tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92075821352514124402024-03-13T18:08:00.209-07:00Girl UnsupervisedLisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.comBlogger232125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-32149264846230676762020-09-07T19:59:00.001-07:002020-09-07T19:59:42.212-07:00Hot Guys on ATVs and Failing Big<p> I've heard Pop describe me as a fearless kid on numerous occasions. This is usually preceded by a story about me jumping off our sailboat when I was three. We'd taken it from Lake Huron down the St. Clair River to anchor and swim to Stag Island for a picnic and fishing. While Pop was prepping to drop the anchor, he heard a splash. I'd jumped in alone and was headed for shore. Since Mom wasn't a good swimmer he was left with a dilemma that he likes to describe as, "Should I save the kid or the boat?" </p><p>He saved the boat. </p><p>Now, before you get on the outrage train and call Pop out for his past transgressions, let me clarify. I was wearing a life jacket. The dilemma was then not so much that I would drown but that I might not be able to fight the strong current in the river and would miss the island altogether. The next body of land was Canada, at least a quarter mile away. This also explains why he couldn't just jump in and save me. He'd be leaving Mom and my sister on a boat rapidly moving downstream. Thankfully I made it to shore and, as Pop tells the story, turned around, put my hands on my hips and looked at him as if to say, "What the heck is taking you so long?"</p><p>This story pretty much sums up my childhood, which is probably why Pop likes to tell it. I was a learn by failure kind of kid. In the case of Stag Island, the story ended well. There were others that did not. The summer I was six, I "failed" so many times I ended up with a broken arm that was masked by so many other bumps and bruises no one knew about it for two weeks. Thankfully I had parents who understood that, as long as the injuries stayed minor, I was the kind of kid who needed to try until things went awry. All those "failed" attempts at trying new things really just became lessons in my own limits. </p><p>Thankfully, as I got older, I learned to back up my love of trying hard things with hard work. At the end of my junior year in high school, despite being a mediocre runner (at best), I decided I wanted to qualify for the state meet in the two mile my senior year. Never mind that my PR was over a minute slower than the qualifying time. I'm pretty sure everyone else, including my coach, thought I was nuts, but I knew I hadn't really been working all that hard so I decided to work harder. I paid attention to what the fast kids at other schools did. They ran all year, so I convinced my mom to join a health club 20 minutes away so I could run on their indoor "track" in the winter. They ran twice a day, so I got up and ran every day at 5:30 before school, even convincing the principal to let me run in the hallways in the winter before school started. The girls from the fastest team ran with rocks in their hands to build strength, so on my early morning runs I plucked rocks from the window wells and carried them for three miles. </p><p>The first meet of the track season my senior year, I ran a PR, but I was still 30 seconds from the time I'd need to run at regionals to qualify. I kept up my routine, running in the morning and then going to practice after school. After every meet, I'd write down a time goal and tape it to my bedroom mirror. At the next meet, I'd go to the front of the race early on and run the pace I needed to hit it. That night, I'd take the old time down and put up a new one. Right before regionals, I finally broke the qualifying time by five seconds. All I needed to do was run that again on race day. I went home and made a faster goal anyway. When regionals day came, I did what I always did. I went to the front after two laps and ran my pace. Only this time, I didn't want to take any chances. I ran every lap a couple seconds faster than I needed to. The coach had probably told me not to do this, but I needed to see how fast I could go. </p><p>I had a huge lead going into the final lap. It looked like I might actually win a race for once, in which case time wouldn't matter because the top two got an automatic spot to states. About 100 meters from the end it all unraveled. Two girls sprinted by. I got third. No automatic spot. </p><p>Thankfully I PR'd by 13 seconds, beating the qualifying time by 18 seconds. My coach had been so sure I'd never pull this off he had to break the bad news after my race- he wouldn't be able to go to the state meet with me. He didn't think anyone on the team would qualify so he'd already made other plans. </p><p> A week later, I PR'd again at our local Meet of Champions, beating my long time rival for the only time ever. A week after that, in over my head with the talent at the state meet and unable to front run, I finally broke my streak of PR's and had a pretty horrible race. The disappointment was temporary. I'd found my limit and knew I could learn from it. A few months later I got to walk on to the cross country team at the University of Houston. A mediocre runner who wasn't afraid to try. </p><p> That "fearlessness" Pop saw as a kid, it wasn't fearlessness at all. I was terrified of a lot of things, just like a lot of kids. I just wasn't afraid to try and fail. As an adult, I strive to keep that attitude. Big E can attest- I am definitely not fearless. I'm terrified of sharks, carrying my bike through moving water, driving in heavy traffic.... Hell, the other day there was a hornet in the house and I hid in the bedroom until he killed it. </p><p>But two things I'm not afraid of- trying something out of my comfort zone and working really hard. <br /></p><p>This leads me to the end of the Crusher saga started in the last post. Less than two weeks after the 225 bike, I finished off the races needed to get the coveted FIST trophy by running the 50 mile. Three weeks later, not long after re-riding the 40 bike to fix a mistake I'd made on my first go around, I decided to try the 100 run. </p><p> I knew this was a long shot based on my sore feet from the 50, but really, what did I have to lose? No one had even tried it yet so worst case scenario I'd be the first quitter.</p><p>I headed out at 8am the day before my 49th birthday, figuring it would be really cool to end it on the last birthday I intend to let anyone acknowledge. I had my crew, Amy, and friends Dan and Lisa set up to pace me through the hardest of the night sections. (Because who really wants to run Mosquito Gulch alone in the dark?) </p><p> Twenty miles in the foot pain started. Amy met me a few miles later on her bike. She tried to cheer me up, but the pain was starting to win. She escorted me to the car at mile 27. I sat down in a lawn chair and the pain subsided enough I could at least eat. I took off my shoes to change them for the harder section up Wilson Creek Truck Trail, only to discover my right foot was so inflamed the vein in my ankle was bulging. Amy braved touching my nasty feet and rubbed them with her essential oils. At that point we figured it couldn't hurt. I put a fresh pair of trail shoes on and hobbled up the road, with plans to meet Amy and Lisa on the other side, only four miles away, to reassess the pain. </p><p>A quarter mile up the road I knew it was over. I was hobbling. I continued on, knowing I would drop when I finished the truck trail. With about a mile to go, I heard ATVs. Not long after, four guys passed me on their side by sides. I noticed one of them was easy on the eyes. They stopped a bit up the trail for a beer. I was really hoping they'd offer me a ride. Instead they asked where I'd come from and at least acted really impressed that I'd made it this far, even though now I was practically crawling. </p><p>They eventually drove off ahead and I was left in my misery for the last mile. As I approached the car, Lisa set up my lawn chair and got out my coveted cherry Pepsi. Amy explained that they'd actually been waiting in the wrong place and the ATV guys had told them where to meet me. </p><p>"One of them was pretty hot," I said. Then I laughed and followed it up with, "I'm never in too much pain to check out a hot guy on an ATV." </p><p>I sat down in my chair, opened my Pepsi, let Lisa add a little whiskey and just like that, I was done. There was no question. When you get to the point where you're hoping that four strange men who are drinking while driving ATVs will offer you a ride, you have probably reached your limit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vgGOm9XV2YIDM9dleffwcdCO2skkH7cYkAJA1zvHtIDTPZrU4LZn2PL4miGHZM2GL3NHX_2_Z3Xg5ARQ25RQMn695wLzDtMnZFMivcx8XNDSZz4lCDUqCIoCE1IqWCdqWcI6YNutwcEJ/s2048/IMG_2832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vgGOm9XV2YIDM9dleffwcdCO2skkH7cYkAJA1zvHtIDTPZrU4LZn2PL4miGHZM2GL3NHX_2_Z3Xg5ARQ25RQMn695wLzDtMnZFMivcx8XNDSZz4lCDUqCIoCE1IqWCdqWcI6YNutwcEJ/s320/IMG_2832.JPG" /></a></div><p>We had a little impromptu birthday party right there in the woods, even though I didn't even make it to my birthday or run 49 miles or anything cool. Sometimes, you have to celebrate the "failures" because really they're wins- over the voice in your head that tells you not to try, over the excuses you fight to get out the door, over the people who tell you you're too old, too small, too slow to even try. To me, every day I beat those things is a win, even if I'm still kind of afraid of the dark and mountain lions and lampreys....</p><p>So go ahead, fail big. At least you'll know your limit.<br /></p><p><br /></p><p> <br /></p>Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-44345289174597841832020-07-22T21:45:00.004-07:002020-08-17T08:42:07.382-07:00The Best of the Bad DecisionsThe beginning of a story is always the hardest to write. I like things to be perfect and words are hard to get perfect. This one is especially tough because I don't even honestly know when the story really started. Like most people, my 2020 has been rough. When it started, the house I'd bought last May in the UP was still torn apart from water damage and my truck was still banged up from a freak accident where a woman on drugs drove through our yard. Enter COVID and rioting close to our MN house and I'd pretty much lost faith that things would get better. Add to that a foot that just wouldn't let me run on it anymore and by June I was pretty much at a low. I had to make some choices. The doc said I could ride my bike on the foot, so I started riding. I decided to shut down my MN practice at the end of June and move to our UP house. Not long after, The Ringmaster asked me to coach at Marji camp. Sometime around then he also made The Crusher into a "choose your own adventure" date kinda race. I figured, screw it, I might as well jump in head first and coach at camp, ride the 40 and 100 of The Crusher as training for the 225 and get them all done. What can I say? I suck at half assing anything.<br />
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So, I coached Marji camp the last weekend in June, rode the Crusher 40 on July 1, rode the 100 on July 7 and then crewed for Eddie and his crazy group of buddies while they rode the 225 on July 11. I mean, how better to train for a 225 mile bike adventure than to ride a bunch in a short period of time, get sleep deprived while crewing and drink a lot of alcohol with friends? Thankfully, I was at least pretty fired up to ride since I'd been on the race course 3 times in 11 days.<br />
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I'd picked the 18th to ride because I thought there might be enough people on the course that I might not have to ride alone at night. I'd even made plans to start with the McBrides and hope to keep up with them. It seemed like a smart thing to do. In case you haven't figured it out yet, this whole adventure wasn't necessarily filled with smart choices. So, for details I won't bore you with, I decided the day before to start in the middle of the night. 3:20am to be precise. Yes, I know that meant Hogback in the dark and that seems stupid.<br />
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Anyway, Big E arrived into town around 9pm the night before. We inhaled some dinner and I hit the hay to try to at least sleep a little before our 1:40am alarm. As always, I was awake long before the alarm went off, willing myself to sleep just a little longer to no avail. We got to Forestville around 3am and got our bikes ready in the dark. I'd convinced Big E to at least ride up Hogback with me, not to assist with my bike, since I'd done it on my own in the 100, but mostly for moral support. I didn't want to slip and fall off the damn thing and be left there dying until the next riders came along.<br />
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We headed down the road at 3:18 and hit the singletrack not long after. I rode as long as I could, but eventually had to dismount and start the long slog up the trail. Thankfully, with company it went by a lot faster than it did in the 100. I'd also learned a few things since then (and Big E had been given strict instructions not to help), so when we got to the final slab, instead of struggling to push my bike up, I picked it up, put in on my shoulder like I'd seen Charles do the week before (hoping I didn't nearly slip to my death like he did) and walked up the last bit. There was some cheering at the top. I was happy to be done and I'd forgotten how much difficult downhill hike a bike was still to come.<br />
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While it would probably have been pretty darn scary alone, this whole starting in the dark thing was kind of fun. It was our own little world out there so it was easy to focus on just slowly moving forward. Somehow, I kept convincing Big E to ride just a little farther until 10 miles in when we finally hit Big Bay Rd. and he needed to head back to the truck. By that time the sun was starting to rise and I was actually feeling like this starting at 3:20 thing was pretty smart. I figured at the pace I would ride people would start passing me soon enough and more importantly, I'd hit Mosquito Gulch the next day after the sun rose so I wouldn't have to ride it in the dark. See- I really had thought about this at least a little....<br />
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As I neared the end of that quick stretch of pavement, I saw this guy and hoped he was an omen of the good day to come.<br />
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I mean really, how could an albino deer be anything but a good omen?<br />
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I turned onto the next stretch of gravel in great spirits. Even when the lightning started to show in the distance and the predicted storm seemed inevitable, I was feeling pretty upbeat. When the rain finally started, I was probably in one of the best spots I could be, ripping down the last few miles to the second Big Bay Rd. turn off under the cover of trees. Unfortunately, as soon as I came onto the road and out of the trees it was a different story. I could barely see. I was cold. Big E drove by in the truck, looking concerned but I waved him on, not wanting the temptation to stop.<br />
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When I finally turned onto Wilson Creek Truck Trail to get some water and food from the truck, the rain had finally subsided a bit. As I refilled water, Big E explained his concerned look. As he came down the road, he couldn't see either, which meant I'd just ridden what was probably the busiest road on the course in weather where the drivers couldn't even tell I was there. Good thing there wasn't much traffic at that hour!<br />
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The next section of the course went by quickly. I love the adventure of getting over the downed trees section and the sand that followed it was much easier in the rain. County Rd. 510 had turned to peanut butter in the rain, but I knew it wouldn't last long. I met Big E again around mile 40, then headed off on Northwestern Rd., one of my favorites parts of the course. I'd met Lois here during the 100 so it had fond memories, plus it's my kind of up and down type of riding. As an added bonus I found my snorkel and DEET that I'd lost on the 100, just when I was getting attacked by flies. Nevermind that I accidentally sprayed myself right in the face with 99% DEET. It at least kept the flies away for 3 minutes.<br />
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At the end of Northwestern Rd., I made the right turn onto the part of the course I hadn't ridden during the 100. I was pretty excited for something new even though I'd driven it when crewing the weekend before. Little did I know how much the road had changed since then.<br />
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I attempted to pretend this mud riding was fun, but when I finally hit mud so deep I sunk my front wheel to the fork and had to step off in mud over my shoes, I admitted it wasn't really all that fun. I walked through a puddle to clean off my shoes and cheered to myself when the road got better a couple miles later. Of course, by then I was on the uphill to Mt. Arvon so it wasn't necessarily easier.<br />
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I got to the top feeling a little low. I'd honestly expected people to catch me by now so I was a bit lonely, especially after having ridden with Lois the week before on the 100. Thankfully Eddie got me fed and cheered me up, pointing out that the other truck at the top was waiting for some other riders. I hoped they weren't far back.<br />
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Not long after I descended Arvon and headed toward Skanee Rd., I heard the familiar sound of bikes finally approaching. Two guys came whipping by, sharing just a few words before riding away like I was standing still. Ok, so maybe this whole having people to ride with when they caught me wasn't going to work out like I'd planned....<br />
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Not long after, another group of four guys passed as I pedaled down the road. Again, their speed seemed twice as fast as mine, but at least a few words in passing were better than nothing. I hoped the next group might be slower. At this point the heat was kicking in and I couldn't wait to get to the Huron River crossing and go for a swim. When I finally arrived, I put my swimsuit bottoms on and took my shoes for a swim in Lake Superior to try to get the sand out.<br />
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Then I scrubbed the sand off my butt, because I'm pretty sure there's not a whole lot more uncomfortable than riding a bike with sand in your shorts. If there is, I'm thankful I haven't experienced it.<br />
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I rode away from the lake feeling so much better I didn't even realize my GPS had stopped working. I had the line to follow, but no cues. Thankfully, this section of the course is easy to follow and I'd studied the map quite a bit in advance so I just focused on following the line and getting to L'anse. Thankfully, L'anse came quickly and I made it before dark, but unfortunately I had a few realizations once I got there. One, based on what Big E was seeing on the trackers, no one was right behind me so I was going to hit the dark alone and two, at this point I was riding much faster than I thought so I was going to hit Mosquito Gulch in the dark. On top of that, there was another storm coming. We checked the weather and deduced that I could probably make it to the McCormick Outhouse before the storm hit. Once there, I could hunker down in the truck if need be and wait it out, which would also add enough time that I could hit Mosquito Gulch at daylight.<br />
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I headed out of L'anse with a little light left, perfect timing to adjust to the dark before the more remote sections. Of course those remote sections had to come eventually and by the time they did the wind and lightning had come too. I checked incessantly for lights behind me, hoping the McBrides would come along soon and take pity on me and ride with me to the outhouse. As I would learn later, the opted for a longer stop in L'anse so I was left on my own in the creepy darkness. I sang, discovering that when I'm tired all I can remember the words to are a few select Christmas carols and "You are My Sunshine." I rang my bell just for noise, hoping it would scare off Bigfoot. When I finally saw a baby mountain lion with about five miles to go, I nearly lost my cool. I tried to tell myself that the eyes I stuck to the back of my helmet would scare off Mama, but in all reality, I knew I should just pedal like hell and get out of there. That was probably my fastest five miles of the whole ride! I got to the truck just in time-taking my required selfie, changing my clothes and crawling into the truck just as the storm hit. Maybe this 3:20 start wasn't such a bad idea after all....<br />
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Before I laid down, we'd decided I needed to be riding again by 3:20, leaving me 12 hours to ride the last 77 miles. I know that sounds like a lot, but I didn't want to cut it close. We set the alarm for 2:50 knowing I'd be slow moving when I woke up. When it went off I'd probably only slept for an hour. To be honest, getting dressed in the warm truck and back on the bike in the rain was probably the hardest part of the whole ride, but I convinced myself I might catch some of the few riders who passed while I slept so I headed down the road after the first group. I made it less than a mile before my Garmin quit all together. I stopped, restarted it and since my lights had also been acting up in the rain, prayed for no more technical issues!<br />
