2012, I guess you weren't all bad.

Dear 2012,

It's no secret that I'm looking ahead to 2013 with great anticipation.   But as crummy as you have been in some respects, in others you have been almost stunning.  What, exactly, made you stunning?  The running.  Oh, thank you 2012 for the running!

• I raced more this year than ever before (10 races, if athlinks.com and my memory are to be believed, plus Ragnar makes 11).
• All 11 of those races were between May 5 and November 25.
• Six were half marathons.
• Three of those were on trails, which was a new thing for me.  
• I was first in my age group in the second of those trail halfs.
• I was third in my age group in the third of those trail halfs.
• (By the way, now I LOVE trail running.)
• I ran two marathons.
• One of those was technically a "trail" marathon.
• I BQ'd that there trail marathon.
• And it was a PR by nearly 17 minutes.
• And I was third in my age group.
• The marathon before that one?  Also a (then) PR.
• Ragnar was easily one of the 3 most fun things I've ever done.  Ever.
• I ran my first 50K.
• Or rather, 50K plus 2 extra miles.
• That's 33 freaking miles!  That's a lot of miles.
• I didn't love it, but I will do another.  
• Maybe in 2013?
• I ran the Torchlight run.  Just for fun, because I won an entry at a SGLRG event.
• SGLRG?  What an amazing group of people who helped me to be a faster happier runner (and person).

We all have different ways of coping when bad things happen.  We can eat.  Drink.  Act out.  Retreat.  Talk it out.  Keep it in.  I did a little of each of those things.  But the very best thing I did was run (okay, maybe the second best thing I did was run).  I ran with people and I ran alone.  I ran with friends and with strangers (who became friends).  I ran as therapy.  I ran in tears.  I ran with smiles.  I ran through heartache.  In the end, I outran the heartache.

The point is that I decided self-pity and inaction weren't my thing, and so I just...ran.  All that running, it took me places.  

In 2013, it's taking me to Boston!  

So 2012?  Thanks, I guess.  You doled out some unexpected things.  Some good, some bad, but I learned a lot about myself in the process and I honestly wouldn't change a thing.  I hope to be able to say the same thing this time next year, but for different reasons.

And 2013, I await you with open arms.  And hopefully, with very fast feet.  In fact, here are the feet, today, in training in Ballard:

xoxo

Ericka 

Giving thanks (better late than never).

News flash:  They weren't kidding when they said the holidays would be hard!

I've always been (mostly) an optimist, and yes, also a teeny tiny bit naive.  For example, I actually thought maybe I was different, that because I was working so hard and doing all the right things, perhaps the conventional wisdom on navigating life during and after divorce didn't apply to me.  But they—my divorced friends, the interwebs, my therapist, etc.—were all right, of course:  All of the "firsts" I've experienced so far in the year following the breakup of my marriage have been downright hard and emotional as hell.  The first anniversary un-niversary, first of any holiday, first birthday, first vacation, first whatever...they're all hard.

It doesn't help that the long Thanksgiving weekend has always been a big one for me, coupled as it usually is with my birthday.  And of course, we spent last two years in Hawaii, and probably would be there right now if it weren't for The Sideways.  Not surprisingly (to everyone but me, apparently), the transition from the holiday and birthday traditions of the past 10 years to this life that I'm building without any newly forged traditions was more of a shock than I bargained for.  It all snuck up on me earlier this week, and since then, the tears have fallen in almost equal measure with the November rain (which has been record-setting at times, for those of you not in Seattle).

So on Thanksgiving morning, I tried to come up with a list of what I was thankful for so that I could put it up on Facebook along with everyone else.  At the time I was so down in the dumps that I was hard-pressed to come up with anything other than that I had "much" to be thankful for.  But today is a new day, and I know I do have many, many things to be thankful for.  Here they are, the big and the small, the important and the unimportant, the shallow and the deep, in no particular order.

• I successfully trimmed 30 of 40 cat toenails this morning
• It's almost 2013!
• My parents
• Qualifying for the Boston Marathon.  Shut. Up.  I still can't believe it!
• Truly the best friends in the universe
• Chocolate
• Anything coconut
• 2012 election results
• My metabolism
• BQFFs
• Texts and emails from friends on Thanksgiving that were exactly what I needed
• Short hair
• Tall boots
• Damp forest trails
• Peonies
• My three running groups and the awesome runners (and friends) I've met through them
• Beer
• Yarn
• The fact that I can run anywhere, anytime
• Rediscovering Too Beautiful to Live
• My health
• Living in the moment
• Sweaters
• Writing out my feelings
• Running out my feelings
• Yoga
• Murphy, Lucy, Cooper, and Stella
• Music
• My career, my firm, and my colleagues
• Laughter
• Two and a half months of "firsts" left to endure
• Living just across the street from this (admittedly taken months ago, but still):

And I'm thankful that I've come to terms with the fact—once again—that this process will be hard, and that it will take time (lots of time) and work to come out of it whole and, hopefully, a better person.  The good news?  Time cannot be stopped and I'm on the right path and doing the right things.  I'm satisfied, even happy, with the progress I've made in the past nine months.  And I look forward to taking this same picture next year, reflecting on the time that has passed, and realizing just how far I've come.

