the marathon.

not mine – but the marathon of others, friends, strangers – it doesn’t matter. i wasn’t running – i wasn’t even officially volunteering – but i wanted to be there.

sometimes i’m not clear why i want things…i’m often looking out the windshield of my life with the wipers on HARD – seeing shapes…but waiting for clarity. i believe in God. the clarity always comes.

here’s the story.

marathon sunday was a tough one for those runners. it rained really hard. i was 3 hours early for the finish. in the rain. i’m from vancouver – it wasn’t really a problem – but i didn’t really have a plan either.

i was wandering through santa monica. a little emotional. i turned a corner…and found, before me, a woman opening a yoga studio. and there we stood in the rain, laughing about the monsoon, and before i knew it, i was coming in to do yoga. her name was honeybee.

just me.

and honeybee.

she laid her mat beside mine.

and we started to practice.

the rain fell so hard we laughed out loud. we talked about children and God and outer space and yoga and we laughed some more.

and the yoga was good.

it was easy like a sunday morning but tough enough that i summoned a singular focus.

and then i was in child’s pose and she started to read…..this:

Are you looking for me?
I am in the next seat; My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in the stupas,
not in Indian shrine rooms,
nor synagogues,
nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans,
not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables,
When you really look for me, you will see me instantly -
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.
Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God?
He is the breath inside the breath.

snatam kaur was singing in the background. honeybee started to sing too. i was crying in the way you cry when you look at your own baby. the tears just fall out of your face sprung from the understanding that YOU ARE LOVE.

listen: you’re either into this or you’re not. you either get it or you don’t. you either cry at rainbows or you don’t. you either marvel at the magic of children or you don’t.

the tears fell out of my face and honeybee said: whatever’s in there girl – let’s get it out. breath of fire. tiger breath. and like the freakin warrior high priestesses we are – we kept going.

and when i came to savasana, we said loving prayers for our friends running the marathon. and then honeybee pulled out her guitar (listen: you can’t make this shit up) and she sang.

yoga ends.

she read the poem again. Kabir. a poet and weaver. 15th century.

i made a donation to the studio. honeybee and i hugged.

and then i gathered my things. zipped up my raincoat. packed up my friends’ vuvuzela.

i ran to the finish line.

there i stood. for an hour. blowing the vuvuzela, jumping up and down like a little kid.

i love the marathon.

for everything that it has done for me and for everything that it does for others.

love.

so.

what did i go to LA for?

i went to watch the tearful faces of the japanese runners in the 25th mile – men and women who couldn’t run in their own country 2 weeks ago and came to LA to finish what they started.

i went to see the epic smiles of my friends as i blew their vuvuzela.

i went to be ready for my cherished friend in case she needed me – and she did – in one look i knew she was giving it every single thing she had.

i went to stand in the rain and be of service – to cheer on the runners.

i went to lie on a yoga mat and listen to a girl named honeybee sing to me.

i went to listen.

and when i listened, i heard God say to me: are you looking for me?

can you think of a better way to spend the $280 my flight cost me?

me neither.

once again – the marathon transformed me.

i’m a gardener; not by trade – just by feel. i haven’t got alot of experience – it’s mostly just anecdotal evidence combined with a few years of trial and error. the underpinnings of this hobby though are a deep, sincere love for my garden and a passion for flowers.

of all the flowers in my garden, i love the tuberoses the most. last summer, my tuberoses bloomed with such glory that people would walk up my driveway to ask me what the smell was. my son, whose bedroom is above the garden, would fall asleep at night and say: “mummy, i smell your fwowers”. i wear tuberose perfume year round to remind myself of their spectacular fragrance. no hyberbole. there are truly breathtaking.

there’s not alot of magic to growing tuberoses…it’s alot of trial and error in the beginning…but it doesn’t take too too long to figure it out. it seems silly to me to consider following some sort of spreadsheet or table that would direct me how to grow a tuberose…i mean – here’s what you do: you plant the bulb in a safe place and you take care of the soil in a diligent way…you basically give it it’s base…and when the bulb sprouts…you keep you eye on it. the tuberose needs a simple combination of sun, light, food and shade – and while there may indeed be alot of science behind that combination – you can use your judgement and adjust as you go. if the ground looks a little wet – let it dry out…if it’s getting too much shade – do what you need to do to get it some light – to coax its growth. i mean, sun will kick its ass and if you add a little fertilizer – it’s well on its way…but the critical component here is the space in between the sun, light, water and food. space. room to grow. ample opprotunity to take it all in – patience really.

i can understand how it would be frustrating to a new gardener growing tuberoses…because you might follow a book or some sort of instruction manual on how to grow them: i’ll bet it would tell you exactlyhow to measure out the fertilizer, how much water daily – plant the bulbs in the PERFECT spot…and honestly – they might not bloom. it sucks – but it’s true.

my tuberoses didn’t bloom this year.

and i didn’t make it to boston.

i’m a better gardener than i am a runner…because i’ve got experience – the kind of experience that comes only from looking down at a disappointing season. like: i pruned my hydrangeas too hard 2 years ago and almost killed them. i put my primroses in too much sunlight last year and burned them to a crisp. i dug up my lilies at the wrong time of year once and it cost me their blooms. meh. it happens. but you know something? they all came back the following year. they were fine. if you take good care of your plants, and you KNOW your plants – you just trust that they’ll come back next year….the older a plant gets – the more established its roots become – the easier it is for that plant to come back.