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When I turned onto Dishno Rd., I knew it would be hilly. I'd been warned by the always wise J. Stamper. I'd also been told by someone else that it was driveable so I was completely caught off guard to find it flooded and covered in downed trees. The on the bike, off the bike game it caused was pure torture. I knew Todd was somewhere laughing with Mother Nature. Only he could convince her to send a hurricane to the UP. I did pass a few people in here, but no one seemed like chatting. I missed Lois. I probably started talking to myself.<br />
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Thankfully the sun rose long before I hit the Yellow Dog River 30 miles later. Anyone who knows me knows my biggest fear on a bike adventure is having to get my heavy bike across moving water. Honestly, I hadn't worried about the Yellow Dog. It had only been mid-calf deep the week before. I probably should've taken it as a bad omen when I hallucinated Little Big Foot on the ride down, but even then I didn't think about the river. Then I saw it. What had barely been a creek the week before was now a raging river. I tried not to think about it too long. I threw my bike on my shoulder and plunged in, hoping to get it over with quickly. Instead, I nearly fell face first in the thigh deep water with a bike that weighed nearly 30% of me on my shoulder. Thankfully I regained my footing and made it across. Of course, those who have been here know that doesn't provide much relief, because once you cross the Yellow Dog, you start Mosquito Gulch.<br />
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I won't even try to describe the decimation that occurred in Mosquito Gulch during the storm. Let's just say this- it even scared off the mosquitoes so at least there was that. I'd ridden a lot of it during the 100 so I was determined I would try again, but one nasty crash early on pretty much convinced me that today Mosquito Gulch would be a hike, and a slow one at that.<br />
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By the time I made it out the other side to Big E, I was actually getting worried I might not make the cutoff. I knew the next part of the course well and I knew it wasn't hard, but what I didn't know was what havoc the storm had wreaked on it. We did the quickest resupply we could and I set off with my crazy hair. Who needs gel when you can ride with a bike helmet and get this look?<br />
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Thankfully, the rain had actually made the next section easier since it was usually so sandy. I made up some time, but the hallucinations that had started on the way down to Yellow Dog continued. I saw every animal imaginable, even fish in the puddles. Of course, once I got close I'd discover these were stumps, shadows or rocks. By the time I hit 510 for the second time, they were nearly constant. Thankfully, other riders' crews were out on the road by then cheering me on even though I had to carry my bike across the bridge because the wind was so scary. When I finally made it to the turn off to Chunky Summit with 12 miles to go, I had planned my speech to Big E. I informed him a 15 minute nap was non-negotiable. He laid my blanket down, I told him how to prep my pack for the final miles and went to sleep. <br />
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At least two dreams later, I woke up feeling like a new person. I had well over two hours to make the cut off, I knew where Chunky Summit was and I had some energy back. I stashed a final Pepsi in my pack and headed off for the final push. Since there were a few other crews at the turn off, I hoped maybe now someone would finally catch me. No such luck. I pedaled alone, just my hallucinations and myself. Two miles from the finish I was certain I saw Big E, but even that was just my imagination. Thankfully, a mile later he was actually there to ride me in. After a quick few words with my friend Will, I made a beeline for the truck. Once again all I really wanted was to be out of my sandy shorts. Of course minutes after I arrived, before I could even change, The McBrides came rolling in. For 250 miles I'd been hoping for them to pass me and now here they were just a few minutes back. I should've taken an 18 minute nap at that turn off!<br />
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At least we finally got to chat while I showed off my now even cooler hairdo. And truth be told, as torturous as riding alone for the last 240 of 250 was at times, I'm gonna count the 3:20 start as a smart decision. Why? Because I finished and that's what matters, even if there were some naps and hallucinations and singing and talking to myself. In the end, I made the decision work to my advantage and maybe that's the difference between a bad decision and good one anyway...Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-68949485082902848222020-06-05T08:27:00.003-07:002020-06-05T08:27:43.165-07:00StoriesThis is one of those posts that took me a week to write. First I was too emotional. Every time I even thought about the words I cried. For hours. By the time I could think the words without crying, I had that "I've been crying for a week headache" that kept me from writing them down. Finally when I thought about writing them down, I was afraid to because I was worried if I didn't get them just right someone would think I was insensitive or racist or out of touch.<br />
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Finally, I realized this whole story started with me being scared and I'm really fucking tired of being scared. The last thing I want to feel right now is scared of my own words and perhaps sharing them is the only way to get over that. It might cost me some name calling and lost friendships. Sometimes the price you have to pay for getting your voice and soul and life back is high. So this is my story, the way I lived and felt it.<br />
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Last Friday, I sat on our living room couch in St. Paul bawling. Riots had started near our house the day before. I'd gone to work with Eddie then because it didn't feel safe at home, but now I was here without him, terrified in my own living room. I turned on the TV and happened to switch to the news at the moment George Floyd's fiance learned his killer was charged with murder. She sunk to the ground, bawling.<br />
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I bawled too, overcome with compassion for her. I remembered all the moments I sunk to the ground after my mom's accident, most of them caused by learning something about the man who hit her. One when I heard he was the fire commissioner and his many friends in connected places had helped him get off on accidents before this. One when his manslaughter charge was reduced to "cutting in" because there "wasn't enough evidence." One when he was later charged with multiple counts of child molestation and I realized one of the dates was after her death. That one came with the guilt that if maybe I'd done more to get him sentenced perhaps I could've saved a child some pain. There was another when he was later released from prison because, of course, magically, the children wouldn't testify. The big one came when I looked back at the court record of the accident and realized it had been changed to "non-fatal" just like she never even existed. I remember thinking when I saw that, "He gets to live and she doesn't and that's so fucking unfair."<br />
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It was at that moment, though, that I also realized something else- I wasn't living either if all I was doing was spending all this time curled up in a ball, crying. They could erase her life from a court record, but they couldn't erase it from me. And I could spend the rest of my life bitter about a man who got off too easy, or find <a href="https://girlunsupervised.blogspot.com/2014/01/finding-forgiveness.html" target="_blank">some sort of forgiveness in my heart</a> and go back to living. <br />
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So I cried with this poor woman because I know all that is ahead. All the moments that are going to bring her right back here on the ground and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. <br />
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At the same time I had the police scanner running on my phone. The looting had moved to within 1/2 mile of our house. It was my only way to know if it might be time to flee. So I cried for that feeling of fear, because I'd fled this house in fear once before too.<br />
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I ran for office in this district four years ago, hoping to make a positive change. Crime was moving in, businesses were moving out. I thought maybe I could change that. So I knocked on doors, hundreds of them, often in neighborhoods so dangerous people would tell me I shouldn't be there alone. I kept at it for months, actually hopeful I might change some minds even though the incumbent always won this district by over 70 percent. A few weeks before the election, I came home in the middle of the day to find our door damaged and slightly open. All of the hair on my entire body stood on end when I realized there was someone in the house. So I fled. It was all I knew to do.<br />
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Later, after the dog searched the house and the police left, Eddie and I were finally allowed in to survey what we had lost. I didn't realize it then, but I had lost so much more in that moment than stuff. I'd lost the ability to feel safe there alone. On election night, I was secretly relieved to lose, because honestly, I'd lost hope too.<br />
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Four years later, here I was last Friday, sitting in that same house, terrified again. We'd tried a lot in four years to make me feel safe. Security cameras, motion detectors, Jiu Jitsu lessons. As I sat on the couch crying, I realized none of it had worked. I was still scared if Eddie wasn't home. I was still scared riding my bike to work. I was still scared running on the trails nearby. To be honest, I couldn't remember the last time I hadn't been scared. That's the thing with fear. It follows you. It hijacks your brain and your body and before you know it you're just scared all the time. And I was exhausted from being scared all the time.<br />
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So I kept crying, partly out of compassion, partly out of fear and partly because I didn't think I could express this to anyone without seeming really selfish and insensitive. Perhaps this last one is the saddest for me. I knew that people would be outraged that a white woman would compare her mother's accident to the murder of a black man. I knew that there would be people who would read that I was scared and remind me that since I'm a white woman at least I don't have to be scared of cops. To those people, my story doesn't matter. The way I got to this place of being torn apart by fear and grief while also trying to find compassion- it won't matter to them, the same way George Floyd's story clearly did not matter to the cop that killed him. <br />
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We are living in a world right now where we pay a lot of attention to words but very little attention to stories. We are so busy telling each other how to act and how to speak that we have forgotten how to understand. We share memes and quotes online, but rarely share the story behind why that particular saying matters to us. Our thoughts and opinions are based on what our "party" tells us to think, not on who we've become because of the life we've lived. <br />
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This morning, I actually saw something on social media that basically said even silence is racist. I'm sorry, you can call me whatever you want, but I cannot consider silence a negative thing. Why? Because when we are finally silent, we can actually listen. And when we finally listen we can understand. And hopefully once we understand, we can move forward toward something positive.<br />
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Thankfully, we bought this crazy old house in a small town in MI a year ago, so this week I was able to escape here. I won't lie. I didn't just show up here and stop being scared. I wish it was that easy, but the mind doesn't work that way. So while I enjoy sunsets and bike rides with friends, hold hands with little kids and join a lonely neighbor for dinner, I'll remind myself to be silent sometimes. I'll take some time to listen to people's stories because that's the only way to truly understand them. If I do that, we can all move forward to something more positive together. That's what my mama would've wanted. <br />
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Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-65444816506020234792020-05-03T18:29:00.000-07:002020-05-03T18:29:15.774-07:0024 Hours of FriendsToday, there is one last square to cross off on my 906 Adventure Bingo card- write an adventure story. At first I thought this one would be hard, since travel is restricted, races are cancelled and it's hard to get friends together for these adventures. But since I ran for 24 hours from my house yesterday, I guess that counts as an adventure.<br />
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The adventure started at 8am, just Big E and I in the front yard for the send off. The first 5 laps were a cruise, which is unusual for me. It usually takes me 20 miles just to warm up! I tried hard not to push the pace too hard, knowing that this high definitely wouldn't last if I started too fast. Of course, as the heat kicked in midday, I started to feel it and instead of feeling warmed up and ready to run at mile 20, I hit that point feeling hot and a little crabby, which Big E found out.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pizza between laps 5 and 6.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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A few laps later, after the running into Ray Ray and his cowbell on the trail, the heat finally took its toll. I'd stayed under the pace need to run 24 laps at that point, but when I returned from lap 10, I knew I needed to rest, deal with my already throbbing feet and get out of the sun for a bit if I was going to make it through the night. After a quick shower to rinse off any ticks, I tossed and turned on the couch for an hour before abandoning my hopes of sleep. I added some gel arches to my shoes to try to stop the arch pain and headed back out to get a sunset lap in before Ridge, my first escort, showed up.<br />
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In the meantime, Big E set up quite the base camp in the front yard to entertain friends who came to escort and cheer. <br />
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It was a welcome sight at the end of lap 9 to come home to a fire, friends and little boys who attacked me with nerf guns. After a quick restock of fuel, I headed out with Ridge for the first lap in the dark. At this point, I'd quickly shifted focus from trying to run 24 laps to just surviving the night. With all the isolation in the last few weeks, I was much happier hiking and chatting with friends than I would've been trying to push the pace for 12 more hours. So, we pretty much hiked two laps and got out all the words stored in us for weeks, stopping in between laps so I could refuel with a pizza s'more. That's right. Marshmallows and pizza actually go well together, at least when you've been moving for 13 hours.<br />
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We returned to one last nerf gun attack around 10:30pm. After a brat by the fire, which instantly made me dizzy as the blood rushed to my stomach to digest it, Dustin, who ended up riding 250 miles round trip to partake in the festivities, headed out to escort me for a lap on Big E's bike. His own rig was a bit packed for a lap on trail.<br />
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More chatting ensued and we finished lap 14 about 12:20. My next escort wasn't scheduled until 1am so I headed inside to attempt another quick nap, which again ended in just some tossing and turning.<br />
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Thankfully, Lisa Lisa arrived to escort me and keep me awake for 2 more laps. Again, more chatting and hiking. It was at this point where I realized that while I thought for sure I was "power hiking", a glance at my escorts proved that really we were moving more at a "wandering" pace. By the end of lap 16, the wandering started to become sleep walking so after a quick picture, I headed inside to hopefully actually get a nap before heading out for the always coveted "dawn lap".<br />
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Since I needed another shower to remove any ticks I had to take my socks off, which led to something I always try to avoid during ultra running-seeing my own feet. I knew my left pinky toe was hurting, but the sock removal revealed the entire toe had become a blister. After some quick blister drainage, I laid down just after 4, hoping sleep would come quickly since I needed to be up by 5 to get out the door to catch the sunrise and fit in two more laps, which would push me over 70 miles. Thankfully, exhaustion finally allowed me some shut eye and when the alarm went off it ripped me out of a deep sleep. Of course, my first thought was, "Hell no, I just want to sleep and no one is making me do this." Somehow I pushed it away and got dressed to hike in the now cooler weather. My toe was now so sore I could barely put shoes on so I had no hopes of running. I choked down some of Eddie's tar coffee and limped up the street to the trail. <br />
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Honestly, at this point I had no idea how I was going to suffer through two more laps while limping. For some reason, at the first downhill, I convinced myself that running might just push the pain in my foot over the top and make it hurt less. Of course, for some other weird reason, this actually worked, probably because it just made everything else hurt more so I could ignore my foot. It didn't really matter. I was just happy to be making faster time so I wouldn't be cutting it close to fit my final lap in. I finished lap 17 faster than any lap since lap 10. Of course, this meant I was completely overdressed so I took off some layers and bid goodbye to Big E for the final lap.<br />
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The running high didn't last long and finally, with two miles to go in my final lap, my body flipped me the bird. My eyes would shut without warning and I'd find myself swerving. By the last downhill, I was seeing dead people coming out of the trees and the last turn onto the street revealed a zombie in the neighbor's driveway. A few moments later, the whole thing ended how it started, with Big E and I in the driveway. I barely made it onto the stump one last time to record my final lap time at 23:47:47. As we headed inside, I saw my cooler, which I'd decorated for the occasion.<br />
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I tapped it and said, "That's right, I'm the storm." Then I laughed as Eddie had to help me into the house, where I collapsed on the kitchen floor to try to extract my feet from my shoes.<br />
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In the end, not nearly as many laps were done as I thought I could handle, but clearly I pushed myself to my current limit and more importantly, I connected with friends, which was sorely needed and much better for my soul than running 24 laps. Sometimes having a conversation, hearing a friend ringing a cowbell, playing with friends' kids and getting a hug are the most important things.<br /><br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-5856346037863811142020-04-26T17:37:00.001-07:002020-04-27T07:22:35.421-07:00Stump to StumpTo keep ourselves amused during these times of isolation, some friends and I are participating in the 906 Adventure Team bingo challenge. We have 14 days to do this:<br />
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When I saw "do something hard" I decided this was a good time to replicate my cancelled May race (<a href="https://back9endurancerun.com/">https://back9endurancerun.com/</a>) on my own. I'm barely working right now so really, what better time than now to run for 24 hours and be left hobbling for a few days. So, next Saturday, May 2 at 8am I'll start running 3.89 mile loops on the trail near my house and see how many I can do before 8am Sunday. Info for the "event" is as follows:<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>RULES- </b>I'll be following the rules of the original race as much as possible.<br /><b></b><br />
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1- Only full laps count toward the distance. So, if I don't finish my last lap by 8am Sunday it doesn't count.<br />
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2- Breaks are allowed, but I'm not allowed off the course for more than 2 hours. If I take a break longer than that, it's over.<br />
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3- Pacers (I like to call them escorts) are allowed after dark. I'm lucky on this one since most 24 hour races usually don't allow pacers. Because the neighborhood I'm running in has had its share of crime and I'll be the only one out there, I'm choosing to stretch this rule to allow escorts on the bike after dark too. Safety first. I like to follow rules, but I also like to be alive. As is the rule with any ultra, escorts cannot carry my stuff or assist me physically. They're bodyguards, not sherpas!<br />
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<b>ESCORTING/CHEERING:</b> <br />
