tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89033118677731835942024-03-14T11:34:57.228-05:00Companion to the WindI hold the flower there ~ Doesn't know she's beautiful ~ She wakes every morning seeing ~ All the other things are beautiful ~ Well she's free ~ Companion to the wind ~ From "Gradle" By Widespread PanicAnnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comBlogger469125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-67899881244755562362024-03-04T21:02:00.013-06:002024-03-04T21:13:10.394-06:00Taking a Long Hard Look<div></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRniWPo_FseN9YxCoVIFIYSNy-PabgPGNTIEtkV6kHE7Fzstb-Dypj9SrxSaLI0eS4zOJyMzcJFHtboUHZP-LRmgz07oWKoMV760cPqXWXygu7umTVxrZjb5Z1zPtG5tNYQIv2cNRipGEcckvinh0Mawfu-qXlrJrotdRBj3ZG6SARuWJfuhAqOvakz-S/s1366/429579339_10232670487651358_3475164426314938353_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="1366" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRniWPo_FseN9YxCoVIFIYSNy-PabgPGNTIEtkV6kHE7Fzstb-Dypj9SrxSaLI0eS4zOJyMzcJFHtboUHZP-LRmgz07oWKoMV760cPqXWXygu7umTVxrZjb5Z1zPtG5tNYQIv2cNRipGEcckvinh0Mawfu-qXlrJrotdRBj3ZG6SARuWJfuhAqOvakz-S/s320/429579339_10232670487651358_3475164426314938353_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So instead of listing the reasons I didn’t finish I’m going
to list the things I learned during this race. <o:p></o:p></p>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal">One
can simply have a really bad race day. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">I can
outrun blister pain. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">The
bad news is that no one is coming to save me. The good news is that I can
learn how to save myself. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">Caffeine
is a magic pill for me. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">I need
to learn how my body processes salt, electrolytes and fuel while
racing. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">My
friends will always show up for me. Always. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">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 <span face=""Segoe UI Emoji",sans-serif" style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">❤️</span>” 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.<o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">I have
accomplished things in this life that are more impactful than finishing
100 miles will ever be. <o:p></o:p></li>
<li class="MsoNormal">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. </li></ul><div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjucw90zl6-9yRR__-xRJfD5HZqnILCOxRg4oGN_RpvWQZtOh7Y5ipjofdIZ0_QUcCpEDBYY1PsXdlywHV1BGNgZXbfsjamadGBPsQwQOzJLMsvLxHWEczP6fp6lKCLHsNqx0ziKpV_3XDu_Vv38bAYo2WnEO6Aiy9k-9R5tMxNejlqXRLsQCKRj235Rpw1/s4032/IMG_1085.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjucw90zl6-9yRR__-xRJfD5HZqnILCOxRg4oGN_RpvWQZtOh7Y5ipjofdIZ0_QUcCpEDBYY1PsXdlywHV1BGNgZXbfsjamadGBPsQwQOzJLMsvLxHWEczP6fp6lKCLHsNqx0ziKpV_3XDu_Vv38bAYo2WnEO6Aiy9k-9R5tMxNejlqXRLsQCKRj235Rpw1/w240-h320/IMG_1085.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div></div></div><div><p></p></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-68817101339269095412023-11-08T07:00:00.007-06:002023-11-08T08:08:41.611-06:00The right kind of hard.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfVRsJSqymk1jE0fCmZ4rZr7yXSftigP-ZFt3YTnktlcK0G-IAQ12Hz4mLOdDukuxc-48XXuPamf3tj_NZoYUWLPkLjmUkERQZXRhuDwAHtHa0MWQXBmWwCY8oHDPLYyxfTwACxKRIAH7wmJnnXmyjoUY9myG552oooK3xeyYgCEHzOxB4SOwsf5s3qGq/s960/IMG_4032.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfVRsJSqymk1jE0fCmZ4rZr7yXSftigP-ZFt3YTnktlcK0G-IAQ12Hz4mLOdDukuxc-48XXuPamf3tj_NZoYUWLPkLjmUkERQZXRhuDwAHtHa0MWQXBmWwCY8oHDPLYyxfTwACxKRIAH7wmJnnXmyjoUY9myG552oooK3xeyYgCEHzOxB4SOwsf5s3qGq/s320/IMG_4032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">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’.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I took a chance, and what I found is the right kind of hard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">~AZ</p><p></p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-78079320394099721502023-11-01T07:00:00.001-05:002023-11-01T07:00:00.131-05:00The more deeply I know me, the more beautiful I become to me.<p>Glennon Doyle, the author and
podcaster over at <a href="https://wecandohardthingspodcast.com/" target="_blank">We Can Do Hard Things</a> 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.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What’s on my mind now?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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 <a href="https://youtu.be/PHV1wZ7tzoA?feature=shared" target="_blank">here</a>. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i>"You don't have to be a prodigy to
be unique</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i>You don't have to know what to say
or what to think</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i>You don't have to be anybody you
can never be<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i>That's alright, let it out, talk
to me"</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“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.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNdIZNGEI5JYLzkmN3dVpaKuEKHaIan43FuZ6eqoojn6AG3kaAgjb1HZX4MHWPO-BIWdUB33Ocjz-1IeGCrOHkRj5bOjjLiqkqhMco2TPERbELlkPlBhs_adloTlZ0QA7GVzIA_qosdb88bFVlxIQeEK_NvPIXEwRZq4LVKay4w8IDMaPJNvpHg46NqEl/s526/IMG_3996.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNdIZNGEI5JYLzkmN3dVpaKuEKHaIan43FuZ6eqoojn6AG3kaAgjb1HZX4MHWPO-BIWdUB33Ocjz-1IeGCrOHkRj5bOjjLiqkqhMco2TPERbELlkPlBhs_adloTlZ0QA7GVzIA_qosdb88bFVlxIQeEK_NvPIXEwRZq4LVKay4w8IDMaPJNvpHg46NqEl/s320/IMG_3996.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">And to those around me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">~AZ</p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-24365617208418030042022-08-25T20:52:00.006-05:002022-08-25T20:52:53.399-05:00Cock-a-doodle-doo, b words<p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi253YaQfa8KnwkbvcgYFL9hl6uJD9jhW3WiCsgNZ1hLHoYqhw1gFU9TCVwbP5jEQ3R6Z5qStrGmN_50M_hN8b2y0gRClRijQzjgVfzjn9ZklcQRFQ4J0O5fXvtpHaEgz2A-HiwfJ1_JvvZBo95k_l2CkcgHBDry43qmSsPb4HDvd3vnfOw4xEZ-Hqg/s2048/Girls%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEi253YaQfa8KnwkbvcgYFL9hl6uJD9jhW3WiCsgNZ1hLHoYqhw1gFU9TCVwbP5jEQ3R6Z5qStrGmN_50M_hN8b2y0gRClRijQzjgVfzjn9ZklcQRFQ4J0O5fXvtpHaEgz2A-HiwfJ1_JvvZBo95k_l2CkcgHBDry43qmSsPb4HDvd3vnfOw4xEZ-Hqg/s320/Girls%201.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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!)</p><p>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. </p><p>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! </p><p>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:</p><p>Me: what the hell are you guys doing? It’s 4:45am. What the f.</p><p>Girls: Oh sorry we had such a hard time sleeping. We thought you went on a walk or something.</p><p>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.</p><p>[I turn and walk toward the bathroom]</p><p>Me: "Cock-a-doodle-do bitches."</p><p>Girls: break out in hilarious laughter.</p><p>Me: Go into the bathroom and break into hilarious laughter.</p><p>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!”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh360MAUiU60wb9YrtMy9q0cxjkdJP8DNUFGv-w_GhYQPRd-L4TcwmlVi8SO-zFO66HLNCusa6z6elFEzJGC_ZMktFSRMxc2Vhv6VjbC86vYSPoJiaHDmMTl984NiMSWbQERwILA8qbJBWIwHhCAT7qfNJFw1IKl2xsfkuet2Xo-exugwczpsMvYicGDQ/s2048/Girls%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh360MAUiU60wb9YrtMy9q0cxjkdJP8DNUFGv-w_GhYQPRd-L4TcwmlVi8SO-zFO66HLNCusa6z6elFEzJGC_ZMktFSRMxc2Vhv6VjbC86vYSPoJiaHDmMTl984NiMSWbQERwILA8qbJBWIwHhCAT7qfNJFw1IKl2xsfkuet2Xo-exugwczpsMvYicGDQ/s320/Girls%202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Cock-a-doodle-do bitches was our catch phrase all weekend. </p><p>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 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvhFs2bdRpE" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p>So anyway, that’s the funny story. One day if we are good enough friends I’ll tell you the part about #effbabies too 😂</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVupT56Nhm68MWpwKARNTfXZDlHJ5L6MnEj0_wth1apnKn4Ykb-6-Z-ZChrX7OO1WzCu9oNqKlkybD-rTPcUvfpZ7aTugBX-1Ycu_swtsPDjrWEmj7RS1OR4sLxL278EJdIKwrlYtZ16vmKegNpmoTi8-cePNLF3Ap9IWRNBZ6urApvylb0Rz5FvyVyA/s2048/Girls%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVupT56Nhm68MWpwKARNTfXZDlHJ5L6MnEj0_wth1apnKn4Ykb-6-Z-ZChrX7OO1WzCu9oNqKlkybD-rTPcUvfpZ7aTugBX-1Ycu_swtsPDjrWEmj7RS1OR4sLxL278EJdIKwrlYtZ16vmKegNpmoTi8-cePNLF3Ap9IWRNBZ6urApvylb0Rz5FvyVyA/s320/Girls%203.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-80343540202419215902022-03-05T17:11:00.014-06:002022-03-07T08:32:20.292-06:00Running 100 Miles: Take 3 Run LOViT (again)<p style="text-align: center;">"Enjoy training, fall in love with it, and become it. By doing so, you will look forward to <i>running</i>, not finishing, and that makes all the difference in the world." ~Michael D'Aulerio</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNdnmf7C0RaSvuEsTFMx6XoWkZoxNlK8cX8Tt6pM4qdH0Mzaaas1AVhIe-1LZ7BPfX89P-Lr802ng7Krd2tfMZPZ08EvG32pSenztJbTmB4_2MMuzXYAckPB-joP5fYIv-LJGcxB4CCE3DwXCgGKlp1Nyn7Ik7sSxf3lHhII_9xOa_2DRFU8AkzPgfEw=s843" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="843" data-original-width="843" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNdnmf7C0RaSvuEsTFMx6XoWkZoxNlK8cX8Tt6pM4qdH0Mzaaas1AVhIe-1LZ7BPfX89P-Lr802ng7Krd2tfMZPZ08EvG32pSenztJbTmB4_2MMuzXYAckPB-joP5fYIv-LJGcxB4CCE3DwXCgGKlp1Nyn7Ik7sSxf3lHhII_9xOa_2DRFU8AkzPgfEw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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:</p><p>"Fuck no, I'll get there myself."