In the words of a wise and wonderful friend, everything is learning.  And I have a lot to learn.  Bring it on.

Tunnel Lite Race Report (or, how I BQ'd a training run)

>>Warning:  This is a race report disguised as a blog post.  If you’re not a runner, it will undoubtedly bore you to tears.  If you're a runner, it will also undoubtedly bore you to tears.  You’ve been warned.  Proceed if you wish.<<

"How long have you wanted to run Boston?"  

I've been asked that a lot lately.  I remember sitting on the couch in what was probably the summer or fall of 2008, reading a Runner’s World article about Boston while the ex cooked dinner, and saying aloud "I want to qualify for the Boston Marathon.”  Problem was, I had yet to run more than a half marathon.  In fact, I had always said I would never, ever run a marathon.  I didn't let that stop me though.  Over time and a few marathons later, my confidence in my ability to qualify waned a bit (caused in part by the tighter qualifying standards that robbed me of a precious 5:59 that I thought I needed), but my desire and determination did not.  Like many marathoners, Boston has been my Holy Grail since that day in 2008, and I planned to spend my running life trying to find it, even if it took me until I was 80.  Which I honestly thought it might.

Fast forward four years to the present.  This year has been a challenge to be sure.  I'm not kidding when I say that running has been my salvation, and training for all the big races I've done has eased me through every rough patch I’ve hit.  

So at the end of August, on a whim, Erin and I decided to run the Tunnel Lite Marathon as a training run (for our then-upcoming 50K)/scouting race for the July 2013 version of the race, thinking that in July 2013 we would make our run for Boston.  A funny thing happened on the way to that training  run.  You see, I've met a lot of new runners since I moved to Green Lake, too, a lot of them very dedicated and very fast.  They, along with others like my coach, Cheryl, my best friend and running buddy Talena, and my marathon and long-distance trail running buddy Erin, all seemed to think I could take that training run and qualify.  These runners started to tell me things, things I wasn't sure I was ready to believe.  Things like:  “You are fast.  You don’t give yourself enough credit.  You can run higher mileage.  You can run faster.  You are already running faster.  You can do it.  You can qualify for Boston.  You should try.  You just might qualify at Tunnel Lite.  You will qualify.  I know you will.”  Those runners gave me something I had been missing:  not just the confidence that I could run fast enough to qualify, but that I could do it now, not next July.  Their confidence in me gave me what I ultimately needed, confidence in myself.  

So with that, here’s the actual report.  (Sorry, I warned you.)

Tunnel Lite Marathon Race Report

I started off the weekend poorly (race-wise) and great (fun-wise).  I had way too much fun Friday night and got only 4 hours of sleep, but it was worth it every lost hour.  I tried to sleep in Saturday morning to make up for it but just couldn't, so crossed my fingers that I would sleep well the night before the race.  I gathered all my gear together in one place so I wouldn't have to think about anything Sunday morning.  They were my Tunnel Lite Marathon secret sauce.  My bag of tricks.  My dragon-slaying kit.

Saturday evening was the SGLRG Rooftop BBQ Part Deux, so I baked my latest offering, and, promising myself that this time I would only have two beers and actually eat something, I headed up to my roof.  Just like last time, it was a ton of fun. I had a great time, savored my two beers and my pre-race meal, and stocked up on all the good race juju people were giving me.  Then, like a good runner girl, I toddled home to my apartment at 8 pm, made sure I had everything ready, set four different alarms, and went to sleep.   I slept well, no tortured dreams of races gone bad, no waking up every half hour to make sure I hadn't overslept, just a good, restful night’s sleep.  (I haven't had a bad pre-race sleep in a while, so perhaps those nervous days are over?!  That would be awesome.)

I was awake before all four alarms, had my coffee and chia, applied my sunscreen, packed up my gear, and headed off to the ferry to pick up Erin.  We have a designated "spot" at the ferry terminal, and I waited for her there in the dark, cranking my "Happy" mix from iTunes (yes, I have a Happy mix, and yes, it makes me happy).  Erin arrived, and we headed for the hills again, this time to conquer 26.2 miles and the Snoqualmie Tunnel.

[I should back up here for a moment.  The week before, as part of my taper, a smart, thoughtful, experienced runner gave me a gift by suggesting I run the tunnel so I knew what to expect on race day.  So for my taper, I did six miles down, and six miles back, all on the course, and including the tunnel both ways.  For that I will always be grateful, because it absolutely took all of the fear of the unknown elements away.  I knew what the tunnel would be like, I knew how my Garmin would behave, and I knew that the course was indeed downhill after the tunnel.  Someday I will do the same thing for another runner, pay it forward, give a gift like I was given (because I wouldn't have thought of giving this gift to myself).]

Look!  It's me!  And a tunnel!

