Running in place

Let me just start by telling you this. The only reason I started running two years ago is to run on trails. I don’t run just to run. I run to see things, to have adventures. I’ve never really liked running on roads either - the pounding, the pavement, the cars… the road to hell. 

But when I broke my wrist (running on trails) at the beginning of December, I got stuck with only two options - running on the treadmill (and occasionally roads after dark and if not icy in Maine winter), or not running. And, I guess, for the person I am today, not running is no longer an option.

In the last seven weeks, since the fall, I’ve done all I can to keep strong and fit. I have biked 356 miles on the indoor bike; I've run 50 miles on roads and 158 miles on the treadmill - ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY EIGHT MILES on the treadmill! The treadmill. The treadmill. The treadmill. Can you hear it? 

Broken radius in three places. 

I have watched many, many, many, many shows. Here are just a few I remember:

-Queer Eye (season 6… so good!)

-The Hook Up Plan (rom-com in French..so many lies!)

-Offspring (Australian rom-com.. people never learning from their mistakes.)

-Virgin River (Worst show EVER… I watched every season.)

-Summertime (Teenage rom-com in Italian… lots of women with very toned butts wearing thongs.)

Yes, I know, that's a lot of rom-coms, but to my defense they are in languages I'm fluent in and never get to practice, so that's my excuse. I’ve also watched documentaries, which made me feel like maybe I was killing fewer brain cells. Some of those:

-Becoming (Michelle Obama)

-Homecoming (Beyonce)

-Where I Am (Dolly Parton)

-The Game Changers (plant-based superheroes)

-Above Us Only Sky (John & Yoko)

If I run early in the morning, I watch Ted Talks, to try to at least get smarter, though since I tend to forget anything scientific almost immediately, I can't say this is a worthwhile plan. 

Not running trails has exacerbated my chronic anxiety. Last year at this time, I was out in the woods, on trails almost every day, and doing long runs on weekends, which made this cold, dark time of year bearable, and even exciting. To make the last seven weeks even more challenging, I’ve been in and out of hospitals and doctors' offices at least ten times - for the broken wrist and for a variety of other unrelated issues that are just as annoying but maybe a topic for another day. I only find it relevant to mention here because, as much as I find running on the treadmill depressing, I find waiting rooms in doctors’ offices and hospitals shockingly more so. I realize this is off topic for a running blog. But good lord, just look at this: 

 Waiting for a cat scan, or waiting for Godot? No one ever called.

                                  

Waiting for an x-ray in 2021 or 1975.

    Notice the kids' area in the back.

                                                                

Close-up of the kids' area. 

                                                                                        

If I'm lucky, I’m probably about two weeks away from returning to trails. I have purchased a pair of wrist guards made specifically for skateboarders and roller derby. I only wish I could also wear a helmet, knee pads, and full body armor, because honestly I’m not sure how many more treadmill miles I have in me if I take another bad spill.  

Of course, there’s absolutely nothing else to do but get back to the trails. I miss my running community. It’s been a lonely couple of months. And, after all, running trails is about being fearless in the face of fear. At least it is for me. 

Lately, I’ve gone back to my gratefulness journal, because when things truly suck you’ve got to shift gratefulness into your highest gear. For all my lack of enthusiasm for running in place, I have much to be grateful for. I broke a wrist and not a foot. My body is still getting stronger. I have some great races to look forward to this year. The days are getting longer, and spring is just around the corner (sort of). Adventures are awaiting, and I’ll be ready.  

The Punisher - 50-mile race to the finish

"Runners tackle a 16.2 mile loop that’s a gauntlet of great Maine singletrack, journeying through Bradbury Mountain State Park, over Tryon Mountain, Chandler Brook, and back into Bradbury Mountain State Park. The course has tough hills, rocks, roots, and very little flat including a 1/2 mile of paved road and 1/4 mile of dirt road. Punisher [50-mile] runners start with a little mile loop up the mountain before running three laps of the 16 mile course… Cut-off: 12.5 hours.” - From Big Brad Ultras’ website

I have a very high capacity for worrying. I come from a long line of great women worriers. So it’s no surprise that leading up to the race, I had been worrying (some might even call it obsessing) over the 12.5 hours cut-off time. I’m not a fast runner, and I knew from my past experience running the course that I could complete one 16.5-mile loop in 4 hours. The tentative plan was to run the first lap (which is actually about 18 miles) in 4 hours, the second lap in 3.5 hours (what was I thinking?!), and the third in 4.5 hours. I expected my last lap to be my slowest, never having run that far before. Brian, who would be my pacer for the last lap, had created several intricate charts with detailed variations of paces we’d need to maintain depending on how quickly or slowly we would be starting the final 16.5-mile lap. 

