Monday, March 4, 2024

Taking a Long Hard Look

It’s been 10 days since I toed the start line for my 3rd attempt to finish the LOViT 100-mile foot race. I’ve been debating whether to even write this out, since every time I begin to write it in my mind it always sounds like I’m making excuses for not finishing. That’s right, for the third time I failed to finish this race. I could list all of the reasons out but in reality, my whole race was a shit show from the start, and the short story is that I quit. I made it 72 miles but if I’m honest I quit long before that. 


I’ve chatted with my closest people about this and have taken some time to process the extreme disappointment, both in the race and in myself, and have made peace with this race and am ready to put it behind me. 

We sign up for these races to finish for sure, but the hope is that is not all we gain from these experiences. If we sign up to finish and we don’t, and we wallow in our sadness and despair swearing off these big races forever, what good becomes of that? I went to a pretty dark place this week, darker than the last few times this happened. I sign up for these races to learn about who I am deep down inside. Nothing strips away the facade of a seemingly perfect life than facing the reality that comes along with staring down a distance that’s just out of reach. 

Perhaps the journey comes with all the things we need to learn whether we finish or not. How often do we hold a mirror up to ourselves and truly try to understand why we do the things we do and explore what it really is that is standing in the way of us meeting our goals. 100 mile races hold that mirror right up in my face and say, see that? That’s you stripped down. You think you’re strong? Take a look at the parts that hide under that strong exterior. Take a long hard look.

So instead of listing the reasons I didn’t finish I’m going to list the things I learned during this race. 

  • One can simply have a really bad race day. 
  • I can outrun blister pain. 
  • The bad news is that no one is coming to save me. The good news is that I can learn how to save myself. 
  • Caffeine is a magic pill for me. 
  • I need to learn how my body processes salt, electrolytes and fuel while racing. 
  • My friends will always show up for me. Always. 
  • Nate loves me, even when I feel the most unlovable. My phone died at the race and when I stopped at 72 my friend handed me my charged phone and I saw a text from him that simply said “I love you ❤️” He didn’t know I had stopped so in that moment where I felt physically and mentally defeated, I felt loved. And whether I finish a race or not he will always see me as lovable.
  • I have accomplished things in this life that are more impactful than finishing 100 miles will ever be. 
  • And finally, while I may not ever finish a 100-mile race, I will certainly never finish a race that I am too afraid to start. 

Wednesday, November 8, 2023

The right kind of hard.

 


Chat GPT says that “The word ‘quit’ originated from the Old English word ‘cwitten,’ which means ‘to acquit’ or ‘to set free’. It later evolved to mean ‘to leave’ or ‘to stop doing something’.”

I have quit two jobs in the last year…one that lasted about 8 months and this part-time one that lasted about a month. Never have I ever quit a job after just one month. I knew the job wasn’t for me, and while I let the last one that wasn’t for me drag on and on, I had no intention of doing that to myself this time. One could say I quit two jobs this year. One could also say I tried out two things that stretched me out of my comfort zone. Both things are true. Either way it is all an adventure of this lifetime.

The news of me quitting was met with empathy and compassion from one boss, and with hostility and aggression from another. As I sat on the screen watching this person be forcefully angry with me over what this decision means for them, I stood in my confidence and while my voice was shaking I spoke my truth and said “I am confident in my decision and know this is the right thing for me.” And I resisted my feeling of needing to apologize.

While I did quit, I feel as though I am set free. I have learned what I needed to learn from this experience and am ready to move on.

Last week, as a part of my other part-time job, I visited a woman in the hospital who is dying. There is no question that she will die soon, when her frail body weakened by illness decides that it is time. As I sat with her and held her delicate hand, I stared at her fingers. We spoke about her life and what a wonderful life she has led. She didn’t want her family to come in town and see her “like this” and I encouraged her to let her people love on her. What a gift it is to have people come toward you when you feel most vulnerable.

It was after that visit that I realized that this is what I am meant to do. Sitting with a person who is dying is one of the most beautiful parts of being a human. As the body fails, there is nothing to hide behind. With hearts open and vulnerable, there is nothing to do but face what is happening. Many people are afraid. And if I can sit calm and unafraid, I can look at her and say “it’s going to be okay” and she believes me. What a gift. This is why I am here.

