Continuing Toward the Ultimate Finish Line: a Cure

Last Saturday I met Dawn's children for the first time, and saw Doug for the first time since high school (which I will just suffice it to say was a very long time ago).  It was my chance to visit with her family and tell them more about how I came to do this marathon to honor Dawn's memory.  I was afraid of getting too emotional, as I have been known to do from time to time, and had already drafted this letter to try to say all the things I wanted to say:

I met your mom when we were about your age; we were both in Mr. Campbell’s band class. In high school we did DECA together, with Ms. Czarapata (for some reason I will always remember how to spell that!); Kacy was in that class with us too. I don’t remember that we were for long the closest of friends, as young friendships tend to fluctuate, but I do recall one time when I was at her house; it was somewhere near Whitman school. That’s when she played Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” for me, and that sounded like such a bad song at the time! I don’t remember your grandmother very well, as I think I only met her a time or two, and I was saddened when she passed away while we were in high school.

After graduation I joined the Army and left the Valley for bigger things (or least a more interesting life) until college. As that was before a lot of today’s common technology, people didn’t usually stay in touch unless they were especially close, and your mom and I lost contact. I’m not sure when it was that I saw your mom at the Hastings check-out counter, but we recognized each other and said hello and tried to catch up in those few moments; that’s the last time I saw her. We were more recently in contact through Facebook, the little bits of our lives that people share on there. I was scared for her when she announced her diagnosis after such a long period of being sick and having unanswered questions. When I saw her post with the number to her hospital room I just had to call, and her voice sounded exactly as I remembered. Her recovery was optimistic at the time and she planned to be in Seattle in the spring for more treatment and I would see her then, but told her not to worry about the details for that until later. Her best news was that she would be going home soon to spend Thanksgiving with her family: her husband and children, you. She proudly told me about each of you and your ages; I was in denial that we were really old enough to have children that big! I was so happy and sad for her, having such a family while battling her disease.

What a lot of people don’t know about me, and what I was able to share with your mom that day, is just how much I want to be a mom. The paths my life has taken have been incredible; some have been good and others sad, and all have led me to where I am today and shaped the person I am, but not yet as a mother. And while I don’t remember her exact words, your mom comforted me and I knew she understood my longing.

We didn’t talk again after that one call, and at the time I thought we would catch up closer to her trip to Seattle. I didn’t know that calling made her day so much brighter, and if I had known I would have called every single day. Sometimes we can make a big difference when we least realize it.

Finding a way to combine my passion for running with a cause to help fight cancer in your mom’s memory allowed me to know that I was making a difference, and even more incredible is not knowing how far that goodness will stretch as it continually renews itself through new people and kind actions.
In joining this cause I have met survivors, people undergoing treatment, and others whose loved ones lost the fight. Though I hadn’t yet met you, I thought of you often. I also thought of the children of Heather, a butterfly angel whose sister runs with me for some of the same reasons. I think of all of the mothers, sisters, friends, and children that are affected by these diseases. I don’t want there to be children without mothers because of cancer; I want to do what I can to help. With hard work and generous donations from family and friends, both new and old, as well as a significant gift from an anonymous donor, I was able to direct funding to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and increase awareness of blood cancers to keep working towards a cure.

On October 16, 2011, I completed the Nike Women’s Marathon in San Francisco in memory of your mom. Her name was proudly displayed on my jersey, and her picture and name were included in the remembrance signs for our training chapter. There were 3,700 fundraising runners like me that raised a total of $11.7 million dollars for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for that event, and the race itself has raised more than $118 million in the 8 years it has been offered. That’s a lot of hope for a brighter future without cancer.
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The finisher's symbol of my race was a necklace rather than a medal, and it was my honor and privilege to put it on Dawn's 10 year old daughter.  I cannot imagine the pain of losing a parent, especially at such a young age, and I wanted to give her a reminder of this journey that I made in her mother's memory.  I showed the family my jersey and talked about the other names that are on it and how I came to know of their stories.

There is still more work to be done and miles to run before a cure is found, and while the road is long and uncertain I will continue to do what I can to make a difference.

Emmie Runs Marathons

I’ve run two marathons this year, and already have my next one picked out, so it must be official: I’m a marathoner.  A junkie for speed and pushing myself to new limits, and the pain and triumph and exhilaration all of that entails, I’ve found a challenging test of will for my body and mind; a marathon combines all of these elements and more into a grueling 26.2 miles of stick-to-it toughness.  It’s easy to get into a comfort zone of only running a set number of miles or limiting the boundaries of perceived ability, so taking on the challenge of a marathon pushes past all of that and propels commitment to a whole new level.  While I seem to subject myself to pain more frequently than I’d care to admit, there are specified limitations within the course of running the marathon in which to endure it.  It’s only 26.2 miles, and the torture will be limited to however long it takes to complete it (and for the body to recover in the subsequent day or so); with life there’s not always a defined finish line you can run towards to signal when the painful times will end. 

As a member of Team in Training (TNT), I completed the Nike Women’s Marathon on October 16, 2011.  The course started downtown in Union Square and went down along Fisherman’s Wharf.  As promised, there were hills; legendary hills that one envisions to hear the name San Francisco.  They went up and kept going, with plenty of supporters cheering on the sidelines and big drums thundering at the top of the steepest one at Presidio to keep spirits high and the momentum going.  The downhill curves weren’t as noticeable, so they couldn’t provide a comparable decompression, but they brought awe-inspiring sights of the city, the bridge, and the coastline.  It ended at Ocean Beach, mere steps from the sand.  To call it beautiful seems inadequate.