I also knew that I needed not to be obsessing about all the math, the pace, the cut-off, and just focus on the challenge of running 50 miles on tough terrain, while enjoying every moment of this awesome adventure. 

We started at 6am in the dark, going up Switchback on the side of Bradbury Mountain. It didn’t take me long to realize that my headlamp wasn’t living up to its reviews. I could barely see two feet in front of me, and by the time we were running down Terrace, the strap had come completely loose and was sliding down in front of my eyes. But by the time I made it to the East Side, I had settled into a nice pace, and felt all the worry melt away. Yeah, the headlamp sucked, and I could barely see, but I could see first light between the trees, and the air was becoming slightly warmer. It felt amazing to be running in the early morning hours on these familiar trails. When daylight was in full swing, I put my headlamp in my jacket pocket, which I would later leave in my drop bag, which would turn out to be a really, really bad idea. 

2021 Punisher start

Everything felt great on the first lap. I ran alone for most of it, except for Barbara D., who was behind me for all the miles. We only spoke a few times. I can’t hear people all that well when I’m running, and I didn’t want to engage Barbara in conversation I wouldn’t be able to hear. Having only met Barbara at the start line, I had liked her right away. Her presence was great company regardless of our silence. 

Around mile 22, while running on the East Side, I had a bit of an Alice in Wonderful moment. The gold and red reflection of leaves felt dizzying, as though I was running through a slow-moving carousel. When I arrived at the PT Cruiser aid station, I mentioned to Brian and Karen E. that I was feeling weirdly dizzy, which seemed strange because I had been eating and fueling regularly. Gordon C., who was within earshot, said that even though it was overcast and cool, runners were sweating more than they realized, and I probably wasn’t getting enough salt. Gordon suggested I take some salt caps. I took one at the aid station and packed some for the road. I felt an almost immediate improvement. So grateful for Gordon and people who know their stuff! 

But I did not run the second lap in the planned 3.5 hours. I walked more than I should have, and I was struggling mentally. I have been told that you will want to quit many times during the course of an ultra. And ain't that the truth! I spent miles 25-34 fighting myself. I tried not to think about the miles I still had to run. When I passed the Snowman aid station, I told Ryan T. that I just kept wanting to quit and I was only on my second lap. “That’s going to wane,” he said, which was such a good reminder that everything that comes also passes, and to be patient, and to just to keep moving. My body moved between feeling strong and fluid, to feeling like, well, I was a middle-aged woman running a lot of miles on trails. 

Powerlines - Lap 2

I was so jazzed to meet Brian for the third, and final, lap we’d be running together. As we started heading out to the East Side, I mentioned that I had left my headlamp in my jacket and we would probably need it at the end of the race. Brian said that he had put my headlamp along with his in the car, but that he could go get them. We knew we were pressed for time, and decided to just keep going without our headlamps (not the best idea?). 

As we started on the East Side, Brian was running next to me. He seemed to be running so fast. I thought I was moving pretty fast too, and said: “You know, this is pretty much as fast as I can go right now!” He told me later that I was averaging 17min/mile on flat trails! Brian tried running in front of me to set a faster pace. We needed to complete this side by 4pm, or we wouldn’t be allowed to start the last 10 miles. But I wasn’t moving fast. I was fueling and I was drinking, and taking my salt, but I was just tired. At one point, I yelled: “Hey, this isn’t fun Brian! You, up ahead, just running. And I can see you looking at your watch! This sucks!” He slowed down and got behind me to try to push me while not getting on my nerves. That man is a freakin’ saint. 