</p><p style="text-align: center;">-----</p><p style="text-align: left;">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!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj67oBpftvkZ77EgziD2OCPC7MzoGloH34X1l40zN1VIFthY_Wlts0wKOLP0nGH53zLNvqjI47Oq9yvG35hYN3HD3z6z3BByiZNe3sZYx0kvlLF5AjyJkOzg-ffgktN9AS-7dyA_2SyVLTa4IX_3_hjg0EWvLUQP-9oxJAJXZTwBsdpFNsGsYRfirX3bQ=s1696" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1131" data-original-width="1696" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj67oBpftvkZ77EgziD2OCPC7MzoGloH34X1l40zN1VIFthY_Wlts0wKOLP0nGH53zLNvqjI47Oq9yvG35hYN3HD3z6z3BByiZNe3sZYx0kvlLF5AjyJkOzg-ffgktN9AS-7dyA_2SyVLTa4IX_3_hjg0EWvLUQP-9oxJAJXZTwBsdpFNsGsYRfirX3bQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkGvsd8mu6RYfBAvr17tlGshPmV3m_I75-hY2k4bb8AmHnFLnHU0DIbor8xZJMcCKc9-hhE3DicHTyVyJLLOe0J9qsOk_noetI9HVsPakJtlpILV2R5In0-RBGArfNO5xEunfs7b48F87EHN2_RoLuMFUvd5GIxt4ggYBPR4xbwB-126aI1D5M-Zdw5g=s2048" 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/a/AVvXsEgkGvsd8mu6RYfBAvr17tlGshPmV3m_I75-hY2k4bb8AmHnFLnHU0DIbor8xZJMcCKc9-hhE3DicHTyVyJLLOe0J9qsOk_noetI9HVsPakJtlpILV2R5In0-RBGArfNO5xEunfs7b48F87EHN2_RoLuMFUvd5GIxt4ggYBPR4xbwB-126aI1D5M-Zdw5g=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;">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.</p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr38h1zs8N_TwkdUkiJiBNKSnKWh5TXnMDcuSyyfbqp8V07ZafctVWiasTdLEGMSTS5W6fSodFDH8IcbPMM3DfePX8YtFXdZs6ZtpbpL0zLfsgNDsctiI-12KsEPriXcDSJs1d_cUKLKqzfoHz7t7FTNkOX2ylDCFekgkVFaUHGm2xnB-NmL00jE5G6Q=s1272" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1272" data-original-width="1272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr38h1zs8N_TwkdUkiJiBNKSnKWh5TXnMDcuSyyfbqp8V07ZafctVWiasTdLEGMSTS5W6fSodFDH8IcbPMM3DfePX8YtFXdZs6ZtpbpL0zLfsgNDsctiI-12KsEPriXcDSJs1d_cUKLKqzfoHz7t7FTNkOX2ylDCFekgkVFaUHGm2xnB-NmL00jE5G6Q=s320" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgzbncn6ELioUjtwfrt8QZBM94WsEykvXo_4ydFkyiot6UGlZ1DzntHgfclP9i2xsvG-LAr0pjuzmafqSvAS0gPTTNT80SAG9NZGpxqGfdcvYJ1UMjB8eC9WhwdOB5nsiM76oxrfQRSKglzGdo0FvkrIy0-65wtNtHsO4qyiAcPosc0dmTVf5Cg4b2Xbg=s2048" 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/a/AVvXsEgzbncn6ELioUjtwfrt8QZBM94WsEykvXo_4ydFkyiot6UGlZ1DzntHgfclP9i2xsvG-LAr0pjuzmafqSvAS0gPTTNT80SAG9NZGpxqGfdcvYJ1UMjB8eC9WhwdOB5nsiM76oxrfQRSKglzGdo0FvkrIy0-65wtNtHsO4qyiAcPosc0dmTVf5Cg4b2Xbg=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEii2Mc6g12LrEPHefqEWEqUD1da0TDeWzHVDSVPgUjMJu_4mIXazZrKIaY4lGrwqlAUbhe1QV3oYGPy36Ggu_jcTDsu4m3ZoBoJoPAszYsukxXDWjQX0o_DR1c6eFqinIrLnI_5ED5GwEgmFhfLisYHVKCIQl6Rw_JQ1QTrP97Dz3OIUqtNIMs0fqhYoQ=s2048" 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/a/AVvXsEii2Mc6g12LrEPHefqEWEqUD1da0TDeWzHVDSVPgUjMJu_4mIXazZrKIaY4lGrwqlAUbhe1QV3oYGPy36Ggu_jcTDsu4m3ZoBoJoPAszYsukxXDWjQX0o_DR1c6eFqinIrLnI_5ED5GwEgmFhfLisYHVKCIQl6Rw_JQ1QTrP97Dz3OIUqtNIMs0fqhYoQ=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>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, <a href="https://karlmeltzer.com/">Karl Meltzer </a>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 😀</p><p></p><p>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!</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqMwhx9pYJZ5hkLg0DpXxXNHq_1SAuPX7Y_oPq3ruPP2n5UugS07vT1cEWdV6lQdan5uOWHYXmR8oPHtihoFjxp7MlJpRkHQq4L-lPmvfC3Rut_x7ELDgxDAf80lzgX5dasrQ5b2Kul0IXE8lyejzcof1sAfGenS7q85OVCNURpWI-LbfqzfarY0AsMw=s1760" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1760" data-original-width="990" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqMwhx9pYJZ5hkLg0DpXxXNHq_1SAuPX7Y_oPq3ruPP2n5UugS07vT1cEWdV6lQdan5uOWHYXmR8oPHtihoFjxp7MlJpRkHQq4L-lPmvfC3Rut_x7ELDgxDAf80lzgX5dasrQ5b2Kul0IXE8lyejzcof1sAfGenS7q85OVCNURpWI-LbfqzfarY0AsMw=s320" width="180" /></a></div><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7CNfF71w936t1nGdLqN65D82_y_ZF_CQxrTQArYk212NxdWA_NCo7nlAK1gOGZpYJHerb2c3MOgtirIZd7IeQWu7iCGqag8EJ08LoZE4IqVyBIeiUadgcH2CMcvNeAuJ2hPdcZfIgcbkYLM0jXFIHlB81pEPYK4rIgnIBPwWDalaffuB5rSdXdwKanw=s1760" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1760" data-original-width="990" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7CNfF71w936t1nGdLqN65D82_y_ZF_CQxrTQArYk212NxdWA_NCo7nlAK1gOGZpYJHerb2c3MOgtirIZd7IeQWu7iCGqag8EJ08LoZE4IqVyBIeiUadgcH2CMcvNeAuJ2hPdcZfIgcbkYLM0jXFIHlB81pEPYK4rIgnIBPwWDalaffuB5rSdXdwKanw=s320" width="180" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiojxja3inbvG59gJRdAuaS0NS9gC9JCdcU1RVTTJcrQxS88NVIFv8tkJrATuhRhYB7QIpYIm-frknH0y_GXjgTtozQfV0fv4XRHar6Ze98JIec-wDU-2Rfo9nb_EYxFdglW4LsHe4zlnsXmj3kl1TN04KeRRqH3iKXJQqyEgBIOLJ_8NSH3UFZePuFkA=s1440" 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/a/AVvXsEiojxja3inbvG59gJRdAuaS0NS9gC9JCdcU1RVTTJcrQxS88NVIFv8tkJrATuhRhYB7QIpYIm-frknH0y_GXjgTtozQfV0fv4XRHar6Ze98JIec-wDU-2Rfo9nb_EYxFdglW4LsHe4zlnsXmj3kl1TN04KeRRqH3iKXJQqyEgBIOLJ_8NSH3UFZePuFkA=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p>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!</p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><p>I was so disappointed. And Regretful. I knew I had made mistakes and I was devastated that I wasn't going to finish.<a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2021/03/running-100-miles-take-one.html">..again</a>. I said to myself, maybe I'm just not cut out for this.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnYq9adyrzuqAre_Frc86tkK2tkBy6GqsY3maROTcAeJDGFTiTnQ6-hJsRh53uslIbg6vsbpKORq2uDZx19AFIufGTRm9xPAnCQ-9D03hRK10I3M8uIVwhIREt_bjYQjPi21vKNckxM2T2XPsSSMxH47baH-FY3qaebyN7fEsfGsWEm2686CBb4a9-3w=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1594" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnYq9adyrzuqAre_Frc86tkK2tkBy6GqsY3maROTcAeJDGFTiTnQ6-hJsRh53uslIbg6vsbpKORq2uDZx19AFIufGTRm9xPAnCQ-9D03hRK10I3M8uIVwhIREt_bjYQjPi21vKNckxM2T2XPsSSMxH47baH-FY3qaebyN7fEsfGsWEm2686CBb4a9-3w=s320" width="249" /></a></div><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRuHvH-HgHorPGXOjJbirHldl32KEQuyP1_mq4ueKM91eHk_jPAEgkHpWXEEvb0NBRtrHUYp8OlNaggyI8Zw5VQuKS1WBtssy-kbSuSPqW8LRZxrCnhwIDjQB7rjmcKu_bHqe69yFHxlKE3gS2UFIn2DI2T_X8djfDqAbrel8975WUzoeSgAxQPYACsw=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRuHvH-HgHorPGXOjJbirHldl32KEQuyP1_mq4ueKM91eHk_jPAEgkHpWXEEvb0NBRtrHUYp8OlNaggyI8Zw5VQuKS1WBtssy-kbSuSPqW8LRZxrCnhwIDjQB7rjmcKu_bHqe69yFHxlKE3gS2UFIn2DI2T_X8djfDqAbrel8975WUzoeSgAxQPYACsw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>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 ❤️<div><br /></div><div>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 🥰<br /><div><br /></div><div>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 ☮</div><div><br /></div><div>A few memories I really don’t want to forget:</div><div>I knew the bench was there!</div><div>“Easy, just stop getting discouraged.”</div><div>Bo and the people of Ukraine. </div><div>The way it felt when I returned to comfort. </div><div>That girl totally got farted on in the face 🤣</div><div><br /></div></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-20311749481799733612021-10-05T17:13:00.001-05:002022-03-05T17:13:25.959-06:00Running 100 Miles: Take Two<p>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. </p><p>I tried to run 100 miles again this past weekend and as I did last time, I failed to finish the race. </p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>I'll just just get to the race story.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA5rzLAjWFAtHB0UIegbkSAzMj8-7VOIzI5LuJ5bd7mjsrpa37ZIMHq67VhGdhrOExq3TzPu1TVIjz7agME9zpSeGfZHKtJlWMYJnR4AeE9eRaUtuPvzt-qN7Xb0JfaU_lahsubK7idtN9/s2048/On+course.jpg" 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/AVvXsEhA5rzLAjWFAtHB0UIegbkSAzMj8-7VOIzI5LuJ5bd7mjsrpa37ZIMHq67VhGdhrOExq3TzPu1TVIjz7agME9zpSeGfZHKtJlWMYJnR4AeE9eRaUtuPvzt-qN7Xb0JfaU_lahsubK7idtN9/s320/On+course.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3X6M5veBqZPsu6N-Q-K9jVQLbjSHDrzEcUPBtFdoqB8e6v3EpLOcGtiLJPYWNR-p3ASahripd_tmctJrotNcsmnfZPKEW4KugMDeGKbhV-THX7CU-VTDhJ2rqvP6q6Ly5ocqKrhOC7mz/s2048/lake.jpg" 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/AVvXsEgO3X6M5veBqZPsu6N-Q-K9jVQLbjSHDrzEcUPBtFdoqB8e6v3EpLOcGtiLJPYWNR-p3ASahripd_tmctJrotNcsmnfZPKEW4KugMDeGKbhV-THX7CU-VTDhJ2rqvP6q6Ly5ocqKrhOC7mz/s320/lake.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />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.<p></p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYx1QnRev1hqzMWU3T3yyweOdsOpTwZGPvkUpeAOW2DBO7FQ2-HFJ185FcfEshPASG-M4fqVpglGqO6f-gXcK4Wcv_6xLq-MnBv-BBKPmhA-mp_zbg6cLPrbitkRpSeIYzxdikO5jWOrzz/s1261/Rain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1261" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYx1QnRev1hqzMWU3T3yyweOdsOpTwZGPvkUpeAOW2DBO7FQ2-HFJ185FcfEshPASG-M4fqVpglGqO6f-gXcK4Wcv_6xLq-MnBv-BBKPmhA-mp_zbg6cLPrbitkRpSeIYzxdikO5jWOrzz/s320/Rain.