Staying active right now is tough for a lot of people. Staying connected is even tougher so the point of this 24 hours is to do both- to show that we can, despite tough times, keep putting one foot in front of the other to make forward progress and we can keep connecting with people, even if it's in different ways. So, if you'd like to come out and connect with me here are a few ways you can, each with a varying level of "distancing" involved. (But that doesn't mean we can't be social!)<br />
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<b>Escort: </b>Obviously this one will have the least amount of distancing involved since you'll be either running/hiking near me or on your bike. That said, you're welcome to stay 6 feet away from me or wear a mask. All you need is a good pair of shoes and a headlamp. You don't need to be particularly fast. I won't be using escorts until after dark (8:30) so I'll probably be moving slow since I'll be 12+ hours in. It will likely be a lot of hiking! If you'd like to do this, send me a message with your preferred time. (Keep in mind we can't plan the laps exactly so you may have to wait for me to finish a lap once you're there.) If you really want to see me suffer this is your chance! <br />
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<b>Hang at the aid station: </b>I'll have an aid station set up in the yard. You're welcome to hang out there and drink beer, etc. as long as it doesn't become an "against the stay at home rules" party. Again, you're welcome to wear a mask. There is a huge field across the street that's great for kite flying, frisbee, etc. St. Paul Parks are open to the public so feel free to use this space as well.<br />
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<b>Cheer from your car: </b>At the beginning and end of each lap I'll be cutting through the Battle Creek Elementary (<a href="https://www.spps.org/battlecreekel">https://www.spps.org/battlecreekel</a>) school parking lot. If you park there or anywhere along Ruth St. between the school and Upper Afton Rd., you can heckle me right out your car window. <br />
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<b>Surprise me somewhere on the course: </b>If you want to hike/bike part of the course or hang out on it, most of it can be easily accessed from Battle Creek Rd., Ruth St. or the Battle Creek Rec Center. Send me a message if you'd like a GPX file of the course.<br />
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I'm confident I can connect with as many friends as possible while trying to respect everyone's level of distancing. Just be warned- as I get tired I might forget all the rules and try to hug you. Feel free to yell at me as I charge you. I won't be offended.<br />
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If you do come out, keep in mind that stopping and going again is really tough so if you want to chat, the best thing to do is move along with me. We just won't count this as "pacing" if it happens during the day and it's unplanned.<br />
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<b>COURSE:</b><br />
<br />
If you're interested in escorting or just want to know about the course here are the details per lap:<br />
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<b>3.89 miles</b><br />
<br />
<b>400ish feet of elevation gain</b><br />
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<b>1.3 miles of singletrack, .25 miles of pavement, the rest grass/woodchipped ski trails</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I will start and end at the stump in our front yard so I'll be calling this the Stump to Stump. A lap begins from the stump and doesn't end until I touch the stump on my return.<br />
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Hope to see you all soon! Until then, stay happy and hopeful!<b> </b><br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-16261047676253432582020-03-28T17:48:00.001-07:002020-03-28T17:48:13.956-07:00We Are All EssentialAt 9am yesterday I was already done working. I sat outside the grocery store and texted Big E, "Need anything from Byerly's?"<br />
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I didn't hear back by the time I'd procured the elusive roll of paper towels I'd been hoping to find so I headed to the next stop on my list of errands. Minnesotans had been told to "stay at home" after 11:59pm. Only "essential" business were to stay open, and like many people, I wasn't sure what would be considered essential, other than the obvious, like this grocery store. <br />
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When I heard back, I was sitting outside the library, waiting for my turn for a librarian to come out and place the items I'd reserved on a table. He sent me his list, to which I responded, "I left but I have to go by there to get home so I'll go back. Not like I have a lot of other stuff to do today."<br />
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<i>Not like I have a lot of other stuff to do today.</i><br />
<br />
Normally I would never say that on a Friday. I'm usually turning appointments down on Friday. I joke that if I could just have three Fridays in the week, I wouldn't need to work any other day. But this Friday, I was done working before 9am. Like many small business owners, I was now left wondering whether or not I was "essential."<br />
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The day before, I'd watched a man move out of my office building. He'd already laid off 30 employees. With the stay at home order looming, he could no longer afford rent, even for a small office for himself. I wondered what he did that was so non-essential. I didn't have the heart to ask.<br />
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When I headed back to my office to drop off some supplies after my library stop, more people were moving out. More people who could no longer pay the rent. More people who did something non-essential.<br />
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By the time I made it home, I was exhausted. I'd spent most of the night awake, worrying whether my business would make it, worrying what my landlord meant when he said the office building was now on "lockdown", worrying about whether I was essential.<br />
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I took a nap, but mostly I just laid on the bed and worried some more so I finally got up and made myself go for a run. It started as a hike, because I was still so tired I felt strangely similar to how I felt in the middle of the night at the Marji Gesick 100. Basically a zombie stumbling through the woods.<br />
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Moving woke me up a bit though, cleared my head. It's hard to worry when you're focused on literally putting one foot in front of the other. I thought about this essential thing and wondered if perhaps what so many of us were feeling right now was similar to how many people feel when they retire (albeit with a lot more stress about money). I've heard stories of people not knowing what to do with themselves when they retired. They feel a bit lost, wondering what to do now. So I wondered, did they feel this too- this emptiness because they weren't sure if they were "essential" anymore?<br />
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I thought about my parents and when they retired. Were they less essential then? I smiled, because to me, they certainly weren't. If anything, they were probably more essential, even if it was in a different way than when I was a child. Once they were both retired, I had finally reached that stage of being able to appreciate them, of wanting to share bits of my life with them, of enjoying time connecting with them.<br />
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Not long after Pop retired, they came with me to Europe. I'd qualified for the age group duathlon (run, bike, run) world championships in Hungary and we decided to make a trip of it. Unfortunately, I tore my plantar fascia five weeks before the race. Since we'd already planned the trip, we went anyway. I searched out a podiatrist who literally made me a custom orthotic out of foam while I sat in his office because there wasn't enough time to order one. It certainly wouldn't make me fast, but it would protect my foot enough so I could finish the race.<br />
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I met Mom and Pop in Vienna. After a few days of sightseeing and incredible food, we headed to Prague and then to Gyor, the small town where the race was held. We shared small hotel rooms, lingered while talking after dinners and made an adventure out of getting my bike case onto and off of trains before the doors closed, always pleasantly surprised when someone helped us without asking. The night we left Prague, a complete stranger realized we didn't understand the messages coming over the loudspeaker and were going to miss our train. He pointed me to the correct platform and then, when he realized I would never make it in time with the bike case, he threw it up on his shoulder and started running. I chased him down one flight of stairs and up another, with Mom and Pop close behind. We made it to our platform with just enough time for him to throw the case on the train and hold the door for us. Mom called him our guardian angel for the rest of the trip.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Mom and Pop in Prague</td></tr>
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By the time we arrived in Gyor the next morning, my entire leg was a mess from limping around on my foot with my luggage. The team chiropractor covered most of my leg in the only color KT tape she had left- hot pink. <br />
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My parents laughed and said, "Well- at least we'll know which one you are."<br />
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The race had been set up to run and bike on small loops to make it more fun for the spectators. Mom and Pop sat in the bleachers the organizers had set up and cheered while I limped around the course with my pink tape. I found them there after my race. Of course I was disappointed that I didn't race to my potential. On my own, I would've just gone back to the room to sulk. They were having none of that. They informed me they'd being staying to cheer for Margaret, a woman in her 70's who was competing for the U.S. Not only was she the oldest woman in the race, she'd been hit by a car while training and battled through the injuries to get here.<br />
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As we sat in the bleachers waiting for Margaret, many of the older athletes started to finish. I was still sulking a bit when my mom leaned over and said, "You know, this is a lot harder for them than it is for you because they have to be out there much longer." I smiled. She had a point. After we cheered them all in, we went out to celebrate. Suddenly my race didn't matter so much.<br />
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That trip with my parents, it was essential to who I am. That moment in the bleachers, it was essential to who I am. They were essential. Without my parents there, it would've been a trip about a race, my race. Instead, it became a trip about connection, about the goodness of other people, about being there to cheer on every last person. My outlook on racing changed a lot after that. So did my appreciation for my parents. <br />
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As I thought about all this on that run, I thought back to a conversation I'd had with my only client that morning. She had said, "I know what we do here is not essential, but seeing you is important to my mental health." I realized that while the services many of us provide are not essential, we all need to be careful not to think that means WE are not essential. It's easy to confuse the two.<br />
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Our place in this world is not based on what we do for work, what we do in races, what kind of house we own. Our place in this world is based on who we are for others, on how we show up for people, everyday, even if we don't have to, even if those people might not know we're there, cheering for every last one of them. <br />
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Times are hard but we are all essential. All of us. <br />
<i> </i><br />
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-45787672263865120382020-03-24T12:10:00.003-07:002020-03-24T12:10:57.782-07:00Hope and Happiness<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Huron, sometime in the 70s or 80s</td></tr>
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After not writing on my blog for over a year, I figured my first post back would be about my greatest distraction over the past year- buying a 120 year old building in the UP. My first property purchase in my 48 years surely could warrant that attention. Unfortunately, with the state of the world as it is, I'm guessing sharing that story now would likely get me shamed in the social media world for being "out of touch" or some other phrase people use to describe anyone right now who chooses to find a glimmer of hope or happiness in the world. Instead, I'll share a story I told a friend yesterday that perhaps explains why I am one of those people who chose that hope and happiness.<br />
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It was 1981. I was 9 years old. My sister and I decided to launch our little bodies off the family sailboat and into the still frigid Port Huron water sometime in May. We squealed as we hit the water, barely allowing our bodies to be fully immersed before we raced for the boat ladder. We scrambled out and wrapped our shivering bodies in towels. Nothing unusual for kids who grew up on this lake.<br />
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Shortly after, Big Sis got pneumonia. Of course she missed some school, but antibiotics had her back to normal soon enough. Then it was my turn. Pneumonia settled in just as school was ending for the year. I took the antibiotics too, but I didn't get better. Eventually Pop's recliner chair become my bed, because lying down caused so much coughing no one in the house could sleep.<br />
<br />
One night, propped up there in the middle of the night coughing and trying to breathe, I became terrified I would die. I started to cry so loud Pop could hear me so he came out to check. When I explained that I was scared I would die, he did what any parent of a nine year old would. He assured me this wasn't going to kill me and told me to go back to sleep. Then he left to try to get some shut eye of his own, probably assuming I'd fall asleep too. I didn't, because I hadn't told him everything. It wasn't just that I was afraid I would die, what was really bothering me was I'd realized that if I did die, the world was going to go own without me. I was afraid to tell him because I was worried he would think I was selfish. Of course, it didn't occur to me until many years later that he'd probably already had this existential crisis himself at some point in his adult life and would've been able to help me process the terror it was instilling in my 9 year old mind.<br />
<br />
A couple days later, after some desperation measures (including one incident with peppermint schnapps that Pop and I still laugh about), the situation came to a head when I woke up with a full body rash. Back to the doctor we went. I grew up in a small town so I knew the clinic well, mostly because I was prone to stupid stunts like shoving beads up my nose. Like many small clinics, you saw whichever doctor was available that day so I knew them both. This day I also saw them both. They took turns examining me and then met outside the room, clearly not aware that I could hear them. All I remember is, "I don't know what's wrong with her, do you?" This was not assuaging my fear of dying.<br />
<br />
With neither doc able to diagnose the rash, we were sent to the hospital. Blood was drawn but it would take a couple of days to get results. In the meantime, it was decided that I should be put in quarantine. This rash of mine looked suspiciously like the measles. I'd been vaccinated for the measles so if I did, in fact, have the measles, it was possible that I could give it to other kids my age that had also had what was possibly and ineffective measles vaccine.<br />
<br />
A room was readied for me in the children's ward. I was not allowed to leave. Only my parents and medical staff were allowed to enter. My grandma, who volunteered at the hospital, could only peer at me through the window in the hallway. Of course, so could all the other kids, who tried to entertain me through the glass. Toys from the hospital playroom were off limits so my mom brought books and games from home. She kept me entertained as best she could, but she also had my sister to take care of, and Big Sis wasn't allowed in the room. This meant some time alone there, quarantined with my 9 year old thoughts of dying.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, although the family probably finally got some sleep while I was in there, I didn't get much better. On the third day, when the doctor came in to break the news to my mom that the lab had accidentally ruined the blood tests, I finally lost it. The possibility of more time in this room alone drove me to hysterics. Through my tears, I begged the doctor to just let me go home.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what made him change his mind. Maybe he already had the sense this could be an allergic reaction to the antibiotics. Maybe he realized the only extra person who would be exposed to my "possible measles" at home would be my sister, who'd probably already been exposed and would've been vaccinated nearly 3 years before me. Maybe he realized that the mental trauma of more time alone might just be worse than whatever else was ailing me.<br />
<br />
He let me leave. As preparations were made for me to go home, someone accidentally left the door open to my room. The teenage boys from across the hall, assuming I was better, carted a big stuffed animal from the play room in in their wheelchairs. Our laughter as they propped it up on my bed drew the attention of the nurse. She stormed in, snatched the stuffed animal from my bed, and snapped, "Now we will have to throw this away." The boys wheeled out as the hysterical crying started again. <br />
<br />
Home and on a different antibiotic, I slowly got better. There were some long nights for my mom while she stayed up with me trying to cool my burning skin. Gradually though, the rash faded and the cough lessened. The doctors decided this must've all been an allergic reaction to the first antibiotic. I stopped worrying so much about dying. <br />
<br />
I will never forget the first day I got to go to the beach. My uncle had purchased my grandparents "cottage" years prior and made it a permanent home for his family. It was on Lake Huron. My mom took my sister and I to visit for the day. I still couldn't swim. I had to wear my aunt's big floppy hat to protect me from the sun because of the antibiotics. None of that mattered. I sat there on that beach, in the warm sand, breathing in the Great Lakes air and I knew I would be okay.<br />
<br />
I still joke that I have water from the Great Lakes running through my veins. It's still nearly impossible to keep me inside for an entire day. Warm sand will always soothe my soul. That day in the sunshine will<br />
be a part of me forever because on that day, instead of worrying about taking a breath or being near my parents or dying, being outside with my family brought me hope and happiness.<br />
<br />
We're in some trying times, I get that, but I won't lie. We were already in trying times. We were already spending less time outside and more time connected to a screen. We were already texting instead of calling, waving instead of hugging, judging each other online instead of trying to understand each other. If we aren't careful, it will be hard to get any of that back. We'll become comfortable with less human interaction, until we realize that without each other, we are all less human.<br />
<br />
Before you get outraged over the suggestion of a hug, no I'm not telling you to go touch a stranger. What am I saying then? It's simple- hold on to hope, to happiness. Remember you have a choice. There are people in hospitals right now who would love to have as much freedom as you have under your self-imposed "quarantine." I get it, changing your routine sucks, but if you are in your own home, you at least have the luxury of making a routine of your own. Get your spring cleaning done. Cook some healthy food. Go outside. Quit using "social distancing" to avoid eye contact or speak
kindly. You can do this from a whole heck of a lot of feet away. And, for goodness sake, quit judging others for finding a bit of happiness in the world. Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-62281084488330615592019-01-19T15:13:00.000-08:002019-01-19T15:13:50.081-08:00Ditching the BoulderLast year was sort of the year of racing for me. After doing only the Marji Gesick 100 the year before, I decided to try to race once a month in 2018. In the end, while I didn't exactly accomplish one every month, I did end up with 12 race starts thanks to two in some months and none in others. Did they all go well? No. Did I learn from all of them? Of course. Do I plan to do this next year? Definitely not. As always, I do a lot of introspection after I race, especially when the race doesn't go as well as I'd planned. After nearly two months to contemplate my last race of the year, which ended in a DNF, I've finally been able to accept that while the DNF came because of a fall, my approach to last year was really the problem.<br />
<br />
