If You Ain't First You're Last!

I came in last in my first off-road duathlon. Really, I did. 

I was also first and second. 

Go ahead- try to figure that one out........

Ok, fine, I'll help you out. I won my age group. I was also the second woman. 

Unfortunately, there were only two of us. So I was last. 

Just in case you were wondering- coming in last is humbling even when there are only two people. 

I was going to give you my list of amazing excuses for not winning. Then I realized the things I was going to use for excuses were the reason I got my butt kicked in the first place. The fact of the matter is- I thought I was more amazing than I was. I thought I could go race my mountain bike for the first time on a trail I didn't know and actually win. I never considered that everyone else was going to ride faster. I wasn't mentally prepared to have grandpas (sorry all you fast g-pas out there) pass me. When they did- I didn't suck it up and ride faster. I slowed down and waited for the run because it's where I'm comfortable. 

Except running isn't so comfortable when you're trying to pass back the 100 people who just kicked your ass on the bike. Even if some of them are grandpas. And especially when you really have to pee.

After the race, I told my aunt this one was harder than the 50 miler. I know that's a bit of a stretch, because obviously the 50 miler was physically harder. This one was a mental battle though and those are harder to get past. If you're unhappy with how fast you run, it's pretty simple- you train harder. Unfortunately, emotions and thoughts are harder to train. Or at least I think they are, but maybe that's my problem........ 

Life

This is for D, because she thinks I don't blog anymore. Just for her, my longest post ever. Now send me some chocolate, woman!

I did my first ultramarathon, 50 miles worth, a few weeks ago. I’d like to say the day was perfect, mostly because it ended perfectly. I thought I would finish and say, “I never want to do that again.” Instead, I finished and said, “I cannot wait to do that again.” I blocked out the uncomfortable parts, temporarily thinking the whole day felt amazing.

It wasn’t until the 14 hour drive home the next day that I thought back to the first 25 miles. Quite frankly, if I’m being honest, some of those miles sucked. The first few weren’t bad. In fact, I generally went through the motions of the first 14, probably because it was still before 8 am and I was half asleep. I do recall a guy at mile four, who was walking up a slight incline, saying as I ran by, “The race doesn’t start until mile 40.” I remember thinking that he had a point there, but at the same time wondering how much fun he could possibly have if he was this worried about mile 40 when we were only at mile 4.

Somewhere around mile 15 I rolled my ankle. Then I added a ½ mile to the day by venturing off course. Three or four miles later, when we’d been hiking, scrambling and trying to run uphill for what felt like hours, the guy in front of me must’ve sensed my frustration. He encouraged me, filling me in on a hint that the second half of this course was easier than the first. (This was only partly true, but I believed him so that’s what matters!) A few minutes later, we crested a hill and he said, “These are the best views you’ll get all day. Take it all in because this is why we are here.” We paused for a few moments simply to enjoy it.

A few miles later, we came to an aid station. I was still frustrated with my pace, but when a volunteer told me I was in 7^th place, I was buoyed by the hope that I might be able to get into the top five. I refueled quickly and moved on.

A few miles later, I ran side by side with Alex, who I’d met early in the race. We started to chat. I laughed a few times and he pointed out that if I felt this good now, I was probably going to do really well. Right then, everything seemed to change. We ran together for a few miles, catching up to some other runners we’d been with earlier. When we ran by Scott, who’d been behind me when I rolled my ankle, he yelled, “This girl is one tough cookie,” and I was motivated even more. The group of us helped each other stay on course for a few more miles. As we approached the next aid station, I sensed the pace slowing and knew I had to keep moving on my own.

I came into the aid station before mile 28 feeling awesome. Volunteers filled my bottles, handed me my bag of supplies and helped me move on quickly. I was disappointed a mile later to discover I couldn’t stomach any solid food, but I kept up with Gu and water and decided not to worry. I moved through most of the next 5 or 6 miles alone. Eventually, I caught up to another woman. The chance to move up in place after hours alone lifted my spirits. I passed through the next aid station and another 5 or 6 miles in a groove. I felt good. I was smiling. I was confident.