In contrast to most of my training, I ran a lot of it alone.  A teammate’s knee gave way around mile 6 and she implored me to go on without her.  My coaches joined me for short stints at various points to check in and give support and advice; it was at one of these times that I first heard mention of a lake.  I was advised to find somebody, anybody, to run with for that portion but I kept trying to recall the course map and whether I had even noticed a lake; bear in mind that mental functioning is greatly reduced after the first 12 or so miles.  I suppose there was a patch of blue on the map that I hadn’t given much thought to, but to witness it in real life was a harsh realization.  Lake Merced looked enormous; getting around it felt like it would take forever and in many ways it seemed like it did.  Getting up the hills hadn’t been a problem; I had trained hard and was ready for them.  Pushing so hard on the hills propelled a complete draining of energy that couldn’t readily sustain the long stretches that followed.  This was especially compounded by my inability to take in anything other than Gatorade and water, despite my training with energy-replacing electrolyte chews.  There was a long straight stretch of road before and after the lake, the second of which provided a beautiful view of the sandy coast that I couldn’t fully appreciate as my brain desperately tried to calculate how much time I had left to make my initial pace goal.  When my energy continued to seep out with my shuffled steps I thought that I certainly could at least do as well as I had on my first marathon in flat Phoenix.  No such luck.  At a certain point you wonder how much longer the course will go on, and “helpful” fans try to say it’s just one more mile, or that stoplight ahead, and conceptually you know it’s not true and that it will continue on even further, but oh wouldn’t it be wonderful if they were telling the truth and it was really that close?  Eventually you just give in to the idea of repetitiously putting one foot in front of the other with the faith that an end will come eventually.  Finally I saw it; the arch with the glorious words “FINISH”.  I dug out the last of my juice and raced as hard as I could to that line, sprinting to get there as fast as I could muster.

I wanted to fall over after crossing the line.  I couldn’t even see straight enough to notice the man in the tuxedo other than he held a platter piled high with the prized boxes in their signature Tiffany color.  The fact that he was one of the firefighters was lost on me; I think now that they should have been wearing sleeveless shirts or at least their helmets.  All I wanted to do in that moment was sit down and pass out.  I couldn’t even function enough to get a finisher’s photo, instead focusing solely on the purple sign that told TNT participants to check in at the designated area.  The white ribbon around the box was tied so perfectly that I didn’t even want to open it to see the necklace, so I just held on to it while I stumbled around and futilely grasped for my bearings.  Slowly the fog lifted and I could finally appreciate what I had just accomplished.

I left everything I had on that course; there was nothing more to give when I crossed that finish line.  My Facebook status update began: Everything hurts except my heart.

Being with TNT made all the difference on this marathon, as my hard work could be supplemented by a cause for helping the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society fight blood cancers and care for patients.  There were 3,700 of us out there that day, representing over $11 million raised; I helped bring in almost $4,000 of that amount with the support of my fundraising donors, most especially from a very generous anonymous donor and another generous supporter.  In the many quiet moments I had along the way I thought of my friend Dawn and her children, and of all the people whose names were on my jersey and their families.  I read the shirts of other runners, some adorned with pictures and ribbons of remembrance.  No matter what happens to us in our lives, we have to continue on by putting one foot in front of the other again and again to go forward.  Wanting to stop and stay put isn’t an option, as the world will continue on around us.  Whatever pain and disappointment we encounter will surely fade in time, no matter how badly it hurts.  TNT helped put a cause to my journey, a way to allow me to focus on and help others as I shuffle beyond my own pitfalls.  Even more, it added a whole additional layer of fulfillment on top of an incredible accomplishment.

Despite what would sound like to most people to be a terrible ordeal to get through the months of training and numbing hours to complete just one event, there was never a doubt in my mind that I wanted to do it again, to jump right back in line for the next ride.  Doing it without TNT isn’t even an option; even though I’m physically capable of training on my own, the camaraderie and purpose of TNT add their own level of energy to the equation.  I had already come to this realization when I wrote my story of why I was running the Nike Women’s Marathon for Dawn, in which I stated that this is the group for me, and this is where I belong.  Seeing it through to the end just clinched it further.

Although, it’s not yet the end of this story…

Preparing for 26.2 miles: Redefining Nourishment

As I make my way through round 2 of marathon training, I’ve come to think of nourishment in new ways.

Proper nourishment for the race is crucial for ensuring there is enough fuel to see it through to the end. Sure, you can get by on a short course using your reserves alone, but for the long haul you need to keep refilling to make up for expended energy. Be it water, electrolytes, or support and encouragement, this is the fuel needed to help rebuild energy and keep going.

I've gone through phases of ravenous hunger and skimpy appetite, needing to feed both my body and spirit as I've prepared to tackle 26.2 miles.  Nourishment isn’t limited to food, and fueling the soul is just as important as feeding your body. Certainly do not discount the importance of eating properly, which is something I’m only marginally good at myself, but you must feed your life in other ways as well to build overall strength. Terms like soul food and comfort food aren’t limited to what to eat, but they also incorporate the things that give happiness and hope, which in turn make life more fulfilling and secure.

Through my training I’ve been able to practice with different types of food plans and fluid options to find out what works best for me on the road and what is going to fuel me through Sunday’s marathon. Our coaches have given advice on how to eat this week in particular, to help stock up energy “in the bank” to call on during the race.  So while I’ve been building up my reserves of ample fluids and sodium, I’ve also been taking in all of the words of encouragement and praise for my hard work and the cause I’m running for. These are going to help nourish me through race day and beyond, these bits of comfort food for my soul that will rally my spirit when the end is nowhere in sight.

Just as food is a daily necessity that makes us stronger, so are the good things in life that we must seek out to build our sense of self.

Power Struggle

Shedding dozens of pounds over the past two years has refined my power, and I am able to run great distances with enhanced endurance. However, my physical strength is no match for the force of the mind. Mental strength is just as crucial for achieving a goal or enduring a challenge, whether on the course or in life.

It becomes a matter of perspective as your mind will control what your body thinks are the limits of your abilities. To overcome this requires determination to push forward and continue on, beyond what you think you can do. That's how people are able to run marathons and greater distances; the ability to keep moving isn't limited by the body nearly as rapidly as by the negative thoughts permeating your subconscious. Training is your way to learn how to overcome both battles.

I'm going to run for more than 2 and 1/2 hours this Saturday; by most accounts that sounds simply ludicrous, but that's what it takes to build up to face the big course. When I initially heard about the training program being laid out in blocks of time rather than distance, I was resistant. For my first marathon the training runs were set in miles; my longest distance before the actual race was 22 miles, and it seemed logical that if I had managed that far then I would be able to slog along for another 4.2. Now a time equivalence concept that should hold a similar argument seemed lost on me, as our longest run will be 3 hours, and it's going to take me at least 4 to finish on October 16th. I didn't think I would be prepared well enough by following that regimen.  Enter Coach Jay and the first of many, many gentle lectures on running at a slower pace on the longer training runs to conserve energy, so that come race day there will be enough left to sustain the whole distance. It's no secret that I love to run fast; my goal of setting new PRs for each of my race distances in 2011 culminated this past Saturday with yet another reduction of about 7 minutes (this time on a 10k course no less!) so I naturally resisted this idea too. And during practice, oftentimes I find myself chatting away with my teammates not even realizing that we're burning along at an 8:30 pace until Coach Jay sneaks in behind us with a kind cue to slow down. But it makes perfect sense, and through better monitoring (and frequent reminders!) I've been better able to control the thought process over my speed, to resist going too fast when necessary, and find the mental push to dig deep when facing a big hill.