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8h7T3f7h4qwn5p8zW_BQBTq1n4IQEuFbtWWzbILsoeLH4XndaTwZrGJt1T34h3kIAjANpSIAYzy4E-ITcSRPKHoOa_Xnbkvh5x8PTSvh51OCpUT88XgqLvilwlFS5Z8IJRL6k6MbOcY7w/s2048/winona.jpg" 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/AVvXsEj8h7T3f7h4qwn5p8zW_BQBTq1n4IQEuFbtWWzbILsoeLH4XndaTwZrGJt1T34h3kIAjANpSIAYzy4E-ITcSRPKHoOa_Xnbkvh5x8PTSvh51OCpUT88XgqLvilwlFS5Z8IJRL6k6MbOcY7w/s320/winona.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkvA-eJZxGNayVbyyW_CRMf6J_2O-9uAMNSmOmupzziIPOmbkZjBoMNOs4EdwUFO5yAEiG7_mfzJ8Zj8vtUT1gM6YKUAdrz8oBIEDg2Ul0VLqq44nRynpYPruUFuXQeiB2cUQ3iHDz38m/s2048/Powerline.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBkvA-eJZxGNayVbyyW_CRMf6J_2O-9uAMNSmOmupzziIPOmbkZjBoMNOs4EdwUFO5yAEiG7_mfzJ8Zj8vtUT1gM6YKUAdrz8oBIEDg2Ul0VLqq44nRynpYPruUFuXQeiB2cUQ3iHDz38m/s320/Powerline.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>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 😊</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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?</p><p>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?</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Don’t fear failure – not failure, but low aim, is the crime.<br /></i><i>In great attempts it is glorious even to fail.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>~Bruce Lee</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj026bgNtGc_tKvwY02EG1CHbKoXbXS__3QJnc2Ba7yAy2gluEhwQSYu8krbl5xconILtXWcI0DQ9b_O6hyTIU6Rg_GD2lSWgwRNgQlSsadGXLTu4FLem5vj8B03fbZK0R0WRk8OItqin9/s2048/Matt+and+Anna.jpg" 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/AVvXsEhj026bgNtGc_tKvwY02EG1CHbKoXbXS__3QJnc2Ba7yAy2gluEhwQSYu8krbl5xconILtXWcI0DQ9b_O6hyTIU6Rg_GD2lSWgwRNgQlSsadGXLTu4FLem5vj8B03fbZK0R0WRk8OItqin9/s320/Matt+and+Anna.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-65876422493486010102021-08-24T17:52:00.004-05:002021-08-24T17:56:36.940-05:00 Life is an ultramarathon.<p>Don’t miss any cutoffs sitting in the aid station.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJxn-GA9VjC_TAthV1IS7OIMnUXLvcdJwYBSKTR97Zz4tG68CpBJhrbjIH36rSZ1MrDAcmUo-Fb9_sednkCRRd99dABiOGlD0NNrBb1biizOgo1ewF347z-1Tvf5tUca6Rb5a5xm9zcb1/s2048/IMG_6038+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJxn-GA9VjC_TAthV1IS7OIMnUXLvcdJwYBSKTR97Zz4tG68CpBJhrbjIH36rSZ1MrDAcmUo-Fb9_sednkCRRd99dABiOGlD0NNrBb1biizOgo1ewF347z-1Tvf5tUca6Rb5a5xm9zcb1/s320/IMG_6038+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvT8Zb-zM4SFYy5xmSPWwCZ_UJB-4kDid8k9yfH0k1FqP2T2boL3kXzgQycTx5VVNcrFsFZHYFhdkXz3zjy1R5LhLn2iN66A7BCzAifJk_fH89ftam5IA9eF90EBaY9xXAlfRuGqd3SEo/s877/8C81D5A4-D6F1-4687-BDD0-D42E7C619CDB.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="877" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvT8Zb-zM4SFYy5xmSPWwCZ_UJB-4kDid8k9yfH0k1FqP2T2boL3kXzgQycTx5VVNcrFsFZHYFhdkXz3zjy1R5LhLn2iN66A7BCzAifJk_fH89ftam5IA9eF90EBaY9xXAlfRuGqd3SEo/s320/8C81D5A4-D6F1-4687-BDD0-D42E7C619CDB.jpg" width="302" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8YWyac1ZdsU">There is a documentary</a> (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:</p><p>“Just give me 60 seconds to feel sorry for myself.”</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>Life is an ultramarathon.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgKEBASOoCldbQiFCke1VhLWJBPNxsiQ3YEJzsukyuTEkMvnw-WJkcoHnyg_gYJMJA8J5Y0m_r4g-JbhrUs6oIJQKirmrVn3auHjdqg2-u1AXRdW1oe8letsA3NYJaJ_dyWSDWeaaoGI0/s2048/IMG_6319.jpg" 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/AVvXsEiMgKEBASOoCldbQiFCke1VhLWJBPNxsiQ3YEJzsukyuTEkMvnw-WJkcoHnyg_gYJMJA8J5Y0m_r4g-JbhrUs6oIJQKirmrVn3auHjdqg2-u1AXRdW1oe8letsA3NYJaJ_dyWSDWeaaoGI0/s320/IMG_6319.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>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.</p><div><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-87546221235943370042021-03-06T21:19:00.004-06:002021-03-06T22:06:00.884-06:00Running 100 Miles: Take One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwqFwNDdKYdh4UlE70DakuYmg-ZOq-N_vlysq9pT9K_cHICjvgCvWZ1RKdOVHd1oDkINPrGvmMQBrDZKMV2UhLbnymOI1a7rYETgD-2T8g9qt5HypI-E5Vj1vAm6wTIIcsr7PuRm612Bp/s640/Photo4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwqFwNDdKYdh4UlE70DakuYmg-ZOq-N_vlysq9pT9K_cHICjvgCvWZ1RKdOVHd1oDkINPrGvmMQBrDZKMV2UhLbnymOI1a7rYETgD-2T8g9qt5HypI-E5Vj1vAm6wTIIcsr7PuRm612Bp/s320/Photo4.jpg" /></a></div><p>Spoiler alert, I didn’t finish 100 miles during my first attempt. I experienced some pretty severe knee pain that took me out at mile 65. Nevertheless, the 21 hours I spent on the beautiful Lake Ouachita Vista Trail are filled with big and tiny moments alike, all of which made this experience one of the most unforgettable of my life. </p><p>So grab a glass of wine or a nice cup of hot tea, put your feet up and get ready to hear the stories that go along with when I almost ran 100 miles.</p><p>The trip really began the week leading up to the race when all of the scouting and timing and planning of the aid stations took place. If you imagine how much goes into planning weekend away or a weekend of camping, planning for 34 hours in the woods with everything I might need in a Rubbermaid box, it definitely takes some planning.</p><p>I created this pace chart to help with timing…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4dqYhJ_SEycy2bGUsTGE9u9kwhwJAReTn1gQEg0KyIPCVOnqpG9CekxwLc5DqFEGLmMehfSLYNkkBYfTjXCmDTUJ4qAB67I4IDTjr3DdCBE6SaROtrH5CMRxginrEDYG_DsqcRFXDjig/s640/2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4dqYhJ_SEycy2bGUsTGE9u9kwhwJAReTn1gQEg0KyIPCVOnqpG9CekxwLc5DqFEGLmMehfSLYNkkBYfTjXCmDTUJ4qAB67I4IDTjr3DdCBE6SaROtrH5CMRxginrEDYG_DsqcRFXDjig/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>…and put all of the food for each aid station in zip lock bags like this.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhXs417Fnfk9Ngu58Y-7CvHCeAzIYgyD0Enbjvqu0r-2YTYEpa79BXNrtn4Pcqn9a2bHIGDfIuZgErNjti-hx0srHdwA78Zg2yqpcL9T4LBLSLuqJsXPdaZ1M75JxlCqAqelBdJzBa_qj/s640/6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFhXs417Fnfk9Ngu58Y-7CvHCeAzIYgyD0Enbjvqu0r-2YTYEpa79BXNrtn4Pcqn9a2bHIGDfIuZgErNjti-hx0srHdwA78Zg2yqpcL9T4LBLSLuqJsXPdaZ1M75JxlCqAqelBdJzBa_qj/s320/6.jpg" /></a></div><p>A lot of this is setting up my crew to be able to help me get what I need at the aid stations and get out as quickly as possible.</p><p>I share this mostly to show the planning that goes into a race like this. It should be noted, I did not enjoy this part of the race experience. We got to Arkansas on Thursday evening since the race started at 5pm on Friday. Most of the day Friday I spent actively trying to relax. Everything was packed and ready, Nate knew the plan, my friends were ready with their plans and while I was definitely nervous about the day, I also knew that as soon as I got to the trail everything will be fine.</p><p>And of course that is exactly what happened. My friend and I who trained together planned to run most if not all of the race together. We took off for the race and were full of smiles and ready to embark on 100 miles.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaFSQyhCnfU796lTGebY114K-Es_4VKDY2-Q2_DEebRgSPCBrZSTlOKRgbm8kysowK-9Oe0_2WhcgxTT8f2DFtqEdjGevRnGYaBfHWnKINwSjnxLXxfdDSkDQvQd9-8yt1R3y-VbPVTtWE/s640/5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaFSQyhCnfU796lTGebY114K-Es_4VKDY2-Q2_DEebRgSPCBrZSTlOKRgbm8kysowK-9Oe0_2WhcgxTT8f2DFtqEdjGevRnGYaBfHWnKINwSjnxLXxfdDSkDQvQd9-8yt1R3y-VbPVTtWE/s320/5.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgHexkKWa_AdYxhN66VDbUBWMFMP3QZCrVyQuY2gXEm7i0wKoidgc62ISaaWd6ty3eeLaaUhuKjJ0ZLNJXek9um2TtCz54NQyWxatgrkPz1MF_8igIxKNo2ZTu3m_6sILOhfmvZPmnfYI/s795/Photo3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="795" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgHexkKWa_AdYxhN66VDbUBWMFMP3QZCrVyQuY2gXEm7i0wKoidgc62ISaaWd6ty3eeLaaUhuKjJ0ZLNJXek9um2TtCz54NQyWxatgrkPz1MF_8igIxKNo2ZTu3m_6sILOhfmvZPmnfYI/s320/Photo3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZRKeP8WKV9ZxmPXpLuB0t4tKRMrXAyEEPG1fJmLN2e9vM_s-MYBH35X4dND71sn0hfFPP9SbEoSqC1Zo5hYtFjHyJ65y3vMKiINH5OkixG251znW6QEy-qKPd8_1FA5yDwElOfq0iD9G/s640/4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="428" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZRKeP8WKV9ZxmPXpLuB0t4tKRMrXAyEEPG1fJmLN2e9vM_s-MYBH35X4dND71sn0hfFPP9SbEoSqC1Zo5hYtFjHyJ65y3vMKiINH5OkixG251znW6QEy-qKPd8_1FA5yDwElOfq0iD9G/s320/4.jpg" /></a></div><p>The first 10 miles were kind of tough. My buddy and I didn’t say too much and finally when we did, we shared that we just couldn’t get into a rhythm. I wondered if I was eating too much. I rarely start a run at 5pm, so slamming 200-300 calories/hour after a full day of eating seemed to be causing some trouble. I backed off the eating and switched to water and it really helped.</p><p>We got to the first aid station way ahead of schedule, and it was great to see Nate and the boys. It was a quick turnaround and back out we went. It was nice to settle into a groove and the next 10 miles went by pretty well. But the nearly 2 days of straight rain, the insane amount of creek crossings, the ridiculous elevation and the constant mist made these overnight miles really challenging.