We were the first to arrive at the start at Hyak, beating even the race director.  Most of the runners were bussed from the finish to the start, so Erin and I had the parking lot and the bathrooms to ourselves.  It was pretty cold, definitely in the low 40s, but a clear morning and with little wind and no smoke from the fires east of the mountains.  We killed some time before waiting in line for all of 2.5 seconds to pick up our packets.  Lars (Erin’s boyfriend, fellow endurance athlete, and our Sherpa for the day) arrived, having run the crazy difficult Volcanic 50K the day before, and took photos and hung out until the start.  Erin reminded me we hadn't warmed up as planned, but by then it was too late, and we were sent off down the John Wayne Trail toward the tunnel.

As you enter the tunnel and the daylight fades behind you, you can see, 2.25 miles away, the pinpoint of light that is the exit.  It starts as just a tiny speck, growing until finally you return to daylight, coming out from under the entirety of the mountain that makes up the Snoqualmie Pass ski area.  (I tried not to think about all that rock weighing down on a 100-year-old drippy, dank tunnel!)

I had my heart rate monitor on, and from my race-pace run the prior Thursday, knew that I needed to keep my heart rate around 176-179 to be hitting the right pace in the tunnel because as soon as you enter, the satellite signal for the Garmin is gone.  I made a pace band for a 3:42 marathon, which meant 8:28/miles. Running in the tunnel is deceiving; it feels like you're going much faster than you actually are, but we were hitting the times each mile, and my heart rate was where it needed to be.  Even with the cool temperature at the start, the tunnel felt much warmer than the week before during the trial run because they say the temp is a steady 50 degrees year round.  It was also much easier to run in the tunnel this time because the many runners with lights made it much brighter than just two runners with two lights.  The tunnel miles went by very quickly, but then there were only 2.25 of them!

As we approached the exit I pulled off my extra shirt and my headlamp and put them in the bag provided by the race (to be transported to the finish), tied it up, and tossed in on the pile.  I glanced back and saw that Erin was about 20 yards behind.  I slowed a bit, hoping she would catch up, but the next time I looked back, she still wasn't with me.  We had discussed running our own races if need be, and I had a pretty aggressive plan, so I decided to stick with it and hope she would come up eventually, but it wasn't to be.  

Instead, a mile or so down the road, I met Jodi from Moses Lake.  Turns out she was trying to qualify for Boston too, and she was in my age group so needed to run 3:45 as well.  Her Garmin was acting up, so she decided to hang with me because mine was working and I had a pace band, and we had similar pace goals. We ran well together, though I did try to hold us back a bit because the downhill can lure you into a pace that is impossible to maintain over 26.2 miles.  See, e.g., my Winthrop Marathon finishing time.  Whoops! Anyway, I felt like I was going a bit faster than I wanted to, but it wasn't anything that seemed too dramatic, and when it was, I always slowed down.  Some doubts crept into my mind even before we hit 10 miles, and I started to question whether I could hold the pace for another two hours and twenty minutes.  But I kept the doubts to myself, and planned to keep up the pace for as long as I could and let the chips fall where they may.  (This, I believe, is the Go Big or Go Home theory of racing.)  These doubts revisited me several more times during the race, but every time I chose to stay in the present moment rather than worry about what might happen down the trail.

Around mile 13 we stopped at the aid station and refilled our water.  Because this was the "lite" version of the race, the aid stations were unmanned; just folding tables with water and Gatorade and cups and Gu set up on the side of the trail, with a Rubbermaid container a bit down the trail for all the garbage.  Because there were few runners, we were the only ones there and were able to quickly fill and go.  I had my Chia concoction that morning, so I wasn't taking in much fluid, but when I'm chia-fueled it doesn't seem to matter.  If you don't know about it, Chia is the distance-runner's best friend.  I also wasn't eating as much as I probably should have been, but again, Chia fills in the gaps and I figured I was fine to eat less, as long as I managed to eat during the last 6 miles when the going was sure to get very tough.  Miraculously this didn't come back to bite me in the end.

Just after the aid station at mile 13, there was an access road where Lars was waiting for us.  I told him Erin wasn't far behind, and off we went to finish the second half.  The course itself was lovely.  It passes over at least three very high old train trestles, with beautiful views up to the mountains and down to the valley.  The leaves were starting to change, and for the most part, there was a hint of fall in the air.  I can see where the fall version of the race is better than the summer version, because a lot of the race would have been in full sun in July, but in September due to the different position of the sun, it wasn't bad, and the overall temp was lower.  It really was just about the perfect racing temperature.

Jodi and I continued to run well together, hitting the miles on my pace band pretty close to even (sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but on average, seemingly perfect).  She was waiting for her husband to show up by bike for a good portion of the race, and he finally did come up to us about mile 17.5.  He rode with us for a while, and Jodi dropped back a bit so he could ride alongside her.  From behind me, I heard him tell her what ended up being a great mantra for this race, and something that helped me later on:  "Remember, there's only today.  There's no tomorrow."  Or something like that.  So very true for me!  While this race was intended as a training run and scouting expedition for a potential BQ in 2013, I was still there to give a 2012 qualifier a try, and in that sense, there really was only today.  If I didn’t make it, if I left anything out on the course, I knew I would regret it.