During a a marathon many people hit a “wall” somewhere along the course where they think they can’t continue on. Even shorter races can raise flags of negativity against achieving a certain finish time.  This is where training your mind as well as your body will help push past those long moments of doubt and see it through to the end. 

These are lessons that can be employed off the track as well. Strength is defined and viewed in many different ways and isn’t universally applicable to all parts of our lives; we are often quite strong on some fronts while weaker in others. There are times when we won’t think we can endure a tough situation or painful experience, but it’s a matter of pushing forward, one step at a time, and building up the attitude and realization that we are stronger than the self-imposed limits of the mind. Of course there are no practice exercises to train for these tests, but there will be coaches to guide us towards the right path; they are the people in our world that we trust and respect, who have access to our inner lives. They come in a variety of forms from our various networks and are sometimes found when least expected, armed with words of encouragement or perhaps just a hug to help fight off the feelings of uncertainty. Occasionally they will confide that they respect your strength, which is especially humbling when you can’t see it in yourself, and at the same time empower you to build up the endurance to continue forward.  As the saying goes, it comes down to mind over matter; this in turn converts tests of mental strength into opportunities for growth.

While physical strength is more easily measured, it amounts to nothing without fortitude.

Because You Can't, You Won’t, and You Don't Stop

We're well into our season of marathon training now, and have been focusing on hills.  This is highly advisable since in complete contrast to my Phoenix marathon, San Francisco will have plenty of nice steep hills to break up the landscape.  Hills represent an extra challenge, a call to push yourself a little harder to overcome the resistance that will try to hold you back.

I often forget to watch out for hills.  They're out there, everywhere, some longer or steeper than others.  At times they may seem easily surmountable until you find yourself in the middle somewhere, dreading the idea of continuing on but not wanting to give up.  And just like with everything else, you can't stop once you've started, as you have no other option but to continue on.  While it seems more natural to try to avoid them as much as possible, and actively seeking hills may seem slightly insane, it's necessary to prepare yourself the best you can for what lies ahead.  Putting in the effort ahead of time, as well as you can anticipate, is the ideal method of preparation.  It's not a guarantee, as we will always encouter unexpected challenges, but is necessary for improvement and survival.  Lessons learned the hard way in advance build the necessary response skills for the rough patches ahead.

Once you've hit your hill you've got to dig in and give it everything.  Push forward, remembering that pain is temporary and the will to conquer burns deep.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other, little by little as you can stand it to keep going.  Because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop.  All such obstacles can be conquered with the will to continue on.

The Power of Believing in Yourself, and the Special Magic of Others Believing in You

I have achieved a long-awaited goal: I broke 2 hours on the half marathon course.  This is an aspiration set by many runners when they are getting started, and several previous attempts at it had failed.  Why this time was different is rooted in the power of one word: believe.

 

This is me four years ago, to the week for the photo on the right.  It feels like a lifetime ago, and honestly it was a different life at that time, for many reasons.  I was a different person: easily discouraged, quick to shut down and withdraw, prone to give up and quit; I slept a lot.  Excuses ran rampant for many things, and being healthy was not on the forefront of my concerns.  In many ways I merely existed, as I wanted things for my life but not enough to put the effort into working towards a plan to obtain them.  As a result, many dreams fell to the wayside and would never materialize.

I've mentioned before that running has come and gone in my life depending on the circumstances at the time.  It took the encouragement and prodding of my friend Gretchen to drive enough effort into me to sign up for a few 5ks and a triathlon.  I would go to the races, unprepared, and walk a lot.  They would take a long time to complete, and the finish line didn't hold any excitement for me; it simply marked the end of the misery.  There was never enough planning and hard work put in before the starting line to make the race itself, let alone the finish, feel rewarding.  I continued to do them and amass a collection of t-shirts, but I didn't take pride in the races or my performance.  Most of all, I didn't take pride in myself.

I tried half-heartedly to improve my efforts, and lost a bit of weight here and there.  Half-heartedly equals half the effort as well, so nothing really changed.  My weight bounced around a bit, but not enough to make me want to make it a priority; it didn't excite me enough to make the necessary changes for progression.  And so it went, and probably would have continued that way until I got the wild notion to sign up for a half marathon.

Finishing my first half marathon changed that mentality in many ways.  I hadn't put a lot of thought into the race beforehand (go out and run 13 miles, that's all) but for the first time the finish line captivated me.  That race was tough; giving up never crossed my mind but I often wondered if it would ever end.  13 miles hadn't sounded so intimidating until I was somewhere in the middle of it and questioning my sanity.  It took 3 hours and 5 minutes; just finishing the thing made me feel pretty victorious.  The unexpected medal at the end, coupled with the open arms of Gretchen and another dear friend Kim made me feel pretty important.  Had I really just done that?  That was a big deal!  And with all that time on the course to think, I admitted to myself that if I had put in some effort and real training before race day, the journey wouldn't have been quite so miserable.

Shortly after that I had another life changing event, which caused me to finally commit to myself.  If I was going to keep doing races, if I had any hope of having better experiences, it would require putting in the effort and hard work ahead of time.  Something had to change, and that was me and my attitude.  The weight came off easily at first, as did the minutes off my race time.  Kim was waiting for me at the finish line of my second half marathon 5 months later, when I finished at 2 hours 19 minutes.  Now let me tell you how Kim is an Ironman, which is beyond impressive by most people's standards, and she had tears in her eyes for me and my success, having cut 45 minutes off my finish time.  I've historically had a hard time taking pride in my accomplishments, but I felt entitled to that one; what an incredible feeling, quite worthy of bragging rights.

I didn't stop trying, and the running fluctuated a bit in and out of my life as I uprooted my world to a new area and a new job last year.  Throughout this time I prepared more for my races, and began to enjoy rather than simply endure the journey of the race.  However, the 2 hour mark eluded me time and again; I would get close and something would burn out inside me on the course and it would slip through my grasp, seemingly just outside my ability.