</p><p>The next 20 miles were more of the same. If I learned anything from this experience of long slow miles it is that everything is temporary. If something hurt or when I struggled, it is so easy to quickly go to thoughts of wait I am only 25 miles in, how am I going to make it 90+ if I am already having this problem? But then before I know it, that thing has passed and I’m feeling strong. Everything is temporary, so you have to ride the roller coaster and enjoy when things are going well knowing it won’t last, and when things are hard, just keep going. Because that probably won’t last long either.</p><p>One thing I couldn’t seem to shake were my sore feet. I decided at mile 40 or so that I was going to change my socks and shoes at the next stop. I wanted my shoes with a little more cushion and the socks were constantly soaked from so many creek crossings. I love a good rainy run but man, without the opportunity to dry out my feet were really getting sore.</p><p>We got to a section that was 2 miles straight up, and 2 miles straight down. This was one of the toughest sections and was really challenging especially in the dark. This course was an out and back and while I tried to stay present and not go too far into the future, I have to admit it felt daunting to imagine doing that section again at mile 87.</p><p>At mile 42 I got fresh socks and shoes and felt a million times better. I was like a new woman! For three whole miles until we came to another creek. I stood there with my head down ready to cross and just really didn’t want to get my feet wet again. But I did. There really wasn’t another option.</p><p>As things were tough through the night, all I kept thinking was how amazing it was going to be when the sun came up, and I was right. There was a moment right around dawn when I stopped and looked around and took it all in. The mist, the rising sun, relishing in the absolute beauty that is in the forest. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. I had been awake for almost 22 hours by this point and was maybe 45 miles into the race. </p><p>Nate had the job of bringing me my hot tea at the morning aid station, which was at mile 47. I’m not sure I can put into words how wonderful that cup of tea was! I was surprised by how good I felt given the fact we had been running all night. My mental game was so strong. I had moments of doubt when my foot would twinge or when I let myself go too far into the future, but as long as I was able to stay present and deal with the bit of trail that was in front of me, I was golden.</p><p>Leaving that station would lead into the biggest stretch of miles between aid stations, and I knew I wouldn’t see Nate and the boys again until mile 58. I was still feeling strong and ready to take on this section that we expected to be the most runnable of the course.</p><p>I’m not exactly sure when it started to happen, but sometime shortly after a no-crew aid station at mile 50, my knee started to hurt. It was my left knee too, which unlike my right knee has never given me any problems. The pain came on fast and strong, and I tried all of my tricks that used to work on my right knee to no avail. </p><p>This is pain I know well. It is pain that I know will not go away. My friend tried hard to stay positive and give me tips to turn it around but I knew there was no way I could run. We power hiked and were making pretty good time but these were the miles that we were supposed to be making up for lost time on, and that just wasn’t happening.</p><p>He suggested I listen to music so I did, then we stopped on this bench and laughed because the fog was so thick we couldn’t enjoy what we knew was a beautiful view hiding in the dense fog. Shortly after he and I agreed that he needed to take off ahead of me to ensure he wouldn’t fall too far behind and miss cutoffs. I succumbed to the truth that I was likely not going to finish this race.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTLffcWmy2advmS23nfUCvDgwaL2bAd_3dIumC6DJ0Y33ru5dkCanZfbiu9FlFnoBfIIdJND77T6WYZtJwj8-QLUbK3L03-wsM0EPKutCS_-DcKTEfSoPqcP_Q_BZEfi6gC2SSzqzChdX/s640/Photo1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTLffcWmy2advmS23nfUCvDgwaL2bAd_3dIumC6DJ0Y33ru5dkCanZfbiu9FlFnoBfIIdJND77T6WYZtJwj8-QLUbK3L03-wsM0EPKutCS_-DcKTEfSoPqcP_Q_BZEfi6gC2SSzqzChdX/s320/Photo1.jpg" /></a></div><p>I got to Nate and the boys at the mile 58 aid station limping from a painful knee and blistered heels. I had fully convinced myself I was going to stop after 100k (62 miles), but when I saw the boys and decided to pick up my pacer, they talked me into going back out there and seeing what happens. It was nice to have some hope that maybe things would turnaround. </p><p>When I was sitting at the station I took off my socks and saw two nasty blisters on my heels. I taped one up and the other needed to be popped. My pacer said something about finding something to pop it with and I said no, I got it, and proceeded to tear a hole in the blister with my fingernail. I taped it up, put my socks and shoes back on, grabbed my trekking poles and hit the trail with an avocado sandwich in hand a my pacer by my side.</p><p>After the race, Nate told me that he and the boys got in the car and my 9yo said “soooo, did anyone actually see mommy pop the blister?” Apparently the grittiness of the ultrarunning world was a little more than my sons expected 😆</p><p>There was an aid station at mile 62, which would have been the 100k mark and my new goal, but there was no crew access. So if I dropped there, someone would have to drive me to my family at another aid station. I looked at my crew when I realized this and I said with gusto “I’m not getting a fu*king ride off of the trail. I will make it to mile 65.”</p><p>The 4 miles from 58-62 were really difficult. My knee had completely blow up and I couldn’t run at all. The downhills were excruciating and each step was more and more painful. Mentally though, I felt great. I was smiling, I was chatting with my pacer and while I had been awake for nearly 30 hours or so I was out of it but not delirious…yet.</p><p>At about 12pm Saturday at the mile 62 aid station I sat down for only the third time since 5pm the night before. My pacer had convinced me to let the station folks k-tape my knee to see if it would help. They gave me a peace sign necklace and pin and sent me on my way.</p><p>We made our way down the dirt road and came to a road crossing. We saw a vehicle coming and paused. That vehicle slowed to let us cross and I waved to say thanks. The person driving rolled her window down and waved. I look intently thinking I recognized her but I’m in a forest in Arkansas and have been awake forever, so I don’t think much of it. </p><p>Then the car door opened and she got out. So did the passenger. Suddenly I realized that it was two of my very dear friends and it clicked that they drove all the way to Arkansas to see me race. I was overcome with emotion and burst into tears. </p><p>I wrapped my arms around one of them and then the other and cried. I know people love me. My brain knows it but in that moment I felt a level of friendship love in my heart that I don’t think I’ve ever allowed myself to feel before. </p><p>These two women drove hours to get to me, to support me and to show me they believed in me. They told me how proud they were and I cried and said I didn’t think I was going to finish. They didn’t blink. They said it didn’t matter. They were miraculously in the absolutely perfect place at the absolutely perfect time. </p><p>So many things had to happen to place us in the same place at that moment. They were on their way to a restaurant that said it was closed but they wanted to see for sure. At the last minute I decided at the last aid station to have them tape my knee to see if that would help. I didn’t know I needed those hugs from these women in that moment, and thinking back it still brings me to tears. They had been texting me all day from Arkansas, and I had no idea they were right there with me. The whole time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPE7kg9xvk_VZ8MkGzuInUUSnKGpHiAbS6KO3CTyD9AJvRyqrSJKveSNeAY-iegIaOtITtQWhi9xOpB1tnOlANl-3PBtUjtJju0yCsajI5NLRo0oicDDdrYFYKbo8lreKh1S2Vjkzid6K/s640/3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxPE7kg9xvk_VZ8MkGzuInUUSnKGpHiAbS6KO3CTyD9AJvRyqrSJKveSNeAY-iegIaOtITtQWhi9xOpB1tnOlANl-3PBtUjtJju0yCsajI5NLRo0oicDDdrYFYKbo8lreKh1S2Vjkzid6K/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>I spent the next 2 miles having periods of crying over the craziness of seeing my girls in the middle of the forest. My buddy had taken off ahead of me and it was an out and back and I knew I would run into him eventually. When I did he was grinding up the hill toward us and I was so happy to see him looking so strong. I hugged him and said I was proud of him and wished him the best for the rest of his race. He was working so hard and looking so strong, I just knew he was going to finish.</p><p>It started to thunder and I really wanted to get to the aid station before it down poured but I just couldn’t move that quickly. I had slowed down to a 25-minute pace and couldn’t run at all. I made it to the mile 65 aid station about 45 minutes before cut-off. I would have to manage the next 35 miles at a 20-minute mile at a minimum to finish on time, and I couldn’t run. There was really nothing to consider. Stopping was the only option.