Around mile 19, the sound of Jodi and her husband talking slowly faded behind me.  I started passing people.  Actually not people, I started passing guys.  It's way more satisfying to pass guys at the end of a race.  Actually, at any time in a race.  Sorry, it’s true.

Though I was still concerned about being able to hold that pace for the rest of the race, I started to get excited.  With 7 miles left, I had my coveted BQ within reach (I remember thinking “Oh my God I am on pace to BQ!” and sort of freaking out).  At this point I was hitting my miles faster than my pace band pace, which meant that if I kept it up, I should finish faster than 3:42.  I told myself to calm down, because a lot of blowing up can still happen with 7 miles to go, and it was too soon to celebrate.  My quads were pretty shot by then, and my right IT band was super tight, enough so that I was getting concerned.  But I told my legs they were stuck with this so they might as well get used to the pain.

At mile 21, the course turns off the John Wayne Pioneer Trail and onto some local North Bend-area trails.  With 5 to go, I started to get excited again, and almost felt like I was flying, but that feeling was short-lived.  Suddenly the trail started to feel like it was going uphill, which was a concern because at that point I was really counting on the gradual downhill to last to the finish.  I needed it to maintain my overall pace, and a check of my Garmin showed I was definitely getting slower.  It did level out and eventually head back down, thank goodness.

Around four miles to go, I was talking (out loud, crazy-lady style) to myself.  "Only Today" became my mantra.  I said it in time with my breath.  I started to figure out how much more time I had to suffer through the pace.  Just over 34 minutes.  I can do/survive anything for just over 34 minutes.

At three miles, I figured it was just a cruise around Green Lake.  I can do that.  Just 27 minutes.  There's Only Today.  My legs were painful, immovable tree trunks.  I told them, aloud, that they had to do this.  My legs and I, we had a BQ in our grasp, and I wasn't letting it slip away now.  They couldn't fail me.

Then there were two miles, and just over 17 minutes.  I started to say the minutes aloud.  17 minutes.  17 minutes.  17 minutes.  Then 15 15 15 minutes.  My legs were so trashed, I felt I could hardly move them anymore.

Finally!  One mile to go, just over 8 minutes.  And, aloud, "[OMGF] I am going to qualify for the Boston Marathon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  At this point I was far enough ahead of my time that if I had to, I could even walk (briskly, with purpose) and still qualify.

Not long after, I could see bright colors in the distance and realized I was looking at the finish line!  I was surprised that I was able to pick up the pace, but I really just wanted to be finished at that point.  I looked at my watch for about the 850^th time that morning, and saw that it was still under 3:40!  Holy crap!  I pressed on.

With about 200 yards to go, a runner who had already finished was walking back out along the course.  He hollered the usual runnerly encouragement one yells to another runner nearing the finish, and I did a spastic jumping happy dance and yelled to him “I’m going to qualify for the Boston Marathon!!” and he responded “well go, go, and finish strong!”

I hit the cone-lined finish chute, headed toward the most awesome finish line ever (Home Depot buckets, sand, poles with Caution Do No Cross tape, and blue, green, yellow, and white balloons strung between), looked down at my watch, and realized I had done it.  It was so surreal, and I couldn’t believe I did it.  In fact, I still can’t believe I did it, even with my "Confirmation of Acceptance" card currently hanging on my fridge.

I was thrilled to see Lars, because an accomplishment like that without a friendly face isn’t nearly as fun.  After I stopped hollering that I had just qualified for Boston, I commenced my second happy dance/poorly timed high-five:

The nice people around the finish line all congratulated me and seemed to share in my happy spazziness.  I realized I hadn’t picked up my medal, so I grabbed that and checked with the race director to make sure he got my time.  (Yes, I really did that.)  He confirmed that I had finished in 3:39:49.  I didn’t even think about it until later when Erin mentioned it, but I am now in the 3:30s!  Take that, Paul Ryan!  I set my (now-broken) PR of 3:55:46 in June at the Newport Marathon, and managed to beat it by 15 minutes, 17 seconds, and completely bypassed the 3:40s!  In the end, I was faster than my needed qualifying time by 5 minutes, 11 seconds.  I didn't need any of the 5:59 that the Boston Athletic Association had taken away.  And I came in third in my age group.  Woot!

A few minutes later, Jodi finished, qualifying with just over a minute to spare.  After the hugs and more celebrating, I thanked her, because I’m not sure I could have done it without her.   I call Jodi my BQFF.  She is such a great person, so encouraging, and so generous, too; she and her husband asked me stay with them in their suite in Boston.  Another gift, meeting her on the course that day.

Not long after, we saw Erin coming down the chute at 3:58, beating her most recent marathon time in Newport.   We cheered her in, and celebrated some more.