I visited her again this week and as the family and other professionals talked about details and plans and what needs to happen next, I looked at her hands. So frail and weak and full of memories of holding children and grandchildren and husbands and hot pans and making sandwiches and working as a secretary and pulling weeds and drinking coffee or tea. In a room full of talking, I see her hands.

I quit a job this week, among other reasons than because it felt too hard. I had a deep and profound conversation with a woman who is dying. That was hard, too.

I took a chance, and what I found is the right kind of hard.

~AZ

Wednesday, November 1, 2023

The more deeply I know me, the more beautiful I become to me.

Glennon Doyle, the author and podcaster over at We Can Do Hard Things is one of my most favorite people that I don’t actually know. She and I are besties and she doesn’t even know it. In one of her many talking times she tells a story about how she was a new mom, newly sober and trying not to be consumed by her role as mama to very small humans. Her sister brings her a computer and says “Write. Just write it all down.” She did just that and shared a level of vulnerability with the world that I can strongly relate to. She asks and I also wonder, why is it so easy to share vulnerably with a million strangers and yet so difficult to have coffee with someone. I feel this.

More than that though I feel the intense desire to write. As an Enneagram Four I am a hopeless over thinker. The depth of the thoughts in my brain is difficult to describe. It wasn’t until recently that I learned that not everyone is picking apart every single thought that’s thought or word that is spoken the way I do. It is truly exhausting. When I have the chance to sit with someone who can handle what the inside of my brain looks like and is willing to sit with me while I give them a peek, it is both refreshing and terrifying, while I feel the relief of not holding it all in I also see the weight that has just transferred to this loving human in front of me. What a weight it is, to have so many thoughts in my head.

So back to writing. I began blogging about 15 years ago when my first child was born. It is crazy to think that I have pages and pages about what my life was like when I grew into the role of a mother. I was so young and had no idea what I was getting into. I slowed that blogging and writing down a lot after my children grew into what I think of as real people. Of course they have been real people all along but when they were babies it was as though I owned their stories, or at least had a strong relationship to their stories and as they have grown I have felt less ownership over this, thus reducing the amount of time I spend talking about them and their lives on this platform. Posts became more focused on my running and other everyday adventures. I haven’t blogged in over a year and I while I can hardly believe it I do see why it happened.

I also feel the weight of these thoughts in my head growing heavier and heavier with no outlet that doesn’t also include transferring the weight to someone I love. Not that they really mind. My people love me for who I am, even when it’s hard.

I think what I am seeking though is a place to dump these thoughts of mine where they can just land. They don’t need a response or validation that they mattered or that someone felt moved by them. Just a space where words can live and breathe and thoughts can bounce around, be picked up if needed or be left well enough alone. I am talking a lot about talking, so maybe I should just get to it.

What’s on my mind now?

There is a song by a band called Cavetown that has been on repeat in my world lately. The guy from Cavetown has a cool story, he is a trans man who sings a lot about what it’s like to live in a body that doesn’t make sense, and what it’s like to be not okay in a world that doesn’t want to hear that you are not okay. He has many songs I love but the one I am talking about today is called “Talk To Me”. Seems appropriate, right? Check it out here

"You don't have to be a prodigy to be unique

You don't have to know what to say or what to think

You don't have to be anybody you can never be

That's alright, let it out, talk to me"

“You don’t have to be anybody you can never be” is the one that stands out the most to me today. How many of us beat ourselves to death trying to be whatever it is we think we need to be? We have all these expectations pressed upon us first by our parents, then by our teachers, then by our partners/families and throughout it all we have these expectations about what we are meant to be pressed upon us by this society in which we live. In fact, if we slow down enough to pause and take a look we will see that it is mostly society’s expectations that drive the expectations impressed upon us by our parents, our teachers, our partners and our families.


I have this quote pinned to my Facebook page above. It says: “What if parenting became less about telling our children who they should be and more about asking them again and again forever who they already are? Then, when they tell us, we would celebrate instead of concede. It’s not: I love you no matter which of my expectations you meet or don’t meet. It’s: My only expectation is that you become yourself. The more deeply I know you, the more beautiful you become to me.” ~Glennon Doyle

So much about growing up in this world is reparenting ourselves. Even if you had loving and caring parents like I did, there are ways in which they just couldn’t meet my needs. This puts us in a position to have to reparent ourselves. It is saying to myself as many times as I need to hear it:

What if becoming myself isn’t about what the world has told me I should and shouldn’t be and instead is asking myself again and again who I really am? Then, when I begin to see who that person is, I celebrate. It is not, I am lovable no matter which expectations I meet or do not meet. It’s: my only expectation is that I become myself. The more deeply I know me, the more beautiful I become to me.