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7-gKYQyxpaWLBxhFD9yYPOolAjtjjugl3Mp31z8slDmRPn_v_swcH-Pfb-X4Kwd3X6TUMqfe33IY55DkFyqzcLDA4apLCXFCYO7iNTHFY1nYPMtLOSecsaL1frTe0xYKsWCqyzwZWa1H/s640/Photo2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7-gKYQyxpaWLBxhFD9yYPOolAjtjjugl3Mp31z8slDmRPn_v_swcH-Pfb-X4Kwd3X6TUMqfe33IY55DkFyqzcLDA4apLCXFCYO7iNTHFY1nYPMtLOSecsaL1frTe0xYKsWCqyzwZWa1H/s320/Photo2.jpg" /></a></div><p>It took me a while for my head to catch up with the idea of stopping. My adrenaline was in full effect and my whole body minus my knee wanted to keep moving. It took hours for me to settle down.</p><p>We went back to the cabin and I showered and tried to relax. Friends had been sending me positive and uplifting messages all day, which was so incredibly wonderful. Each time a message showed up on my watch I felt the love. It really helped push me through. I updated friends that I had dropped and tried to rest. But I just couldn’t do it. Not with my friend still out there trying to grind out 100 miles.</p><p>I told Nate I really wanted to meet him at the next aid station so Nate helped me figure out what time we thought he would be there. I know I surprised him when I got there and it was so great to see how strong he looked. Plus I got to see the second best part of a race like this, the view from the crew. I have crewed this friend and others at long races and honestly it is just as much fun as racing. </p><p>Also, my girls were in Arkansas! I called them and told them where to meet us at my friend’s mile 87. We hung out on the side of a highway in the misting rain for a while when he came and went through the station. I was having some serious bouts of delirium. Each time a car drove by the light would reflect in such a way that I thought a car was parked on the side of the road, then it was gone. None of this was scary and it was actually kind of cool. It was hard to tell what was real and what was my eyes playing tricks on me. My girls also got me the best little care package. Goodness I just love them so much 💗</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsfr5aPZaxoas3HGkHGCHDjGLZectR4hvlDadt1cytO318-X_XHPlYbKOdMBcQ1yIGS-AeLo8j8Y1kkKd5dVEJiXrAYMnuycbxmRhO0F5yaD0LRtjUIurIbFYgc5NQwlcCsQFaG8PhH1q/s640/14.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDsfr5aPZaxoas3HGkHGCHDjGLZectR4hvlDadt1cytO318-X_XHPlYbKOdMBcQ1yIGS-AeLo8j8Y1kkKd5dVEJiXrAYMnuycbxmRhO0F5yaD0LRtjUIurIbFYgc5NQwlcCsQFaG8PhH1q/s320/14.jpg" /></a></div><p>He had 13 miles left and we knew it would be about 4 hours or so, so we went back to the cabin and I got a couple of hours of sleep. This was about 9pm on Saturday and I had been up since 8am or so on Friday. </p><p>Nate’s alarm went off at 12:30am and he checked the tracker and saw my friend would finish around 1am. We drove to the finish line and got there with about 10 minutes to spare before he finished. Seeing him finish was a really great end to a pretty great day.</p><p>Sunday was to be our last day in Arkansas so we tried to make the most of it and drove to Hot Springs to see the sights and grab lunch. I was sore, but it was manageable. The blisters and sore knee was the worst but otherwise I felt pretty great considering I just ran 65 miles.</p><p>We ate the most incredible pizza, played mini golf, explored the town and made the most of our little mini vacation. I was feeling pretty good about the whole weekend and enjoyed this time with my little family.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPQKyw2YkrCKSY9nvp-LBwowxopQw4yXvYAinIOHSs0gXs3ZYaQkvBlpsPYC7hG0-CQSFHbJxewihAu6XalxcG4AMR83QJgc0skAqA9olgJA04whGHCLSHsCKJMhhp_FIijw5N2GZaLWJ/s640/9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPQKyw2YkrCKSY9nvp-LBwowxopQw4yXvYAinIOHSs0gXs3ZYaQkvBlpsPYC7hG0-CQSFHbJxewihAu6XalxcG4AMR83QJgc0skAqA9olgJA04whGHCLSHsCKJMhhp_FIijw5N2GZaLWJ/s320/9.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTzFzez9zOb4vMOd8Buim1cDRdKItFlgemSQlaqhUHPlqYtOZ54t6s-2bfEUhQqyxnJ3NYpHwip2i0OJq74H6WpOF6OeNhmyOPk-SMR5C4Yxp3vdS-5aOPmWbugOn66hBmGfeECwPsTOB/s640/8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTzFzez9zOb4vMOd8Buim1cDRdKItFlgemSQlaqhUHPlqYtOZ54t6s-2bfEUhQqyxnJ3NYpHwip2i0OJq74H6WpOF6OeNhmyOPk-SMR5C4Yxp3vdS-5aOPmWbugOn66hBmGfeECwPsTOB/s320/8.jpg" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_M6Uwk2dO6uN08dFMOKsikBVg7RHzb-Y3yvIgOB509GJPw62H1Psdv-Sh4kXD5_nrAn-LjBSdM9BIPE35SBQUisKNchsEMZUkqbdYjJu8nOo7P6hit1Dx8focyLn08n1VlGx2ZUwGUaL/s640/11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_M6Uwk2dO6uN08dFMOKsikBVg7RHzb-Y3yvIgOB509GJPw62H1Psdv-Sh4kXD5_nrAn-LjBSdM9BIPE35SBQUisKNchsEMZUkqbdYjJu8nOo7P6hit1Dx8focyLn08n1VlGx2ZUwGUaL/s320/11.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiA6zfH4q5dD9GkN8iLTylE_0Vkg5ap-sZfEhpCtEEzyZlXXdHI71MIRDHwChOg8Rguv5lBYXVVlA1rRSrOnBvgQLrM9NIB8mrKh33hkB0gf4tm2wxEIaQ4sozgzDpdpnc3_hGic5iaGhU/s640/12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiA6zfH4q5dD9GkN8iLTylE_0Vkg5ap-sZfEhpCtEEzyZlXXdHI71MIRDHwChOg8Rguv5lBYXVVlA1rRSrOnBvgQLrM9NIB8mrKh33hkB0gf4tm2wxEIaQ4sozgzDpdpnc3_hGic5iaGhU/s320/12.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVHuXi8j0-1aJxtjbv-P7BbPo0fXJUWPWumkcqMTNQT4FC6Tq7dCgY8ALZ7YPXu7-tQNRwIYraBV6KLEL-1iqMwSbPkpVqw6bvpmQbPXWUdDj2w5b_aoS8u-1ks-ExID47278VlDs89Qgf/s640/10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVHuXi8j0-1aJxtjbv-P7BbPo0fXJUWPWumkcqMTNQT4FC6Tq7dCgY8ALZ7YPXu7-tQNRwIYraBV6KLEL-1iqMwSbPkpVqw6bvpmQbPXWUdDj2w5b_aoS8u-1ks-ExID47278VlDs89Qgf/s320/10.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEqTQcS9NzP_ijeP8GcuAwolw7Sm8PHb_TqrAC189drM6tXJruvcbdwCPwXKlIkm-Pv3lZa6rxaM_Ui6D_3PdgJ2jN8mMPRjV709CqQ0AygaINkCc_n-3__IxhWPwW62lcSK6l2AuqGEF/s640/13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOEqTQcS9NzP_ijeP8GcuAwolw7Sm8PHb_TqrAC189drM6tXJruvcbdwCPwXKlIkm-Pv3lZa6rxaM_Ui6D_3PdgJ2jN8mMPRjV709CqQ0AygaINkCc_n-3__IxhWPwW62lcSK6l2AuqGEF/s320/13.jpg" /></a></div><p>Then Monday hit and everything changed. The deep disappointment set in. I had a really good hard cry in the shower and just felt so incredibly sad that the race didn’t go the way I hoped it would go. My head was positive and realistic and knew I had to quit and not finish, but my heart was so sad.</p><p>Like everything else about this experience, that feeling didn’t last long either. Bottom line is, it’s just running. We trail runners see a distance we want to try and cover and we sign up for the race. We toe the line with no idea how the whole thing is going to end up. It’s uncertain and unpredictable and no matter how hard you train you cannot be sure how it will end up. To me, that’s part of the draw. If we knew the outcome was certain, it would lose its desire.</p><p>The nearly unattainable is that much sweeter when it is attained. Or so I have heard 😊</p><p>If I learned anything on this adventure it is that the 100 mile distance is well within my reach. I’ll face it again later this year filled with more experience and more training and hopefully a buckle in hand. And maybe even a new-to-the-sport crew! Nate and my girls now have a new interest in crewing and pacing an ultra. I should have warned them that it is definitely addicting and contagious!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVQaw991qQZfTpR68RZXqOQ5o0umA1MomOtnt-l82u6fvTgB6V0hkkZKc7xz0z839uKnqis6ke3MOY5OWax3j9FKUTiTw9gDANu4sK9EJLw9qT5I-n_MsNCYUh2ezgT48xbVo2CzMCXzb/s640/1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVQaw991qQZfTpR68RZXqOQ5o0umA1MomOtnt-l82u6fvTgB6V0hkkZKc7xz0z839uKnqis6ke3MOY5OWax3j9FKUTiTw9gDANu4sK9EJLw9qT5I-n_MsNCYUh2ezgT48xbVo2CzMCXzb/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-13996177349295345192021-02-21T21:22:00.002-06:002021-02-21T21:25:01.996-06:00Am I ready to run 100 miles?<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCgSHO3S4lZBT0C-QsDbvZNz4tVgBcUEN9pxFfzxUsWuPhnsxHpHBYWisW02EBJPbRbHWR_waFGxAioLoaxDFaLAcgHOngTGTwU3NMHO7ZeefUsuU6I9s_zUVJM-Yxp56TstCy0d1mwOV/s828/Photo2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="804" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCgSHO3S4lZBT0C-QsDbvZNz4tVgBcUEN9pxFfzxUsWuPhnsxHpHBYWisW02EBJPbRbHWR_waFGxAioLoaxDFaLAcgHOngTGTwU3NMHO7ZeefUsuU6I9s_zUVJM-Yxp56TstCy0d1mwOV/s320/Photo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p>Here I am, heading into race week deep in the throes of the taper crazies and I have to ask myself … am I ready to run 100 miles?</p><p>Back in August of 2020, after weeks of talking and considering, my friend finally talked me into signing up to run 100 miles. As I signed in to UltraSignup, found the race and clicked through all of the prompts to register, I was filled with invigorating excitement to be reaching for something well outside of my comfort zone. It didn’t take much time though before I was met with an enormous amount of self-doubt.</p><p>You see, as a runner there is nothing quite like signing up for the next distance. As an ultrarunner, that often means the next stretch goal is pretty lofty. New runners often follow the route of 5k, 10k, half marathon, and full marathon. An ultramarathon is anything beyond a full marathon or 26.2 miles.</p><p>By the time I was sitting there in my car with my phone in hand, with UltraSignup pulled up and ready to take the plunge I had completed a handful of 50k races and one 50 mile run. I suppose I could have signed up for a 100k race but I instead went right for the big one and signed up to run 100 miles in 34 hours.