As the Seattle Rock n Roll half marathon loomed ahead of me, I doubted this time would be any different.  I had come close to breaking 2 hours before, and given it everything, all my energy, yet still failed.  I feared it would end up like that again.  I hadn't run much since injuring myself after my marathon in January, and while my preliminary distances were shorter and faster, I didn't think I had it in me to extend it all the way.  I shared this fear with Kim, who immediately responded by imploring me to believe in myself because she believed in me.  She knew I was capable of it if I set my mind to it; I just needed to be able to believe it too.

June 25, 2011 was a beautiful morning; a little cool and not raining.  The air crackled with excitement as I waited in the corral with two of my new teammates; we were all shooting for a new personal record.  The customary countdown got us started, and the miles clicked off nice and easy, smooth and fast.  I know hearing the shouts of "Go TEAM" helped keep me charged, as well as having friends running beside me, and everything just felt great.  I dared to hope that maybe it would happen this time but the old fears nagged loudly, and along the viaduct they started to get the best of me and I could feel myself losing steam.  I tried not to look at my watch, I knew I was good at that point but couldn't calculate what I would need to get to the end, and I had been disappointed before.  Then I thought about a sticker I had recently received that simply said one word: believe.  And I could hear Kim's voice and picture the words from her email.  I started to say the word and Kim's phrases out loud, and it refueled the fire.  Down the ramp, out the stretch, around the corner - I was closing in on the finish and all of a sudden I truly believed it was possible.  A few more turns and I was charging down the long stretch to the finish line.  Double rock star arms through the finish line of course, because I did it!  1 hour 54 minutes - that's 7 minutes faster than my previous best time.  It just took hard work, dedication, and a touch of faith.  

Having others believe in you and your abilities helps keep you going, but it takes the power of believing in yourself to make it a reality.

I'm Running for Dawn

When you’re from a small town and high school graduation is on the horizon, all you can think about is getting out and going away; that escape can’t come soon enough.  At least that’s how it was for me.  I was going far away, Missouri to start and who knows where else as I left for basic training on my 18th birthday that summer. I returned to the area for a short time during college but never really came back home.  What I gained in freedom and world travels ultimately cost me the tightness of the bonds with the family and friends that I no longer saw frequently.

Dawn and I went to school together in junior high and high school; we were both in band and DECA. We were close for a time but not as much afterwards due to my absence and the different paths our lives took.  I remember coming through her checkout stand at Hasting’s at some point and saying hello, and we tried to catch up in the few short minutes we had; I have no idea how long ago that was, and it was the last time I saw her.  More recently through Facebook we became reacquainted in the general terms we are with most of the people on our friend list, little bits here and there but not really revealing what’s going on in our lives. That is, until she got sick.

The posts started out last summer about how she wasn’t feeling well, and there was even discussion of blood transfusions. I remember being concerned for her without knowing what was going on. Then the announcement came: leukemia. I was devastated for her, what a scary word let alone a diagnosis. I had no experience or context for it and felt helpless except to comfort her through the hollow form of the computer. During one of her hospital stays she posted the phone number to her hospital room, a quiet request for contact. I remember seeing that and something inside me told me to pick up the phone and call. I’m not sure how long we talked, but it was a better life summary than that day at the checkout stand. The time and distance slipped away as we chatted; the good news was that they had received a list of possible donor matches and she would be home for the Thanksgiving holiday.  She also told me she would be coming to Seattle in the spring, and I told her I have an extra room and we could work out details later for visitors and if she needed help. We talked about her family, her three children; I couldn’t believe their ages and laughed that I was going to have to finally admit that we weren’t as young as we once were.  I wished her well and promised we would keep in better touch.

I never dreamed that that phone call would be my last chance to talk to her; I certainly wasn’t thinking it when I called that day.  I just knew she needed a friend.

Despite initial positive responses to her treatments, Dawn got sick shortly after Thanksgiving and then slipped into a coma.  Her husband Doug posted frequently about her progress and what the doctors were saying.  It seemed that she was coming around and one night he updated that she would be moved to a nursing home for rehabilitation. Then the next morning he posted that she was gone; it was a few days before Christmas. I fell out of my chair to read those words, I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t she been getting better? What about her children?

I got a call that afternoon from a mutual friend who had been closer to Dawn; she wanted me to know what a difference I made that day by calling.  I was really humbled to hear that, as I had no idea that it had meant so much to her.  So the next time something inside you whispers to do something, don’t wait. Act now. You never know what an impact you might have; you just might make somebody’s day.  You might  not get another chance.

I had heard of Team in Training (TNT) but had opted for a different route to get me to my first marathon in January.  I stood alone in my corral in Phoenix surrounded by a sea of purple and shouts of "Go TEAM!" and all of a sudden the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society held a new meaning for me.  It's an organization with a mission: to fight back against cancer and help care for those it hurts.  I knew then I would run another marathon, and I knew it would be for a bigger cause than just for me.

Dawn’s oldest son’s initials are TNT; that sealed the deal. This is the group for me, and this is where I belong. This marathon is for Dawn.

Making a Difference, One Step at a Time

Yesterday I heard an old story again, a timeless tale that never gets old.  It's referred to as the starfish story and there are several variations.  I found this one cited to The Star Thrower by Loren Eiseley:
Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.  One day he noticed a young man who was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out.  If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."

There is something very special in each and every one of us. We have all been gifted with the ability to make a difference. And if we can become aware of that gift, we gain through the strength of our visions the power to shape the future.

We must each find our starfish. And if we throw our stars wisely and well, the world will be blessed.
 --
What a simple yet powerful message.  Sometimes it's hard to think we, one little person, can help drive change, and quite rarely do we do it alone.  But we must not give up.

That's how I feel about my contributions to LLS.  There is so much to do, so many people to help, in the fight against cancer.  I will do my part, what I can, to help.  For those who have joined my efforts, I'm so grateful for your support as you join me.  If we all do what we can to help, together we will make a difference, one step at a time.

Where does running take us?

This image really caught my attention.  It’s been said a lot lately that I just seem to be running away from my problems, and I won’t deny that I’ve had a hefty share of things to work through lately. But I often find myself back where I started, generally wiser and occasionally for the better. The routes I run tend to be circular in nature, one way or another, as I always end up back at my house or my car. Running away? Not so much. Running to free up, if only for a short while, the constricting thoughts invading my subconscious? Absolutely. At the end of my run as I’m gasping for breath, having left everything I have to give out on the road, I’m calmer, more focused, and better collected. That’s what running gives back to me. If we could really run away from our problems more people would join the sport.