…and the gardener grows too. the intuition gets stronger. the commitment deepens. the wisdom informs action. the experience informs the wisdom…AND…the work in a garden never changes. you always have to do the work….and you know exactly WHAT work needs to be done and what work can wait. you roll up your sleeves and get down on your knees year after year – but i get more relaxed each year. i revel in the labor. i know what it feels like….and most of all – i love the rhythm of the season. i like the process. alot.

so…back to where i started…i’m really sad about my tuberoses. and i was really sad about boston.

but here’s what i’ll do with my tuberoses…i’ll dig them up. i’ll dust them off. i’ll check their roots – and i know they’ll look good. i’ll clip off their dead leaves. and then i’ll let them rest. i will do nothing with those tuberoses until the spring. they will be in a warm, safe place all winter – they will honestly just rest….and on mother’s day – i will plant them again. i’ll keep an eye on them. i’ll remind myself that i know, intuitively, how to care for them and i’ll trust my gut.

let me tell you – when they do bloom next – they will be spectacular. they really will. if you were to ask me whether or not i know *for sure* if they’ll bloom next year – i’d have to smile…and i’d nod. and i’d say “you go into every gardening season dreaming of the blooms. you plant those bulbs with love and care and attention and you take good care of them all season long – and you hope and dream and believe that they will bloom. because it’s worth it. the blooms are worth it but the process is worth it too. those hours out in the garden, the smell of the dirt, the plants growing out of the ground right before your eyes…it’s all worth it.”

so when a gardener like me finds herself at the tail-end of a disappointing season – i really only smile softly. all my plants will come back next year. and as they rest beneath the crust of a canadian winter – i’ll dream of those blooms, i’ll start to plan and get excited while we all rest…but let me tell you: when the frost breaks – i’ll hit the ground and turn that soil so full of hope and excitement for the season ahead.  and i`ll work hard. again. because it`s worth it.

as for those beautiful tuberoses…there is nothing wrong with them. nothing at all. it just wasn’t their year.

my training has been flawless. i ran a 1:48 half. i ran 10 x 800 at 3:28 a piece. i ran 2 x 22.5 miles at a 9:20 average. i ran 3 x 20 miles. i ran 2 x 18 miles. i haven’t missed a workout in a year. in the heat, rain, sleet and snow – i have hit the pavement, or track, in my quest. i mention this to tell you that when i picked up my 3:45 race bib at the marathon expo – there was no doubt in my mind that i was going to kill this race.

we got to our seeded start corral. anxious but relaxed. feeling ready.

gun goes – and kevin (who we flew, with his wife, to chicago, to pace me) and i were off. right on pace. running strong. the splits are clicking by. i’m ok. i feel tired already but it’s a marathon – it’s supposed to be hard.

i’m losing focus at mile 6. i’m feeling anxious because we just ran 10 seconds off race pace. i want even splits. then i want negative splits. i want to qualify for boston.

i have no idea where we are. i’m running my ass off. there are a million spectators – i am paying no attention. i have, at this point, turned my ipod on because i feel like i need to run faster.

the 3:45 pace bunny passes me. it’s ok…i am planning to negative split. it’s ok. it’s ok. but i’m sick. something is wrong with my stomach. i feel like i’m going to vomit. i try some water. but i cough. this is bad news. i cough alot.

then i lose my bladder. you can laugh, you can start to cry like i did – you can nod and cover your mouth knowing that a worst nightmare is coming true. i am now peeing like a racehorse. there’s nothing i can do. i’m drenched. people can tell.  i stop because i’m crying. the fast bald guys start yelling at me. i feel like i’m naked in the middle of times square. i have peed so much that my tights are sagging. i’m bawling. i feel out of my league. i’m really scared. i feel my race falling apart.

it happened there. did you see it?

i let it in. the door to losing my 3:45 got opened just a creak, JUST a creak, and i surrendered to it.

was it 100* out there? yes.

were there 45,000 runners? yes.

were there people all around us getting carried away on stretchers? yes.

NONE of that matters. i lost my race today because i let the flood gates open, i lost my grip and i started to walk.

it’s mile 14 here and i have a good solid cry.

kevin puts his arm around me. god BLESS him for not cranking out any bullshit about ‘chin up’ ‘let’s go for this’ ‘hey it’s all good!’. i was walking.

we were, at this moment, in the charity mile.

for one straight mile – all the charities that runners support – AIDS, Pediatric Cancer, Team in Training, World Vision, One Step Foundation – they are all there. there are faces on posters of lost children. there are breast cancer ribbons.

i look around and people are cheering me on. more people than i have ever seen in my life. drenched in pee, covered in sweat, tears streaming down my face – i decide that i need to press on.

i’m running now and i’m looking around. ONE. MILLION. SPECTATORS. children are handing me water. people are reaching out to touch me. there is NO break in the people.

i see a priest. doors to the church flung open. in his full robe. standing in the street.

the fastest i ran today was for that priest.

he took my hands, i bowed my head

“God Bless You My Child”.

then, my hands in his, he says “you look GREAT! you’re ok!!!”

before i saw the priest – i had seen a medical tent. i saw some people in wheelchairs.

and i saw the guy with the ‘runner drop out’ vest.

let me tell you this: my pride and ego have never been more wounded than they were today. i seriously contemplated a DNF (that’s the marathon acronym for ‘did not finish’ – it’s the equivalent of ‘incomplete’ on your transcript).