</p><p>When I first started trail running and would run with seasoned ultrarunners, I would hear them talk of their 100 mile race plans and adventures. I couldn’t even imagine what would make someone want to run 100 miles. It was so far away from anything I ever thought I would try to do. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t think I had ever believed I could do something so big and challenging. Sometimes it takes a friend to convince you that you are strong and that anything is possible if you commit and put in the work.</p><p>So that is what I have done. Miles upon miles of training. Hours and hours in the woods, grinding out intentional practice and training growing stronger and more confident at each mile.</p><p>It wasn’t all fun though. Deciding to try to do something I have never done before is a level of vulnerability that consistently made me question myself and my ability to really achieve this big stretch goal I was working toward. All these hours on the trail were hours away from my family. Hours squeezed in before a workday. When training ramped up there were plenty of times I cried on the trail, questioned my reasoning and made me wonder if all of this was worth it. Never once though did I think about stopping. </p><p>Each time I questioned myself and my reasons behind running this distance, I was met with something that helped me center myself and appreciate what this journey means to me. I am learning that staying comfortable where success is certain and failure is unlikely is predictable but it sure isn’t very much fun. </p><p>I listened to podcasts and audible books and sought out as much information as possible about dreaming big, preparing for the unexpected, living a life of intention and not only learning but really integrating the fact that everything we have ever wanted is on the other side of fear.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzM8KJ3uiK0a2L-vvtbj9TojScCRKR5jROTZp901xhtMGVDZ8nAR_DCLOkW2hyphenhyphenIJP0gZ9x3dEuEDPbg8aIzAjlF-wh7eV2sSnPMSnZLnJr5qSrXROlTdouvet56KSjDrogiY1U62drV7z/s828/Photo1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRzM8KJ3uiK0a2L-vvtbj9TojScCRKR5jROTZp901xhtMGVDZ8nAR_DCLOkW2hyphenhyphenIJP0gZ9x3dEuEDPbg8aIzAjlF-wh7eV2sSnPMSnZLnJr5qSrXROlTdouvet56KSjDrogiY1U62drV7z/s320/Photo1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Between when I signed up for the race and today, I have ran over 1200 miles. Each mile was intentional with the long-term goal of 100 miles in mind. Some miles were easy and fun and lighthearted, and some were a full struggle ending with tears as I trudged back to my car. Running into friends on trails and keeping so many solo to avoid catching covid as I inched closer to race day. These 7ish months of training have been an adventure from the start. An intense journey to see what I am really capable of.</p><div style="text-align: left;">Some things I learned during the 1200 miles of training include:<br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Something always hurt. Yes, always. Thankfully it was never an injury so I just kept going.</li><li>My husband and my boys are always my biggest supporters and cheerleaders.</li><li>More than anything, I am so incredibly grateful for this body that continues to rise to what I expect of it.</li><li>I love trail running. I mean, I really love it. Running connects me to the world and the ground in a way that I never expected. You know how at the end of the movie Almost Famous when the bandaid tries to explain what it's like to love one tiny piece of music SO MUCH that it hurts? That is how much I love running in the woods. So much it hurts. Or maybe that's just because of that first point up there 😄</li><li>Fighting with a friend can actually strengthen a friendship, if it is built on trust and respect.</li><li>I love to eat lots and lots (and lots) of food. Especially Anna-safe pizza and Chipotle.</li><li>Gratitude is the antidote to pain. If something is painful, look for the gratitude, it's there. I promise. </li></ul></div><div style="text-align: left;">No matter how the race plays out, this journey to get to the starting line of my first 100 mile race has filled my heart with so much joy. Spending time working toward something I believe in, that builds me up and helps me grow as a person, a partner, a parent and as a friend will forever be one of the very best things I ever decided to do for myself. </div><p>I’ve put in the work, now all I have to do is get in the arena and finish this damn thing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bOIgQpbUAmHBtoVdiS04thMga_ZoR4CqjA746z84ysBBsdHIUoAiz9BLYqWzgazNgS2BxxXQWPq-4aPNw3LQCr5zHE0C6tDXX4jmBwv0ehcV0bJrU82Df3ZsOSjpQMqNin0JkoM2PTn3/s449/Photo4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="414" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bOIgQpbUAmHBtoVdiS04thMga_ZoR4CqjA746z84ysBBsdHIUoAiz9BLYqWzgazNgS2BxxXQWPq-4aPNw3LQCr5zHE0C6tDXX4jmBwv0ehcV0bJrU82Df3ZsOSjpQMqNin0JkoM2PTn3/s320/Photo4.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-41389167303242589152020-10-10T15:50:00.000-05:002020-10-10T15:50:50.844-05:00Tenderness, Right Below the Surface<p>My friend J, who I have known for almost two years through my job, died from ALS about 2 weeks ago. I wrote most of what I am sharing shortly after he died, but I have been hesitant to share it here. For some reason I planned to sock it away and close this chapter quietly.</p><p>I am not sure why I am sharing it now. I love to write out my thoughts and I think it somehow creates closure for me to open up and share what I’m feeling. Perhaps sharing his story allows me to feel that others might know what an incredible person he was even though no one reading this knew him. Maybe sharing what’s on my heart will help carrying the weight of loss a little lighter. Maybe it’s all of these things for me. </p><p>We can look at death as a relief or a tragedy, in depth or shallow, anticipated or a surprise and we can dive into what it means and how we should approach it and over complicate the whole conversation. Or we can say the simple and uncomplicated truth: my friend was here and now he is gone, and that makes me very sad. I honestly just miss my friend.</p><p>Right before his funeral, I read <a href="https://www.openfuturelearning.org/blog/">this article</a> about end of life care. These two statements really stood out to me and spoke to why I feel so honored to be in the role I am in:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Providing end-of-life care is a privilege that is hard to choose. It is to choose to go down into the dark with another person, down into the deepest mysteries of the human experience. It is to share in the most difficult journey of a person’s life, a journey from which only one of you will return.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>This is where all our work comes to its final fruition. This is where all the labels drop away, and we meet one another simply as humans, sharing the joy and grief, the gratitude and regret that is the common lot of mortals at their common end.</i></p><p>So here are some words about my friend, J.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5T_2wxzk2siP8VZ449Jf9qrYz-47MWgME85MAwltvt1fnJncR_NquzRHDWqGGBFwe-ksEbC5e-uDi8rJFVCvk5t1WphHagJ_dC4zOplI1umUNNaMVJ92IoTEtGb1vMn348ZVC8ZPgcZf/s1023/IMG_1992.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5T_2wxzk2siP8VZ449Jf9qrYz-47MWgME85MAwltvt1fnJncR_NquzRHDWqGGBFwe-ksEbC5e-uDi8rJFVCvk5t1WphHagJ_dC4zOplI1umUNNaMVJ92IoTEtGb1vMn348ZVC8ZPgcZf/s320/IMG_1992.jpg" /></a></div><p>Working with people who are dying is a privilege I hold very dear. When a person learns the news that they have a disease like ALS where there is no treatment and no cure, it is a traumatic experience. Relationships that begin in these types of situations can be very powerful. J and I connected immediately and had some of the deepest and most profound conversations about life, death, the meaning of it all and how end of life is for people. These are very deep and emotional conversations that made us close friends and confidants right from the beginning.</p><p>By the time I met J he had already lost enough use of his legs to need a power wheelchair, so I‘ve never actually seen him walk. He zipped around in that chair and still accessed all areas of his home thanks to his home-made ramps. During our first meeting we sat in his kitchen and looked out his back window at his large back yard, and as though we had known each other our whole lives, he began telling me the incredible loss he felt from no longer being able to do things like mow his lawn. He was so appreciative of his friends who showed up for him and completed tasks like this, but the loss he felt from no longer being able to do these things himself stung him to his core.</p><p>I remember having some preconceived notions about J. He was rough around the edges and seemed to take no bs from anyone. He was a construction worker type of man’s man with a hard outer core, so to see him so hurt by the loss of being able to care for things like his own lawn showed me a tenderness about him that I then saw every single time we visited. I feel so honored that he would share that part of himself with me.