Honestly, it really started at the end of 2017. There was a lot of hype after Marji Gesick. When you're the only one to finish a 100 mile running race, there are a lot of pictures of you that end up on Facebook. At first, this is fun. Who doesn't like a little attention? But, as we all know, the world of social media can quickly turn negative, especially if you're a sensitive person. Those pictures had comments, and while there weren't any that directly cut me down, there was an underlying message from some of the men, which was basically, "I'm gonna go out there and easily win a buckle," which since I missed the buckle time, felt a little bit (ok, a lot) like, "If that little girl can finish that race, surely I can do it much faster. It must be easy." When I guy I didn't know (who's Facebook page shows a lot of pics of him riding a bike and none of him running) messaged me, telling me he was going to run next year and win a buckle and wanted tips, it definitely stung a little. Or a lot. Suddenly it seemed like a whole lotta biker dudes thought they could do this race easily. So of course, I started to think that perhaps my performance sucked. Or I just sucked.<br />
<br />
And you know what happens when you think you suck? You try to prove you don't. So, as much as I wanted to believe I was doing all that 2018 racing to conquer some fear, in hindsight, I was racing to prove I wasn't just some tiny woman who can't do much. Starting Jiu Jitsu not long after only accentuated the problem, since suddenly my size was an issue, every day. Once you know Jiu Jitsu, it can help you defend yourself against someone bigger who doesn't know it, but when you're learning and you're the smallest one there and everyone else knows more than you, you get humbled. Every. Single. Day.<br />
<br />
I get it, humility can be a great thing. Unfortunately in this case, it just added to my need to prove myself, and racing from this place is dangerous. Sure, I had a few good races, like HAMR and Night Owl, but if I'm truly honest with myself, by Nov. I was exhausted from all the racing and training like a woman with something to prove.<br />
<br />
Of course, I couldn't see this clearly at the time so I went to the Back 40 race in Dec. with a chip on my shoulder that was starting to feel like a boulder since I'd been carrying it around for over a year. In theory, this race should've been perfect for me. 40 mile trail run Saturday, 40 miles of mountain biking Sunday. With that boulder on my shoulder, it was of course a different story.<br />
<br />
Long story short, I was anxious from the start. Since we started with a mass of 20 mile runners, the trail was pretty crowded. I did my best to find my own rhythm and enjoy some solitude, but I found myself more often than not running with guys so close to my heels one of them actually stepped on my shoe. I should've been able to let this go. Instead it just aggravated me. By the time we finally hit this bridge and had a very short reprieve from the tight singletrack, all I could think about was that I hoped this dude would pass me so I could stop to pee without him seeing my butt. He didn't. Apparently I'm a good pacer. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong id="yui_3_17_2_1_1547935431394_886">Photo: adVANture photography</strong></td></tr>
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By the time we got to my 11, this guy was finally gone, but I had a line of people behind me, none of whom seemed to want to pass. This was fine on the uphill, but as we crested the top and headed down, that line of people seemed to add to the weight of that boulder I was carrying. I ran faster, because I wanted to prove I wasn't holding them up. I lasted about 30 seconds before I finally tripped while flying down the hill at a speed I wasn't comfortable running. Thankfully, the instincts I picked up in Jiu Jitsu saved me from landing on my face or breaking an arm. In fact, I jumped up immediately and kept running. After all, now I really had something to prove.<br />
<br />
Of course, as you probably all know, stories like this never end well. When I jumped up and kept running, there was pain in my pubic bone. I told myself it was just a bruise, but five or six miles later, there was no denying that my hip had taken a beating. With every step, it felt like my groin was going to pull off the bone. I hobbled the last few miles to complete one lap of 20, but I knew there was no way I could tough it out for 20 more.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong id="yui_3_17_2_1_1547935431394_886">adVANture photography</strong></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong id="yui_3_17_2_1_1547935431394_886"> </strong></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong id="yui_3_17_2_1_1547935431394_886"> </strong></td></tr>
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I tried to smile for the photographer there for the 20 milers, but really all I had was this grimace. I called Big E for a rescue and spent the rest of the day on the couch reading about hermits and researching places to eat. Carrying that boulder around for a year had made me really hungry.<br />
<br />
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Later that night, I packed my bags to ride the 40 the next day, but I knew when I woke up it wasn't going to happen. I spent the day cheering for Big E, because sometimes the best thing for a bruised ego is seeing someone else crush a race. I tried to crush it as his support crew, but since this was the result when he said, "Meet me at the finish line with an IPA," I'm not so sure how I did.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong id="yui_3_17_2_1_1547935431394_886"> adVANture photography</strong></td></tr>
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At least he's smiling.<br />
<br />
So, what do I do now that I tossed that boulder away? Get back to what's true to me- racing for the challenge and not to prove anything. My favorite part of racing has always been the process-that intense focus you need to get the training done, to get to the start line as ready as you can, and to race with a greater purpose than just your own accomplishment on race day. My goal for this year is, in the words of David R. Hawkins in his book <u>Power vs. Force</u>, "to honor the endeavor, not the personal accomplishment, which is only the occasion and expression of something greater, universal and innate in the human heart." Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-20702682448500024922018-10-09T18:51:00.001-07:002018-10-10T07:16:16.866-07:00Pepperoni Revival I've been looking forward to October since the end of the July. Yes, I know, summer is awesome and I should enjoy it. This year though, I knew October would bring running races and I've been itching to run race for months. That said, signing up for my first ultra in over a year only 2 weeks after Marji Gesick seemed like a good idea. At least, it seemed like a good idea until I realized I hadn't really run much with all the mountain biking I was doing.<br />
<br />
So, I showed up for the Night Owl Shuffle 6 Hour race wondering if I might actually end up doing some shuffling. My main goal going into the race was to run 30 miles in the 6 hours. Of course, I won't lie, I was hoping for a win too. Ya, I know I'm old, but there's still a 17 year old who loves winning trapped in this old body.<br />
<br />
Timed races work like this- whoever runs the most wins. Normally there's a loop of a certain distance and whoever completes it the most times under the cut-off is the winner. This race had an added twist. There was a main 3.35 mile loop as well as a 1 mile out-and-back. We were allowed to run either whenever we chose, as well as being allowed to run the 3.35 loop backwards. Basically, what this means is, you have no idea where you are in comparison to your competition so, if you want to win, you better be running as hard as you can.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, we all at least started out on the main 3.35 mile loop so we could assess our places early on. I settled in to 5th, knowing my old bones can't handle the faster early pace like they used to. I ran the next couple laps hoping people would slow down and come back to me. No one did. I could only hope they'd jumped into the one mile loop and were running slower there.<br />
<br />
I stuck to the longer loop for 5 laps, not wanting to deal with the monotony of 1 mile laps yet. By the end of that lap though, I was past the longest I'd run in over a year and feeling a little tired. As I finished the lap, I entered the one mile loop for a scouting lap to see if it might be a bit easier and I might find some of the girls ahead of me in there. The hills were at least a little mellower, but no luck passing anyone. Since I still had 2 1/2 hours left to run, I headed back out for another big lap. Halfway through, I started to melt down. I'd been on pace up until then to get my 30 miles, but it quickly started to slip away as I slowed to 15 minute miles. I was pretty much the walking dead.<br />
<br />
I started to panic. Then I felt a little sorry for myself. Then I got over it.<br />
<br />
I remembered hearing that the great ultra runner Ann Trason once said good ultra runners were good problem solvers. So I decided to problem solve. First up, I needed to figure out what was wrong. I was hungry. My legs hurt. A lot. Second, I needed to find a solution to those problems. I needed to eat and I needed to avoid the pounding on the downhills. Third, I need to act. So, I headed for the one mile loop where the downhills were all grassy and not as steep. Then, I ate. I knew too much food would be risky for my stomach, but I figured I was already walking so how much would it hurt? I downed an entire package of pepperoni in seconds. Damn, it tasted good.<br />
<br />
To my surprise, I was running again within a mile. The first one was slow, but the next one I was back in the 11s. A few miles later, I was in the 10s and back on track to hit my 30 miles if I could hold the pace. Of course, there was still over an hour of running left and I still had no idea where my competition was. I could only hope they'd enter the one mile loop soon.<br />
<br />
I got my wish. Shortly after, one of the girls ahead of me appeared coming the other way. I did some quick math and figured if she'd run as many laps of the big loop as I thought she had, I'd need to pass her. I got to work. A lap later, I found myself coming up behind her. I remembered a story I'd heard an ultra runner once tell about passing another girl at mile 90 something in a 100 mile race. She said that when she passed her, she wanted to be going so fast it would "crush her soul" so she wouldn't try to keep up. I decided now was a good time to start crushing souls and picked up my pace.<br />
<br />
One down. Three to go.<br />
<br />
Shortly after, two more of the girls ahead of me entered the one mile loop. I set out to crush more souls. I passed the second of them with only about 15 minutes to go. I knew I needed to stay ahead. As I neared the finish of that lap, I realized I had my 30 miles, but I also realized I just might be able to get one more lap in under the time. I came in with about 12 minutes to spare, saw my friend Dana cheering at the turn around, and knew I needed to go for it. I knew I'd been running under 12 minute pace for miles, but I didn't want to leave anything to chance. If I was gonna run this damn lap, it better count. I pushed the pace. 10 1/2 minutes later I came in with 31.1 miles.<br />
<br />
All that was left was to wait for results. I'd passed three of the four girls ahead of me, but the fourth was nowhere around. I'd seen her exiting the one mile loop as I'd entered it 10 miles earlier but not since. Since my favorite way to pass time while running is to do math in my head, I'd calculated the many ways this could work out. I knew that if she'd stuck to 3.35 mile loops and kept a decent pace while I ran 10 one mile loops she could rack up just a bit more distance than I.<br />
<br />
When it came time for awards, that's exactly what we found out happened. After 6 hours of running, she beat me by a whopping .05 miles. that's right 5/100's of a mile. Damn, that hurt. But at least I won the masters (a.k.a little old lady) division. And I figured out how to revive myself from the dead with pepperoni. That's a plus. <br />
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Now I just need to figure out how to keep my knees from swelling the next day.<br />
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Come on now, you knew I'd have something gross to share after an ultra. At least it wasn't chafe.<br />
<br />
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-35345935836098579852018-09-30T20:30:00.002-07:002018-09-30T20:30:27.311-07:00Unfinished BusinessTo say that this year's Marji Gesick was a mixed bag of emotions would be an understatement. After running the 100 in 90 degree heat last year, I decided to "just" sign up to ride the 50 this year. I wasn't entirely sure my inner thigh chafe would actually be healed enough to run again. Of course, after spending endless hours on the bike training for HAMR earlier this summer, I was really itching to run again, but by then it was too late for 100 mile run training.<br />
<br />
So, I showed up to Marquette really wishing I was running instead. Watching the run start on Friday didn't help, especially when I realized someone was surely going to smash my course record to pieces and I wouldn't even be there. To add to my mixed bag, Big E was riding the 100, so 90 minutes before my race, I dropped him off at his start and left wishing I could drive around all day to cheer for him too. Since I was also slightly terrified of driving his barge of a truck to my start, I took off without changing the music, which meant I listened to his pre-race song 5 times instead of my own.<br />
<br />
By the time I arrived at Marquette Mountain to start my own race, I really just wanted to drive around all day listening to Metallica, feeding Big E and cheering for runners. Thankfully, the Ringmaster's awesome wife, Stacie, was there doing bag check. She's the pep talk queen, probably because she runs the drop bag station in this race, which means she's likely watched 100's of people pull the plug. She certainly wasn't going to let me pull mine before I started.<br />
<br />
Fueled by her pep talk, I finally listened to my own song (Whole Lotta Rosie in case you were wondering) and channeled my inner racing Rosie. I needed her since the start was straight up the mountain. Not an easy task for we singlespeed junkies.<br />
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To my surprise, the uphill wasn't nearly as bad as I imagined. I pushed a bit, but managed to ride much more than I expected. What I didn't expect though, was to realize just as we headed down that I'd made the rookie mistake of leaving way too much air in my tires for the technical downhill. Halfway down, terrified I'd crash and smash my face on the rocks, I finally jumped off the bike, only to actually smash my face with my own handle bars. Rookie move #2.<br />
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Thankfully, I calmed down a bit after this and actually started enjoying the ride. As we picked our way up the hills in the first few miles, I kept my pace in check by chatting. It didn't take long to realize that when I told people I'd run last year, I always got the same response. "OH- I read your blog." Of course, I'm pretty sure to Marji folks this means, "OH- I saw your crotch on the internet." As Big E likes to remind me, this is my own fault since I'm the one who posted a photo of my raw inner thighs. Hopefully they're only famous in Marquette and I'm not unknowingly starring in some sort of internet endurance racing porn. Anyway- I decided to quit talking about running so I #1- could stop worry about becoming internet porn and #2 could focus on riding my bike.<br />
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That's pretty much what I did for the next 10 hours- push the pedals. I'll admit- I stopped to talk to every runner I passed because I really wanted to at least experience their journey for a few minutes, but other than that I channeled my Rosie and kept moving forward, which at the Marji Gesick means riding a whole lotta technical shit I would probably push my bike over any other time. It turns out, when I want to avoid riding in the dark, I'll ride some pretty sketchy downhills. (Not that you can tell by the race pictures. As far as I know, I'm pushing my bike in all of them. I think the Ringmaster paid the photographers to avoid any photos of me riding. I'm smiling in all of them though so that's a plus.)<br />
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In the end, after over 10 hours in the saddle, I happened to make it to the top of Jasper Knob just as the last few 100 mile riders who might earn a buckle arrived. I knew better than to get in the way of a man on a mission to earn the coveted Marji buckle, so I jumped out of the way and let them make their sprint while I enjoyed the last mile.<br />
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To my surprise, since my teammates were all still out on the 100 course, I heard my name at the finish. Ruth and Amy, friends from Marquette, like always, had taken the time to come out to the finish. This is sort of the spirit of Marji and the UP- even when you think you know no one, there's always someone there to cheer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruth, Amy and I on top of Sugarloaf the next day.</td></tr>
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After spending the race fighting off those pre-race conflicting emotions, it only took minutes for them to flood back. Big E was still out there and all I wanted, even more than getting warm, was to do some cheering. Amy knew what time he'd passed his first drop bag and after some quick math, I realized he'd be riding by the finish (part of the Marji torture is passing by the finish line with 25 miles to go) any minute. I took off on my bike and asked the first guy I saw if he'd met a loud guy named Eddie on the trail. (Everyone knows Eddie.) He hadn't but he took one look at my jersey and said, "There's a guy behind me wearing that jersey though."<br />
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I knew it would be Eddie. Sure enough, I found him minutes later. Somehow we can always find each other in these races. Mostly because he's loud and really friendly. Apparently our cool jerseys help too. After a quick stop to put on his light, he was off again and I was able to take a quick shower before heading to meet him as he came through Jackson Mine Park to his bag drop a second time.<br />
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If you've never hung out at Jackson Mine Park during the Marji Gesick, you're missing out. It's one of the most inspiring places I've been in a race. Sure, you see a few shattered souls come in and pull the plug, but mostly what you see is a whole lot of absolutely exhausted, shelled people come in and some how muster the energy to head out in the dark onto one of the hardest sections of the course. Big E was one of those. This spot was a big deal. He'd pulled the plug here two years ago and then last year pulled even earlier after getting almost no sleep while I was out running the night before his race. So this park was kinda hanging in the air as that place he wished he'd kept going for two long years. He rolled in feeling like crap. He sat down and started shivering. I started to worry, but he assured me he'd keep moving. After some Coke. And warm clothes. And ginger ale. I didn't want to push but when he'd been there over 30 minutes I started to panic. Thankfully Stacie did another of her pep talks. She picked a time. He was leaving by midnight.<br />
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Not long after midnight, that's exactly what happened. Somehow, after over an hour in a lawn chair, he got up, threw his leg over the bike and showed that last 15 miles who's boss. Like I said, Jasper Mine Park is pretty inspiring. You see a lot of people slay their demons there.<br />
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Later that night, after nearly 24 hours awake, we put Marji to rest. At least for the year. I won't lie. I literally reserved our Air Bnb for next year while we sat in the truck on Monday preparing to drive away. There's a run out there that's haunting me. I might have finished but that doesn't mean I don't want another crack at that damn buckle. After a year of wearing this shirt to celebrate crossing that line last year<br />
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I told Big E it's time to put it away for the year. I have some business to finish and it's time to get to work. Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-62889475721054802162018-08-08T20:34:00.001-07:002018-08-09T11:56:27.062-07:00For the Fresh Meat, Part 2The Marji Gesick Ringmaster himself, Todd, called me on Monday. I was actually having a rough day, feeling exhausted and sore from likely jumping back into serious training a bit too soon after HAMR. Instead of a running or riding, I went to the archery range, thinking it would cheer me up. Unfortunately I was shooting like crap. Many rounds in, I finally nailed a fox dead on. Then the phone rang.<br />
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It was The Ringmaster, which cheered me up even more than the good shot at the fox. He had a project for me, he said. I was pretty excited about this, hoping it would be something really important like designing the new Polar Roll run course. He had other things, I suppose equally important, in mind.<br />