DNF…would DNF be better than missing my goal time…by…alot?

the 3:45 pace group was long long gone. the 3:50 pace group was passing me. but i saw that Priest and i took the time i needed.

and in that moment i decided not to quit.

kevin put his arm around me again. because i was crying. i asked him if he was mad. he said “dre: you’re fuckin awesome. this is a marathon. let’s get this shit done.”

so, shoulder to shoulder, we did what i could. i was dry heaving so badly that my stomach was doubling me over. it felt and sounded like the phantom pukes you get after 12 tequila poppers. those days are over but i remember the feeling.

it was now in the high 80′s and the alert level on the course was raised to “high”. this means they want people to slow down and consider stopping if they need to. i see the high alert and i think about DNF’ing again.

at this point, i start thinking about who my parents raised me to be. i start thinking about what i’m getting out of this. i start to get excited to talk to my executive coach: jesse – about what’s happening to me. i see the face of my family – i think of my beautiful son and my amazing husband. i think of my trainers at studeo55. i think about my running friends. i think of my sister in law and nieces and nephew - cassandra and isabelle and victoria and jeremy – and how happy i always am to see their faces. i feel like i just know that cassandra is praying for me.

i remember at this moment the best 20 miler of my life: mike riding his bike alongside me, on a 1-way desolate road to Pitt Lake – and nathan and isabelle and victoria pulling up beside me in their car.

6 a.m. – isabelle and victoria were out of their carseats with their hair waving in the wind and they’re yelling “goooo auntie!!!”

the tears stop. i want to finish. i want to love this day.

i’m now in chicago. i mean – i am IN chicago. i’m here. i’m looking at the shining faces of the people who are now shooting hoses on us, handing us water from their kitchens. i’m touching the hands of the children. some guy hands me a jolly rancher. what a beautiful city. what a place. what an incredible thing – to be there for the runners.

we’re getting close. but my quads are now cramping. i smile, knowing that i have a physio appointment in a few days and that dave will be there for me, like he has every week for the past year.

i think about my brother. and the story he told me about having to hit the field in the last football game of his professional career. that he had to go, leading his defensive team, play the clock out, knowing that they were losing the game.

that’s where i was. i wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. i was just finding out what i was made of. because let me tell you: that shit was hard.

the last few miles, like any marathon, happened in my head and heart. i imagined my running routes. i imagined that i was 2 miles from home. i pictured myself 2 miles from studeo55. i was on the wings of angels, praying to God for the courage to face everyone and tell them that i lost it today. i was also praying for the wisdom and strength to do this again. then i turned on the dimmer switch on the planning (an expression that jesse gave me) –  and i said – one mile to go. let’s focus on one thing at a time.

we crossed. not the teary emotional, kenyan fantasy of my dreams – but we finished. you might have the balls to go look up my time – it doesn’t matter.

i couldn’t walk when i finished. i collapsed on the ground but they made us move. we grabbed bags of ice and i sat down.

my foot had bled right through my shoe. i couldn’t move really. nothing worked right. we walk right past the professional photo lineups. i want no photo of a. my face right now and b. my pee pants.

i iced my ankles long enough to be able to move to the grassy area. kevin and i sat down, and i laid down – reminding myself that jeremy had said “remember you can lie down at the end”. kevin and i called our spouses, and i told kev to go on home without me.

so he left.

and then i cried.

alot.

collapsed over myself – not sure if i was proud or scared or disappointed or full of love. truth be told: i’ll bet it’s equal parts of all those things.

the guy behind me struck up a conversation. shitty race he says. ya. snif.  me too he says. i’ve never seen so many people walking in my life he says. ya. me too.

then we start talking about other marathons. and i’m loosening up. and now we’re having a bit of fun. and before i know it, i’m composed, and i realize:

i’m a real fuckin runner.

i belong here. i deserve to be here. i earned this bad race. i really did go to hell and back.

i’m not blaming the weather. i’m not blaming my stomach. i’m not blaming my training. i’m not blaming the course.

what happened?

you just read it.

i had the experience of a lifetime.

i got swallowed up by that race and spit out a different person.

i transformed today.

again.

i find my friend Lisa. she just throws her arms around me and i am in the arms of a good friend.

she PR’d. and come to think of it. so did i. i ran that race, despite the hardships, faster than my last one.

let me tell you one more thing: my goal – the goal to qualify for boston – that’s my character litmus test. if you don’t think i can do it – get off the bus – because i WILL do it. i CAN do it. and i’m not stopping to explain it to you.

….oh – and you know what else i did? after i cried on the grass: i went to the change rooms. i put on my ‘Abandon Mediocrity’ tshirt from Studeo55 and i went back for my finisher’s photo.

now if you’ll excuse me…i’ve never needed a shower so badly in my life.

God bless you. you’re reading this because you’re awesome. i’ll see y’all when i get home.

Who wrote this blog? My God – I go back, and review my optimism, my spirit, my emotional fortitude last year and I barely recognize myself. It all sounds like something I’d read. It sounds like a blog I needed. I hope this entry ends up being what I need too.

My last year has been experienced in two racing and training seasons: the Eugene half marathon and Chicago full marathon. Both seasons have been intense – and both in service to my goal to qualify for the Boston marathon. I took about 25 minutes off my half marathon time in Eugene. I’m about to take 45 minutes off my full marathon time in Chicago. I want to qualify for Boston. I W A N T to qualify for Boston. I R E A L L Y W A N T to go to Boston.

I hear myself talk about my goal sometimes and I’m not really sure who I’m talking to. Sometimes I am looking for reassurance and validation, other times I’m trying to reassure and validate myself. Sometimes I’m vulnerable and afraid, other times I’m just plain nervous. Sometimes I think I’ve really got a shot – other times….I know I do.

There are very few people’s opinions out there that matter to me and 90% of them aren’t runners – so all that being considered – it’s pretty much irritating to hear myself talk about it. There is nothing that anyone can and will say to sway the outcome of this race. This is my job to do – these are my feet to move and it’s my race to run.