Running towards something?  Now there’s a concept to consider, I know I don’t do enough of that.  My races are literally my best examples, setting a goal to work towards which culminates at the finish line, but I'm still working towards moving other areas of my life in that direction as well.  Usually I just get it in my mind that I want to do or have something and I don’t let go easily while trying to obtain it.  But honestly what's more typical is that I've let life happen without a lot of direction on my part and or a lot of thought on where I was going or what my future would entail.  I have things I want to accomplish, but I haven’t generally found myself on a dedicated path to get there. This is finally changing, as I've started taking more control and ownership of my life and my future.

So while we may be inclined to try to run away from it all, we usually just end up right where we need to be.

National Running Day 2011

I've been anticipating today again this year; it’s now been a full year since I fully recommitted (again!) to running.  What have I learned?

I’m a lot stronger than I thought I was in some ways and I’m not nearly as strong as I thought I was in other ways. Most tests of strength are of the mind, not the body; this is especially true of the marathon.

Injuries are reminders to listen more closely to what’s really going on inside.

Learn to love the foam roller. Don’t skimp on stretching or good shoes. Cross-training is critical.

If you don’t have any skin in the game you won’t see it through. If it’s worth it to you, give it your all and you won’t regret the effort you put in, regardless if the outcome isn’t what you wanted.

You won’t always get what you want or achieve your goals on the first shot; sometimes they need to be reframed into something different before they can be realized.

You can’t wait for nice weather to go run, especially here! While outside won’t always be pleasant or warm or dry, the feeling of a good run will (mostly) outweigh the misery of the elements.

It takes a lot of guts to run a marathon; it takes a lot more than that to run another one.

Friends are good; good friends are better. Friends will come and go from your life, so it’s best to treasure your time with them while you have it.

Without all the bad times I would have never learned to enjoy the good times. Everything always works itself out in the end. (Thanks for that one Matt!)

Just start new and see where it leads you. (Thanks Tony!)

So I look forward to what this next year will bring, in running and in life.

The Saving Power of Running

As we were getting ready to start our TEAM practice yesterday morning, a young lady gave a personal account of her battle with cancer and how it has affected her life.  Any such story is always humbling, but it seems especially so when it's a first-hand account of the experience.  More than once she mentioned how much she loves running, and how it has saved her life.  I found myself nodding in agreement, completely aware of what she was talking about as that part has been the same for me.  Throughout the years running has been a comfort, a coping mechanism, an escape; taking these past few months off wore me down more than I realized because I was missing that outlet.

Running doesn't always get the credit it deserves.  I know it's not for everyone, but I often hear people shrug off running because they think it's boring - that just means they're doing it wrong!  I'm sure somebody somewhere has done some kind of analysis of the correlation between the advance of portable music and the increase in running, which is probably the easiest way to overcome some of the doubters.  I generally don't run with music, using the time to take everything in and let all of the problems of my world shift and settle in my subconscious.  They bounce around in there along with everything else and somehow leave me feeling a little more stable afterwards.  The fresh air, the sound of the birds, and the scenery (even on busy city streets!) all help renew my spirits as well.

Of course not enough can be said about the healthy side effects of running, and the 40+ pounds I've dropped weighed so much more on my sense of self than my frame.

But for me, the number one saving power of running is the feeling of accomplishment it's brought to my life.  When I'm on the road or the course, I'm there to push myself and test my limits; each new distance or PR gives me a sense of pride that's not as easily found elsewhere.  This in turn has revived my spirit time and again.

I'm happy to report that this young lady is in remission and back to running.  Her story was a great reminder of how powerful the sport is on our souls as well as our bodies.

Why do you do what you do?

Last year my beloved aunt was a guest pastor and this was the title of her sermon. Sadly I don’t recall much of the talk itself, but at times I still pause to reflect on its message. Why is it that we do the things we do? How often do we take the time to consider the impact we make, the mark we leave, or the path we create?


I run to free my mind and strengthen my body; this in turn nourishes my soul. It’s really difficult to focus on breathing, good running form, watching out for traffic, not tripping over something, and your problems all at the same time so something’s gotta give! It won’t make the burdens any lighter, but helps give the mind a break and put a little perspective on things.

I volunteer to help when somebody with a need asks for help. My talents, however small, and willingness to pitch in make a difference to those who seek assistance. It’s not always dirty work, even though I would prefer to wash dishes than get yet another onion cutting lesson for the homeless meal events! It’s through these experiences I’ve met some pretty great people working towards some even better causes. And sometimes there are even hidden rewards like a t-shirt, a store discount or my personal favorite, the free lunch. The small words of gratitude are more than plentiful payment for my time.

I teach to pass along my knowledge, which is even more valuable when shared. Watching the light bulb go off is the most rewarding part; I just wish I could see that happen more often. I don’t know everything, but I know a few things worth passing along and I often learn more in the process. My Grandpa J never stopped learning and delighted in the lessons to be found in everyday experiences and was never shy about sharing them!

I reach out to help those I care about not out of obligation or expectation of return, but to help soothe a hurt or need the best way that I can. This has been returned to me in unquantifiable amounts in my own times of hardship. Don’t let the fear of not knowing what to say keep you from saying anything at all; most times it just helps to know that somebody cares and is willing to listen.

I aim to inspire because it gives right back to me, lifting my spirits to watch the progress of a friend. Hearing stories of accomplishment is so incredibly rewarding, which is one of the reasons why I write this blog to continue encouraging others to reach towards the limits of their comfort zones.

Why do you do what you do?

Starting Over

When embarking on a new journey, it helps to reflect if it’s one you’ve been on before.  Good times, bad experiences, things learned… though some lessons sink in gradually and become clearer and less painful as time passes.  As I start my new season of marathon training, I already know some tricks of the trade that worked for me last time but I’m open to new views and ways of taking on the miles.  Last time I also encountered injury; I want to improve on my past performance while I stay healthy and protect myself.  This will require even more determination and dedication than before.  The excitement of the other runners, the cheers from the crowd, and the sight of the finish line are all things that draw me back time and again (not to mention the medal!)  But to that I can add a cause, a calling to help, a bigger purpose.

Joining Team in Training will forever change my life; I’ve only been to a few events but can tell that together we will make an impact on countless others.  Hearing the stories of people that have undergone cancer treatment or lost loved ones makes the problems of my own world seem smaller, or at least somehow more manageable.  A longing to help, to reach out and do something will be answered in some small way by my participation in this group and the change and hope we will bring to those lives as well as our own.