</p><p>It wasn’t long after that when I visited again that J was so excited to show me the adapted lawn mower he and his buddies designed. He said his friend took the racing seat right out of his car to make this lawn mower. I remember thinking how incredibly dangerous this contraption was. It didn’t matter though, once a person knows they are going to die, I mean we all know we are going to die eventually but once a person REALLY knows they are going to die, risk just has a different impact.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUpR6uQZvIK2XXuyWxwiVSz6_yIdzsBng8yfa3SB3yxq58DxANRw8nDpjlh9ZQhN5OMMU18UdG_enTNMhHFQnSsELk9LKOJnO7wqFm9Tnx1NuMxjnRYktQYBZ0DmmwFEEg5kAYrF2fNA0/s750/IMG_2012.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="562" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUpR6uQZvIK2XXuyWxwiVSz6_yIdzsBng8yfa3SB3yxq58DxANRw8nDpjlh9ZQhN5OMMU18UdG_enTNMhHFQnSsELk9LKOJnO7wqFm9Tnx1NuMxjnRYktQYBZ0DmmwFEEg5kAYrF2fNA0/s320/IMG_2012.JPG" /></a></div><p>Another time I was at J’s house a buddy of his called collect from jail. He was on speaker phone so I heard most of their conversation, which wasn’t about anything in particular. When they hung up J said to me that he bets that was the first call I heard from jail. I laughed and said no and proceeded to tell him about two childhood friends who had also spent some time in the same city jail who used to call me collect regularly. I think he had some preconceived notions about me, too. And clearly I’ve always been drawn to those who, ahem, color outside the lines.</p><p>Earlier this year I visited with J when he was really sick. His significant other and I didn’t think he was going to make it through the weekend. He asked me what I thought happened to a person when they died. I told him that I wasn’t sure. I added that that every person I have ever been close to in my life who died, and there have been many, have visited me in a dream not long afterwards. Even my pets who I have lost visit me there. I told him I had no doubt that he would visit me too.</p><p>He pulled through that sickness and I was able to see him a few more times. One time, we were visiting at his kitchen table and his dad came to see him. I had never met his dad before so I was excited to hear some stories as we visited and J and his dad reminisced. J told a story about when he was a really little boy and he got angry with his brother about putting too much syrup on his waffles. Apparently J preferred lots of butter that fills all of the waffle squares and very little syrup. He was mad that his waffles had too much syrup and this somehow ended up with his brother convincing him to throw the waffle right at his mother’s face. He got in big trouble for that and sent to his room. His dad then came home and helped to ease the situation. It was a fun time hearing this story and I hope that his dad was able to enjoy the reminiscing, too.</p><p>I have worked with and met and counseled many people with ALS and they have impacted my life in many different ways. Knowing J has made an impact on me that I am having trouble putting into words. I think of him when I butter my waffles. I think of him when I talk with my other man’s man rough around the edges friends and wonder if their tenderness is right under the surface like J’s was. I think about the beautiful intimacy that developed between J and his significant other during quiet moments of caregiving that happened when no one else was around. I think about the joy and grief that go along with knowing I never would have met J if it weren’t for ALS, and knowing it was ALS that took him away from all of us who cared about him.</p><p>So for now I will be comforted by these memories and carry J’s spirit with me as I continue to fight to find a cure for this disease. I will wait patiently for him to visit me in that dream, where I will see him walking for the very first time, without the pain and loss that came along with ALS.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----------</p><p>I know friends will wonder if I am okay and I really am. I have been anticipating J's death since the moment I met him. It's just part of the job. It is what I signed up for and while some losses are harder than others, I absolutely love what I do. I will never regret being invited into this time with J. I will look back and feel grateful for having him in my life, and will feel sad when I think about never seeing him again. And such is life, right? Feeling all the feelings, taking it all in. Laughing the laughs and crying the tears, all with equal zest.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>"If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special." ~Jim Valvano </i></p><div><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-80345604565695168912020-09-15T17:39:00.000-05:002020-09-15T17:39:02.445-05:00On Becoming Untamed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhza-jHeKr943rOjHNB_pymTfjGE321qctS6Di3IfXPnAJIaaozIt09s1SeqhZFtRVj21SggWL6dzoP0JOE_L8zQq43gh-RA4KJ_iVQjH3_B7-uLz7vppR-QjDc7a_DFYrYU9_kFAc_DE-b/s572/IMG_1686.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="572" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhza-jHeKr943rOjHNB_pymTfjGE321qctS6Di3IfXPnAJIaaozIt09s1SeqhZFtRVj21SggWL6dzoP0JOE_L8zQq43gh-RA4KJ_iVQjH3_B7-uLz7vppR-QjDc7a_DFYrYU9_kFAc_DE-b/s320/IMG_1686.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Have you read Glennon Doyle's new book Untamed? If so, the rest of this blog will make sense. If not, and actually even if you have, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/178909129709/posts/10158647913859710/?vh=e&extid=J2k0xu87pSjv9GiB&d=n">check out this link</a> to watch an animated video that accompanies the words of the intro to the book.</p><p>Like right now, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/178909129709/posts/10158647913859710/?vh=e&extid=J2k0xu87pSjv9GiB&d=n">go watch it</a>. Seriously. It's only 5ish minutes and it will explain this idea of becoming untamed better than I can.</p><p style="text-align: center;">💬💭💬💭</p><p>Amazing, right? Whew, I can sure relate to Tabitha. It makes me wonder...is my wild hiding under there somewhere?</p><p>I am going to spend this blog digging into some of what this book has done for me, and will share a few biggish things I have done so far on my journey to become untamed.</p><p>The timing of this book and of this idea is just perfect for me. Do I wish I had these thoughts earlier in my life? Sure, but I don't know if my 20-year-old self would have been able or willing to hear them. </p><p>Before I even read the book, I was making some changes in my life that felt like I was moving past some of the rules I had made for myself and was pushing past some of the limitations I and the world had created. Some people looking in might see these changes as a mid-life crisis. Maybe a mid-life awakening? Or even better, a mid-life untaming.</p><p>Am I even in mid-life? When I was younger I never really pictured myself as getting older. I guess if I live to 80, turning 40 is my mid-mark so I think I’ll just go with it.</p><p>My almost 12-year-old son and I talk often about the idea of a mid-life crisis. I added a few tattoos to my body in the last year, and he asked me if this was evidence of my mid-life crisis. I never really thought much about it, but after recently turning 41, I have been thinking about this idea of a mid-life crisis. </p><p>When I was younger and thought of people going through a mid-life crisis I pictured some variation of an older man in a convertible or a woman whose clothes looked too young. Basically anyone who appeared to be trying to desperately hold onto their quickly fleeting youth.</p><p>These are all stereotypes but it is what I envisioned, and is likely what my son is envisioning as well. </p><p>When I turned 40, many people told me that I was entering the best decade yet. Sure I believed them, but I don’t think I really understood the level of development and self-exploration that would occur in such a quick time as what occurred in my 41st year. </p><p>In my 20s, I remember feeling scared and desperate for an understanding of what life would be for me. Having never imagined myself living very long, I yearned for some predictability and knowledge about what life had in store. I’ve always had a sense of adventure, but at some point in my life, fear took over and I spent a lot of time afraid. Afraid to try new things, to travel too far, to explore the unknown and to even change a well established job. Luckily, I met a man who made me feel safe and encouraged me to explore. Without him, I don't know who I would be today.</p><p>In my 30s, our boys were little and dominated my life. It was a struggle to balance being a mom with big career goals. At age 34, I left a comfortable job for one with more challenges and took on running. Running, and more specifically trail running, opened a world to me that allowed me to be strong, and fit, and to forge friendships and go on adventures I never would have done otherwise. It took me three years of running before I would run on a trail by myself. THREE YEARS! I was chipping away at my desire for adventure, but was still very hidden under my fear.