My friend Colin said to me: Chicago might be the last page of the book – but that doesn’t make it the whole story.

Don’t you love it when someone says something to you that you will never ever forget?

This has been quite the story.….this year has been a gift. This Boston dream has been a gift. I don’t know who gave it to me, but I’m sure grateful. My Boston goal has demanded that I adhere to a program and be disciplined in every area of my life. Boston has, without effort, set the standard for my workouts: excellence – nothing less. I will get there with nothing less – of this I have NO doubt! This story has been incredible even to me – I’ve lost so much and gained so much more in aligning myself with this vision.

My Boston dream has given me friends – and their friends – and their families. Boston has introduced me to places and people that were behind the doors that only this dream could open. Boston gave me runners, real runners, on speed dial. Boston gave me coffee with wise and seasoned marathoners. Boston gave me travel plans to faraway places to run 22 miles for fun! Oh Boston. Wow. You’ve given me quite the story.

I have this sense of what I’m capable of in life. I really do. I have this feeling deep down, that I can do anything. But this – this is different. This is me, humble, on my knees, deeply reverent for this race, this distance, this speed. I don’t listen to the cocky and arrogant runners – I listen to the wise and unassuming. I like the quiet calm of the person who tells me straight up: this is going to be tough. I LIKED it when Aaron said to me: it is GOING to hurt. I like the experience, that comes from a combination of strength and discipline over time – that reassures me that things are going according to plan. I didn’t get this far alone. I got here with a lot of wind in my sails from the overwhelming generosity of strangers. Nothing is more valuable than time. To those who have given that to me – I am so grateful.

I once thought of Boston with a lot of feverish aggression. Fighting for the splits. Clawing for the repeats. Trying and pulling and pushing for the pace. Smacking the Garmin. Kicking dirt. Manic really. Hitting the tempo pace and jumping off park benches like a crazy woman. Shrieking on my trail when I broke my threshold pace. CRYING when I missed a few seconds on my track ladders. I saw Boston as this smug bitch whose approval I really wanted and needed. I honestly think that’s how I saw that qualifier. Like some massive overwhelming secret handshake into a sorority of privilege.

I don’t see Boston like that anymore. On the other side of this program – after completing every workout for 20 weeks – I see Boston more like Sean Connery….less like Lady Gaga.

I see Boston as a well deserved hug. A wise, calm nod. A firm but warm handshake from a mentor. A certificate from the Dean. The Honor Roll. The graduation day. The look in my husband’s eyes when I said my vows. The feeling in my heart after I gave birth. The look on my parents’ eyes when I finished grad school. The feeling in MY WHOLE BODY when I finished my first marathon. That’s Boston to me now. It’s my dream. It’s my goal. It’s mine. Nothing will have ever demanded so much of me. Nothing will have ever been this tough.

I have run through the pain of pneumonia. I have run on taped ankles and missing toenails. I have eaten at 4:30 a.m. so I could run before sunrise. I have run in the heat that drives people indoors. My husband and best friend rode bikes alongside me for hundreds of miles. I have gone to bed at 9 p.m. for nearly a year. I have given up pastimes that weren’t aligned with this goal. This program has asked that I skip nothing – no workout – no meal – no sleep. Even as the tears streamed down my face as we realized that our lifelong friend might be really gone – I ran. Through the heartache of a lost loved one – I had to run.

…now, as I taper, and as the fear and excitement and nervousness seep in – I look back on this season – and I stand on the words of my buddy Carin who recently qualified for Boston too. She said the other day: ‘the hay is in the barn now’.

Though I’ve never met her: I picture her saying that to me literally. She and I looking out over an empty and shorn field, fingers and feet raw from a season of hard work. Sunburned and blistered and tired and just plain ready to call it a day. The hay is in the barn. I hope it fetches a price of 3.43 – though I’d settle for 3.45.

he’s my brother – so it’s easy for me to nod and shrug. whatever. i couldn’t think of any stories that i’d been telling myself – until this weekend.

i just did the Ragnar Northwest Passage relay. 187 miles through the Pacific Northwest with 11 others. no stopping. you run till you’re done.

on the surface this is an endurance event that seems pretty tough: 3 legs, at varying times of day and NIGHT, of varying distances and difficulty levels.

below the surface it’s an endurance event that’s actually pretty special: 3 legs, supported by amazing new friends, beautiful new terrain,  hills that take your breath away – because you just don’t know where they came from or where they’re going. the distance blurs alongside you. you get a little silly. you get a little confused. there’s alot of laughs. there’s alot of worry for one another and yet so much confidence in your ability. you’re on a team. your friends: brand new friends, are cheering from a van by day, and silently, confidently and safely following you by night (no cheering after 7:45 p.m.). you won’t remember alot of things. you’ll remember the strangest things.

ragnar IS tough, don’t get me wrong. you don’t sleep much, and if you do – you’re on the floor of a van or in an elementary school gym floor with dozens of others. you sleep the way toddlers do: nodding off in carseats only to wake up 7 minutes later completely hyper and ready to party. your eating is all weird – you try to eat – and you do – but fueling up before a 10 km at 2 a.m. angers and confuses the stomach, no surprise there.

for me: that’s where the tough part ended. new friends all cramped in a van: that was one of the best parts.

and the running? i had told myself some pretty decent stories about the running:

-it’s going to be sooo hard to run given…(insert: all the conditions listed above)
-my pace is going to slow
-i’m not going to be able to run x, x, x, per mile on x, x, x distances
-blah blah blah

i was also borderline terrified of the group. i can’t believe i’m even saying that now but before i met them i feared that i just wouldn’t measure up. hey – i might as well be vulnerable – there’s nothing gained in doing otherwise. this team was full of strong runners – accomplished athletes – seasoned marathoners – i was wishing i’d lied about my 10km pace just to give myself the peace of mind that i was going to underwhelm them. i was really glad i brought our van driver to the table too – in ragnar world – that’s serious street cred. shelley (my best friend since we were 12) drove our van through the night. i felt so grateful to have her there; before the event i thought “ok, if i totally suck at running, maybe they’ll keep me because of shelley”. HA!

wow. that’s pretty much exactly the opposite of what happened. that whole mental conversation with myself basically UNhappened. put that premonition of me feeling judged by them over there on the list of impossible things that will not/would not/cannot ever happen. and me thinking that i suck? let’s just forget that i was so scared and move on.

i trust these people now in a way i can’t even explain. sincere. genuine. kind. and yes, athletic. i felt at ease. i felt accepted and appreciated. i was on a team. the first team i’ve ever been on in my life. no hyperbole there. the first team i’ve ever been on.

onto the running.

in the middle of my night run – - my 2nd of 3 legs – i lost my breath when i realized what my brother had been talking about. my stories, the ones that my brother said i was telling myself about why i wasn’t getting faster, started to list themselves in my brain like a grocery receipt. here are a few of the things i’ve been telling myself for a long time:

1. i can’t run at night.
2. i can’t run fast without music
3. i need my routine to be intact in order to have a good run
4. i need to wear my x, x, x, x, x, x, x, when i run
5. i can’t break a 7 minute mile
6. i need my sleep
7. i need a familiar route
8. i’m trying as hard as i can to get faster
9. my boston qualifying attempt is going to be x, x, x
10. my boston goal might be too x, x, x

……..now picture this:

4 a.m. on a desolate road in the pacific northwest, pitch black dark, in brand new shoes and pants that don’t fit right (long and irrelevant story), no ipod (not allowed by ragnar after 7;45 p.m.), after cold boiled potatoes from a van cooler, after 30 minutes sleep on a van floor: i broke 7 minutes per mile. i don’t know how long i held it. it doesn’t matter. it was arbitrary to begin with.

what did matter was that in that moment: stories 8, 9 and 10 dissolved. i felt them slipping away so quickly i couldn’t even grasp their original form. dry sand in my hands, just freakin gone. i was totally present. no chatter. no music. no cheering. no crowds. nothing and nobody but me. the sound of my own breath, my own cadence…just me.

occupying the space where those stories once were?

my run.

it felt really, really spacious. open…. wide, wide open. like Odysseus’ horizon – expanding with every step i took. hard hard hard work, but not hard. do you know what i mean? with pleasure. with suffering. with intent.

i finished that run, a PR by the way (who gives a flying flip what it was, it’s called “personal” for a reason), handing off to rich, and i walked to the lakeshore where my leg had ended. day was breaking. the girl that stayed 50 yards ahead of me for the last mile was there. we exchanged a ragnar smile. she was a terrific opponent. a seal swam up. ninja quiet. i wish my First Nations’ great grandmother had been there so she could tell me what it meant. my seal slipped beneath the surface but i knew he was still there. like my run. it’s gone now – but i know it was there. wait a minute, i guess my great grandmother was there to tell me what that meant. funny what you hear when you’re not listening to lady gaga screech down your ear to haul ass.

my teammates were in the van. waiting patiently, silently (i like to think they knew i was having a moment but truthfully – they probably had the full-body ragnar stone and couldn’t bear the thought of moving unnecessarily). point is – they gave me no hurry up sign and they greeted me with a big smile, a bottle of water and a good-job-nod when i got into the van.

i fought hard to control my tears so i could breathe – my asthma and my tears are the fiercest enemies my goals have ever known: they sabotage my lungs at every opportunity but they’re no match for my brain. rich was running – i loved passing the baton to him at every leg. knowing how strong and fast he’d be pressing on. we drove off to find him. as usual – he was pretty much done by the time we caught up to him

larissa, rob, shelly, rich, brad: my ragnar tribe. the first team i’ve ever been on in my life. my greatest thanks is offered in the hopes that i can be a good friend to each of you.

aaron, jen, emily, gary, paul, monte: our ragnar brothers and sisters in van #1… moving the baton forward while we rested, resting when we pressed on. i wish we’d been able to spend more time together but such is the ragnar way.

to rob and larissa: our organizers…. i think one of the best ways to thank a coach is to perform on race day. show up and perform from the heart. that’s how i thanked you. i hope to do it again. i’ll run for you guys anyday.

if you’ll pardon how sentimental i am: i fought back tears on the finish line. saying goodbye was bittersweet: i was sad to see the route fading behind us but i really wanted to go home.

full body exhaustion and socializing are strange bedfellows. some amazing spouses met us at the finish. we went to a pub to try and refuel. it’s all a blur. i want a mulligan on that pub thing please. (j + j = i’m talking to you).

thanks for the goosebumps guys. i love this feeling.

oh, i should mention….there was one other person on our team – it was my buddy Garmin.