I was clear-headed enough to know that for Brian to push me while knowing I was struggling meant that we were probably not going to make the 4pm cut off. This was a wake up call for me to suck it up. I wanted to get this done. And I wanted to finish this race by the 12.5 hour cut off, and I was going to have to stop being a baby about it. So I periodically started asking Brian our mileage and the time, and we started moving faster and faster. At one point, Brian even said: “Man, you are cruising,” which was so sweet of him, because I’m sure I was not. 

We made it back to the the PT Cruiser aid station at 3:57pm, three minutes before the cut-off to start the last ten miles. I saw our friend Peter T. look at Brian with a bit of a concerned look, but when he looked at me he just gave me a big smile and said: “Great job!” This is why I love the trail running community.  

Moving quickly through Snowman at mile 42.7 

I would run that last lap in the same time as I had the first lap, which had not been the plan, but became necessary. I knew I had to keep moving as fast as possible, walk as little as possible, run as many hills as I could. And by the time we passed Snowman at mile 42.7, we were making good time. Brian told me later that this was the first time he actually felt like we could make the cut-off.

We waved to our friends Rachel and Hayes at Snowman, and were really happy to see that Don D. and Barbara D. were running together. We ran down the road and even made a few jokes. My legs weren't thrilled running through the Powerlines, and they just hated the logging trail. I do too. My legs and I hate it. We came through Snowman again, now with 2.1 miles to go. I didn’t look at the time, but I remember yelling out to Ryan T. “I still believe!” and him yelling back something to the effect of “hell yeah.” 

2.1 miles to go.... we still believe!

As we crossed the road, I asked Brian if there was still hope, and he just said: “Of course there’s still hope.” But there was a massive freaking hill too. By this point, pretty much everything related to my body hurt. I could barely lift my legs and I felt like I had lost several toenails. But we kept running. I told Brian that I really wanted to stop to take an Advil. He told me that he didn’t think that was the best idea, and that anyway the Advil would probably not even kick in until we’d be at the finish. I knew he was right. I knew we couldn’t afford to stop. 

By now the woods were almost pitch black, and neither of us had a headlamp. Although this side of the mountain wasn’t as gnarly as the East Side, it was still a trail with rocks and roots. I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I held it up as high as I could while we ran, so it could light a bit of the way for both of us. We had a mile to go, and it was 6:15pm. We had 15 minutes to run that last mile if I was to make the cut-off. So we did the only thing we could do, we ran as fast as we could in the dark.

I didn't know what time it was when we saw the light from the field, but there it was -- the finish! I heard people cheering when they saw us arrive. Whether I was going to make it or not, I was going to run as fast as I could through that finish line and give myself one last chance. As I crossed, I heard someone say that we had made it, and when I looked at my phone, it said 6:30pm. Then Kristen M. came over and told me that I was third woman, and I hugged Rachel and Hayes, and Val. And I was a little confused overall. I didn’t understand how I could be third woman. I even asked Kristen: “Third woman of all women?” It would turn out that only three women had finished by the cut-off, and I had finished with only 5 seconds to spare. I was last and I was third.

There is so much more to say about this day, this race, and this community who now make up my life. And there are so, so many people to thank, from my coach, Bailey, to S&S for putting on the best show in town, to every single volunteer, to Brian. These amazing, pivotal experiences make up who we are and who we become, regardless of age or ability. And, of course, there are lessons everywhere, so many. If I had to choose just one from this day it’s that I have more fight in me than I thought I did, which is a good thing, because I’m going to need it for my next race. 

Why I'm running a 50-mile trail race

 

First let me clarify that the only actual racing I’ll be doing is against myself and the 12.5 hours cut off time. There will be, of course, other runners there, running, and most of them will be much more experienced than I am, and racing against each other. And I’m so happy to be sharing this adventure with the trail running community I love so much. But my personal goals are pretty simple: to finish with my body more or less in one piece and my mind stronger. 

So why did I decide to run 50 hilly, technical miles when I could have just as easily decided not to? Why do we do anything, really? Was it Scott Jurek’s father who used to say: Sometimes you just do things? But here are some of my reasons (in no particular order): 1) because growth only truly happens outside of our comfort zone, 2) because running makes me happy, and running for a long time makes me happier, 3) because an all-day adventure in the woods is the best use of my time, 4) because I want to see if I can, 5) because next year I want to run a 100 miles. 