It truly was a great day.  Beautiful weather, great course, friendly people, running friends new and old, a PR, and a BQ!  Even though I was hopeful at the start and knew I would give that race everything I had, I honestly didn’t know that’s how the day would end. 

The following Monday morning, registration for the 2013 Boston Marathon re-opened for all qualified applicants.  Because I qualified by more than 5 minutes (BQ -5:11, as the cool kids say), I would have been fast enough to register the prior week.  And yes, I got in, and will be toeing the line in Boston on Patriot’s Day, April 15, 2013.  I'm already saving up for all my Boston Marathon branded gear, which I will proudly wear all over the damn place.

And now, because this was all so unexpected it looks like I'm going to need a new goal.  I think perhaps I'll try to BQ again at Boston.  Because, why wouldn't I?

On running and lady parts.

For some reason this gem keeps coming to mind lately.  

Long ago, maybe in 2000—yes, I did suffer from ADA (Adult Onset Athleticism)—I was dating a runner training for his first marathon.  At the time, I couldn't really comprehend running 26.2 miles because running just one mile nonstop on the treadmill at Harbor Square in Edmonds was cause for serious celebration.

This runner (let's call him Joe) was the opposite of the runners who have encouraged me so much in recent months.  His main observation, upon hearing I wanted to start running?  “I don’t think you’re suited for running.  Your boobs are too big.”  Really, he actually said that!  I would say I have no words, but we all know that is not the case.

Good thing I didn't let that particular boob get in the way!

Blue Moon. Meh.

As I'm sure you've heard, we get to see a Blue Moon tonight.  Well, four Blue Moons ago, I got married.  And back then I thought that was a pretty cool factoid.  Now I prefer to think of a Blue Moon only when it's a beer and I'm drinking it.  Or even better, beer cupcakes! 

Cheers everyone!

200 miles to feel like a kid again.

Ragnar has been on my bucket list for a a while now.  With all the changes in my life this year, I decided it was a perfect time to try something new and outside my comfort zone.  When I put out the call to the universe that I wanted to run Ragnar, it was answered almost immediately by Lars, Endurance Junkie Extraordinaire, who hooked me up with the best team I could have asked for.  I learned a lot racing for 28 crazy hours in a van with 5 strangers, not the least of which is that you can still feel and act like a kid at the ripe old age of 41.

This post is nearly impossible to write, because Ragnar defies description.  If it's true that pictures are worth 1000 words, they will still only give you a tiny bit of the flavor of what it's really like.  But I can tell you that distance runners are all pretty awesome people, and when they get together and have a party, they do it up right.  Even if the rest of you think we're nuts.

Washington's installment of Ragnar is a 200-mile relay race, from Blaine on the Canadian border to Langley on Whidbey Island.  Once your team starts, it runs constantly, all day and night, until each of 36 legs are done.  Regular teams consist of 12 runners in 2 vans, each running 3 legs.  (Ultra teams do the same thing, but with half as many runners.  Lars, mentioned above, was on an ultra team.  Talk about crazy distance running!)  Our team, Misters, Sisters, and Blisters, started at 9:15 Friday morning.  Van 1 ran 6 legs, one runner at a time, until Exchange 6, where our van, Van 2, took over for 6 legs.  Repeat that twice more, though all kinds of weather and at any hour of the day, and you have completed a Ragnar.  I was Runner 9 with 15.5 miles:  6 "Moderate" miles, 2.7 "Easy" miles (starting at 1:49 a.m.), and 6.8 "Very Hard" miles.  Those are Ragnar's descriptions, and they were fairly accurate.  Others had much more hellacious mileage, with massive distance and hills in each leg.  I can't quite wrap my head around those, but I think I could tackle a longer, harder set next year if asked.

At Ragnar, team names are important, irreverent, and hilarious.  Costumes are optional, creative, amazing, and based on the way some of the costumed runners were walking, they can also chafe pretty bad.  But because there are prizes, chafing costumes are apparently to be endured for the duration, judging by the Green Costumed Chafing Guy I saw several times walking with a decided hitch in his stride.  There was a team of fictional villains, a team of space-related characters, a team of men in dirty underwear, and so many more that I can't recall because my brain was on overload.  Vans are decked out in varying degrees of awesomeness, and with 388 teams, there are well over 700 of them on the roads.  As I drove home from the race, I found myself scanning the road for Ragnar vans.  Sadly, I didn't see any.

Spending 28 hours (more than that if you count travel time to and from the race) in a van with 5 people I barely knew was going to be a stretch for me because I have always felt awkward and shy around people I don't know well.  But I've been working hard to let go of my mostly imagined limitations and trying to judge myself less for just being me, so I tried not to give it a second thought.  It was the right thing to do, because I had an absolute blast.