We’ll start small and aim big, taking it one step at a time.  This is a challenge I will embrace in this new chapter of my life; I will be a better person for this experience and hope to encourage others on the way.  Go Team!

The Power of a Smile

It’s now been my first month working with the new trainer. The swimming is progressing and I’m slowly but surely getting back into running mode; it’s time to start incorporating the bicycle into my workouts. So last week I unhooked my bike from its trusty resting spot hanging from the roof of the garage to discover that both of the tires were flat. I shouldn’t have been surprised, especially since it had been up there since last summer’s race, so I dug out a bike pump and feverishly worked to pump air into the tires. It seemed to work so I put it in the rack of my car and headed out to the trailhead.


While waiting at the last stoplight before parking, a man stepped into the crosswalk to pass in front of me. He shuffled along, certainly not in a hurry and looking mostly downward. I inadvertently smiled at him and apparently he saw me because he did a double-take and looked at me quizzically. I was in such a good mood, ready for an easy bike ride (I suspect I won’t be getting many such passes before Coach kicks them into painful mode) and besides, I naturally like to smile. The stranger didn’t return the smile but picked up his pace to the other side so I counted that as a win.


My own smile soon faded of course when I realized that the tires were flat again. Since riding the bike was out of the question, I turned around and went home to go for a run instead. My dog was especially happy about the change of events! Despite what I’ve said about running with him, I feel safer when he’s with me. He started whimpering with anticipation as soon as I put on my running shoes; I think he’s missed running as much as I have. We started out well enough, nice and easy just around the neighborhood in circles (since the patchwork cul-de-sacs seem to take away my sense of direction), and as we ventured out a little further the rain lightened up. Or so it seemed. Out of nowhere, I heard a woman’s voice call out to ask if I was training for the Tacoma marathon. Confused, I looked around to see who it was and stopped to talk to her. She was a Cub Scout mom, complete in uniform with her little guy in tow, and she told me she’s interested in running and looking for a partner. As we talked, the rain really kicked in so we cut it short, a new friendship forged. I couldn’t help but smile at my good fortune.


I shouldn’t have been quite so surprised by the quickly changing weather, rain of course is nothing new and I’m no longer surprised when it stars pouring as soon as I open my front door to get started, but this day I experienced a whole new scenario: it rained hail. It drenched my clothes and pelted my face, and Seamus finally stopped cold in his tracks, right in front of my legs, as if to ask me what we were doing. That would mark the end of the workout!

While telling my training partner about the chain of events, she questioned why the woman talked to me; I must not have had my "game face" on to ward off interruptions.  I beg to differ; I think a smile is part of my natural presence.  I love my smile, it's one of my best features, and I often smile while running because I enjoy it so much.  I have some various words of advice and encouragement that are taped to my bathroom vanity that I read in the morning while getting ready.  They offer a variety of advice for improving life's outlook, and more than a couple include smiling in their suggestions.  A smile helps make a situation a little easier to bear, and is an easy way to acknowledge somebody or soften a situation when the need arises.  It can brighten your outlook and is highly contagious to others.  To quote Buddy the Elf, "I just like to smile, smiling's my favorite."  My sentiments exactly!

So while training isn't always fun and enough rain can dampen anyone's mood, a smile can certainly make it easier to bear.  I encourage you to smile more and see what develops!

Progress: No Matter How Small, It All Adds Up!

Dragging myself to the pool this morning at an early hour was a challenge, but thankfully I had a friend to join in the misery with me.  The laps I struggled with just a few short weeks ago came easier, despite the wicked way the pool's bottom dropped dramatically towards a very deep end, a very different sensation from our standard lap pool that's currently out of commission.  As I moved through the stages of my workout, able to complete all of it this time, I was energized to see how far I've already come.  My mindset has slowly changed back towards training mode and I'm really starting to get excited for my events this year.

At a conference this week one of our lectures was on emotions and while the lesson was intended to be tied to the changes in the economy, it instead focused on the idea of how our emotions affect us as individuals. It was a simple enough concept but it really drove home just how much control we each have over our own lives.  It all boils down to choices. Choose to be happy, or just go through the motions. Choose to be accountable, or let it slide off your shoulders as somebody else's problem. Choose your attitude, your mindset, the way you react when provoked. Every choice impacts another, each one shaping your journey. At the end of the day, it's your life and your responsibility to yourself to make the most of it. At some point we must all come to terms with what we're experiencing and let that direct our path forward. It's easy to get bogged down in the heavy emotions that come with the occasional painful encounters of life, but for each event that we're able to conquer comes some sense of self and generally a lesson or two to reflect on for future reference.

Having the right mindset will be half the battle through my continued recovery, training, and competition.  To maximize my fitness goals I will have to make the choice to focus on my progress on the road and in the pool rather than the negative pressure of worrying about how far I have to go even to catch up to the level of my training partner.  As a tough competitor against myself, this will require its own level of effort as I'm torn between what I think I should be able to accomplish at this point and where I really am.  Learning to accept the reality of my current abilities will enhance my learning experience, as well as motivate me to work harder and better appreciate my milestones.  Being off my feet for an extended break has dampened my spirit but not the drive to continue racing, so while today's longest stretch of 8 laps is quite shy of the 20ish lap distance I'll have to do in my triathlon, it's already an improvement worthy of pride.  As my late grandpa's favorite saying goes, "attitude is verything", which can't be emphasized enough!

Inspiration Comes in Various Forms

It's come up in conversation several times recently to wonder how long I’ve been running, and honestly it’s something that hasn’t always been a constant in my life. Some of the darkest times in my life were escaped with the help of running; many times it became a relief mechanism, a way to get out and think things through that somehow made whatever was so troublesome at the time seem less so, at least for a moment or two. Other times it was an activity I could do with a friend, which made it more enjoyable. But for every time I stopped for a bit due to a busy schedule or some other excuse, it seemed like it was more and more difficult to pick it back up and stick with it; the curve to return to where I had left off was steeper and harder to overcome. This is the longest consecutive streak I’ve maintained, and I’m doing more with it now than I ever have before, but I had abandoned all forms of exercise for quite some time before then. How I got back in the game this time is a story that I can laugh about now though it didn't have a happy beginning...