And to those around me. 

~AZ

Thursday, August 25, 2022

Cock-a-doodle-doo, b words

It’s been pretty quiet around here, so I figured I would pop in and share a short but sweet and funny story about me and some of my favorite girlfriends. 

My girl Toni is a friend I have had since we were in 3rd grade. It’s funny, when someone has known me for that long I feel like they know me in a way even I might not know. She is an incredible person and I am just so happy to have her in my life.

One thing I can always count on is her creating time for all of us girls to get away and connect. It’s usually a weekend near water where we can all relax and have a great time. This past weekend was no different.

We drove to a cute little cabin within walking distance to the Meramec river. (side note, if you know me at all you know I do this thing where I think I know where I am going and then I get there and I’m like wait, this isn’t where I am supposed to be. This happened and I ended up going like an hour past my exit. Then GPS took me on some back gravel roads to where I was supposed to be, which were sketchy and scary but my Jeep loved it. I was just about to succumb to the fact that I might die on a gravel road in the middle of Missouri when I saw a UPS truck. I wasn’t far from the world after all!)

Anyway, I got there Friday evening and we went to the river and enjoyed a few hours before night fell in. Then we talked and talked and enjoyed our time together. Some girls went to bed early and I crashed around 10:30pm or so. 

Then at about 4:30am, I woke up and heard some of the girls talking downstairs. I rolled around a bit and they kept getting louder. I am like wtf are these girls doing?! It’s 4:30am! 

So I sort of stumbled downstairs. The bedroom was a loft upstairs so the sound really traveled. I see 3 of the 4 girls awake and chatting. The following conversation ensues:

Me: what the hell are you guys doing? It’s 4:45am. What the f.

Girls: Oh sorry we had such a hard time sleeping. We thought you went on a walk or something.

Me: A walk?! It’s crazy dark and this is a weird place I am not going for a walk in the dark! You guys are so loud. You guys sound like chickens. Peck, peck, peck. No. What are the ones that wake you up in the morning? Roosters. You guys sound like fucking roosters.

[I turn and walk toward the bathroom]

Me: "Cock-a-doodle-do bitches."

Girls: break out in hilarious laughter.

Me: Go into the bathroom and break into hilarious laughter.

It was so funny. I was so grumpy. I went back to bed and when I finally woke up for the day and was met with the girls announcing in unison "cock-a-doodle-doo bitches! Then Jen was like, “I saw you running up to 82 miles injured and before last night I have never seen you grumpy!”

Cock-a-doodle-do bitches was our catch phrase all weekend. 

If you’re into musicals you might know the scene I was referring to when I said peck, peck, peck and called them chickens. It’s from The Music Man. I’ll link it here.

So anyway, that’s the funny story. One day if we are good enough friends I’ll tell you the part about #effbabies too 😂


Saturday, March 5, 2022

Running 100 Miles: Take 3 Run LOViT (again)

"Enjoy training, fall in love with it, and become it. By doing so, you will look forward to running, not finishing, and that makes all the difference in the world." ~Michael D'Aulerio

Truth be told I think one can do both...look forward to the running and to the finishing. I told my buddy Matt, my crew captain and basically the reason I even try to do any of these big runs, leading up to the race that the thing I was struggling with the most was trying to let two things live in my body and mind simultaneously: the idea that not finishing isn't an option, and if I don't finish it's actually okay. He told me it wasn't simultaneous, it was parallel. I need to commit to finish. And if I don't, it would be okay.

Well, I didn't finish. And I also didn't quit. I pushed and pushed until the very end. When I could barely walk and was about a mile out, my husband offered to meet me at a road crossing to bring me the rest of the way to the final aid station, where I had missed the cutoff about 30 minutes prior. In true stubborn af Anna fashion I simply replied:

"Fuck no, I'll get there myself."

-----

The week leading up to the race caused a ton of stress. Not so much for the race but for trying to get there! There was an ice storm looming and we weren't sure we would be able to make it out of town and down south safely. We ventured out though, and made it through about 2.5 hours of pure scary sketchy icy roads. Nate is an absolute rock star for driving us safely and getting me to the race start!