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He reminded me we have just over 6 weeks until Marji Gesick, when there will be over 40 people out there running on his crazy-ass course with no aid stations. Since he's not a runner himself, he asked if I'd write up a post to give those 40 or so people a little heads up on what to expect. I obliged, even though it's not as exciting as designing a run course.<br />
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So, here's a little of what I think to be important. Have I done a crap load of 100 mile races? No. Marji was my first. Did I earn a buckle? No. I'll have to try again for that. Did I finish and learn a hell of a lot in the process? Yes. Yes. And Yes. So, hopefully that's enough that some Marji runners out there might want to keep reading.<br />
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Before I get to the training details to give a little insight into where you might want to be in training right now, there are three things you'll need that I think are important to point out. Without them, finishing (or starting in one case) just isn't gonna happen.<br />
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1. A bike. That's right. This is perhaps the only 100 mile run you'll ever do where you have to start on a bike. So bring one. It's not a joke. I even wore my helmet. The ringmaster apparently needed to give me some stern words anyway:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo- Lisa McIntyre</td></tr>
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2. A GPS of some sort. Yes, the course is marked, but you never know when a Sasquatch might move a few signs. Or, like last year, they might curl up in the rain and be hard to see. Having a GPS that at least beeps if you go off course will save you a lot of time wandering around lost. Trust me, at some point during the night in my delirium I even turned the wrong way down a well-marked road and was saved by that beeping.<br />
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3. Most importantly-A CREW!!!! This race will not happen for you without one. Period. You can mess up the training a little, you can puke, you can get lost, you can take a nap. But you can't run this race without a crew there. Yes, the whole time. There are no aid stations. Zero. The ones you hear the bikers talk about aren't there on Friday and stashing your goods in the woods is not allowed. So if you don't have a crew, get one now. And make sure they aren't afraid of the dark.<br />
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Without all these people here, I would never have finished. End of story. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They tolerated my Dr. Pepper obsession well. Photo- Lisa McIntyre</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I tried to lube everyone at the start and I still got chafed. Photo- Lisa McIntyre</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really, we did run right after this, but the 8 year old asked me why I was running so slow. Photo- I have no clue who took this photo. It was mile 100 something. I was delirious. I smiled at anyone even if they didn't have a camera.</td></tr>
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That's right. It kinda took a village (and a large part of team LCR) to get me through this thing.<br />
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Now, on to a few training details. A few general notes before I go into what some of my weeks looked like. One, despite this being my first hundred, this wasn't my first ultra or even my first time on this course. I'd done 50k's, a 50 miler, a 40 miler, and the Marji "50" the year before. I also ran in college so I know my body well and what it can handle. I've found what works for me best is to do two hard weeks in a row, ending with long runs on tired legs, followed by a recovery week. That's just me so that's what you'll see here. Two, I love trails so most of these miles were on trails, many of them mimicking the elevation of Marji. If you haven't done that, I suggest you start, now. The technical difficulty on this course is no joke. You won't be ready by running on the road. Now on to a bit of a training timeline:<br />
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April- Built up to 40 miles a week, mostly on trails with lots of elevation.<br />
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May- Built up to 50 miles a week, twice averaging nearly 100 feet per mile of elevation for the weekly miles.<br />
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June- Built up to 65 miles a week, again trail and elevation specific.<br />
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July- things get more specific.<br />
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11 weeks out from the race, I ran a 70 mile week.<br />
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10 weeks out from the race I ran 80 miles, capped off with a training camp on the Marji course with my LCR teammates who were riding it. I ended the week with 28 miles on the course on Friday and 24.5 miles on the course on Saturday. Then my teammates and I went out to dinner at a restaurant that had what seemed like 200 steps. I was walking a bit funny after all those miles so they found it hilarious to walk behind me and tell people I had to poop. If you're LCR, your teammates are your biggest hecklers. But they show up for you on race day!<br />
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9 weeks out was, of course, a recovery week. 30 miles.<br />
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8 weeks out was another 70 mile week, with 7234 feet of climbing, you guessed it, nearly all on trails.<br />
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7 weeks out was my biggest week, 87 miles, capped off with 30 miles on Saturday followed by 15 hilly miles on Sunday. I chose to starting backing off a bit after this week. I've found with ultras it's better to get the heavy miles done early. Leaving them until just 3-4 weeks before the race leaves me too tired and sore on race day.<br />
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6 weeks out. (This is where you are right now if you're doing Marji this year.) Another 30 mile recovery week.<br />
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5 weeks out. 61 miles.<br />
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4 weeks out. 57 miles with my last long run of 22 on Saturday. I had actually planned for this to be a 70 mile week, but after running my 22 miler in the rain I ended up with a sore throat so I opted to skip Sunday's 13 miler and not get sick before the race.<br />
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3 weeks out. 30 mile recovery week.<br />
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2 weeks out. 50 miles with 5286 feet of elevation. Longest run of the week was 12 miles. Did some running in the dark to test out my lights and my skills!<br />
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1 week out. 33 miles, 3353 feet of elevation, more running in the dark.<br />
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Race week- 10 miles, including 2.5 on Thursday on the last mile of the course. I wanted to make sure I would recognize it when I got there! The rest of the day Thursday, Super Kate and I drove around the course picking out our meeting places. This was essential. Since there are no aid stations at this race you can't just meet your crew there. You need to pick your own places and both of you need to know where they are!<br />
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Friday- Race day! That's already been recapped here: https://girlunsupervised.blogspot.com/2017/09/its-small-thing-to-giant.html. I made it to the finish thanks to my awesome crew, always supportive (even when they're making fun of me) teammates and of course Big E, who put up with a lot of months of me training more than I did anything else.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo- Ryan Stephens</td></tr>
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<i>For the sake of not writing an entire novel, of course I've left out a lot of details. If you're racing and want more, feel free to send me a message on Instagram @girl_unsupervised. I'll do my best to remember everything that happened out there. Part one of this, written right after the race is here: https://girlunsupervised.blogspot.com/2017/10/for-fresh-meat.html</i><br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-4104362754032534482018-07-26T20:57:00.001-07:002018-07-26T21:56:44.896-07:00Beavis and Buttcrack Do Hard Things<b>Disclaimer</b>: I do not write typical race reports. If you're looking for specifics about my gear set up for HAMR or secrets about the route, you won't find them here. Other than knowing I ran 34x19 for gearing and had Thunder Burt tires on (and new front brake pads courtesy of Chad) I don't know much about my bike. I'd rather ride it than geek out over the parts. And if you want to know the secrets of the route- come ride it next year. Also, these events may not be in the right order. Cut me some slack- by the end of this story I'd been pedaling a bike for 23 hours. I'm allowed to mix up the sequence and exaggerate.<br />
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Despite the fact that we didn't start riding until Saturday, the 187 miles of HAMR really started Friday night since we were required to check-in with the mandatory gear and then camp together to be awakened for a random start time during the early morning. I wasn't worried about failing gear check, at least unless you could fail for having too much stuff.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They said bring a snorkel. I maybe went a little overboard. Photo: Todd Poquette</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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After passing with flying colors (Stacie seemed rather impressed with the kindling Big E made me to stash in my match case.) I headed to the camping spot I shared with Stamper and the infamous Brad Reed the Endurance Machine. If his endurance skills match his ability to polish off a 4 lb pastie in a small amount of time, he definitely deserves his infamy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVi3wOUHBShoI203Z7xaZXJO-WpxKtxmTR_Uii9J_kMq1xIDf57Sq_npHb-vyHchL_cXgrwGXUCyDEqJkNhRUILkiIEWLjeSIPRPq-lclL5cJuvqgquTinV8XUtFNev69E7nWhUXAFAl19/s1600/IMG_0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVi3wOUHBShoI203Z7xaZXJO-WpxKtxmTR_Uii9J_kMq1xIDf57Sq_npHb-vyHchL_cXgrwGXUCyDEqJkNhRUILkiIEWLjeSIPRPq-lclL5cJuvqgquTinV8XUtFNev69E7nWhUXAFAl19/s320/IMG_0311.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-pastie wrapper spike. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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After the pre-race meeting and some passport examination<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKYjpP07Uitx9c7yeqfYpwkyRGAvCo24QCKl-pBcJjK-oQ5BCR0BVIQiuJFeAma2uBG1YD_rk_tEsj_zyF2D71_nlciitbjuA8AAKFAcyhSM2ldMQu-HlLOj8clkIFX67NSMiQM2QgnIc/s1600/passport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKYjpP07Uitx9c7yeqfYpwkyRGAvCo24QCKl-pBcJjK-oQ5BCR0BVIQiuJFeAma2uBG1YD_rk_tEsj_zyF2D71_nlciitbjuA8AAKFAcyhSM2ldMQu-HlLOj8clkIFX67NSMiQM2QgnIc/s320/passport.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: <span class=" UFICommentActorAndBody"><span class="">Tanya LaJoie Ruokolainen</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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we hit the hay to try to catch a few zzzz's before whatever random wake up shenanigans The Ringmaster Todd Poquette and Matt had in store for us.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, mercy was taken and we weren't roused until 4am. An hour later, we were off in the dark. Despite my Garmin not having any idea what to do at the first few turns and an early ridiculously steep, rocky hill that I had to push, I finally settled in to a rhythm and enjoyed my favorite time of day to ride. After 20ish miles of peaceful riding by myself, I heard ruckus behind me. Along came The Ringmaster and a group of guys. I can't say I was disappointed. We were on the famously sandy Red Road so having them pass me meant fresh tracks in the sand I could follow.<br />
<br />
A few miles later, we entered Mosquito Gulch, where I first caught Buttcrack Jenny and began a lot of miles a back and forth. I had no choice but to stand on the hills and singlespeed away. She would inevitably catch me on the next flat for some time to chat. We continued this way for miles, including making our way across the river<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ6s1WS3sSAbq3ea87LQzqqsIaryKjpZ-A7eyOfeiAUOjOcLVBWPzrZk_xyvogoskvWUZNIB16_UavIrJcaur3z1gcSgk9HqtdYn-awQgZtwszDAgUkxpcLXmrlWZBjZG4S8pYObAebw2/s1600/riverhamr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJ6s1WS3sSAbq3ea87LQzqqsIaryKjpZ-A7eyOfeiAUOjOcLVBWPzrZk_xyvogoskvWUZNIB16_UavIrJcaur3z1gcSgk9HqtdYn-awQgZtwszDAgUkxpcLXmrlWZBjZG4S8pYObAebw2/s320/riverhamr.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't even need my snorkel! Photo: Todd Poquette</td></tr>
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before finally climbing Mt. Arvon in the rain. I was hoping for a view since it's the highest point in MI, but all I saw were a bunch of cold, wet riders! After the mandatory selfie at the top<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YOv93Wdr5MeHevKPZUMYnPBkydmee9SRiZphx6pd8Use5idhFu9bjX6RMS5zCXkmJSguA0-BoKGsXpoT5tNjKpN5ReQPBsSyhCm50YfhkvXdHCFZCwgQLO1jVnroOMQcJgYiLdKBocO-/s1600/IMG_0316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6YOv93Wdr5MeHevKPZUMYnPBkydmee9SRiZphx6pd8Use5idhFu9bjX6RMS5zCXkmJSguA0-BoKGsXpoT5tNjKpN5ReQPBsSyhCm50YfhkvXdHCFZCwgQLO1jVnroOMQcJgYiLdKBocO-/s320/IMG_0316.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
I headed out quickly. The Ringmaster was at the top asking for a working phone. I didn't want to be there if he called for a ride. There's something about seeing the race director bail out of his own race that's a bit disconcerting. Especially when it's because he's a bit worried about the rest of us!<br />
<br />
If any of us had thoughts that we could've done this race on a cross bike instead of a mountain bike, they were quickly erased on the ride down Mt. Arvon. With the rain, the already technical descent became more like a rocky, sandy stream. I clung to the bike for dear life as I slipped and slid down the hill.<br />
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Thankfully, Buttcrack Jenny caught me again as we approached the town of L'anse. After seeing how remote the race had already become, we made a pact to finish together in the dark. We happily resupplied our water and food at the gas station before heading out along Lake Superior for a few easy miles and some much needed sun. (Ok, maybe my idea of "sunny" was a bit skewed at this point.)<br />
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We made good time on the pavement before hitting the next gravel road with some daylight left. By this point, we were riding side by side, of course chatting away to pass the time. Now, if you've ever met Buttcrack Jenny or myself, you know that if either of us is talking, we are also laughing. A lot. Since our conversation had turned to farts as this point, I'm pretty sure anyone that heard us coming would have most likely thought Beavis and Butthead were coming down the road.<br />
<br />
<i>Farts. Hehe. Butts. Hehe. I need to pee. Hehe. </i><br />
<br />
That's pretty much how it went.<br />
<br />
Well, at least that's how it went until shit started to get weird. What started as a nice gravel road with a little traffic got more and more remote. There was a bus in the trees, then a boat, then a trailer, then a random lawn chair. As it got darker, it got creepier. Considering I used to lead canoe trips on the river where they filmed Deliverance, it takes a lot of redneckery to freak me out. This, however, made the hair on my arms stand up. I started humming "Dueling Banjos". Buttcrack and I got pretty quiet.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, we finally came to a little pavement. It was quick, and we flew down the hill to the next right turn back on to gravel, where I promptly crashed in the sand. Thankfully, my pedals had treated me well for 169 miles, but now they'd decided to get sticky, making it nearly impossible to clip out quickly if I needed to.<br />
<br />
<i>Great, we're in Deliverance-country and I'm trapped in my pedals. </i><br />
<br />
Thankfully at this point, the road was still pretty well maintained and I didn't really need to clip out much<i> </i>so we headed up the hill and took our mandatory snorkel selfies at the checkpoint.<br />
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A few miles later, we had unexpected headlights behind us. Before I knew it, I heard Buttcrack talking to the driver and really hoped she wasn't trying to make friends with one of the Deliverance people. Thankfully, it was her husband, Matt Attacker Acker, who'd won the race and was now driving around offering support. Class act! He stopped up the road to offer us some food and fill us in on the rest of the course. We had less than 15 miles left and I was still feeling great so I didn't really get too concerned when I heard him say "hike a bike". Of course, in hindsight, if someone nicknamed Attacker says you're gonna hike a bike, it's probably a sign that shit's about to get real.<br />
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Let's just say- it did.<br />
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First we headed downhill on a sandy road, where I proceeded to crash numerous times and we dismounted lord knows how many times to walk around water. At some point after what felt like miles of this the scenery changed a bit. Then we rounded a corner and I heard Buttcrack say, "I think we're gonna have to hike this."<br />
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Thankfully I successfully unclipped my feet for once and we inched our way up the rocks. Within minutes, a noise unlike any I've ever heard come from the woods. After a quick, simultaneous, "What the hell was that?!" we inched our way up a little quicker.<br />
<br />
<i>Great, now we're in Deliverance-land, we're pushing our bikes and a Sasquatch wants to eat us.</i><br />
<br />
Just for good measure, I shined my light into the trees every couple of minutes. You know, just in case Sasquatches are afraid of light. I just hoped we smelled bad enough to scare him off.<br />
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After our push-a-bike, we remounted and continued on our way, hoping to find the elusive Chunky Summit checkpoint. In our passports, it said, "Watch out for washed out culverts," in the description for this checkpoint. I'm pretty sure it was in one of these culverts, while trying to descend, where I discovered one of my eyes was so blurry I couldn't see out of it.<br />
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<i>Now we're in Deliverance-land, I'm trapped in my pedals, there's a Sasquatch in the woods and I can only see out of one eye.</i><br />
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Of course, I eventually crashed again, bashing my hip on a rock and finally throwing a hissy fit. Buttcrack calmly helped me up, squirted some water on my cleats and in my eye and we were on our way.<br />
<i> </i><br />
A few minutes later, my Garmin went haywire. It wanted, of all things, for us to make a u-turn. Seriously, we just rode 179 f-ing miles and you want us to turn around?! <br />
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<i>You guessed it- now we're in Deliverance-land, I'm trapped in my pedals, I can only see out of one eye, there's a Sasquatch in the woods and my Garmin is drunk. Oh, and did I mention it was raining again? At least my ass was soft from the mixture of Chamois butter and sand that had been squishing around in there for 22 hours.</i><br />
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Thankfully, Buttcrack's Garmin was not drunk and we found our way to Chunky Summit and then to the Top of the World checkpoint, only three miles from the finish. We cruised the last three easier miles together, finally crossing the line after 23 hours on our bikes. Buttcrack tried to ring her Hamburger bell to announce our presence, but it was so waterlogged it sounded like a drowning duck. Good thing we never needed it to scare off that Sasquatch.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Before heading our separate ways to dry off and get some sleep, we of course took a few fun finish photos.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSAaczA2zTnG5ppZzU1PS9aKl9Yj7E7ojjMZZvBXugsXjpTsm4nynf5tlEpf2-qrjtpK-SZxoC86wMYE4VQbO6ynhDSxuS8SWvA_0Zhn9ifp74IaFaQdCY47ld9u7I-wuCcGhPaEKOOp5/s1600/finishphoto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="833" data-original-width="958" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSAaczA2zTnG5ppZzU1PS9aKl9Yj7E7ojjMZZvBXugsXjpTsm4nynf5tlEpf2-qrjtpK-SZxoC86wMYE4VQbO6ynhDSxuS8SWvA_0Zhn9ifp74IaFaQdCY47ld9u7I-wuCcGhPaEKOOp5/s320/finishphoto.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Todd Poquette</td></tr>
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This one pretty much sums up our day. Two goofballs in the woods, not always right-side up, but smiling and sticking together. I'm pretty sure that's what The Ringmaster and Matt had in mind for this race- to give us something so hard we'd see that sometimes the group effort is much more important than the win. (And of course to make us question our sanity.) After all, it's hard to fight off a Sasquatch on your own. Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-69918580963482787842018-07-11T20:43:00.000-07:002018-07-11T20:43:15.773-07:00Just Eat the Damn Cake<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P0W3i-xKXj5fEfoeck9BsE_mVhBTW4ZIwJdxHmXebMVec90M-7nw5xwNa6W-v_28XjkENx_OMRuQBtvVOsJ4kzpQvmfCbzADdETZkxfgQ-fRK2Jx8mOcTrfrGnK6j3jyD1N6yzPSo_nI/s1600/IMG_0184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3P0W3i-xKXj5fEfoeck9BsE_mVhBTW4ZIwJdxHmXebMVec90M-7nw5xwNa6W-v_28XjkENx_OMRuQBtvVOsJ4kzpQvmfCbzADdETZkxfgQ-fRK2Jx8mOcTrfrGnK6j3jyD1N6yzPSo_nI/s320/IMG_0184.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not quite cake- but eating some of Mama Iris's 13 flavors of homemade ice cream (a 4th of July tradition) because eating it is way more fun than "having" it. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<br />