It was the summer of 2008 and that was the year I had finally done two things to be more active in my life: in February I had the opportunity to ski in Taos with one of the partners from my office and his wife. It was the first time in more than 20 years that I had attempted to ski, having sworn it off after a bad encounter in church camp that left me riding back down the ski lift, and it was the most athletic thing I had attempted in several years. Despite an initial snafu caused by too much vanilla vodka and crème soda the night before, it was generally uneventful yet thoroughly invigorating to just be active, although the initial panic attack I experienced on the ski lift certainly helped get my blood flowing as well! Secondly, at the encouragement of that partner, I joined the company softball team. I use the word "joined" loosely as I struck out twice in the first game, my bat swinging in full motion yet nowhere near the ball. It was humiliating, despite the team’s efforts to be supportive, and thankfully my prayer to never be called up to bat again was answered. I later found my niche as the team childcare provider, a vital position that I enjoyed immensely and found to be not nearly as painful as trying to catch the ball with my face in practice. It was during one of the games that a cute little girl named Abbie politely asked if I had "a baby in my tummy." I was mortified! I secretly suspected people had wondered that but were too polite to ask, especially since I generally dressed in baggy shirts and long skirts thinking it would somehow hide my ever-expanding frame, the product of too much convenience food and nowhere near enough physical activity. So while it didn't happen overnight, that was the final straw that prompted me to get out and get moving again. I started out slow and painful with a few 5ks and my first sprint triathlon, and it was many more months before I started tackling half marathons, but I have kept running or at least moving.  Now that I've earned the title of marathoner, I don't want to stop.

I waited a long time to tell Abbie’s dad that story. I watched a similar wave of humiliation wash over his face as I repeated her innocent question and could see him mentally will the ground to open up and swallow him, but I was quick to assure him that it was just the push I needed to do something more and I had results to show how far I had come. After that, every time I finished a new race I would proudly show him my medal and hail the “inspiration of Abbie” that had given me that nudge to finally do something more and stick with it.

Sometimes it just takes something little like that to make a big difference.  Other times it's something a lot bigger than that.

I will be running my next marathon in October - the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco.  I've wanted to do this race ever since I read about it years ago in Runner's World, and even better than getting there will be that I'm doing it in honor of a friend that I lost last December, Dawn Thompson.  I have the opportunity to help make a difference in the lives of so many, and that's an incredible inspiration as well.

Pain Equals Healing, Right?

I just got my butt kicked by my new coach, and he wasn’t even at the gym with me. I suspect that if he had been supervising me in person rather than my subconscious, I would have had to crawl out of there on all fours rather than limping slightly as I did.

My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.

Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.

The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.

The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.

This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!

I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again.  I just have to get out of this chair first...

A New Course of Action

I went to the pool this week, the first time in a very long time.  As I looked at my legs through the water they seemed especially pale, and it seemed I had lost quite a bit of my muscle tone.  Or at least that's what it looked like through the greenish tint.  My teammate had showed me her regimen already handed down from our coach, who I haven't met with yet, and the concepts buzzed through my head as I quietly let it all sink in while she got started.  I've never put this much thought into swimming before, though it makes perfect sense.  Counting laps and timing them, marking the starting point to be able to document progress; this certainly appeals to my nature.  Before I was just concerned about form, with the hope of not getting so tired (or drowning) during the swim portion of a triathlon, and I've never tried to correlate it with the pressure I put on myself while running to obtain a certain race time that's dependent on maintaining a set pace.  I'm sure I'll get more excited about those parts when I do get in the pool with our coach, but for that first day it was just about seeing where I'm at, what I've got in me to get from one end of the pool to the other.  It wasn't even a very big pool, only 25 meters, but considering how long it had been since I last swam, it felt a lot longer than that.

I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008.  I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride.  What a terrible experience.  First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag.  Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses.  But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again.  With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying.  Literally.  There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life.  These races are no joke, no matter the distance.

It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.

I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components).  This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!

I did it! The tale of my first marathon experience, and what lies ahead.

It seems the longer I wait to update this, the more I have to say (and do), which is a very familiar theme for me!  There was something I wanted to work out the details on first, then something else came up, and I've finally decided to tell you what I know and tell you the rest as it develops.

By now, most of you know that I completed my first marathon in the Phoenix area on Sunday, January 16, 2011 in 4 hours and 30 minutes; I am now a marathoner.

Most people, to include my mother until that day, don't know what a marathon is.  Most simply stated, it's a 26.2 mile race of endurance.  In the words of my mother, "That sounds impossible", is much like the reaction I often receive when telling new people about this type of event.  And there was a time when I thought I would never consider doing such a distance myself.  However, I've learned to never say never.

For me, this marathon represented a long-term goal, one I would have to work hard and religiously to complete.  To accomplish it would require dedication, determination, and sheer willpower; strength and ability would come in time with training.  It's not merely a physical test, it's also a mental challenge to not quit.  This applies to the training as much as the event itself.

I worked with a coach and a team of other ladies in West Seattle for 5 months prior to my race.  I ran 4 to 5 days a week, further distances than I'd ever gone before, and built up my miles week by week.  And after my longest training run of 22 miles and 3 weeks to taper down and stock up my reserves, I was ready to go.

On the morning of the race, after getting settled and parting ways with my friend Tony who, along with another friend Christopher, was in a corral ahead of me, I was alone and slightly apprehensive.  I doubted myself briefly, wondering what it would be like to go all the way; would that extra 4.2 miles beyond my furthest training run break me?  I fully imagined I would swear off marathons after the finish line, as the training had taken more of a toll on my body than I could have anticipated and I didn't think I would want to endure that again.  I tried not to worry if I had enough Gatorade; I knew I had more electrolyte chews than I needed.  Butterflies wracked my stomach as I quietly waited to get started.

Waiting for the starting gun, then slowly plodding amongst my fellow runners towards the starting mat, I began thinking about a book I had finished the night before.  I haven't read much for several years now outside of work or magazines, but I had recently seen a clip about a New York firefighter who had been run over by a city bus and not only lived to tell about it, but had gone on to run the New York City marathon (and complete an Ironman) after he recovered.  He had written a book about his ordeal, and it came from the library just in time for my trip; it was so emotionally charged that I could hardly put it down!  It's called The Long Run, by Matt Long, and I highly recommend it to anybody.  It's a story of overcoming unimaginable trauma through hope and the power of determination, and most importantly not giving up.  Certainly I was fortunate enough to be doing my race that day in better shape than he was, and I knew I had trained hard and was ready.  With a renewed sense of purpose and a smile, I joined the cheer as my wave moved across the mat.