And because my instincts are telling me loud and clear that this is where I need to be, pushing myself, suffering a bit (a lot!), and coming through and out on the other side of this challenge. And only fools ignore their instincts. 

I’m not going into this unprepared. I’ve worked hard. And I am very grateful to my amazing coach - who is also in so many ways the best therapist I’ve ever had - who maintains a challenging training plan that gets me out the door every day (except my Monday rest days). And even though I don’t always feel like running or cross training, I do. I’ve trained through frigid days and sweltering days, through IT band pain, calf pain, digestion issues, a painful stomach hematoma (that I sustained due to a crash on the trail). So, yeah, running hasn’t been easy. It’s sometimes sucked enough to make me wonder why I was putting myself through this. But every sucky day has been worth it. I have never regretted getting out the door, not once. 

Race day is still about 5 weeks away. I’ll be putting in a lot of miles these next few weeks, a lot of hill repeats, and a few mountains. I’ll be focusing on getting my body to the start line as healthy as possible, which is a challenge in itself. I fell yesterday, and was pretty sure I broke a finger (it looks like just a sprain); I’m dealing with some calves issues and returning tension headaches. But it would take a missing leg to keep me from getting to that start line of Big Brad’s Punisher in October. I’ve learned a lot about running in my somewhat short time of trail running (almost two years now). One of my favorite personal lessons is that running doesn’t always feel good, but it will always make you into a better version of yourself. That for me is reason enough to run to the finish line. 

Nothing Compares 2U

 

Sinéad O'Connor filming the video Nothing Compares 2U (photograph by Terri O'Neill)

I love that song. Unless you're a child of the ‘80s, it might not mean as much to you. Sinéad O’Connor released it in 1990. Prince wrote and composed it in 1984. I recommend that you go listen to it again or for the first time. It’s beautiful and heart wrenching, so it’s really a bummer that it makes me think of Strava - the running app. 

I have a love/hate relationship with Strava. I quit last summer and deleted my account, then signed back up a week later because I missed seeing where my Strava friends were running. The only thing I really want Strava to mean for me is discovery - of longer trails and new mountains, of new possibilities.

I appreciate the Strava feature of giving people ‘kuddos’ for their runs. I like seeing the empowering emojis inserted in the comment section - most commonly used: the flexed bicep and the fire symbol. Most commonly used words: ‘crushed it’ and ‘killed it,’ which are really terrifying words in any other context. These are good things about Strava, building other people up - the cheering section. Where Strava gets tricky is in the comparison department. Looking at people’s pace isn’t the healthiest thing if everyone’s pace is faster than yours. On the other hand, it can be extremely healthy if you're practicing the Buddhist path or any spiritual journey. Maybe I stay on Strava because it will make me a better Buddhist - of course, this means that I’m placing judgment on my practice. Observation without judgment wins every time. True also beyond running apps.

We are all on our own different journeys - running and otherwise. The paths we chose along the way have taken us where we are right now, comparison is absurd and unhealthy. And the truth is, of course, someone will always be faster or slower than you, run more or fewer miles, have whiter teeth and better rhythm.

So what is Strava good for besides reinforcing insecurities and discovering new, cool running routes? I think its truest value lies in building community, with its best feature being diversity: my fast and super fast running friends, and everyone who is getting out there day after day, in all kinds of weather and indoor equipment, on all kinds of terrain, everyone who is coming back from an injury one mile at a time. All the different faces of running, uploading our daily experiences from our own tracking devices to this communal log, which thankfully also often includes photos of mountain trails, group selfies, and bloody knees. 💪 🔥 

What the blue blazes!

 

I’ve been thinking about blue blazes and mountains and how we find our way. A few days ago, Scout and I were running some new trails on Little Ragged Mountain out in Camden and heading over onto Bald Mountain. Scout was familiar with the area, but not the particular trail we were running. When we came to a road, she didn’t remember seeing a road crossing on the trailhead map. We crossed and started up the mountain when I said, excitedly: “Oh, I think we’re okay because we’re still on the blue trail.” And that’s when Scout broke the news to me. “All the trails are blue.” Say what?! New to me, this was a thing - painting the majority of trails in Maine with blue blazes. It felt sort of like the day I found out that there isn’t an actual parachute under your airplane seat, but just a flotation device, which I’m pretty sure wouldn’t do me much good. 

