in the toilet.
But bit by bit through will and consistency, I started to emerge.
My goal was to run a half marathon on the morning of my 37th birthday. It was a daunting task. I had to be able to run for 13.1 miles which seemed impossible.
And then, I did it. It was the best birthday present ever. Here's me crossing the finish line.
Once I completed that race, I decided that it was time to go back to my roots. I registered to run the Chicago Half Marathon to reconnect in the city where I went to college and to claim something for my own. I didn't plan on traveling alone for the experience, but with the help of many, I went and had hands down one of the top 10 experiences of my life. Here's me post the race.
And finally to commemorate the annual anniversary of the year of change, I ran the North Face Endurance Challenge Half Marathon race in Kansas City. By far and away the most physically grueling of all three courses, it was the best way to end the year. Here's a post race photo op.
45 pounds lighter, significantly stronger in body, mind, and spirit...here's what I've learned.
I didn't know how it would morph, but I knew that it was inevitable.
After having my third child, I was desperate to inhabit my body again and to rediscover me. And so, I set out, to do some work.
I put one foot in front of the other and decided that I was going to give running a go.
I could barely run around the block or the track at the gym. I was frustrated...mortified at the place I'd found myself. My fitness level was in the toilet.
But bit by bit through will and consistency, I started to emerge.
My goal was to run a half marathon on the morning of my 37th birthday. It was a daunting task. I had to be able to run for 13.1 miles which seemed impossible.
And then, I did it. It was the best birthday present ever. Here's me crossing the finish line.
Once I completed that race, I decided that it was time to go back to my roots. I registered to run the Chicago Half Marathon to reconnect in the city where I went to college and to claim something for my own. I didn't plan on traveling alone for the experience, but with the help of many, I went and had hands down one of the top 10 experiences of my life. Here's me post the race.
And finally to commemorate the annual anniversary of the year of change, I ran the North Face Endurance Challenge Half Marathon race in Kansas City. By far and away the most physically grueling of all three courses, it was the best way to end the year. Here's a post race photo op.
45 pounds lighter, significantly stronger in body, mind, and spirit...here's what I've learned.
- Never ever, ever, ever give up on yourself. You are a child of God and an investment worth fighting for every minute of every day.
- Anything that is worth its weight in gold is not easy. It will hurt. It will be frustrating. You will want to give up...many, many times. Don't. Keep trying.
- Failure is good. Falling on your face while trying something new and outside of your comfort zone is the best way to know that you are alive, inhabiting your body and living your life.
- You've only been given one life and nobody else will live it for you....it's up to you to decide that you're going to own it...all of it...the good and the bad.
- You are never alone. More people than you know are willing to support you. Just reach out. We're ready and waiting.
- Often, change doesn't have to be all or nothing. One small tweak today overtime can make a tremendous difference in the long run.
- You are stronger and more capable than you ever imagined. Your greatest ally is the little voice inside your head and your heart saying, "Keep going. I believe in you." Listen to it. And don't let anyone tell you differently.
- Life is meant to be joy filled. If you're feeling less than or doubtful that you're "all-in," don't be. Do something about it. Change is the only constant. And, it's a powerful thing.
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