The race started out great. I ran the first 2 miles too fast and deliberately slowed down and settled into a good groove. I was knocking out miles and aid station stops like crazy. Feeling mentally and physically strong and truly having the most incredible time.

I love running at night, so when the sun went down and the headlamp turned on I settled into a nice groove and turned on my new favorite book, Brene Brown's Atlas of the Heart. I had already read the book and looked forward to hearing it read to me by the author. The next 8.5 hours were spent this way.

At about 30 miles my left knee and right hip started to hurt some. It didn't hurt at all when I walked, so I did the walk/run thing for a while, finally settling into a full power hike walk around 38 miles. It felt great, honestly. The pain was bad when I tried to run but as long as I just walked I was fine.

Matt told me I should try to do some running but I didn't listen. I was doing 16-17 minute miles, so I was holding a nice steady pace and was staying well ahead of cutoffs with at least a 2-hour cushion. 

Before I tell more of my story, I have to say that since this is an out and back course I knew I would see front runners coming at me sometime soon. It was about 55 miles when I saw the front runner, Karl Meltzer coming right at me. He was at about 75 miles at that point. The man was 20 miles ahead of me! It was pretty cool though to see an elite runner out there the same as me. Well, not quite the same 😀

My buddy Craig had called to give me some good running vibes and was on the phone with me when Karl came running past me. It was a pretty cool experience!

So I was tired of being by myself as my knee and hip was hurting a little more, so picking up my pacer Dennis at 58 was really nice. He kept me moving and as we came in to 65 I realized my hands were super swollen. That happens to me sometimes when I am dehydrated but I knew I wasn't because I was having tons of healthy pee breaks. I troubleshooted with Matt and figured I was probably low on salt. I drank some pickle juice and he gave me some salt tabs to take at the mile 68 station if it seemed to help. He also told me not to drink much between stations so I could assess the situation.

The salt was definitely the issue and the pickle juice and salt tabs brought me back. When I came into the mile 72 station it was like a car race pit crew. At one point I was standing there with my arms up while people were pulling trash out of my pack, stuffing it with food, changing my head lamp batteries and hand feeding me food. I was surrounded by the most important people in my whole life who wanted nothing more than to help me get back out to the trail and finish this race. I remained about 2 hours ahead of cutoff, and set to get to the mile 82.5 station at 7pm.

I told Dennis that I could no longer be in charge of knowing when to eat, and I needed him to help me by telling me when to eat. That's how I knew I was running low on problem-solving ability.

The section between 72-82.5 has a small station at mile 79ish that doesn't have crew access. Somewhere between 72 and 79 everything began to fall apart. My hip was on fire, and eventually my leg would no longer lift up to take a step. I remember saying to Dennis that I have no idea what to do. Why wouldn't my leg move? It hurt but it was more like my leg muscle wasn't attached and just wouldn't do what I needed it to do to move forward.

Dennis shared that the same thing happened to him at a race and asked how my glute was doing. He suggested I dig into the glute to try and take the pressure off my quad so I walked a while with my poles in one hand while using my right hand knuckles to dig into my right glute. Surprisingly this actually helped. 

The sun had set by now, and it was raining. My pace had slowed down considerably and I was finding it hard to stay warm. I had glove covers on that were frozen on the outside, keeping my hands pretty cold. I was beginning to hallucinate which was actually pretty cool. Seeing things in the woods never scares me, it's really just a cool thing to have happen. There was an icy bush that looked like a T-Rex, and the wet leaves on the ground looked like they had hearts or other patterns printed on them. 

They must have recently done a controlled burn because during the day you could see the blackness across the brush and could smell the smoldering fire. At night though, we passed a tree that had fallen over and there was a fire burning inside of the tree trunk. It looked like a fireplace and my eyes just couldn't make my mind believe that it wasn't a brick fireplace with the aid station right next to it. A day or 2 later, someone posted a video of the fire on the race page's Facebook group and I was so relieved that it was really there!

When we finally made it to the 79 mile station, I knew we had 3.5 miles left. This station does not have crew access, and the people there are only able to get there by ATV, so dropping wasn't an option. I had 90 minutes to get to 82.5 and I was determined to push as hard as I possibly could to make it there. Matt was there, my people were there and I could reset and go back out for the last 17. 