Scout asked if I was familiar with the expression “What in blue blazes!” (which we later found out is more commonly known as “What the blue blazes! - What the hell!). I wasn’t. But as a non-native English speaker, I get giddy whenever I learn a new expression, even after over 30 years in this country. There’s also: “Where in the blue blazes have you been?” - Where the hell have you been? I love this one in particular because it feels very Wild West. Apparently, there’s no real relationship between blue blazed trails and blue blazes expressions, which I find SO disappointing. Blue blazes slang derives from “the flames of hell.” And, as we all know, the flames of hell are always blue. 

Where all blazes are blue

We went up the mountain following the blue blazes - the same blue blazes we had followed earlier, but on a different trail. Why would anyone think this made any sense? How could you possibly know which trail you were following? What if you came to an intersection of four blue blazed trails? I couldn’t possibly be the only one to think this was confusing. In our case, it didn’t seem to matter. Scout  seemed pretty sure of where she was going, and surely enough we got to the top of Bald Mountain. I had absolutely no doubt that she would lead us there. Had it been me leading, I’m not so sure. 

We tried following different blue blazes to circle back to the other side. We came across a hiker who had tried to do the same, but said the trail had stopped and he hadn’t been able to find any more blue blazes so he turned around. Scout thanked him for the information, looked at the mountain across the way, and said: “If there’s a mountain, that’s where I’m going to go.” This felt pretty heroic to me, and I might have yelled an internal “Hell yeah!” And on we went searching for the blue blazes that would lead us to the mountain on the other side, but eventually concluded that they must have been buried in the snow, because the trail was nowhere to be found. We later learned that the trail is an out-and-back, so there truly wasn’t anything to follow.  

Looking for blue blazes to the other side

In the last few days since our run, I’ve been thinking of Rumi’s quote: “Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction.” Perhaps that’s the story behind blue blazes. I’ve learned very little as to why so many trails are blazed blue, except that maybe it’s because blue is an easy color to see on trees, maybe it’s cheaper paint, maybe it’s tradition. No one seems to have a definite answer. And that’s okay. Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction.

Do something that scares you

When I was a child, I was fearless. One summer when I was 8 years old, I was at camp in the South of France where we lived. All us kids slept in A-frame tents and were constantly dirty. It was the late 70s and we were wild children with little adult supervision. I once spent an entire afternoon tied to the trunk of a tree as retribution for having punched a boy before any of the camp’s counselors noticed I was missing. 

During our second week at camp, we were assigned into teams for a scavenger hunt into the woods. Each team needed a leader, and I, having  more confidence than I’ll ever have again for the rest of my life, designated myself as the leader. I remember it was one of those hot, dry afternoons at the end of August, but we were told to not linger because a storm was coming. We were allowed to bring packs with a little bit of food to snack on. 

We spent the first few hours looking for random things camp counselors had left for us to find in the woods, and I was bored. This seemed all annoyingly predictable. So I suggested that maybe we should just keep walking and exploring the forest. One of the boys in our group, who was only 7 years old,  pointed out that it was time to return to camp. Being raised by a single mother who had fled the Italian authorities to keep me with her,  I had learned that rules were made to be broken, so I suggested we continue ahead. With some reluctance the group followed me. 

Someone once said that it’s not an adventure until something starts to go wrong. We became living proof of this when our group of 7- and 8-year-olds spent the next three days lost in the woods. We weathered the first night’s thunderstorm in a dilapidated shed by a river. A few of the children were crying and all of them hated me. I tried to pretend that I knew our way back: “right there,” I’d say pointing, “it’s just right across the river.” But I had no idea. 

We spent our second day in the woods hungry, tripping on roots and rocks, running to nowhere, just trying to find our way out. Eventually we found a farm, and lied our way into staying the night and getting some food. The farmer didn’t care. 

Probably my only good idea was on our third day when I suggested we keep walking on the side of the road, so that we could be more easily spotted. I had a ‘feeling’ we were walking in the general direction of camp, but by this point I had lost the confidence of the entire group. I was clearly a failed leader. 

When our camp counselors finally found us before nightfall, and frantically made us swear that we could never, ever tell our parents or anyone about any of this, we all knew that no matter how scared we had been, we had just lived through one of the most incredible adventures of our young lives. 