….once the self-righteous bastard that snickered as i told myself that i was really trying to go faster – now nodding with smug approval – saying silently to me: see for yourself dre. now go get boston.

in closing, as my buddy @smellycents would say: hell to the yeah on ragnar. what a rush.

ron – first of all – i think it’s funny that you, and all your friends, use the word “first” without having ever heard you mention a desire to do another.

i had a dream that you completed your Ironman wearing every race medal you’ve ever earned. clanging around your neck like mr T – you finished strong and humbled. you were wearing your Boston jacket. you had your PunkRockRacing hat on – and there you were – a diary of proof. a living, breathing, unbroken achiever who inspires not by any overt attempt to do so – you inspire by doing.

i had a lovely new follower ask me the other day what “BQ” meant. i had someone else ask me what a good marathon time was. i had someone else ask me how far a marathon is – and when i answered – they asked me to explain it in terms of distances they could relate to.

my point:

remember: we belong to a bigger world than the skinny athletes who finish first. our world is larger than the twitter running community that bears a striking resemblance to my high school cafeteria. we belong to a world of people who are TERRIFIED to buy a pair of running shoes. a world of people who are SCARED to go to the pool. a world of children who are overweight because their families don’t know where to start. WEIGHT? SPEED? qualifiers that don’t even make SENSE to anybody but you. i hope you find those demons and wrestle them to the ground somewhere in Coeur d’Alene. i hope you take your hat off and humbly acknowledge that you, by making yourself public and inviting us into this journey – are a role model and an inspiration to all of us. no pressure my friend – you’re just holding hands with alot of people right now. you’re in the harvest season of love buddy. i’m getting a little God squad on you here but just know that **I** think you are meant to be exactly where you are.

as the dust swirls in these next few days – clouding your original dream, blurring your vision of the finish, mistaking your nerves for self-doubt – remember that YOU are Ulysses!!! your vision gets MORE clear as you move. the uprights of your horizon grow wider with every step. YOU SHINE IN USE!!!!

i feel your fear. ironman won’t be enough. and the irony is that the journey is 99% finished. you already are an ironman Ron. you just have to go pick up your medal now.

godspeed: an expression of one’s good wishes for a person’s success and safety.

godspeed Ron.

much love,
dre

that’s why this race mattered so much to me.

i was told that the eugene course was: flat and fast. i had also been told that it’s small town charm was irresistable and that i would somehow be able to channel pre’s spirit and run like a son of gun.

all true. except the flat part. one of these days i’m going to organize a flat race and it will be actually be flat. anyway.

we arrived in eugene and headed straight to campus. had to lay my eyes on hayward field – and lo and behold – an NCAA track meet. you might think this is just what a gal would need to get all fired up about a big race…not here. i’m a chicken and i’m full of self doubt and i’ve never been on a sports team in my life. i just about froze. i had visions of all these students being in my race on sunday. imagined that i would be crawling across the finish while gaggles of freshmen were already onto their 2nd helping of pancakes. my husband had to convince me that i was still ok to wear shorts to the race (it’s a girl thing).

i got to the starting line this morning and let out a big sigh of relief. the usual suspects. the skinny bald guys. the weathered dudes with the cotton bandanas. the leathered mommas who have clearly been clockin 50 mile weeks since i was in 1st grade. and the people like me. smiling, apprehensive runners who have put all their eggs in this basket. my coach mike had given me a warmup to take with me. he told me that in an unfamiliar town with heaps of people around, it’s a security blanket. amen. that warmup was gold.

after warming up on the dorm lawn, i headed for the start. let me tell you something – i have never been more courageous than when i walked to my corral and pace group this morning. past the 10 min/mile, past the 9:30′s…the 9:15′s…the 8:45…am i really doing this…past 8:30. that’s damn close to the start. corral #1. with the skinny bald guys. i had advice. close your eyes. breathe deep. if ever there was a use for an iPod – it was then.

a text from one of my best friends the night before: “you belong there”. summon that up. turn on the music and close my eyes. say the Lord’s Prayer. stick to the plan.

the plan…right. the plan was seriously just 2-fold. from josh (my mr. miyagi): know where you NEED to be by halfway. see what’s left and then attack.

advice from Kevin and Jeremy – my trainers and coaches – you worked for this – let the training speak for itself.

advice from my brother: grip it and rip it.

the plan in my head included all these bits with the added plan to channel pre’s spirit and run like i really gave a shit. run till something fell off. run till i fell apart and leave everything out there.

gun.

8:10, 8:07 – fine – feeling just fine – way ahead of the pace group that would land them in at 1:47.  frustrated at the course and the crowds for these miles. couldn’t have run much faster without playing Frogger.

8:17, 8:20, 8:23 – ok – pissed off. not working hard enough.

7:55, 7:53 – stupid freakin idiot fool nitwit.

cue barf scene. i think josh called this the lactate threshold.

8:09 ok – back on track. still ahead of that bitch with the balloons taking them to 1:47. (hey ron, that’s my voice #2 talking)

8:23 a big hill. not just any hill but a pretty serious, long, drawn out hill that didn’t stop. sick to my stomach. mad. this course is not flat. i’m dying. everything crashing in around me. use my head. 30 second walk break. regroup. settle in. focus. get dialed. Garmin shows i was holding sub 8:00 again. good thing i walked for a bit. picked it back up. the balloon girl passed me. i saw them slip away. i felt sorry for myself for a minute and then remembered josh’s words for this moment: fight for it.

8:12 i don’t love this part of any run. it’s the end part. but not the end. it’s 4 miles which seems close. but it’s like half an hour. i hate this part. i now have serious ADD with my iPod. i now hate the other runners. i now think the course sucks. i now wish i were running faster. focus.