Those 3.5 were a struggle. I pushed and pushed but just couldn't make my body move faster. About 1.5 miles out we realized I missed the cutoff.

I was so disappointed. And Regretful. I knew I had made mistakes and I was devastated that I wasn't going to finish...again. I said to myself, maybe I'm just not cut out for this.

Then I see a headlamp coming toward us. It's Matt, and he had ran out to share the last mile with me and to see how I was doing. I told him I was upset, and that I didn't think I was cut out for this after 3 tries. He was so encouraging. I have no idea what he actually said but by the time we made it back to the station I was already feeling strong for my 82.5 mile finish.

About a half mile from the station, Nate called Matt and asked him if I wanted him to pick me up at this place where the road crossed so I wouldn't have to hobble that last bit. "Fuck no" was heard across the trail and through the phone as my response to my husband's very kind offer.

So there it is. The long story about how I didn't finish LOViT for the second year in a row. You know what was different though? I refused to quit. Last year, I gave up. At my 100 attempt #2, I gave up. This time, I refused to take any shortcut and pushed myself until they pulled me off the trail. If I had made it with 5 minutes to spare, I would have gone back out. There was nothing but the clock that could have stopped me and for that, I am so incredibly proud of this 82.5 miles.

My girlfriends rallied around me in the most lovingly way. Toni and Jen don't run, so they mostly stood back and let Matt take the lead on what I needed for the race but when it was done, they moved into full on take-care-of-me mode and helped me get my cold clothes off and get me into the car. They made me the most incredible sign ever, that comes with the BEST story ever that I might share with you one day if we are good enough friends. 

When we got back to the house my hip wouldn't move my right leg forward at all. I had to pick up my leg by behind my knee to move any steps forward. I was honestly afraid we would have to go to an urgent care or something if I woke up Sunday unable to walk. I took some ibuprophen and laid down to rest, after my girls helped me change my pants. These girls held me with so much love all day, and especially at night when all was done.


Luckily I woke up feeling sore, but not severely injured. I tested out the knee and hip on Wednesday and everything hurt again, so I plan to take a couple of weeks off completely and reassess the situation. The hardest part now, a week out and on a Saturday, is figuring out what to do with myself when I am used to being on trails on the weekends. My family is loving me being home though ❤️

One thing I can say is I don’t think I’ve ever felt as loved as I have in the last few weeks. So many calls and messages and congrats and just filling my cup with so much positivity! From my people who took a whole weekend out of their lives to support me to those who texted or commented on my posts, I appreciate you so much 🥰

I know the big question is, will I try to run 100 miles again? Honestly, I don't know. This last 1.5 years of training has been so hard on me, on my body and on my family. I wish I had the finish so I could move onto something else. If you know me at all, you probably already know that I might be down, but I am definitely not out ☮

A few memories I really don’t want to forget:
I knew the bench was there!
“Easy, just stop getting discouraged.”
Bo and the people of Ukraine. 
The way it felt when I returned to comfort. 
That girl totally got farted on in the face 🤣

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

Running 100 Miles: Take Two

Well, I am going to give this a try. I described myself to a friend as emotionally fragile yesterday, and I think that captures my current situation pretty well. 

I tried to run 100 miles again this past weekend and as I did last time, I failed to finish the race. 

It’s an interesting concept – failure. There are all kinds of quotes out there designed to motivate a person to embrace failure as a path toward success. That you can’t have success without failure. Or even quotes about judging oneself based on how one handled the failure. Right now, in this place where I am in between regret and disappointment where I am dissecting each decision to see what I could have done differently to finish, they all seem like bullshit.

I told you guys, I am probably not in the best mindset to write this right now. Yet I also feel the need to capture this as I imagine it is something others feel when they put themselves out there, beyond what is comfortable and predictable and get punched in the gut. It isn’t pretty. But it is definitely real. And it hurts like hell.

I'll just just get to the race story.

My buddy Matt and my husband Nate and I headed down to Arkansas on Friday after Nate and I took the kids to school. The drive was uneventful and after 6 hours or so we settled into this super cute and tiny little cabin only a couple of miles from the start line. I was pretty nervous thinking about the race, so I went down to sit on the dock and enjoy the water for a while before I finished getting my race stuff together. It was quiet and peaceful and sort of set the stage for some quiet reflection that allowed me to settle down, sleep well and even center myself during the race a few times. 