My Van 2 teammates are amazing people!  Strong, tough, entertaining and spirited, every step, every mile with them was an adventure.  I swear I had a smile on my face the entire time (except maybe when I was running that last leg), and I don't recall laughing that hard in what seems like forever.  I learned a lot listening to them, and hanging out with them gave me a lot to think about and frankly, to aspire to.  Starting out, nobody on my team knew about my divorce.  Everyone in my van was married (two to each other), and so I felt a bit of an outsider from the get-go, especially because they knew each other to varying degrees before the race.   Being myself around new folks doesn't come easy for me (so much easier to be a clown!), and it's especially difficult now, because this divorce seems to loom so large, at times it seems that's all that there is to my life.  But at Exchange 12 when our first legs were finished, I was walking back from the locker room with my teammate Wendy, and rather than hold back, I let her know what was going on.  (Mostly I did this because she said "that guy is checking you out" and I was all "really?  yay!")  At dinner, when she and I were talking about it, I told everyone else.  I didn't feel judged and it wasn't as hard to share as I thought it would be.   Over and over I've found that there is support out there, you just have to open up and be ready for it.  In addition to this, I learned some Ragnar-specific lessons:

My body can do amazing things and take me to amazing places when I ask it to.  I've never been a night owl, I'm usually asleep by 10, and during Ragnar I was able to run crazy fast (for me, anyway) in the middle of the night with no thought in my mind other than getting to the exchange as fast as I could to hand off the slap bracelet to my teammate Shawna.  (I ran that leg, in the middle of freaking night, at 7:55 pace.  Granted it wasn't even 3 miles, but it was 2 in the morning!!)  And though I felt pretty crummy during my final leg, I toughed it up and down the hills as fast as I could because I didn't want to let down the team.

I can sleep anywhere:  in a tiny way-back seat of a Suburban packed full of stuff, and also on a yoga mat on a crowded gym floor surrounded by other teams'  racers snoring in my ear.   Perhaps the most important lesson:  If you sleep during Ragnar, you should be prepared to have very unflattering pictures taken of you and posted on Facebook.

You can never use the porta potty too many times.  Even the yummiest Lara Bar tastes like crap after eating energy bars nonstop.  Jelly Bellies are the bomb, as is chocolate milk.  Coffee is a necessity, as are baby wipes.  Bathroom humor is pretty darn funny on no sleep (seriously, our team name turned into Misters and Sisters on Shitters after a particularly rough morning).  28 hours go by so quickly and are so crazy intense that it was already hard remember things the very next day.  Running 3 legs in 28 hours is hard, but not as hard as a marathon.  It's also way more fun than a marathon.  I always, always go out too fast at a race, even a race with three legs.  At 2 am, the misty air in Anacortes smells heavenly.  It's easy to forget to hydrate when you're having fun.  I am really competitive.  Whidbey Island is beautiful.  There really is such a thing as the post-Ragnar blues.  Hanging out with a bunch of people who were strangers no more is good for the soul.

And finally, distance runners are really cool people.  As I surveyed the post-race gathering, watching the ongoing antics of the teams and the happy exhaustion on all the runners' faces, I realized that running is truly important to me.  And because some things are that much better shared, it just might be a prerequisite that my next serious relationship is with a fellow runner.

Because runners are that cool.

Note:  Most of this post was written the day after Ragnar.  It's so rewarding to look back on what I wrote a month ago and see how my feelings about The Sideways ruling my life have changed.  Back then, it still loomed so, so large.  Now, not so much!  Life, she is getting better all the time.

The Sideways

Saturday marked six months since my life went sideways (hereinafter referred to on this blog and in general as “the Sideways”).  Time is kind of crazy.  It feels like it's creeping along, going nowhere fast, and all of a sudden six months have gone by but it really feels like twice that.  A lot of healing can take place in six months if you’re willing to put in the work, and yes, it’s straight up work to recover from something like this.  But from where I’m living life right now, things look a lot different than I thought they would back in February. 

The most surprising thing is that I’m happy.  I didn’t think it possible so soon—and there’s part of me that feels guilty about it (Oh Catholic guilt, ye are dependable and have such staying power!)—but I’m not going to deny it.  At times there is still sadness, and tears, and looking back and thinking What if? (a waste of time, unless you choose to learn from the answers), but overall, I can officially say I'm more happy than not.  And that is crazy good news.  Of course there is still lots of work ahead, but I am confident the path I'm on is the right one for me.

Taking stock, there are several reasons.  The support of my friends and family has been overwhelming.  I am blessed in a way that I really didn’t realize, maybe I couldn’t realize, if it weren’t for the Sideways.  In fact, I think I could say that about a lot of things now.

I also sought help immediately, in the form of a great therapist who is a perfect fit for me, and also in the form of a divorce support group.  Support groups are a new thing for me, and I was hesitant terrified to attend my first session.  (The first night I went, I had half a glass of wine to get myself out the door.  Only half.  Don’t judge.)  But meeting and talking to these other wounded people over the past months, people of every imaginable background, age, length of marriage, cause of divorce, is helpful in a way I'm not sure I can describe.  Sharing advice and stories and heartache and tears and tea and progress with these people, be they a 65-year old woman married for 29 years or a 20-something guy married for less than 1 year, has been eye-opening.  Misery loves company, yes, but it takes a village.  