8:29, 8:30, 8:27 falling apart. everything hurts. i feel like i can’t go another step. i feel like i’m getting slower…i start panicking about my time but i’m too crazy to do math. stop. i’m capable of doing math. i remember at 11 miles it was 1:31:xx. i did the math. if i hold this pace – which i KNOW i can do – then i’ll come in sub 1:50. so just hold it dre. don’t try to go faster. just hold it.

then i saw Hayward Field. and i ran at a 6:40 pace until i crossed that finish line.

i read a quote from Ryan Hall that morning that said “if you save yourself for race day, you’ll find something special inside”.

i’m telling you guys: i ran like pre. i barfed. i sped up. i slowed down. i gutted it right out at the end. i gave it everything i had.

i finished in 1:48:22.

39th in my age group (of 384 other 25 year olds

i smashed my goal.

my only other half marathon was 2:13 something…so that’s a PR of 25 minutes in 11 months.

i’ve worked hard for this feeling and i love that i did so many things wrong. i don’t want to get it right just yet. i want a lifetime of marathons ahead of me and i want room to keep getting better. i’m going to get more disciplined with my pace. i’m going to build my base. and mark my words: i’m gonna run 3:45 in Chicago.

along the dykes – there are benches. most have been purchased in someone’s memory and they all face the river. if you’re facing the river – you’re also facing the mountains. the view is really unbelievable. the river is dotted with fisherman – mostly fly, and it is one of the most peaceful places i’ve ever seen.

switch gears.

i ran today.

at 3 miles… i stopped. without plan or intention – i just stopped. i’m sort of injured (this post is not about my injury so we’ll just skip past that part) and the injury was bucking at me. frustrated and a little crestfallen – i looked around, glanced to my left at the bench that i’ve run past every sunday for over a year. i had never stopped long enough to read the message on that bench or any other…the bench in front of me read:

“In loving memory of Graham Osygus. 1975-2000. Gone fishing…meet you there”

i looked around. beyond confused. what? graham? graham osygus? when was this? wait – it says right there dre: 2000. same birth year as me. yes, this is…wow.

i knew graham. grew up with him. graduated high school with him. saw him at that moment in my mind’s eye. looked around – not sure what i was looking for but was so confused. did i know that he died? i don’t think i did. where was i in 2000? i was in toronto…nobody told me. pre-facebook, dawn of email (for me, university grad with no computer at home). i just…i don’t know.

so at that moment – i did something i’ve never done before. i turned off my garmin and i stopped running. i sat down on graham’s bench. took off my belt. pulled out the headphones and sat myself down.

i’d never noticed that there was a tiny fishing hole right there. graham’s bench looks right at it. massive poplars sway above. bald eagles nest in them. ducks are happy. there are sometimes otters in the river – not today – but i’ve seen them before. the wind was easy today – the sun strong but tucked behind big fluffy clouds.

i thought about graham. i thought about his parents, losing him when he was 25. i imagined them buying him that bench. i thought about my own parents, how much they love me – how much i love my own son…then the tears started to come. i thought about what graham’s parents must have wanted in buying that bench for him. if i had to guess – i’d say they would have wanted me to stop and think about their son. think about my own life and family. take a moment to be grateful for the body that carried me in good health to that place. grateful for the sound mind and spirit that gave me perspective enough to interrupt what i was doing in honor of their son.

when i taught yoga – i ended every class by saying “remember that you can always come back to this place”. i was talking about that place inside you – the place you find on a long run if you look closely – or the one you find in savasana – it’s the one you can’t see most of the time. i saw that place today.

i took a few more minutes to think about my running. my current injury and my own childish disappointment in a few flippin seconds per mile. i thought about how healthy and awesome my life is – how i can run marathons and climb moutains and learn to swim and climb the monkey bars with my son.  i thought about this beautiful running route in front of me and this wonderful bench that graham’s folks bought for us to enjoy. i thought about who i am – and i was really honest with myself.

if i have ever been close to discovering why i run – it was at that moment.

i thought about my goals and vowed to embrace the perspective that was developing before my very eyes.

i picked myself up. kissed his plaque. looked ahead. at my halfway mark i saw some fly fishermen and thought about graham again. i smiled. an eagle soared above. my injury screamed at me but i pressed on.

on the way back, i passed graham’s bench again – i said out loud “sorry buddy, makin good time, i’ll catch you next time”.

thanks for a great run today Graham. peace be with you.

the 4 mile mark of the route i run every. single. week.

in my mind, this goal sits behind a clear pane of glass: clearly defined and bright as day – my goal shines at me through this glass.

throughout my week, every week, i start to gradually lose sight of my goal. it’s not entirely my fault. i think it’s just how life works. thoughts cloud over the glass, words and tweets pollute my vision and ideas and doubts settle – like dust – on my glass. this post isn’t meant to be overly prosaic – but the metaphor is powerful for me.

i recently started running without music. it took my coach a year to convince me to let go of this security blanket and i’m finally doing it. you know what else i’m doing? i’m hitting negative splits. i’m focusing on my breath. rhythm. cadence. trusting myself. paying attention. i’m thinking.

here’s what i think about.

when i go on my weekend long runs – i imagine that every exhalation is the wind that is needed to blow this dust off the glass. with every step, the glass starts to clear. i can start to see my goal again. i go through phases of emotion on my long runs because i inspect the dust. i see every thought, every comment, every tweet, one at a time – and i blow them away. i revisit every conversation about my goal and i accept responsibility for my feelings about them. i literally let everything go. i do this exercise before the halfway point of my run (i always run out and back) and that, my friends, is how i hit negative splits.

for those of you who don’t know me, or haven’t had the pleasure of hearing me obsess about this: my goal is to qualify for the Boston marathon. interesting tidbit #2: i don’t have any friends who are marathon finishers. not one. so my twitter running community matters to me. alot.