When I got to the bag I had stashed at mile 40, I did the opposite of what I had planned. I thought I would get here and need food or new shoes or Bandaids. Although in hindsight I really could’ve used those bandaids, I really didn’t need a thing. So instead of taking anything out of the bag, I took my Fuelbelt off  and put it in. I realize this could’ve backfired. I could’ve gotten lost or hit the wall and been stuck walking for hours. At the time though all I could think was, “I’m ready to race and this thing is holding me back.” After all, there were two more aid stations and my stomach felt pretty full already.

The next 7 miles were not easy. The “easier” part of the second half of the race was over. Fortunately, my mind and body were, for the most part, fine with this. When I reached the aid station near mile 44, one of the volunteers commented that I must be having a good day to ditch my belt. A mile later, while scrambling up a steep gully, I passed another woman. When I reached the top, I thought I might get a nice easy run down the other side. I was disheartened when I discovered it would be one of the trickiest descents of the day. I remembered what Alex had told me earlier, that the girls at the front were incredibly good technical runners. I was worried that the one I’d just passed on the way up was one of those good technical runners and would pass me right back.

As I picked my way through the rocks on the way down, I started to talk to myself. Over and over, I kept saying the same thing. “I just want to run. I just want to run. I just want to run.” I was 46 miles in and all I wanted, more than anything, was to run. I didn’t want it to be over. I didn’t want anything to eat. I just simply wanted to run. I was tired of moving slow.

At mile 47, I grabbed a quick snack and drink, not willing to spend too much time for fear I’d be passed. The last 3 miles were mostly downhill with good footing and I finally got my chance. I got to run. They were my fastest three miles of the day. When I crossed under the tunnel not far from the finish, I knew I was almost done. I wanted to slow down so I could enjoy it just a little longer, but I couldn’t hold myself back. I kicked it in, just so I would know I gave it everything I had.  Minutes later, I could barely walk. Hours later, strangers had to help me on and off the shuttle bus to my car.

When I had time to reflect, I decided that I hope that my life takes a similar path to this race. I hope I have the foresight to find the balance between remembering I have a long life to live and enjoying the moment. I hope, when the tough times come, there’s someone there to remind me that at some point it will get easier. By all means, I hope everyone around me reminds me to stop once in awhile and enjoy the view. I do hope though, that I always have the confidence to venture off on my own when I need to. I hope that the second half is easier than the first, with a few challenges thrown in along the way. It never hurts to be kept on my toes. I hope that when I’m 80 percent through I’m still so ready to take it all on that I lighten my load, speed the heck up and beg for an open stretch on which to run. When I get it, I hope I remember to go right ahead and use up every little last bit of myself enjoying the homestretch.

Luck

A half an hour earlier, I was sitting in that chair, painting that bookshelf. I went inside for a shower. I was standing in the kitchen making dinner when I heard something hit the side of the house. I looked out the window and the tree was on the ground two feet away. The other half of the trunk landed an inch from the front of my van.

Somedays are lucky.

Of course, I'm sure the landlord doesn't think it was his lucky day since now he has to fix the roof and the deck, but hey, it was mine so I'll just be thankful for that!

Bed and Breakfast

Warning: There's  picture of a dead squirrel so be fairly warned before you scroll down!


Last night was my first night in the new place. I got a big dose of Northern MI kindness when the landlord offered to help me move my sofa, bed and Wally. At the moment that's all the furniture I own so moving wasn't really all that difficult. Although we did look a bit like Sanford and Son on the way to the
"chalet."

In case you were wondering, yes, that's a water-ski tow rope. Hey, whatever works.

I'll be honest, I liked this place so much when I first saw it, I didn't even really bother to check out the details. Thankfully there were no huge surprises. There's a bathroom. There's hot water. The best surprise, in fact, was this:

I'll never need to look for a bottle opener as long as I live here! I decided to call the place The Man-Chalet after I found it, because clearly a man remodeled this place. Or lived here before me. Or  both. 