And finally, there’s the social stuff, the refusing-to-sit-home-alone, getting-my-butt-out-of-the-house stuff.  To quote Coldplay, this was The Hardest Part (also a bit of a theme song for the Sideways, at least at first).  I decided very early on I wanted to meet new people and try new things.  But I’m pretty shy, and I knew it would be well outside my comfort zone.  I had one misfire, but I didn’t give up, and it's paying off.  I've run a marathon PR in Oregon and took my first weekend trip as a singleton with my cousins from Iowa.  (I survived! By myself! In a hotel room! Alone!)  I’ve taken a photography class, something I’ve been wanting to do for years.  I’ve taken a cooking class, and gone to cookbook release parties (Seattle food culture is awesome!).  I’ve done a crazy-ass, super fun relay race with 11 people I’d never before met, and had more fun in 30 hours than I can remember having in years and years and years.  (I was going to do a post on Ragnar, but gave up.  Ragnar is, in a word, indescribable.  You'll have to do it to find out.)  I've started trail running, have run back to back trail half marathons, and I'm running my first 50K in October.  Next year, I'm going to double down and try to shave over 10 minutes off my marathon PR and qualify for Boston.  To that end, I’ve joined a new running group at Green Lake and made new running buddies.  And on Saturday, I went to a running group BBQ on my apartment roof (again, terrified!) and didn’t end up going home until long after I normally turn into a pumpkin. 

See, I'm not making this $hit up!

The kid in the bottom had a "Kick Me I'm Konrad" sticker on his back.  Gotta love Seattle parents!

Making a considered decision early on about how I was going to get through this is one of the best things I’ve ever done.  It’s not easy to look at yourself, warts and all, and decide what to keep, what to reshape, what to toss out, and what to create from scratch.  But it is rewarding, and it is possible, even now.  As recently as a month ago, I felt like the Sideways was the only thing going on in my life, that it was just so huge that it was all there was of me and that I had nothing else to offer to anyone.  When I met new people, it felt like there was nothing else to talk about because it was all there was, but I wasn’t yet ready to talk about it, either.  So for a while, I didn't feel genuine, because I held so much back.  But I realized the other day, that's changed.  I'm not sure when it happened, but the Sideways is no longer overshadowing my life.  This, my friends, is a Good Thing (with apologies to the vegetarians in the house).

It is what it is. Really.

I've been doing a lot of walking lately.  I'm still running, quite a bit, but the walking is a new and welcome addition.  You see, I live at Greenlake now, which is such a wonderfully walkable place to live.  I live here because the Phinney house, and my marriage, are no longer mine, or ours.

Some of you reading this know what happened, and the rest of you don't.  Let's just say it is what it is (a phrase I've been accused of overusing) and leave it at that, because in this particular situation, at this particular time in my life, it's quite the perfect phrase.

I'm not here to overshare or rant or rage or lament my losses or failings or mistakes or regrets. I'm not here to overshare or rant or rage or lament his losses or failings or mistakes or regrets. I have more appropriate outlets for that, and hopefully he does too. What I'm here to do is share what it's like to live around the edges of this new life, tiptoe around them, because let me tell those of you who haven't been down this path before, it is particularly painful.  Life as I knew it doesn't exist.  It's both heartbreaking and exhilarating at times—though right now the exhilarating moments are outnumbered by the heartbreaking ones. But I know the balance will shift someday.

What made me decide to open up about this now, five months (and two days, but who's counting?) after my life changed so dramatically?   I don't think it was the timing, though five is my lucky number.   No, it was something about this evening's walk home.

I was walking home from Whole Foods along Ravenna and something compelled me to cross the street and walk down the middle, through the grass.  It rained today, and though it was warm and humid, the grass was still just slightly cool and damp, and I was wearing sandals.  How long has it been since your toes were tickled by cool, damp grass? It seemed to me that I hadn't felt that feeling since I was a child, though I know that isn't the case.  It felt so good it made me smile out loud, in public and everything.   And then I looked ahead of me, at the rows of trees flanking the median, the sun shining through the leaves, and I felt compelled to take a picture. And then I felt compelled to share it with you, all of it. Because the old me wouldn't have crossed the street, wouldn't have felt the grass tickle her toes or, though she may have taken the photo and posted it, wouldn't have shared the rest of the picture with you.

These days when I'm compelled to do something, I pay attention.  Historically I'm pretty bad at paying attention to my feelings and emotions, as even my close friends will tell you. I used to shut them away safely in a box deep inside, under- or unexamined.  But at this time in my life—when so much has gone, not wrong, but sideways, maybe—I feel like everything is more easily felt, more clearly seen.  And though I am still chock full of sorrow and disappointment and heartbreak that he and I are not still heading down the road of life together, hand in hand, I know that along this same road there will still be love and laughter, joy and pain, hope and companionship, beauty and emotions, embraced. And someday, with luck, a new hand to hold.

For what seems like the first time, I am recognizing and feeling my emotions.  And doing so is turning out to be a very good thing for me.

PS:  After I wrote this, I went for a run around the lake.  Emotions, as my running buddies will tell you, also make me FAST.