there are people on twitter who have reached out to me and said: “you can do this”, “go for it, as long as you enjoy the journey, you can’t go wrong”, “i will help get you there”, “i’ve seen your times, i know you can do this”, “just do it!!”, “i have a friend who took that much time off his PR, you can do it too” or my personal favorite from “3:45? no problem!!”.

these thoughts, these tweets, these messages – you know what they are?? they’re the freakin WINDEX on my glass. i SAVE them up and i think about them through the last half of my run. i wash that glass with the motivation, the positivity, the living proof of achievement and commitment. i revisit tweets from people hitting PR’s with pride, goal setting, doing it.

i’m not trying to feed you a shot of Tony Robbins with a Deepak chaser here…i’m just telling you that there is power in the control that i exercise over my own mind. there is greatness in guarding my mind, like a sentinel, from negativity. there is elation in turning away every naysayer and doubter and believing in myself.

the last half of my run is the hardest (negative splits) but in a way, it’s where all the glory is. the glory is in just seeing the goal again – knowing that it’s still there – proving to myself, week after week – that it still matters to me as much as the day i set the goal.

“more important than the quest for certainty is the quest for clarity” francois gauthier.

and that, my friends, is how i hit negative splits.

i taught yoga for a long time, obtained every certification possible and studied with the world’s best. an astounding fact: all the postures were designed to build the combination of strength, flexibility, focus and stamina required to sit in the lotus position for an indefinite period of time. to sit in the lotus pose, perfectly, without props – is a remarkable achievement. it’s quite like running the marathon actually!

i asked one of my teachers once how long is was going to take to be able to sit in lotus for more than a few minutes without discomfort…

his reply:

sit on a phonebook for an hour every day in lotus. each day – remove one page. that’s how long it will take. do the math. it’s 3-4 years – devoting 1 hr a day.

so how is it that every 4-year old child on the planet can sit in lotus pose and less than 1% of adults can? truth is that over time – our anatomy atrophies. as @tarynrom of twitter quoted in her tweets – we are all born with the same anatomy – and over time that anatomy atrophies in shoes.i couldn’t agree more. that anatomy atrophies in chairs, drivers’ seats and beds too. our lifestyles limit our ability to sit in this pose. of course everyone can try! it’s just a question of how badly you want it…last time i checked – people weren’t actively promoting the benefits of this pose.

so: the VFF. a new way of running. a way of training your body correct form from the ground up. a healthy way of strengthening the feet and legs. a cascading effect of healthy running.

i totally get it and i applaud the vision. but i’ll tell you what: as a professional service provider – i would NEVER prescribe ONE thing for all people. i made adjustments and assists based on each individual’s unique needs. and. here’s the real kicker: i acknowledged my own scope of practice. injured? get yourself to someone with the credentials, qualifications and experience to assess, diagnose and treat. i won’t have anything to do with yoga anymore…but that’s another post.

in all my years of teaching – not once did i have someone tell me that they wanted to sit in lotus as a goal. no: for the thousands of students i saw – it was about 1 hr of release and while i had my students for an hour – i made them as comfortable as possible. chairs, blocks, bolsters, straps – whatever it took to let those bodies have the experience. in short: the props were used to compensate for people’s imbalances – because the reality is that fixing every weakness and imbalance was just something that students weren’t committing to. i think that shoes do much of the same.

enter the VFF. i first heard about the VFF’s from my twitter buddy @SaloniusRun. 2 things: he’s an ultra-runner and he’s got an exercise physiology degree. combine the two and he basically (from what i understand) took the phonebook approach to learning how to run in these. AND. he’s far far far from preachy about their benefits. if anything, he’s a little humble about this achievement (of being able to travel great distances in them).

like @saloniusRUn and those training for a marathon in VFF’s? wow wow wow. they are likely applying the phonebook-page-a-day approach too. i would bet that a responsible runner would take a year, if not 2, to train their feet to run that distance. i get over 100 hits a day on this blog – i hope any of you VFF runners will speak up on this!

so what about the rest of us? the ones who are sort of preoccupied with getting different stuff done? running a few marathons a year and striving for time and distance goals?

i think we are the ones who would probably welcome getting bumped up to first class on a flight. why? because it’s more comfortable?!!! yes: it’s probably better for me to sit cross legged on the floor – but since i’m going to be there for 4 hours – mind if i have some cushion? it’s the same as my students in yoga: do they want to wait 3 years to get into lotus? absolutely not. i didn’t either.

in case the metaphor is lost on you: same goes for ME and the VFF. #justsayin

my blessed Mizuno’s and Asics DS trainers are BUSY boys. they take these dogs on 50+ km’s a week. injury free and getting faster by the day. my nikes accompany me to three crossfit sessions a week and escort me to and from the pool, playground and bike. i’m doin just fine…hey – i’d love to try a pair of VFF’s. no problem. but i acknowledge and respect the commitment that it would take to run safely in them at the distance that i travel.

to those of you with noble goals in VFF’s: i applaud you. you are reaching for strength and flexibility in equal parts and devoting yourself to training your body to adjust. you are honestly going for the lotus pose of running.

to those users who are downright SANCTIMONIOUS about them? i just grin. good for you guys. affiliation and passion are a powerful combination. form your tribe and spread the good word right? it’s worked before…

lastly: rodney yee once said to me as i struggled with lotus: remember that yoga was designed by 80 lb Indian men. we are not all the same. come on. yes: same anatomy. but i’m not a whippet. i’m more german shepherd. like murakami said: workhorse not racehorse. know what i mean? i get passed at every race by the skinny bald guys. not the same. in theory maybe – but in practice?? hmmm. convince me

p.s…..i did my fair share of tinkering around in lotus pose. i might tinker around in VFF’s too