Saturday morning Nate dropped Matt and me off and we got all checked in a ready to run. At 6am we hit the trail and were off. The first 16 miles were tough. My mind is so funny during a race like this. It’s like I am worried that if I am uncomfortable at all at mile 10, what in the world will mile 50 feel like? Or mile 85? The truth is though that twice now I haven’t felt great at the beginning of a hundred but fell into a good groove in no time.

I saw Nate at mile 16, as he was set up to be my crew the whole time. He had my box with all of my things and planned to maybe pace me for miles 85-100. My friend Rachel would pace 68-85 and planned to meet up with Nate later. I had been carrying my rain jacket but it appeared that the threat of rain had passed, so I left it with Nate.

About a mile after I left him, it began to downpour. Matt offered me his raincoat but I was soaked already with sweat from the humidity so I just figured it couldn’t get worse. I was wrong.

It down poured for about an hour at least. I was soaked to the bone, but not cold. Just uncomfortable. The trail was soaked with huge puddles that weren’t always avoidable. I started to think through some foot changes and knew I had socks in my box but not the other pair of shoes I wanted. Oh well, I figured a sock change would be fine.

I saw Nate again at mile 30 and was feeling physically strong but my stomach was giving me some trouble after grabbing a couple of potatoes from a station. It is hard to not eat food at the aid stations but with all of my food sensitivities even potatoes can’t be trusted. In hindsight I wonder if they had butter in them.

I did a sock change and grabbed my rain jacket again and off we went. Matt and I were still together at this point although he was struggling. We also picked up this guy named Eric, who was going to drop at 30 but Matt convinced him to come with us. Matt and I and our trail antics brought him back from the dead. He scurried ahead of us at one point and called us his angels. I think it distracted us for a while too, which was nice.

At mile 42 Matt and I were separating so I decided to pull ahead of him thinking I might see him later but maybe not. I was feeling strong and ready to see Nate at mile 47.

I could feel my feet getting a little angry so I thought I would probably do a sock change when I got there. There is a section between miles 47 and 68 where I would not see my crew. This section was worrying me a lot heading into the race, so I tried to really think through my drop bag at the midway point when I was race planning. I was sure I put a change of socks in my drop bag so my other thought coming into mile 47 was to grab the foot lube and change at 57. Either way, I knew I needed to tend to my feet.

I ran strong into the 47-mile station and everyone cheered! I think I said something along the lines of I feel like I should be finished with all of that cheering. The aid station captain hollered at my crew and Rachel and her husband came walking toward me, but no Nate.

I asked where he was and they said they didn’t know – that he wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it. It was so crowded I wondered if maybe he just didn’t see Rachel, but she was right. He wasn’t there.

We later found out that he had picked up Matt’s pacer at the cabin and they had taken a wrong turn and went really far out of their way, totally missing me even though I was right on time for my predicted pace.

I thought about staying and waiting but at the time we had no idea what had happened. I thought through everything I needed and decided I would be okay to wait to change socks until I got to my drop bag at 57. The only thing I didn’t have was a headlamp, which was in my box of stuff with Nate. Rachel gave me hers and with a quick tutorial I was on my way with wet socks and shoes and an unfamiliar headlamp.

I tried to stay positive, but I knew going into this 20-mile stretch without some necessities might throw me off. The headphones I had were almost dead and I had a book I planned to listen to on this very runnable section, but that was fine. The headphones died and I just became that person who listened without headphones. Sorry, not sorry 😊

I felt great for about 8 miles, then my feet started to hurt with every step. It felt like blisters, but I really had no option other than to just kept going. Then about a mile from the aid station where my drop bag was it hit me, I realized that I was pretty sure I put the socks in the OTHER drop bag, and not this one. This was bad. Very bad. I knew I needed to tend to my feet and was pretty sure I significantly messed this up.

I got to the aid station and let me just say, the women there were absolutely incredible. They swarmed around me getting my bottles filled taking my socks and shoes off bringing me my drop bag and sharing in my deep disappointment when I realized I was right, I did not have a sock change after all.