Eleanor Roosevelt once said “Do something that scares you every day.” Good words to live by. As adults, we often lose our fearlessness - we think about consequences, failure, rejection, danger. We don’t generally think it’s a good idea to just walk into the woods with no idea what lies ahead. But we should! If not walk into the woods, then at least get out of our comfort zone. Let our fear break us open rather than shut us down. So here’s to the fearless child in all of us and to all the amazing, terrifying adventures 2021 has to offer. Here’s to our incredible resilience and strength in the face of ‘bad’ ideas. Here’s to being lost for a little while, a little longer, just for fun.

And So It Goes

I don’t know about you, but in the midst of all this unpredictability (i.e. madness), I’ve needed to keep some sense of structure, however loose, to my days. I've tried to shape how my days start and end, so that whatever happens in between, and god only knows, is more manageable (i.e. will not trigger a panic attack). So my every day starts with 45 minutes of yoga and ends with a run or a bike ride. Of course, it’s a bit crazy to ever think we actually control anything. Still, we keep trying. 

Since the sun now sets at 4pm in Maine, this week I’ve been getting in a few morning runs, changing my routine a bit. This past week, I’ve been on roads, and I don’t like roads. But it’s never a good idea to predict how a run is going to go before actually going on a run. You never know how it’s going to turn out, and that’s what we love about it.

Gorham roads

It was tough getting out the door on Tuesday. The temps were in the teens, and I wanted to run for at least an hour with some hill strides at the end. I was also dreading our neighborhood’s loose dogs who like to chase. But I got out the door without overthinking it. Just get out the door! After about half a mile, I settled into a nice, easy pace for a little over 5 miles, then found a good hill for my strides. All in all, a very uneventful, but surprisingly pleasant 6ish-miler. 

On Wednesday, I knew I had to do some hill work. My running plan had me down for some warm-up and cool down running, with 4x3-minute hills. A 3-minute hill is a surprisingly long hill, and not that easy to find, unless you’re running up a mountain. My 3-minute hill is at an odd location almost in downtown Gorham, in front of residential homes. But it’s a great hill, and it has a sidewalk, so I won’t get hit by cars. I’m pretty sure the people whose houses I run in front of think I’m insane. 

I don’t think I’d be exaggerating by saying that running hills can be life-changing - not just in making you a stronger runner but also by helping you settle your mind. The first hill repeat is always the hardest for me. My mind is still thinking about this idea of running hills - how hard it is, how many more I have to do - but by the second hill I’m only focusing on running up that one hill. All I need to do at that particular moment in my life is run up that one hill. That’s it, nothing else. And that is an awesome place to be. That very simple thought can change your entire outlook on how you go about the rest of your day. Unfortunately, the more I run hills, the less I’m capable of multi-tasking. 

A 3-minute hill

Thursday was a bike day, and since it was dark by the time I could get on the bike, I went for an indoor bike run. I had a horrible headache and hot flashes all day (hello menopause!), but I’ve learned that just because you feel crappy doesn’t mean your workout will be bad. You just start, and see where you end up. I got in about 11 slow miles, but my body was grateful for the movement after sitting in front of a computer all day. 

I wanted to get in an early morning run on Friday, but work got in the way of things, so I ended up on the treadmill for a little under an hour, watching Emily in Paris, which is the worst possible show ever that I couldn’t stop watching. There’s not much to say here really. 

Emily in Paris - worst show ever

Today is Saturday, and I’m going to get outside for a hike with Huckleberry, our beagle. I have about 8 hours of light to work with, which feels luxurious. 

I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow all week, finally getting to the trails. I’m hoping for a long group run, but either way, I’ll run for at least two hours. Soon I’ll be running a little longer again every Sunday. 

And so it goes. Meanwhile, Trump's lawyers are trying to create new states (have you heard? New-Nevada and New-California?). We hope Maine will get enough vaccines. We hope the vaccines won’t have too many side effects. We hope people will finally start wearing masks. We hope we’ll soon be able to hug our friends again, and travel, and eat out at restaurants, and go see a band. Until then, we’ll keep running (or walking or swimming or whatever it is that you do), because we need to keep trying. It’s the one thing we can do.