Screw You, BAA!

Now that the good folks at the Boston Athletic Association have decided to make my path to Boston a little harder and/or longer by changing both the qualifying standards and the registration process, I'm going to try to mix things up to get stronger and hopefully as a result, faster.

Kevin and I started CrossFit a week ago. Not only have I worked out for seven days straight, I can't remember ever being quite this sore for this many days. Anyway, just so I can look back in a month or so and see how far I've come (assuming I survive), here's my road so far.

Monday
CrossFit Day 1
After the intros and a warmup, did 3 sets of 21-15-9 (pull ups w/green rubber band, box jumps (12"), sit-ups). But I did 12 extra pull ups before we started because I didn't listen to the instructions. That'll teach me.
Result: 8:09(?), had fun, definitely love the concept. Came in 3rd to last. Not a competition, but you know me....

Tuesday
OMG so freaking sore! Got up and limp-walked the dog and ouched my way through work. Can't raise arms above head. Pushing open doors is excruciating.
2-mile run after work. Legs were fine, thankfully!

Wednesday
Still sore as hell, but less so. Lunchtime yoga helped.
CrossFit Day 2
Warmup, then 3 sets of 200m run, 10 push-press w/25 lb bar, 15 box dips, 20 v-ups.
Result: 11ish minutes, came in 5th. Running, something I can do!

Thursday
Sore but much less so than after the first night.
RoadRunner Sports Adventure race in evening, did about 4ish miles of speed work, won prizes, drank beer. Awesome.

Friday
Only a little sore. Did lunchtime yoga, aaaahhhhhh.

Saturday
18.5 mile semi-hilly bike ride from home
CrossFit Day 3
Half of class not there. 3 sets of 400m run, 20 lunges, 20 kettle bell swings, 20 wall ball (8 lb ball)
Result: came in second behind hubby in 16:19. Kept form whole time. Legs shaking like noodles afterward. Super tired and napped when I got home, then walked dog.

Sunday
OMG how can I possibly be this sore? Legs on fire, ass on fire, shoulders on fire. At least my abs don't hurt.
Somehow I managed to run 7 miles with the group. I don't quite know how, because I couldn't move for the rest of the day. Napped and ate my way out of house and home.

Tomorrow it starts again! Except I really think I'd better take Tuesday as a rest day so I don't do myself in. Loving it!

Pay it Forward

So today my photo was going to be of the breakfast Kevin and I went out for after our 8-mile walk/run.  However, due to some bad (and then extremely good) luck, I have no photo from today. 

Kevin decided to join me this week at the very last minute, and so we headed off with the group from Greenlake.  We ran the first mile with Talena, which was an unexpected treat!  Then she turned off to do her 13, and we kept going towards Ravenna and through a bunch of lovely, misty neighborhoods.  It was so awesome running with Kevin again!  We were doing 5 run/2 walk, which worked out pretty well.  Around mile 4, Talena caught us and we ran with her (and Ann and Lisa) for about another mile until we hit North Seattle CC.  Again Talena headed off to continue her long run, and we headed back toward the lake to finish up.  It was a pretty good day walk/run wise; though cardiovascularly I felt crummy, my leg felt pretty good, and even pain-free at the end, which is a great sign.

Throughout the run, I kept seeing some nice trees and such to photograph, but nothing that stopped me in my tracks it was so pretty/cool/unusual.  About 1/4 mile from the finish, as we were coming back down to the path around the lake, I felt for my iPhone and couldn't find it.  Kevin convinced me I left it at home, though I was certain I had brought it with me, and thought I had felt it hitting my hip when we first started out.  I chalked it up to misremembering, and really, they aren't light and I figured I would have felt it fall out or heard it hit the ground if I'd lost it.  Kevin offered to retrace our route with the car, but there were so many people out I figured someone would have already picked it up so I thought it unlikely we'd find it even if it wasn't at home.

We had decided to go out to breakfast, so headed to Pig & Whistle for some just-okay breakfast and football.  We got home, walked in the door, and the phone wasn't where I knew it would have been if I had left it.  We called it, and no ring.  Gah!  I really had lost it!  So I called Cheryl to see if anyone had found it in the group and she said she'd call me if that was the case.  Just then, call waiting started beeping, and it was a very nice guy who said he'd found my phone in the middle of the street while out walking, and rather than "letting it get smashed by a car" he thought he'd pick it up.  He must have been waiting for it to ring to figure out who it belonged to, because as soon as I called it he called me.  He offered to meet in front at the Latona Pub in 20 minutes, so off we went.  We pulled up, and there he was, handed it over, me thanking him profusely all the while.  What a nice guy! 

So the moral of the story is there are still nice people in the world willing to go out of their way to do something nice.  I am going to take the first opportunity I can to do the same.

However, no picture of trees or breakfast or otherwise, so instead I give you this, taken from my office window last Wednesday:

Camera Bag app, Colorcross.  I love getting in to work early this time of year, the sunrises are just amazing in fall/winter.