Then, these precious women who wanted nothing more than to see me succeed FOUND ME A PAIR OF SOCKS! It was incredible. Coincidentally, I look up and see 2 fellow St. Louis trail runners! A friend was there pacing another friend who was dropping and he offered to give me his socks. Off of his own feet! It was an incredible gesture of solidarity and kindness and I was so touched and surprised that he would offer. I went with the women’s sized socks instead, but the offer just goes to show how much trail runners want to take care of each other.

So they fixed me up and off I went, but it didn’t take long for me to realize that the damage was done. Each step was excruciating pain on the pads of my feet. Running was better than walking so I was still running the downhills but the uphills were nearing impossible. I stopped and sat on a rock at about 65 miles to see if I could pop the blisters on my right foot, which I hoped would relieve some of the pain. I just couldn’t see them though.

I hobbled in to the 68 mile station and had by then convinced myself that if my crew and I couldn’t fix these blisters, there was no way I could keep going. I saw my crew who had no idea I was struggling because I was still making pretty good time and was within a 16 minute mile average. It was such a relief to see Nate after 38 long miles.

I took my socks off and they tried to see where the blisters were so I could pop them, but they couldn’t see them either. The bottoms of my feet were so swollen, they couldn’t make out where the blisters were. I could feel them, but couldn’t find them. I did pop one that was under one of my toenails and one that was between my toes, but the ones in my foot pads that were causing so much trouble were so deep in my foot that there was nothing we could to about them.

They convinced me to lube up and put on new socks and shoes and walk around to see how it felt. I did this, and the pain was excruciating. I said I was done.

It is this moment that I cannot seem to reconcile. Yes, it was painful, but could I have gone on? My friend and fellow ultrarunner Craig always describes ultras as constant problem solving. But in that moment, I couldn’t figure out how to solve it. Looking back I can. I should have doubled my socks, grabbed my poles and at least tried to walk toward the next aid station. I could have always turned around. I had plenty of time since I ran so strong up to this point. I had just walked/ran for 10 miles on sore feet, I could have gone further, if I had been able to problem solve my way out of it.

And this is why this sport is hard. I have to ask myself, did I quit because I was scared or did I quit because I was brave? Now that I can see the blisters they were really nasty. They were small under each hard foot bone and also all connected together. I have seen photos of blisters like that when they pop, and the damage is detrimental. 

But these blisters weren’t that bad, yet. They were bad enough that I am still limping today, 3 days later, so maybe it was the right decision.

Nevertheless, it is done. I made my decision and I need to make peace with it. I need to take these things I learned and move forward. Besides these blistered feet, my whole body felt strong enough to keep going. I was still running the down hills and hiking the up hills 65 miles in. I know I was trained. I know I did all of the prep needed for this race, and I still didn’t finish.

I think that might be the hardest part for me about this sport. We train for months and months for the one day that is race day and we never know what that day will bring. This race has a Facebook group and leading up to the race everyone was talking about the chance of rain that was in the forecast. One guy said that he has finished hundreds before but never in the rain and wondered how to prepare. I have only ran (most of) two hundreds and they were both in the rain. Does that mean I just keep doing this and hope for better weather? If I train exactly like someone and end up with shitty conditions and they don’t, is one experience more valid that the other?

I know it isn’t. The draw of this sport is the unknown. It is the idea that we will be pushed to the point of wanting to quit and in that moment will we quit or will we push through? If we quit, is that the brave decision or the fearful decision?

As my blisters heal and my muscles relax and the chafed areas of my skin become less sensitive, I know this feeling of disappointment and regret will also fade, and I will get up, dust myself off and get out there again. But right now, I have to feel this. I have to sit in this place of defeat and just be here for a minute. I am sad. I regret quitting. I am afraid that I quit because I was scared, not because I was brave. I do not know if I can do it again. I don’t know if I could handle the disappointment for a third time.

I know that I could shift my goals and focus on shorter races and find success. I have now ran 2 pretty strong 100Ks in the wake of 2 DNFs. I could likely find much success running 100Ks. But would it ever feel like enough, or would it feel like a low and safe aim? If you know me at all, I think you know that I already know the answer. I am just not ready to do anything about it yet.

Don’t fear failure – not failure, but low aim, is the crime.
In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.
~Bruce Lee


Tuesday, August 24, 2021

Life is an ultramarathon.

Don’t miss any cutoffs sitting in the aid station.