I left the house for this morning's bike ride with two different tires on my bike. I wasn't trying to be cool. I didn't need two different tires. I had no reason other than the fact that I got up later than I'd planned, didn't change the tires as fast as I thought I could and only got one done before I needed to leave for the ride or skip it. Despite the fact that Big E thought it would be funny to try to convince me it would screw up my bike to ride with two different tires, I chose to ride.<br />
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For some reason, as I rode off frustrated with myself for not just getting up earlier, I thought of the phrase, "You can't have your cake and eat it too." At first I thought it maybe applied to the situation since, technically, I didn't get my tires changed AND get my ride in. But then I decided that was stupid because the only reason I didn't get both done was because I chose to sleep in. If I hadn't, I could've had both. So really, I chose not to have my cake and it eat too.<br />
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So of course, right there on the spot, I decided that phrase is really stupid. (Big E can attest to my rant on the subject later in the day.) But really, when you think about it, it's pretty dumb for two reasons.<br />
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First, in the literal sense, why would anyone even choose between having the cake and eating it? We would all eat the damn cake!!! If there was cake, even if you were allergic to it, you wouldn't let it just sit there. You would eat it if you could or throw it away so it wouldn't get moldy. No one (except maybe a hoarder) would just "have" the cake, no matter how pretty it was.<br />
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Second, in the sense in which the phrase was meant to be interpreted- you can't have two incompatible things- it is still kind of ridiculous. Yes, I get it, there are some things that are just impossible. You can't be Australia and Canada at the same time. However, that said, the phrase is used much more liberally than that, often for things that aren't necessarily impossible. In fact, the comparable phrase in Russia is, "You cannot sit on two chairs," which technically, is actually possible. You could just put the chairs side by side and put one ass cheek on each. It might not be comfortable, but it would be done.<br />
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This is what leads me to where I'm actually going with this. (Yes I often, but not always, have a point.) This whole comfortable thing is what gets in our way. We like to have everything and still be comfortable. When we see two things we really want and it would be a shit-ton of work to have them both, we just say, "Well, I can't have my cake and eat it too." It becomes our excuse for not putting in the work to get what we really want, and when we see someone else who is putting their head down and working their butt off we say to them, "You know, you can't have your cake and eat it too," because it makes us feel better about not going after what we really wanted. And before you know it, everybody's comfortable eating cake and not doing a whole hell of a lot else.<br />
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So the next time someone tells you can't have your cake and eat it too, ignore them. Find a way. Give something up. Get uncomfortable. Work harder. Ask people for help. Sit on two chairs at once if you have to. But don't give up just because it doesn't seem easy.<br />
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After all, where there's a will there's a way.Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-55871441162323736242018-06-24T19:03:00.000-07:002018-06-24T20:01:43.805-07:00Ninja for a Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ytOOMS8Fn9a1RJV-TXawLTidZarvZ3N4wSwD0jIjRGY_3Mej7xT-rMIwThR3xcHHyamzUEe4ChBvqVhW05WFFp9KlZ43hi_jEK77Oyuvxa-tasAb7cIwvjAqSB4yYqEu2inEsyRe4c1Z/s1600/IMG_0053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ytOOMS8Fn9a1RJV-TXawLTidZarvZ3N4wSwD0jIjRGY_3Mej7xT-rMIwThR3xcHHyamzUEe4ChBvqVhW05WFFp9KlZ43hi_jEK77Oyuvxa-tasAb7cIwvjAqSB4yYqEu2inEsyRe4c1Z/s320/IMG_0053.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final smoothie at the end of a long training week. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There's usually a story behind a picture like this- one that tells you how I ended up looking like a crazed woman ready for a really long nap. This story involves a crap load of training, because, well, prepping for a 187 mile bike race through remote terrain necessitates a crap load of training. So I train. And drink lots of smoothies.<br />
<br />
My philosophy on training for ultra endurance events is this: train until you're beat down and then really start training. Why? Because that's how you're gonna feel at the end of the race, beat down. You might as well know you can keep moving through that feeling so you don't find out in the middle of a race, in the middle of nowhere, when no one's around to rescue you, that you're a pussy when you're beat down. At least in training if you become a total pussy you can make your way home pretty quickly.<br />
<br />
This all leads us to this picture, taken today at the end of two weeks of straight hard training. My goal for the second week of these hard cycles is to never train fresh. Since week one involved 2 1/2 hours of running, 12 1/2 hours of biking, 2 hours of strength training and 4 hours of Jiu Jitsu, I was pretty much set up to reach that goal. Week two, which led to that crazy lady drinking a smoothie, went something like this:<br />
<br />
Monday- Wake up at my usual 6:30 pretty sore and a bit crabby, go to work, run on tired legs for an hour, drink a smoothie, go back to work, strength train between clients, work some more, shoot my bow before bed. Nothing too unusual here.<br />
<br />
Tuesday- Wake up when the alarm goes off at 6:30, lay in bed for 30 minutes because my legs, hip and back hurt. Roll out of bed, stretch and massage myself with The Stick. Work. Ride an hour and fifteen minutes to the evening Jiu Jitsu class carrying my Gi, arriving just as it starts raining. Dry my bike with my dirty Jiu Jitsu clothes and begin the ride home. Get caught in the rain. Realize the Gi is getting heavier. Pedal harder. Arrive home smiling anyway because I finally had a stripe on my belt to show off to Big E. Drink smoothie.<br />
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Wednesday- Wake up when the alarm goes off at 6:30. Hobble to the bathroom. Lay back down to survey the soreness. Roll out of bed after 7:00 and make friends with the foam roller before I even eat breakfast. Run for over an hour, including four sets of 97 steps and lots of hills. Drink a smoothie on the way to Jiu Jitsu. Feel thankful one of the kids wants to join us so for once I can actually practice with someone smaller than me. Reluctantly roll with a couple guys bigger than me at the end. Get my ass kicked. Leave looking like a drunk girl doing the walk of shame after a long night out. Love it because this is what hard weeks are all about. (Not the drunk girl part...) Get a massage. Ask her to work on my legs because that's what hurts. Fall asleep on the table and wake up an hour later to discover she was still working on my back and shoulder. Apparently those should hurt. Realize they're probably just numb. Go to work. Do 40 minutes of Pilates with one of my clients. Shoot my bow before bed. Fall asleep so hard Big E sleeps on the couch because he doesn't want to wake me.<br />
<br />
Thursday- Wake up sometime after 7. Lay there for 1/2 an hour trying to figure out how to move. Wonder how the hell I'm going to ride a bike and do Jiu Jitsu later. Work. Ride the long way to the evening Jiu Jitsu class, do class, ride the long way home and do some monkey bars on the way to prepare from the obstacle course race I signed up for in August. Get a fish hook (yes, a fish hook) in my tire riding over the 494 bridge. Realize it's not easy to extract a fish hook from a bike tire. Change my flat and make it home just before dark. Drink a smoothie. Eat an entire pizza.<br />
<br />
Friday- Wake up sometime after 8 when Big E tries to tiptoe into the room to video tape me snoring my face off. Laugh when he says, "Dammit, I can't sneak up on you now that you're doing Jiu Jitsu because you're turning into a ninja." Realize most of me hurts when I laugh. Eventually manage to move enough to make breakfast, do some core training and run for an hour including 5 long hill repeats. Drink smoothie. Go to work, do a little more strength training between clients, but take a day off my usual routine of doing 10 pushups every time I check social media because I'm being a pussy. At least I made it to Friday. Shoot my bow. Stretch, foam roll and hang out in my ice tights before bed because I know tomorrow is gonna be long.<br />
<br />
Saturday- Wake up at 6:15. Ride to Jiu Jitsu. Throw up in my mouth on the way there because my body apparently doesn't really want to ride a bike today. Stress the rest of the way there because I don't want puke breath when I'm rolling around with people. Ask The Ninja Teacher for gum as soon as he walks in. Try not to notice that a lot of big guys showed up for class today. Practice single leg take downs with poor form. Get thrown on my back by The Ninja Teacher while he shows me how to do them properly. Get up and practice them the right way (I think) because I really don't want him to show me again. Get back on the bike and ride for 3 1/2 more hours on the way home, including some singletrack and some ridiculously overgrown doubletrack. Do some monkey bars on the way for good measure. Drink smoothie. Check for ticks. Ask Big E if he will shave my head because I'm tired of dealing with my hair during training. Let him talk me off that ledge. Because he's always the more rational one of us. Get back to my social media push ups.<br />
<br />
Sunday- Wake up when the alarm goes off at 7. Go to the bathroom and open the shades with every intention of getting up. Fall back to sleep. Stay asleep for almost 3 hours while Big E gets ready for his race, which probably sounded like a small marching band was in the kitchen. Ninja failure. Get out of bed after 10. Somehow drag myself back onto my bike to get some more singletrack in. Swallow numerous bugs on the ride because I'm too tired to close my own mouth. Bust ass on the trail just to try to stay ahead of little kids. Drag my tired self home. Drink smoothie. Take crazy picture. Do one last strength session, in which I realize I can't even straighten my legs all the way.<br />
<br />
Endurance training success. Now it's time for an easy week. And some work on my ninja skills.Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-85974353686930994422018-06-08T21:11:00.003-07:002018-06-08T21:11:38.770-07:00Finding RosieAfter my sh!tshow at Mammoth Gravel Classic, I had two more chances in May to work on finding my inner Rosie in races.<br />
<br />
Chance #1 was at the Woolly Mountain Bike race, my first mountain bike race in almost three years. If there was ever a time I needed Rosie, this would probably be it.<br />
<br />
Things went well pre-race. We got there early, I got in a good warm up and I didn't need any meltdowns over my brakes or GPS at the start line. I even started in the middle of the pack, instead of hiding in the back like usual. Not that I stayed mid-pack very long. When you gear your singlespeed for the hills, it doesn't take long for the pack to pass you. At least the passing happened before we even hit singletrack! I figured with 4 hours of riding to go I'd have plenty of time to pass people back.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that positive thinking lasted one lap. Then my chain fell off. Four times. By the time I put it back on four times, I pretty sure I was in last place and Rosie had left me. Thankfully, the race was loops, I eventually limped into the start/finish area with my chain dangling off my bike. I asked if I could make a quick stop to find a mechanic and after confirmation I could, I promptly found Jimmay!!! Finding one of my LCR teammates is even better than finding a mechanic. These guys could probably fix a bike with dental floss if need be. In this case, after 10 minutes with Jimmay!!, I was back on course with my singulator twist-tied to my bike.<br />
<br />
<i>Told you these guys could fix a bike with anything. </i><br />
<br />
Now, I'd like to say I went back on course and everything was sunshine and rainbows. It wasn't. Somehow, after all the stopping to fix my bike, I ended up right in the mix of the expert and comp guys starting their races. If you've never done a mountain bike race, let me just sum this up for you like this: these guys all think they're winning the Olympics, which basically means if they come up behind you on the trail, they will expect you to get your ass off the trail immediately, even if there's a place to pass in 10 feet.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>I swear these are guys who would hold the door open for me any other time, but get them on a bike and they'd rather kill me than have to go off a smooth strip of dirt to pass me in some grass. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Thankfully, after a couple of laps of this and a few tears (Yes, I can cry and ride a bike at the same time. Yes, I also know this is ridiculous.), the always positive Chris Gibbs caught me and yelled something about Rosie, which reminded me I should be Rosie right now. And Rosie doesn't cry when she rides her bike. So, I pedaled hard for the next lap and half, passed a few people back and surprised myself with an unexpected podium. Not that I looked all that happy at as I finished:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxl0sr93h3zpFyrzkm4T1MAzSKtJdIHZlxG-iWbzWdGgiHec9zjmzTtiqWorcohQeFI_pr9azrCCDGzICt1HXsTEUzkNJwyiG1AB07gt0X3KIEFmou_i-vxKnutKKKPf7VlAQl8rr7kEu/s1600/IMG_1943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxl0sr93h3zpFyrzkm4T1MAzSKtJdIHZlxG-iWbzWdGgiHec9zjmzTtiqWorcohQeFI_pr9azrCCDGzICt1HXsTEUzkNJwyiG1AB07gt0X3KIEFmou_i-vxKnutKKKPf7VlAQl8rr7kEu/s320/IMG_1943.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Woolly Bike Club</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Lesson of the day: Sometimes (most of the time) persistence pays off. Even if you can't find your inner Rosie when you need her most.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i></i><br />
Fast forward six days to Wild Ride Buzzard Buster 10 Hour Race. A chance to redeem myself and keep in my Rosie mindset for the whole day.<br />
<br /><i></i>
Again, pre-race went well. The 2 hour drive was enough time to get myself in the right mindset. I had over an hour once I got there to set up my transition and get the bike ready (the chain was no longer held on with twist ties). I ran into the awesome HCCC crew before the start and they let me set up under their tent. I'm not sure if this was out of kindness or because I mentioned I might get naked in there later. I even had time to check with the race director to make sure riding topless was an option. (Yes, yes it was.)<br />
<br />
<i>When it's supposed to be over 90 I start planning to be naked. Clothes are hot.</i><br />
<br />
With that, I headed to the start as Rosie. Thankfully, the Le Mans run start goes much better for me than a mass start on the singlespeed<i> </i>so for once I was actually the first girl onto the singletrack. Despite having to run part of the first crazy uphill, I stayed in my Rosie mindset and stayed at the front down the technical section on the other side.<br />
<br /><i></i>
At this point, I pretty much knew this was probably gonna be my day. That probably sounds nuts at the start of a 10 hour race, but for me, the starts are usually the hardest. If I can make it through that with a positive outlook, I can find a way to keep my head in the game for however many hours there are to come. So, the rest of the ten hours, despite a battle with the heat, was all pretty much full of smiling.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_yOB2l2Ho-i8zLEJJ1nfLLPseGfuIu7z_4gHAHZQRe-12mykhJ5snJ_qmvP_9xhTXPewcesuWP-8hB-6NCyR3XIe8guLEN6WFThw1NakQ7Ta4DWDNPUg6pB-rSO7xfC_jol-YAxeUQb2/s320/BUZZ_0598_18.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="213" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: http://www.xtrphoto.com/</td></tr>
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I even finally rode "topless" for my last few laps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtVmHYX_UZXTFIUdOWF66WedaSqg5VMViWCTj9FNHcj0TP3s4TJyEuzBjOF0HoSCchfGsEaxOyct2WqVdf6rTo000GkwOxY-DX2GXntf3F4KMn4hG8mPhZi3p_-jUof-trW_Yi1BticUa/s1600/BUZZ_0851_18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="655" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtVmHYX_UZXTFIUdOWF66WedaSqg5VMViWCTj9FNHcj0TP3s4TJyEuzBjOF0HoSCchfGsEaxOyct2WqVdf6rTo000GkwOxY-DX2GXntf3F4KMn4hG8mPhZi3p_-jUof-trW_Yi1BticUa/s320/BUZZ_0851_18.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: http://www.xtrphoto.com/</td></tr>
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And yes, I cropped this photo. No one's belly looks good when they're bent over on a bike. Just trust me on this. At least I can smile while riding with what looks like a beer gut.<br />
<br />
In the end, it was finally a win. Not just for the race, but for finally finding Rosie again, and keeping her around for a whole race.<br />
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-81852948379140602022018-05-09T20:57:00.003-07:002018-05-09T20:57:48.413-07:00Mammoth Gravel Sh!tshow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I've finally figured out why Big E gave me this after Polar Roll. I mean, of course I knew crying on the way to the start line was a bit extreme, but at the time I just sort of thought it was a one time pre-race mess.<br />
<br />
Enter Mammoth Gravel Classic.<br />
<br />
I did fine on the way there. It's more of a ride than a race so I refrained from crying during the hour long drive. I was even pretty relaxed...until we parked.<br />
<br />
Then I saw people and bikes. Lots of them. To me this meant "race" and to my mind this meant "meltdown". In other words, I felt like I was going to pass out from nerves and I had to pee. Immediately.<br />
<br />
As I headed down the hill to Cyclova, I discovered my brakes, which I thought I'd "fixed" the night before, were squealing. Again. Thankfully, Horns exited the shop as my bike literally screeched to a stop. Now, mind you, I can adjust my own brakes, but when these "meltdowns" happen, really it's better to just let someone else deal with my bike. I would probably break it. Or pee on it. (You never know- it might help the squeaking.) So, Horns obliged my freak out and fiddled with my quick releases.<br />
<br />
After emptying a gallon of nervousness, I headed to the start line, where I promptly discovered that I didn't really know how to use my new GPS, which had the course directions on it. Back to meltdown mode. Of course, since I was now surrounded by a couple hundred people, it wasn't hard to find someone to rescue me. It also wasn't hard for Seve to show me that I just needed to hit a button and "Voila!" the GPS works.<br />
<br />
<i>Perhaps the next time I get a new toy I should read the directions.</i><br />
<br />
You'd think that since my brakes were now fixed and I had a functioning GPS, I would be calm.<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Ha. Ha. Hahaha. </i><br />
<br />
On the contrary, now that I didn't have any bike issues to stress over, I proceeded into full blown internal panic over whether one of these hundreds of people was going to run me over at the start. Basically, this means I stood there during the entire pre-race talk trying not to pass out. Or pee my bike shorts.<br />
<i> </i><br />
Needless to say, I was relieved to start riding so the freak out in my head would stop. Once we rounded the first corner, I finally convinced myself that no one would run me over and the panic stopped, mostly because it's really hard to panic when you're pedaling 120 rpms on a singlespeed hoping the entire field doesn't pass you on the first downhill. Of course, I'm pretty sure the entire field did pass me on that downhill, including Mr. Marx, who thought it best to be a wise-ass and shout, "How's that single speed treating you?"<br />
<br />
Now, I'm not sure if he shouted this to purposely light my fire or he just wanted to be a smart ass, but either way, it turned on Rosie, my racing alter ego. I might be a hot mess, but Rosie just wants to kick some ass. She doesn't have time for messes. Once she's turned on, I'm pretty much powerless to turn her off until the finish line. (And yes, I do realize that perhaps I should work on some sort of pre-race ritual that will turn Rosie on before the start line so we can avoid anymore pre-race sh!tshows.)<br />
<br />
Anyway, Rosie was on a mission to pass back as many people as possible, especially Mr. Smartass Marx. Thankfully for her, the single speed and its 29er tires could pretty much float over the sandy sections, so it wasn't long before the smartass himself appeared up ahead. For some reason, I decided it would be a good idea to sneak up on him and slap him on the ass, which was going superbly until I got right behind his rear wheel. At this point, he swerved, nearly taking me down. As I jumped onto the grass to avoid a crash, I screamed. Unfortunately, at this point, although my hand wasn't on his ass, my mouth was rather close to his ear.<br />