Surprise number two came this morning. The sun woke me up, which is a good thing, because it meant  it was too quiet for anything else to wake me. I walked out on the front porch to find this:

I burst out laughing. The landlord has been telling me about this flying squirrel that was causing some ruckus up in the roof while he was fixing the place up. He was determined to catch the thing so it wouldn't run around in my roof all night. Of course he's been trying to catch it for weeks and it finally takes the bait on my first night! Poor little guy appeared to just sort of fly right into the trap. Good thing I've been well conditioned to tolerate rodents after my stint in the rat shack years ago:

Although I'll admit I'm sort of hoping we're done killing things on my front porch for awhile. I prefer bacon for breakfast, thank you. 

Livin' the Dream

If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you. I came to live out loud. Emile Zola

Finding the words to start the blog back up again has been difficult. As most of you already know, my mom was hit by a truck and killed while riding her bike in January. I've done a lot of writing since then, but when it came to the blog, it was hard to find a way to go from a blog post that said, "I came to live out loud," to one where I write about my mom dying. 

I knew the words would come at some point and today they did. Most days I do pretty well, but today was a rough one. I spent the morning hitting up garage sales looking for furniture for my new place. From out of nowhere it hit me-  

My mom will never get to see my new place. 

A friend who lost her mom years ago told me that "firsts" will be the hardest. The first Mother's Day. The first Christmas. The first new anything. 

My tactic on the rare rough day is this: find a way, any way, to embrace the sadness, then let it go and move forward. Today my way was this: I remembered what my dad said about the day she died. He said she was singing while she got ready to ride her bike because she was so happy to go enjoy the sunny day. 

Simply put, she was living out loud. 

So, I'd better get on with it then and get back to some noisy living too. Next week, I move into this place:

Ski and run trails out the back door. A short walk to the beach. A bike path out front. When I sent a friend the pictures, his response was, "Living the dream." 

So here's to living the dream. Out loud. 

Live, Laugh, Lunar Eclipse

If you ask me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you.
I came to live out loud.  
Emile Zola

The Cape

Some of you used to follow my old blog so you've probably read this one before. I wrote it almost a year ago, after a rough few months.  While I wouldn't want to relive the heartache that brought me to the day I wrote that post, I'm glad it happened. I ended up a better person. 

This weekend was a rough one. My feelings were hurt. First I wanted to run away. Then I wanted to break shit. Then I wanted to cry. Then I stood up for myself. Then I listened to what the other person had to say. Then I felt better. 

A year ago I probably would've quit after the standing up for myself part. Today I realized something. The feeling better part comes a lot faster if you listen. 

And this time I didn't even need my cape.

January 13, 2010

He's one of those who knows that life is just a leap of faith. Spread your arms and hold your breath and always trust your cape." Guy Clark

I'm not always sensible. I almost always follow my heart instead of my head. I know life would probably be much easier the other way around. I'm not yet convinced, though, that it would be as much fun. Until I am, I've come to accept that following my less rational organ will sometimes lead to having it broken. I've also learned, though, that although I initially vow never to follow it again, I always will. Call me naive. I prefer adventurous. I've also learned that sometimes the best thing to do when you feel like crawling in a cave and licking your wounds is to just put some bandaids on and head out into the world again.

This time, I had no choice. A friend came to visit with his 4 year old and 4 year olds don't let you lick your wounds. They drag your ass out into the world and show you that you can make it your own. They look at a piece of metal and instead of seeing monkey bars they see a rocket ship. They climb to the top of the jungle gym without worry because they trust that they can always get out of what they get into. They put on capes and believe they have superpowers.

They convince you to put on yours so you'll have superpowers too. At some point you start to realize you do have superpowers. The power to heal your own wounds. The power to laugh at yourself. The power to start over. The power to know that if you jump off that cliff just one more time maybe this time you'll actually fly.