Those of you who know me well or have been around this blog for a while know that I am an ultramarathon runner. I seek out trails and races well beyond the 26.2 mile marathon distance. While this may seem out of reach, I am learning that seeking a finish of a long race isn’t much different than seeking satisfaction, growth and happiness in life. Therefore to me, living life, loving my people, learning and growing and reaching for personal goals is really just its own ultramarathon.

This came to a head for me recently when I was really struggling personally. I texted a friend who knows me well and knows ultramarathons well. The following exchange took place:


There is a documentary (one of many) that documents the journey of running a 100-mile race. There is a scene where the man running is sitting in the aid station tired and torn. Exhausted. Pushed beyond his current ability. His people are rallying around him giving him aid and working to build his spirits. He is unsure he can go on. Then he says:

“Just give me 60 seconds to feel sorry for myself.”

His friends surround him, encouraging him, keeping their eye on the clock and are ready for him to get back up and finish the race when he's ready.

The draw of an ultramarathon is the unknown. It’s the idea that we train for months for a distance that seems so incredibly out of reach that while we hope it is possible, we know there are so many factors that can derail any well prepared for race. We get to that start line anyway, because the excitement of finishing something big and bold is bigger than the risk of not finishing. The chance we might fail is the draw that keeps us curious about how far we can go.

The draw of life is similar. There is the unknown. There is the ever present fact that life is fleeting and no matter what we do, we and everyone we love are going to die. It is a fact that as much as we may try to escape it, is hard truth. Why would anyone even bother then, right? Maybe because the excitement of having a life that is beautiful and meaningful is worth the risk of pain that ultimately comes when you put your heart out into the world.

We know the world is a terrifying place, yet we explore it and try to understand it and make friends and go places and get into cars and fly on planes knowing that at any moment we could experience some kind of accident, be in the wrong place at the wrong time or be diagnosed with a horrible disease. All of this could be enough to make us want to stay locked up in our homes, missing out on life. But we don’t. We know the chance we might fail is the draw that keeps us going to see how far in life we can go.

Occasionally though, life throws us something truly painful. We are going along in our world living life and something happens that stops us in our tracks. A loved one gets sick. A friend dies. An innocent animal is targeted for an unknown reason. The world becomes too heavy.

Sometimes in a race, there is an injury. Nutrition is off and fatigue sets in. The weather doesn’t cooperate. The course is more difficult than you thought it would be. 

In either case, we seek aid. We sit on our friend’s couch or call our person or cry to our partner. We make it to the aid station and believe we cannot go on. We stop moving forward and are frozen in our grief. We have a choice. We can get up and keep going, or we can sit in that comfortable place and stop. 

Life is an ultramarathon.

A few months ago, someone in my neighborhood shot my cat with a .22 caliber weapon. That same week, a childhood friend died from ALS, leaving behind 4 children and a loving wife. Also in that same week, a key member of our team at work left to pursue a fabulous new opportunity for her and her little family. It was all just so heavy, and I was so incredibly sad. For my cat, for this world we live in, for my own capacity at work and ultimately for the understanding that this world we live in is heavy and hard and full of so much pain. It was more than I could take. I needed aid.

My friend sent that text to me in response to my desire to “just feel sorry for myself for a little while longer”. I knew I wouldn’t be there for long, but I wasn’t ready to get up yet. It is safe and comfortable there in that aid station. Sitting still and feeling all the things and wanting to hide from all of the pain in this broken world. But my friend knows me and knows I cannot stay there forever. He reminded me not to miss any cutoffs sitting in the aid station. Don’t avoid the aid stations, they are there for a reason, but don’t stay there too long either, if we do we will certainly miss out on something beautiful that life has in store for us.

I had a virtual happy hour with a group of amazing women about a month after that text exchange with my friend. I mentioned that I stopped listening to podcasts, I stopped going to my new therapist and just stopped moving forward. I wasn’t depressed, I was resting. One of these amazing friends mentioned gently that I seemed to be sort of stagnant. That I was retreating into my safe place and maybe that’s okay for a while but I probably shouldn’t stay there too long. It reminded me of the text my friend sent me. I shared the words with my girls and they were so taken back by the profound meaning in those words, they said it should be my mantra.


Life is an ultramarathon. Go out there and run it. Get dirty, get hurt, get out in the world and see what happens. Get aid when you need it, just don’t miss any cutoffs while sitting in the aid station.