<br />
Let's just say, he finally knew I was there. He yelled something about needing Depends as I rode off. Rosie doesn't stop to help people who crap their pants.<br />
<br />
The rest of the 70+ miles went pretty similarly. Someone would piss me off (like the guy who saw me struggling up a hill and said, "I don't mean to discourage you, but I think the hills get bigger") and Rosie would kick in even more and push harder. Even the three dead chickens and a random deer head in the road couldn't slow her down. (Thankfully- because who really wants to be going slow when there's a creature in the area ripping the heads off deer?) And the guy in the last 10 miles who would slow down, but whose ego couldn't stand being passed by a girl and would then speed up every time I passed him? Rosie was on a mission to beat him. Unfortunately, he had gears and the single speed couldn't quite match him on the last flat mile into town.<br />
<br />
But hey, at least he had to work for it. Rosie wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
<br />
Now- I'm off to work on my pre-race ritual to channel Rosie. I'm gonna need her this summer...<br />
<br />
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-12906096691490575612018-04-13T18:54:00.002-07:002018-04-13T18:54:47.000-07:00Bridges and Tough Conversations I've been pretty inspired lately by my <a href="http://girlunsupervised.blogspot.com/2018/03/judgment-day.html" target="_blank">new outlook</a> on dealing with fear. Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea how often I was letting fear get in my way. Obviously, I knew I was using some pretty extreme avoidance tactics post head injury in order to drive every day without getting on the freeway or going over any bridges. Of course, if you live in the Twin Cities you know that at some point this became impossible if I wanted to get anywhere west of my house. Unfortunately, we have this thing called the Mississippi River. Turns out you have to drive over a bridge to get to the other side. At some point during the summer I finally forced myself to start doing this, mostly because the amazing Dana B. has her office on the other side of the river and I needed a massage. So, I pushed my fear aside and drove over the 494 bridge like a granny to see Dana.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I decided to change my outlook on fear and realized that perhaps facing this fear instead of constantly burying it might be a good idea. I recalled a conversation with Mama Liz last summer when I told her that maybe someday I would just ride my bike out onto that 494 bridge and stand there until it wasn't scary anymore. Since it was nearly 50 degrees yesterday, I figured it was as good a day as any to go hang out on the bridge.<br />
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At first the old fear-induced dizziness came back, but, funny thing, when I just let it be instead of trying to make it go away, it passed in its own time and there I was, pretty darn comfortable on the bridge. I mean, I didn't to any head stands or stand on the top of the railing or anything, but hey, baby steps.<br />
<br />
I did get over the bridge phobia enough to take a ride out onto the old swing bridge later in the ride though.<br />
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I admit, I was pretty thankful it doesn't actually swing. Again, baby steps.<br />
<br />
I know, these probably seem like little things, and actually when I finally did them they really were pretty minor. No panic attacks or meltdowns. The cool thing though- facing these fears of physical things is helping me face some of my other fears, which are really the ones that probably affect my life the most.<br />
<br />
That fear of judgment I wrote about a few weeks ago- it's really been on my mind. Sometimes you just finally realize how much something affects you and it motivates you to do things you never thought you could do so that you can make it better. That's me and this whole fear of judgment thing.<br />
<br />
So, this week, I had a tough conversation, one that a year ago I would've done everything in my power to avoid. I would've just disappeared and considered it over, never realizing what a great opportunity speaking up could've been- for me and the other person. Of course, when I finally had that tough conversation, and gave someone the chance to explain themselves, I realized that this person, who I thought was treating me a certain way out of dislike or judgment, was really treating me a certain way because he simply thought I could handle it. Apparently my happy-go-lucky attitude, combined with the fact that I can run for an absurd amount of hours on end, makes me appear to be tough as nails.<br />
<br />
Of course, once I gave someone the chance to explain this, I discovered a lot more about myself than I would've had I just run away. As an added bonus, that person also got some feedback that might help him the the future too, something that would've never happened if I'd stayed quiet out of fear of judgment. <br />
<br />
Now, hopefully facing this bridge fear and my fear of judgment will help me move past my fear of moving water before HAMR this summer. I'm told I have to cross the river a couple times with my bike and I really don't want to carry a life jacket for 170 miles. My bike floats, right? Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-26194455247742311962018-04-04T19:55:00.000-07:002019-01-19T13:51:37.449-08:00Livin' the Sweet LifeI'm pretty sure I've written this blog post 100 times in my head. Somehow though, it always stays there and I'm unable to find the words to express it in a way that won't piss a lot of people off. Honestly, I'm not sure I know even now how to express it without pissing people off, but since I'm tackling my immense fear of judgment head on, we'll just consider this post a lesson in facing my fears.<br />
<br />
I'm tired of other people telling me my life is easy. Don't get me wrong- I know I have a pretty sweet life. What girl wouldn't want her own business, a hot guy (who smells really good) and a high metabolism? So, yes, I know I have it great. I will never argue with that. I'm just really sick of the idea that getting all this awesomeness was "easy". That business I run? I worked 39 hours a week at a YMCA while I got it started. I still work at least one, sometimes 5 or 6, part time jobs a year to keep it going. That hot guy? I waited 40 years for him. I was alone for a lot of those. That high metabolism? Yeah, a lot of it came from my mama, but hours a day of exercise certainly isn't hurting.<br />
<br />
So "easy" is all relative here. My life is "easy" because I make it that way. I work hard for what I want and when I get it, I appreciate the hell out of it. I refuse to join in our society's competition to see who can be busier, more stressed and more exhausted. We've gotten in this bad habit as humans to look at where someone else is and forget what they might have been through to get there.<br />
<br />
Case in point- Marji Gesick 100. Here's the picture most people saw:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EaqBEQ0zvAd9Xsp0ZCCRsL_GkwTdB3_cGW09X29kQh13IlFPsDZ_KDqBfA_5SpTWB8eJYXhn2_9jO97UxUJ2d0fTxOOnWLFNYZy8BggWBvW0MDeIRh2VLAzsuXry-sMT02dddO3S2N_Q/s1600/IMG_7296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_EaqBEQ0zvAd9Xsp0ZCCRsL_GkwTdB3_cGW09X29kQh13IlFPsDZ_KDqBfA_5SpTWB8eJYXhn2_9jO97UxUJ2d0fTxOOnWLFNYZy8BggWBvW0MDeIRh2VLAzsuXry-sMT02dddO3S2N_Q/s320/IMG_7296.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo- Ryan Stephens</td></tr>
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The elation of finishing. The fun part. What I got out of 7 months of training.<br />
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Here's the picture not nearly as many people saw:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesbNkecgU-Z7TRCf6AMcPvPQ7Ak19CV1QoXh5AkeZqy6iUzvv_2hXqHygJ5pKe7VIhGujePRtKhK55gcgQEEtjdY2O2zBgrQu0f9dhD9sjYf3nrsSwca_17EfYJMa_P3Nlx9wvNMWI3ub/s1600/marjijacksonpart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesbNkecgU-Z7TRCf6AMcPvPQ7Ak19CV1QoXh5AkeZqy6iUzvv_2hXqHygJ5pKe7VIhGujePRtKhK55gcgQEEtjdY2O2zBgrQu0f9dhD9sjYf3nrsSwca_17EfYJMa_P3Nlx9wvNMWI3ub/s320/marjijacksonpart.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo- Stacie Maynard Poquette</td></tr>
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Let me tell you about this picture. I'm walking through Jackson Mine Park with 15 miles to go. Since I'd run the 50 the year before I knew about what time I needed to be here to finish under 30 hours and be the first person to get a buckle. I'd been on pace to do that for close to 24 hours, but about an hour before Stacie took this picture I realized I'd fallen off the pace quite quickly. My mind wanted more than anything to run, but every time it tried to relay that message to my body, my body gave it the finger. This picture captured my lowest moment. The one when I wondered how the hell I was going to finish this thing. After she took this picture, I walked around the corner to Super Kate, said, "I need to get my shit together", sat down in a lawn chair and stuffed my face with mashed potatoes. Somehow, fueled by cheesy mashed potatoes and some motivation from Kate (and the support all along from countless other people), I got off my butt and made it to that last picture and the amazing feeling that came with it.<br />
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Behind one picture that showed a moment of pure joy, were hours of suffering, a huge support crew and months of training. Judging just that one picture certainly doesn't give justice to all of that. Neither does judging someone just by the present moment of their life. Saying, "It must be nice," or "So and so's life is so much harder than yours," completely negates how much work they might have put in to get where they are.<br />
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So let's all just stop. Let's stop competing to have the harder life. Let's stop assuming anyone has it "easier" than us. The next time we see someone who has something we want, instead of saying, "It must be nice," let's stop and ask their story. When we listen to it, we might just learn how to get the sweet life they have, instead of living the rest of our lives wishing we could have it.<br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-1861537344975979722018-03-13T19:06:00.000-07:002018-03-13T19:06:20.981-07:00Judgment Day<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwsTmG1RL4HF_yzmGhU9sopgG03qS7QZBnzkYA1jo_Sq0iNQCUfHp2rS__5hb8ABMqieuhFLtbBuMWxUg3t4aM2q4ej_ohTweiZmVmA20WWnlKHMO0q7VkLONOPV5WA-CKTp47ylOcEzq/s1600/IMG_1371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwsTmG1RL4HF_yzmGhU9sopgG03qS7QZBnzkYA1jo_Sq0iNQCUfHp2rS__5hb8ABMqieuhFLtbBuMWxUg3t4aM2q4ej_ohTweiZmVmA20WWnlKHMO0q7VkLONOPV5WA-CKTp47ylOcEzq/s320/IMG_1371.JPG" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conquering my fear of racing in front of a crowd....and having to push my bike. </td></tr>
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It all started with a book, really. I recently read <u>The Art of Fear</u> by Kristen Ulmer. The gist of the whole book is basically that you can't fight or ignore fear. It might work for awhile, but it will still be there, screaming at you from deep inside until you finally face it, examine it and learn from it. Of course, doing this sounds easy, but it involves really taking a deep look at what you're truly afraid of and what measures you go to to avoid or silence those fears.<br />
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Again, that might sound easy. Being attacked by a shark. Or by a bear. Or a human. Getting into a life altering accident. Having another head injury. Racing in front of a crowd. Sure, these are all things I fear, but for me, none of those things stops me from anything. I still swim. I still play in the woods. I still run by myself. I still ride a bike. I even raced one in front of a crowd last month. <br />
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For other people, that might not be the case so maybe these fears would be things to examine further, but for me, they just aren't the fears holding me back. So, I had to wonder, what fears are holding me back? What really changes my life? What will I go out of my way to avoid so I don't have to feel fear?<br />
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I'll admit, I've been thinking about this for a couple of weeks and hadn't come up with anything. Not that I'm saying I wasn't afraid of anything. Hell, I feel scared for a good chunk of every day. But why? Because we all know I'm not walking around all day worrying about sharks. So what is it?<br />
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Well, this morning, it all came in a flash. I was riding my bike on the trainer and needed some distraction so I watched <a href="https://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20width=%22560%22%20height=%22315%22%20src=%22https://www.youtube.com/embed/2Lz0VOltZKA%22%20frameborder=%220%22%20allow=%22autoplay;%20encrypted-media%22%20allowfullscreen%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">this video</a>. I swear I made it about two minutes before I started crying. If you don't feel like watching it, I'll just sum it up. She's talking about hesitation, about how it keeps you from doing things, how it holds you back. As soon as she used that word "hesitation" I knew what it is I'm so afraid of. That one thing that will always make me hesitate. That makes me not do or say something I really want to.<br />
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I'm terrified of being judged.<br />
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It paralyzes me. I sometimes lie awake at night reliving a moment over and over in my head from my day. A moment when I'm sure someone judged me- thought I was stupid or annoying or, God forbid, not perfect. If I don't feel completely ready for a race, I don't sign up for fear of being judged by the result. If I feel judged by someone more than a few times, I'll avoid them completely. When I felt judged on Facebook, I deleted my account. The big kicker though was realizing this- I worry about nearly everything I say after I say it to the point where I often just say nothing.<br />
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This fear of being judged, this hesitation it's caused, it's stolen my voice. I used to write more often. I used to speak to strangers. I used to love to tell stories. Now I mostly just talk to myself. (I don't think I do this out loud. At least not yet.) <br />
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Of course, now the hard part comes. How do I change this? I know it's not an overnight process. It will be long and hard and there will probably be a lot of tears. But then, nothing good in life really comes without a lot of hard work.<br />
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Since I'd just finished a video about hesitation, I figured I'd better start right away before I changed my mind about facing this fear head on. So, as soon as I got off the trainer I headed to martial arts and forced myself to talk to someone whose judgment I fear the most. You know what- it wasn't that bad. I'm pretty sure I won't lie awake tonight worrying about anything I said. I might lie there worrying about the many moves I didn't understand in Jiu Jitsu, but hey, one step at time. <br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-42692165079752421972018-03-08T19:41:00.002-08:002018-03-08T19:46:40.841-08:00Uphill into the WindSome races are harder to write about than others. Sometimes the story comes easily, usually because I actually wrote most of it in my head while I was racing. Other times, like with Polar Roll in February, the race is more of a struggle and the story then seems to be too. Not that I have anyone to blame for those struggles but myself. Racing a fat bike, especially for 40 miles, requires actually riding outside frequently for training and I'll readily admit I just didn't do enough of that before the race.<br />
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Now, that's not to say that we didn't have a blast on our trip. Big E and I rented our cozy apartment (the same one we rented for Marji Gesick) again and went up a few days early to play on bikes in the snow. Apparently to Big E, this means taking funny pictures of me when I crash in the snow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkqQb_nCAUnI_EkXONnAyqXDg-VCY4xnw5hyphenhyphenugpkvMlVPgPBAFZXjZdhUSFMUL98fW9PpqYzfZf9qf8FHQbJ3eFkIRkat9HUY7Gn3XYOnvWasikNTaVAOYzCh4UoROygEdeDaSIGNNIYb/s1600/IMG_1443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkqQb_nCAUnI_EkXONnAyqXDg-VCY4xnw5hyphenhyphenugpkvMlVPgPBAFZXjZdhUSFMUL98fW9PpqYzfZf9qf8FHQbJ3eFkIRkat9HUY7Gn3XYOnvWasikNTaVAOYzCh4UoROygEdeDaSIGNNIYb/s320/IMG_1443.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2sIqbg-rJ1U87bONfmYkv0inzJyKXe83eddFukePMW2YPT-UpDjJj4PCLagqp4AFQYfNejpKRaIkzl48OKuFe9vyHPVDedD6B1qtCJqW2ysVr0ydoQXuTbkoae-PaoorCq0UTIzwX0NZ0/s1600/IMG_1444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2sIqbg-rJ1U87bONfmYkv0inzJyKXe83eddFukePMW2YPT-UpDjJj4PCLagqp4AFQYfNejpKRaIkzl48OKuFe9vyHPVDedD6B1qtCJqW2ysVr0ydoQXuTbkoae-PaoorCq0UTIzwX0NZ0/s320/IMG_1444.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlVbMNJS0ckryw0KHg6-nQnZS_xlZtEpHaiT3E6sP_TDRiFGxQ9-gZJSkV1NpB1UM7zX58eCx2aTupOXyNVlQTH-6zo-foJUxaEFuWNp0ENxZZRH4CWCAZDZINjQ4-0YNScwotHgJwmyl/s1600/IMG_1445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlVbMNJS0ckryw0KHg6-nQnZS_xlZtEpHaiT3E6sP_TDRiFGxQ9-gZJSkV1NpB1UM7zX58eCx2aTupOXyNVlQTH-6zo-foJUxaEFuWNp0ENxZZRH4CWCAZDZINjQ4-0YNScwotHgJwmyl/s320/IMG_1445.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
In case you were wondering, no, he doesn't ever actually put down his camera and help me up. He says this is because if I crash and he's not around I need to be able to figure out how to get out of the deep snow on my own, which proved to be true in the race. And, yes, I just admitted he was right (just this once) here in public.<br />
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That said, I'm not sure what his reasoning was for taking my picture every time I walked up a hill.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvCEM7hsEeqE7Vef-SLuaI9AfvvniFWPBVevFwIXwy27-dVivktUYYRQj9fGPPEHEP4Y1l9TG9RagnXeDF_axWJu-aEgPCsEObW9R9q57zD2P67EHWYprd5EYT1JtpTfhEcGiP2ykW4Rj/s1600/IMG_1449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkvCEM7hsEeqE7Vef-SLuaI9AfvvniFWPBVevFwIXwy27-dVivktUYYRQj9fGPPEHEP4Y1l9TG9RagnXeDF_axWJu-aEgPCsEObW9R9q57zD2P67EHWYprd5EYT1JtpTfhEcGiP2ykW4Rj/s320/IMG_1449.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-U6PEUdao2LOYwUEsvoXoQLv-1FbhTfgL7zYRPhW_l5k-dncAlCEKG8GRdIurjD31smRnffwa6YhTEwKlsqj98CLjSqNurRXrZEHdEeIpv4Isv9xzuXaeO4-FNQHJwpchCc3qnAd0PW_r/s1600/IMG_1448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-U6PEUdao2LOYwUEsvoXoQLv-1FbhTfgL7zYRPhW_l5k-dncAlCEKG8GRdIurjD31smRnffwa6YhTEwKlsqj98CLjSqNurRXrZEHdEeIpv4Isv9xzuXaeO4-FNQHJwpchCc3qnAd0PW_r/s320/IMG_1448.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
It took numerous tries to get one of me smiling. Oh, and if you look closely, you'll see my footprints are not the only ones there. Seems like maybe the photographer also walked his bike up this hill?????<br />
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When Ted arrived on Friday and joined us for a ride, I thought I might get some reprieve from all this picture taking, but low and behold, when I looked up the first time I pushed my bike up a hill, there he was taking my picture too.<br />
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<i>They're lucky I was wearing mittens or someone would've gotten the bird at that point. </i><br />
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Considering how much bike pushing happened on our rides, it should come as no surprise that my race on Saturday was a little slow. It went something like this:<br />
<i> </i><br />
We headed out from Ishpeming early to head down to Marquette for the start. Big E forgot something in the apartment so he left me in the truck to run back in. I put my headphones in to listen to some pre-race pump up music, which led me to start up my pre-race list from Marji. I'm not really sure exactly what happened but by the time he returned I was crying.<br />
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That's right. I cried before we even got to the start line. Hell, I cried most of the way to the start line.<br />
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Thankfully, Big E has learned by now to just let it be when I'm like this. Talking will not help. The flood of emotions has started and it's better just to let it flow. In this case, even if he had tried to get me to talk, I could never have explained the complex flood of emotions I was feeling. After all, the last time I raced on these trails, I was out there for nearly 32 hours and then ended up in an ambulance. Considering what my body went through, those 32 hours were like a mini-lifetime. Which means these trails hold a million memories, each of which hold their own emotions. Every one of which seemed to overcome me all in one moment. Add to that the fact that I'm completely terrified of big mass starts on the bike, and I was pretty much an emotional wreck. (Later, on the way home,</div>
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Big E bought me this to commemorate the moment.)</div>