There isn't much to tell about the course itself; the Phoenix area is fairly flat and generally brown.  Aside from the multiple bands (a personal favorite being the young group that rocked "Bad Reputation") and the cheerful volunteers at the water stops, the only other thing to take my mind off the road was the crowd around me.  I had learned of a group called Team in Training (TNT) that facilitates marathon training in a group environment while fund-raising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS), and I had sworn it off for various personal reasons, opting instead to hire a personal coach.  But here I'm finally running my first marathon and my friends were out there somewhere ahead of me, and others were on the sidelines or on the half-marathon course, and countless more were cheering me on from home, yet I was by myself.  I always thought of running as an individual sport, and on race day it still often is for the most part, but as I looked around, all the TNT racers, coaches, and supporters were sporting purple and cheering each other on with shouts of "Go Team!"  It didn't matter that most of them didn't know each other, they knew they were part of a bigger group with a common purpose, and a very noble one at that.  I decided around mile 12 that I would do another marathon, and I wanted to be part of the TNT Team.  This first marathon was for me and on my terms, but I want the next one to be for a bigger cause.  Leukemia and lymphoma have both played a part in the lives of people I know; my childhood friend Dawn Thompson lost her battle with leukemia right before this Christmas.  My grandmother is a lymphoma survivor, though she'll never quite be the same.  And having read many testimonials from other friends who have done fund-raising for LLS, there are so many more stories out there than just mine.

There were lots of fans cheering on the sidewalks and shouting words of encouragement.  Some held posters, which helped break up the scenery.  My favorites were: 1) Chuck Norris never ran a marathon, 2) May the course be with you, and at the last turn, 3) You're no longer a runner, you're a marathoner!  Despite the lack of change in elevation, the race itself had its ups and downs for me and my body, and I just pushed through to the end, to the glorious finish line among hundreds of strangers who were clapping and shouting.  For those of you that know about my bungled finish at the Seattle half in November, I held my arms high, true rock-star style, for the entire length of the chute; I wasn't going to chance missing the real finish line pose this time!  There would be no royalty treatment of having somebody else put the medal around my neck, but as the volunteer handed it to me I couldn't resist telling her I had just run my first marathon.  There aren't words to describe my excitement and enthusiasm at that moment, and reliving the experience brings such a grin to my face.  That was one of the most thrilling moments of my life, to be cherished always.

I knew something was wrong with my foot on a training run in mid-December, but didn't want to risk an official medical diagnosis that wouldn't allow me to continue with my training and finish what I had started.  It would start hurting about halfway through my run, in the arch of my right foot.  So I iced it, tried topical gels, and just hoped it would improve on its own.  Of course that's a foolish notion, and I'm now paying the price for it.  It's been 5 weeks since my race and I haven't been able to run since.  The good news is that nothing appears to be broken or noticeably torn, but rather it seems to be a strain on my tendon as a result of overuse and insufficient muscle strength in my upper legs, and not enough stretching.  Translation: I won't be running for at least another several weeks, and I will have to start over from scratch.  As in I will have to start by running 1/4 mile and start over from the beginning.  I am disheartened but know that I am capable of building back up when the time is right.

I miss running.  No other activity I can do in the gym brings me as much personal satisfaction and joy, so I've stopped everything altogether.  The excuses are piling back on, as well as the pounds (thanks in part to the fabulously dangerous Girl Scout cookies my troop started pushing this weekend!)  Hearing about the progress of my friends who are currently training for their own upcoming events is bittersweet, as I'm truly happy for them but sad to not yet be able to join them.

This marathon was a lesson of many dimensions, and it has forever changed me in many wonderful ways.  I am determined to rebuild my ability and fulfill my promise.  Stay tuned for the details on my next adventure as I pick the pieces back up and put together my plan for honoring Dawn and the others who have lost the battle.  I know that I have a greater purpose to serve, and no matter the distance, it all starts one step at a time.

Running in 2011: Reflections and Aspirations

Looking over my Garmin history for 2010, I logged over 600 miles. Most of these were in the second half of the year as I started to focus in on my goal of a marathon rather than just aimlessly trying to keep up with my running when I felt like it or found some extra time (hint: neither of these happened regularly). In my lowest month, March, I only clocked 2 miles, and of course sitting here now I can come up with half a dozen better things I was doing at that time in my life, very few of which involved exercise and most of which are merely excuses. As hard as I had worked the year before, capped off with my then-PR in Vegas, I no longer made running a priority and didn't make time for it in my life. Anyone who expects to run faster or complete longer distances can't do so without incorporating a consistent routine into their schedule.


It was last summer that I met my coach, and my mileage really started increasing in August; December's grand total shows 119 miles, and I can truly see that my training has prepared me well for my marathon two weeks from today. One race, 26.2 miles, I'm ready. But then what? It's time for new goals.

Goals are a great way of aiming for something that will take effort and dedication. And certainly the onset of a new year is an ideal time to reflect on where you're at, where you'd like to be, and how you'll go about getting there and what milestones you can aim for on the way.

For me this year, my running goals are to run 1,000 miles throughout the year and to set a PR for the 5k, 10k, 10 mile, and half marathon distances in addition to completing my marathon in Phoenix. These may sound impossible to those who are just getting started running, but they are realistic for me based on my training (and provided that I don't slack off again!)

2011 is already off to a good start, having run both days of it so far. The first run wasn't just any run, it was a 5k capped off by a refreshing leap into Lake Washington (at 41 degrees it was at least warmer than the air outside at the time!) I wouldn't have thought of this on my own, but rather it was highly suggested that I give it a try as a way to incorporate running with the welcome of a new year. It wasn't quite the "coup de grace of all dares, the sinister triple-dog-dare" to get me to sign up, but pretty close. It was awesome, and now that I've done it I'm all for doing it again next year (and being on the suggesting end to encourage others!) It reminded me of how much I love participating in races and how good I feel when I run, just what I needed to keep up my motivation.

So I encourage you to set some goals, be it running or some other form of physical activity that suits your interests, as a way of making yourself reach for a better version of you. Even if a 5k seems to be a bit too much to start with, pick a shorter distance and build on it, step by step, until you get to that desired point. Even walking is forward progress, as long as you don't quit and make the time, rather than hope to find the time, to reach your goals.