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Given the emotional start, the race was actually quite fun (except for the 12 miles of snowmobile trail). Somehow I pulled myself together before the start, mostly because I had to pee and finding a bathroom took my mind off my meltdown. And, as usual, once I was moving and realized I didn't die during the madness of the start, I started loving the day (except for the snowmobile trail). The first 12-13 miles went by pretty quickly, mostly because, as usual in Marquette County, we were either chugging our way uphill or zipping downhill hoping not to crash.<br />
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Then we hit the snowmobile trail. Let's just say this- uphill, in to the wind, by myself. For 12 miles. My left arm was so sore from overgripping my handlebars those first 13 miles that I was convinced I was having a heart attack for about 5 miles and was going to die here all alone on a snowmobile trail. Then I realized I was being dramatic and pedaled harder to get it over with.<br />
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That's when I discovered the best part about that snowmobile trail. The only good part about that snowmobile trail, really. There's a guy at the end with Coke. That Coke was worth that 12 miles of uphill, into the wind. I swear.<br />
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Plus, the real fun of this race starts after the snowmobile trail. In true Todd and Danny fashion, they make you earn it. You suffer, but there's fun. There's some flow. There's an aid station of fun Canadians with whiskey and beer. Then another aid station with bacon and hugs, where they really just want to give you more whiskey and beer. The guy in camo will give you a hug if you ask though.<br />
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Then, there's the finish, with more hugs from friends and lots of time sharing race stories with friends. With whiskey and beer, of course. Kinda makes that 12 miles of uphill, into the wind on the snowmobile trail worth it. <br />
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-56416975408330427522018-02-02T15:30:00.001-08:002018-02-02T15:30:21.817-08:00Lemon Cake and Life Lessons<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_783497351">January 30th has been a tough day the last seven years. Usually there are a few tears. Or maybe a lot of tears. This year, I decided that instead of sadness there would be celebration. Instead of mourning my mom's loss, I would celebrate her life. So we had steaks, and lemon cupcakes. Because in my family on special occasions there was always lemon cake. (Plus Big E loves lemon so it was a double win.) </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"> </span><span id="goog_783497351"> </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351">To my surprise, I actually made it through the day without tears. Of course I had to fight them off a few times, but to keep them at bay, I focused what I learned from mom over the years. I'd never really sat down and thought about this before so some of it actually surprised me, but then mom was kind of like that. Just when you thought you had her pegged, she'd bust out of her shell a little more and you'd see she wasn't nearly as quiet and shy as she first seemed. </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"> </span><span id="goog_783497351"> </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351">So, to celebrate her life, here are a few lessons I picked up from her over the years. Some she told me. Some I learned at the time from watching her. Many have come later, when I wonder what she would do in a situation and realize her actions already taught me that long ago.</span><br />
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<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Embrace joy. </b>Every day. No matter what. </span><br />
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<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Laugh a lot more than you cry. </b>Both are acceptable. Just keep the laughing to a maximum and the crying to a minimum and life will be good.</span><br />
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<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Listen without judgment. </b>There's probably no better way to build trust. Plus, you'll be surprised how much deeper your conversations can go when people aren't worried what you'll think of them.</span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Use your voice selectively. </b>Especially your raised voice. Figure out what really matters to you. Speak up for that. Let the rest of the little stuff go. </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Be kind instead of right. </b>At the end of your life, no one is going to remember all the times you were right. They just might remember all the times you were kind though. </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Say thank you, I'm sorry and I love you. </b>Can you think of a time when you truly regretted saying these words? Probably not, but most of us can likely think of a time when we wish we had.</span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Choose your path. </b>Other people will try to put you on the one they find most acceptable. Toss acceptable (and comfortable) aside and go for the one that will make you exceptional. </span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Know that it's never too late. </b>To change yourself, or your relationship with someone you love, or the way you view the world. The only person truly keeping where you are right now is you. Quit blaming everyone else for who you are and become who you want to be.</span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Show up every day. </b>Not every day is going to present you with something great to look forward to. Get your butt out of bed anyway and make something great happen, no matter how small it might be.</span><br />
<span id="goog_783497351"><br /></span>
<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Finish what you started. </b>Don't just set goals. Set them and then move yourself closer to meeting them everyday, even when it's uncomfortable. Especially when it's uncomfortable. If you have to work harder than everyone else, then work harder than everyone else. In then end, you'll be tougher for it. </span><br />
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<span id="goog_783497351"><b>Go down singing. </b>Or fighting. Or dancing. Or riding. Or whatever it is you love. By all means, do it until the very end. </span><br />
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<span id="goog_783497351"><b> </b> </span><br />
Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-76584998811712462012018-01-17T11:28:00.000-08:002018-01-17T11:28:42.491-08:00All That Matters is Smelling GoodSo many weeks have flown by I don't know where to start. It's always tempting to say I was busy, but I'll let the Wise Ringmaster explain why I'm hoping to never use that phrase again:<br />
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https://doingthehardthings.com/2017/12/13/singlespeed-psychologist/<br />
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I share his feelings on the whole busy thing. If I never have to hear how busy someone is again for the rest of my life, I would be insanely satisfied. Instead of saying I'm busy, from now on I'll shoot for, "I've been incredibly content doing lots of cool shit."<br />
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So, on that note- what have I been doing? Well, I'll admit I haven't spent nearly as much time outside as I'd hoped. A torn thumb ligament mixed with some wussiness in the face of the recent frigid temps have led to a lot of this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibls_Sc8A1alTHQdhRhCx_lKr0gffOiSDcKoDsm50cD9XtFbmXrulqC3lASeD1Az5y6L452kwLBkBNlSuLaUEVsf46tAFH25uZANto9nulRHpjwsc1JR1tYsQCt1g7rY9pLNza_8kU_9El/s1600/IMG_1207.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibls_Sc8A1alTHQdhRhCx_lKr0gffOiSDcKoDsm50cD9XtFbmXrulqC3lASeD1Az5y6L452kwLBkBNlSuLaUEVsf46tAFH25uZANto9nulRHpjwsc1JR1tYsQCt1g7rY9pLNza_8kU_9El/s320/IMG_1207.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Thankfully I can finally hold the bars on a bike, even if it's not in the normal fashion, and it's finally above zero here so I can get my incredibly content ass outside on the bike now and actually get ready for Polar Roll and other cool shit like this mushy creek crossing that happened last weekend:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2LTkmz6u503HKKARmk6fQ4vZV0TPFpLw6Map-0jG5KM-9YKAt1Sdhfxt8rr964xImSvsZ5ax7bHEAnk8YpeofTkIC_7vHR0vKSnmtHtlqkZ1IrFbgz0jZRq5_ekCU2mZObrWYzsfao__/s1600/IMG_1213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2LTkmz6u503HKKARmk6fQ4vZV0TPFpLw6Map-0jG5KM-9YKAt1Sdhfxt8rr964xImSvsZ5ax7bHEAnk8YpeofTkIC_7vHR0vKSnmtHtlqkZ1IrFbgz0jZRq5_ekCU2mZObrWYzsfao__/s320/IMG_1213.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
Yes, I know I should just ride across it next time, but considering that I actually attempted to crawl across while pushing my bike before I stood up, I'll take walking across as a big step in the right direction.<br />
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Big E and I did actually get outside for a hike on Christmas Day despite the sub-zero temps. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi59XnpOzEaHdFFfll11Gxah7nlhYQEREfWcEFoOTQ21aWIGIYr-LTT6h1OLaXOeyagUgj-xKSV6Ovf1-d4dSZC1eYswE3nC_jImUpmNb6neaCEbZiR78h0tge09AjqCd-UmRuTBLzyuK/s1600/IMG_1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRi59XnpOzEaHdFFfll11Gxah7nlhYQEREfWcEFoOTQ21aWIGIYr-LTT6h1OLaXOeyagUgj-xKSV6Ovf1-d4dSZC1eYswE3nC_jImUpmNb6neaCEbZiR78h0tge09AjqCd-UmRuTBLzyuK/s320/IMG_1183.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Somehow he's making it look much warmer than it was. Of course, he was probably warmer than me because he carried all our stuff on his back. Yes, I am spoiled with my own personal sherpa. Every time I go on an adventure with him I wonder how the heck I actually survive on my own adventures without him to carry my crap. <br />
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Of course, there's also been my new obsession, martial arts. Thankfully the gloves protect the thumb pretty well for Muay Thai so I was able to return after a week. Good thing, because now that I spend a few hours a week punching stuff I'm not sure how I ever survived without taking my aggression out before. Not surprisingly, I actually feel a lot more relaxed now. Nothing is more relaxing than pummeling a bag while pretending it's someone's face.....</div>
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Yesterday I finally returned to Jiu Jitsu after almost a month off. Coach taped my thumb to a ball to avoid any reinjury.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoLS8-n3Z3VjO-eoYVwUd6BBrYkVDQnbUw3taxrZmfnXM8lqyoGg2_OGdov9fNUIi7eKnToutCyeGBSUD4A_r9VPc0W8xTosQQx2SZVQs3m3Q3i0mDAZk4U62ZVV4S96vP9WxIUFTHYnT/s1600/IMG_1230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoLS8-n3Z3VjO-eoYVwUd6BBrYkVDQnbUw3taxrZmfnXM8lqyoGg2_OGdov9fNUIi7eKnToutCyeGBSUD4A_r9VPc0W8xTosQQx2SZVQs3m3Q3i0mDAZk4U62ZVV4S96vP9WxIUFTHYnT/s320/IMG_1230.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdbm65NHiSaMsRNj-8JZyJXo8zmgjih8HDLDm-Y4Ury3nbXQSXdcK3jRWPqIcrC3EYI-YbotlPEg_uRUuokORWGU8jK8dhn_KVulkKAMAeSWaAcmjycTToQGKj4rC7MeorcTuiiCz_EOf/s1600/IMG_1231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdbm65NHiSaMsRNj-8JZyJXo8zmgjih8HDLDm-Y4Ury3nbXQSXdcK3jRWPqIcrC3EYI-YbotlPEg_uRUuokORWGU8jK8dhn_KVulkKAMAeSWaAcmjycTToQGKj4rC7MeorcTuiiCz_EOf/s320/IMG_1231.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
We call it "The Claw". Of course I realized too late that I should've had him do this after I changed my clothes. Trying to tie a Gi and your pants with one thumb is nearly impossible. Halfway through class my pants were falling down, my Gi was untied and my hair was out of the ponytail and flying everywhere. Fortunately, according to one of my rolling partners, I still smelled good. Thank goodness. At least I had one thing going for me.<br />
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From now on, my new Jiu Jitsu tactic is to always smell good. You never know. Maybe it will make my partners less likely to want to kick my ass. Heck, it's probably a good tactic for life. Smell like freshly baked cookies (or funnel cakes as my partner put it) and who wouldn't be nice to you? </div>
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Excuse me now while I go put some lotion on....</div>
<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-33767717775115862882017-12-14T19:20:00.003-08:002017-12-14T19:20:53.824-08:00Every Obstacle is an OpportunityI haven't run in almost two weeks. That's almost as long as I went without running after Marji Gesick. I don't really plan to run tomorrow either. I might. Or I might not. That's sort of freeing. I still love running, but it took trying something new to realize why.<br />
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Really what I love about running, or biking or anything active is breaking through a limit. Pushing the edge of the comfort zone. Going right to that edge of "I can't do this" and doing it.<br />
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I thought I did that running and biking a lot. Then I tried martial arts and realized that the edge of my comfort zone was nowhere near where I thought it was. What I thought was getting out of my comfort zone was really just sort of tiptoeing along the edge of it. I was just doing something I was already pretty comfortable doing for a little longer, or a little harder. Sure, it's rewarding, but after every big accomplishment, I'm really just right back in my comfort zone.<br />
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Enter Jiu Jitsu.<br />
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Here's how I explained it to Eddie the other day:<br />
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"You know how with a lot of things when you're trying to learn you're uncomfortable, but you figure it out and then you're comfortable so then you push a little more and you're uncomfortable again, but then you're comfort, etc. Well that's not how Jiu Jitsu works. You're uncomfortable. Then before you ever get comfortable you're more uncomfortable and then it just gets more uncomfortable."<br />
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That was two days ago. I was so shattered from the workout I actually had a good private cry later in the day. Doing a sport where someone else is setting the pace, where someone else is holding you down, where someone else is fighting every move you make is completely foreign to me. Sometimes I hate it. Which is exactly why I made myself go back the next day. Because I can live my whole life doing what's easy and never learning or I can get my butt into the gym, face my fears and come out of it changed.<br />
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Of course, just to push my limits further, when I walked into class last night, there wasn't a single person even close to my size in the place. As coach put it today, "There wasn't a white belt in the room under 180 and then she walked in." As we warmed up, they were actually having a conversation about what position they used to play in football.<br />
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At this point my brain said, "I'm gonna die." Thankfully my heart said, "Give it a try, you're probably not gonna die in class. Probably."<br />
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So I tried. And it was awesome. Of course they took a little mercy on me, seeing as how they could all probably squash me with their palm. But by the end, after some patient teaching, I was actually rolling with one of them and started to feel just a teeny tiny bit......<br />
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comfortable.<br />
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Just a little.<br />
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I know it probably won't last and next week someone will toss me onto my back or choke me and I'll be back to being ridiculously uncomfortable. But as coach explained today while teaching me a new move, in Jiu Jitsu sometimes what looks like an obstacle is really an opportunity. It's all in how you react to it.<br />
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So here's to using uncomfortable to your advantage. To turning struggle into growth. To embracing humility. To refusing to let fear paralyze you. To accepting bumps and bruises as proud proof that you never settled for "easy". To letting other people crush your comfort zone. To using every obstacle to your advantage. <br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-39640413381179683532017-12-06T13:37:00.001-08:002017-12-06T13:37:49.594-08:00Tapping Out is Learning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It only took about a week to realize I should get a mouth guard for martial arts classes. First I got clocked in the jaw while holding the pads for a guy. His kick was a little more than powerful than I imagined. He said I didn't even flinch when I face got hit though. Well, at least now we know I keep my eyes open while getting pummeled. Later, I discovered I'd chewed up the inside of my mouth while getting tossed around in Jiu Jitsu. Then I realized I have a little trouble keeping my tongue in my mouth when I'm exerting myself. So, yeah, a mouth guard seemed like a good idea. I'd like to keep my tongue attached as long as possible.<br />
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Needless to say I was pretty happy to have one the last time I went to Jiu Jitsu. I lost track of how many times I tapped out, which I'm pretty sure was the point since every time my favorite rolling partner tapped me out I'd hear coach yell at him to do it again. Apparently I needed to learn to tap out BEFORE something actually hurts.<br />
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<i>This is a really difficult concept for an ultrarunner to grasp. </i><br />
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Seriously it took me days to mull this over. In my head, tapping out and quitting were the same and I fu*!ing hate quitting. Especially multiple times in 10 minutes.<br />
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I was still wrapping my head around this whole concept a few days later when I started chatting with one of the guys while flopped on the floor exhausted after Muay Thai class. This is sort of how class always goes for me. I think I can't do whatever it is the coach is asking me to do. Somehow I find a way to do it. Forty five minutes later I collapse on the floor with my muscles literally shaking to rest for 15 minutes before the next class starts. Thankfully this is usually what everyone else is doing too so we chat. So, during this chat with my new friend whose name I was either too tired to ask or was too delirious to remember, my frustration with tapping out came up. Wise new friend of course had a pretty simple solution to my struggle. He said something like this,<br />
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"Stop thinking of it as quitting. Tapping out isn't quitting, it's learning. Every time you tap out you learn something. Sometimes you just have to tap out 5 times for the same reason before you figure out what you're learning."<br />
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<i>Well ain't that the truth. </i> <i>I have a feeling I'm so stubborn it might be more like 10 times. </i><br />
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So tomorrow it's time to get right back at it. Tapping out. Learning. Facing a few fears. Keeping my tongue in my mouth. Doing stuff I thought I couldn't. Making new friends and learning their names....<br />
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<br />Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9207582135251412440.post-79313063332740405142017-11-30T20:28:00.000-08:002017-11-30T20:29:14.489-08:00Crazy BusinessI have no idea how the current crazy business got started. Perhaps it was years of people telling me I should learn self defense if I'm going to run alone. Or just my need to try something new. Or hearing about the creepy guy who was out along the Marji Gesick course while I ran over Marquette Mountain by myself in the dark. Or the fact that I literally gave the last few minutes of a massage with one hand on the door knob a few weeks ago after some dude tried to hold my hand while I worked on his back.<br />
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Most likely it was all four that led me to Google "martial arts" and find a place near me that actually had day classes. I walked into Spartan Martial Arts two weeks ago in running shorts. I took a martial arts fitness class followed by a Jiu Jitsu class. A few days later I tried out Muay Thai and left like this:<br />
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That wasn't enough to make me throw in the towel so now I'm the proud owner of a Gi, although I'd still rather do Jiu Jitsu in my running shorts. They're much cooler the Gi, but I guess I'll get used to sweating my ass off while also getting it kicked.<br />
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Most days I can't decide if I'd rather torture my lower leg some more by doing Muay Thai and having to kick the bag with an already bruised leg or spend 45 minutes getting tossed around and choked by sweaty men larger than me in Jiu Jitsu. Either way, it's usually coupled with the Martial Arts Fitness class, where we do stuff like 7 sets of 100 jump ropes followed by 8 burpees and I do my best not to pass out.<br />
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And I thought running 100 miles was hard.<br />
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Of course, I love every second of it for some odd reason. I guess I found some craziness to keep me busy for the winter.....Lisa Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01222948649768269432noreply@blogger.com0