</p><p>On my 39th birthday, <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/09/happy-birthday-anna-you-have-er-had.html">I was diagnosed with cervical cancer</a>. Nothing rocks a person’s world like an illness, particularly the big C. Going through that experience helped me understand the preciousness of life. It helped me to no longer take anything for granted. It helped me look at my own life and demand more from myself. More vulnerability, more risks, more opportunities to live and love in this world. I left a job and started the one that feels like my calling. It is difficult and challenging and keeps me always looking at what it is I am going to do with my one wild and precious life.</p><p>After I turned 40, many things just came together for me. I'm excelling in my running, I find my job challenging and fulfilling, I am growing into who I am meant to be. And, as if it was a part of some bigger plan, the book Untamed came into my life. Like her, I have spent my life shrinking and making myself small in order to keep others comfortable.</p><p style="text-align: center;">From the book: <i>"Isn't it supposed to be more beautiful than this?"</i></p><p>I have a beautiful life. One that is filled with a husband who loves me and that I love back. With two young sons that challenge me and help me grow as I help them grow right along with me. I have adventures, and challenges and love and acceptance. I am happy, down to my core.</p><p>And...I also see the ways in which I have shrunk myself to keep others comfortable. I have abandoned myself in friendships and rooms and conversations to keep the peace. I have failed to fully embrace the parts of myself that might not be exactly what the world expects from a woman like me, and I am working toward changing that.</p><p>These are some things I have done so far on this journey of becoming untamed. Or what I have done so far in my mid-life crisis. It's likely one or the other. Or maybe both. It's probably all just semantics anyway 😊</p><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">I bought the Jeep.</span></b></p><p>For as long as I can remember, I wanted to drive a Jeep Wrangler. Never did I ever consider actually buying one though. These were the messages in my head regarding purchasing anything outside of what I saw as “appropriate” for me. “Who do you think you are? Stay small. Drive something practical that doesn’t attract attention. Sure you have the money, but be smart. That is too flashy. That's irresponsible.”</p><p>As I thought through this option, and with the encouragement of all of my boys, I changed the narrative and bought the damn Jeep. I also answered those thoughts that were in my head. “Who do you think you are? I am a woman who does what the hell she wants. Drive what you want, lady. Spending the money is smart, you earned it, enjoy it. And for god's sake have some fun.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K89SBrdTNZNUSV16jW5-_RzN2ZLy4L0XrcAExVbhNmGkLb0-txt_6b22A3wl8AewpOhEh1Cf9sf2_cKgQlzaJG17Ms1UbsvVoWSFXNLbRE0yMmyXCzupTfizaHEBwdZbiC-jglLH1iFG/s2048/IMG_6670.JPG" 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/AVvXsEg_K89SBrdTNZNUSV16jW5-_RzN2ZLy4L0XrcAExVbhNmGkLb0-txt_6b22A3wl8AewpOhEh1Cf9sf2_cKgQlzaJG17Ms1UbsvVoWSFXNLbRE0yMmyXCzupTfizaHEBwdZbiC-jglLH1iFG/s320/IMG_6670.JPG" /></a></div><p><b style="font-size: large;">I wear the bikini.</b></p><p>I remember vividly when I was 22 years old some friends and I went on a trip to Colorado to see a 3-night run of Widespread Panic shows. During one afternoon, a few girlfriends were swimming in the pool. They asked if I was going to swim and I told them I was not, and that I was not comfortable in a swimsuit. They asked “even around us?” Yes, even around these friends of mine I couldn’t get past my own body shame and self-consciousness to enjoy the pool with my friends. I just want to go back and hug that little 22-year-old girl. </p><p>I am 41 years old and I wear a bikini to the pool every weekend. Even when I am bloated from too many carbs, or when I am feeling fat because we just feel that way sometimes. I wear a bikini because I like the feeling of the water and the sun on my stomach and because the ones that cover my stomach feel binding. I changed the imagined narrative of others from “who does she think she is” to “look at her, if she can do that so can I”.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWo8yHnLCOFgigHg50i69GdCk4N2F5aL2ORU_onu0pe3bd_wGhQNUfunOiyuweYjr8gLfwgTw8xsYl_ml4f2Q1j1Qu_r787Gd53FD68jfp-8l8YAG3RUyq0tERssLUwCLs6Zgj8fW3LD4/s2048/IMG_1022.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1822" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWo8yHnLCOFgigHg50i69GdCk4N2F5aL2ORU_onu0pe3bd_wGhQNUfunOiyuweYjr8gLfwgTw8xsYl_ml4f2Q1j1Qu_r787Gd53FD68jfp-8l8YAG3RUyq0tERssLUwCLs6Zgj8fW3LD4/s320/IMG_1022.jpg" /></a></div><p><b style="font-size: large;">I pissed someone off.</b></p><p>Oh man, this has been a hard one for me. I am a recovering people-pleaser. I have spent my life not only sensing what others are feeling, but often actually FEELING what others are feeling. So I can instantly tell when something I have said bothers a person. The body language, the change in eye contact, the way they hold their arms or shift their body. I can just tell. So in most conversations I can tell and adjust what I am saying to influence this. In a way, to control their reaction by adjusting mine. To say this is exhausting is an understatement. To say this is inauthentic should be obvious.</p><p>I managed to piss someone off so badly that I have been deleted and blocked from a trail running group with which I have participated in for many years. I clearly made the person in control of this group pretty angry. It’s funny, while getting and staying on someone’s bad side is an unfamiliar happenstance for me, knowing I stood up for something I believe in makes me feel incredibly strong. And a little feisty 😎</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAyOuVyrRSoinzUx7orOof2u5BuV_S5DlUmbPMPqzaupl83iO2QEQfZTXemaWlrnr5Se0JJBsvHZ2kKFVsBBrqSOzCVBP122GDAz0OwZkPPGEOnxaJQqZ1x-lkUHZvWrPpaHge3CyhTIf7/s1080/IMG_1667.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAyOuVyrRSoinzUx7orOof2u5BuV_S5DlUmbPMPqzaupl83iO2QEQfZTXemaWlrnr5Se0JJBsvHZ2kKFVsBBrqSOzCVBP122GDAz0OwZkPPGEOnxaJQqZ1x-lkUHZvWrPpaHge3CyhTIf7/s320/IMG_1667.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b style="font-size: large;">I got the tattoo(s).</b></div><p>When I was in college and about 18 years old, I went to a small head shop with some friends with plans to get a tattoo. I knew I wanted a sun/moon combination and saw one in a book of tattoo photos I liked. I told the artist that was the one I wanted. With an attitude I heard as shaming he told me that the one in the book was special for that person, so I needed to find something that was special for me and come back another time. Looking back this was actually pretty good advice, but as a scared and self-conscious 18-year-old, I heard this as shaming and was really embarrassed. I wanted tattoos so badly, but this artist’s voice echoed in my head and I just froze in indecision. This and the fact that my sister had many tattoos, which were mostly not accepted by those around me, I stuffed any desire for a tattoo deep down under a pile of shame and understanding that I needed to stay small, not flashy, and by all means keep those around me comfortable.</p><p>Over the years I got a tattoo here and there, but as I approached 40 through now at 41, I have had 5 tattoos added with more on the horizon. I found an artist who has taken the time to get to know me and understand me, who can take what I see and make it my own, so it isn’t copied off of someone in a book. I consider this artist a friend. One who sees me and embraces and understands my desire to add art to my body. Also, I get tattoos because I am a grown ass woman and I do what the hell I want.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7k9ARt32e_7mLb5-Wt8lv0jNKct9cZeCbmtJ47v9VE8eFe1yZ83E7kjY59KFFyaY_KDZg3bC08An5rAOppP97psd8cxETwVtsB1SyqNyTblJVKNcJjv-axVWQ75-xHO2XyV4-PDEJIOnS/s2048/IMG_6610.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7k9ARt32e_7mLb5-Wt8lv0jNKct9cZeCbmtJ47v9VE8eFe1yZ83E7kjY59KFFyaY_KDZg3bC08An5rAOppP97psd8cxETwVtsB1SyqNyTblJVKNcJjv-axVWQ75-xHO2XyV4-PDEJIOnS/s320/IMG_6610.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Sky Was Yellow and the Sun Was Blue</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span>Tattoo Credit: <a href="http://ragtimetattoo.com/prickly-pear/" target="_blank">Ryan Henerey at Ragtime Tattoo</a></span></i></div><p><b><span style="font-size: medium;">I signed up for the race {I am doing the thing that scares me}</span></b></p><p>I registered to run a 100 mile race. At first the decision whether or not to sign up was looming over my head and with my natural tendency to overthink everything, I was again frozen in indecision. What it comes down to is this: it’s just running. That's it. So much of what I was thinking and overthinking was excuse after excuse of why I thought I wouldn’t succeed. Ultimately, I think was scared of failing. Or actually, maybe I was thinking "who does she think she is to think that she can actually run 100 miles?"</p><p>The truth is I have no idea if I can finish a 100-mile race and I sure am excited to see if I can. I didn’t know if I could finish a 50k or a 50-miler but I did both and felt pretty incredible the whole time. That’s the thing, every time I have stretched myself beyond what I think I am capable of, I surprise myself. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCBsduFGxrLKq1P80eE8pNo5C9cocZhNKCuxjdk-WDgYQg5paJHG5n8NEFzVoiOWzW3JGe7QH1q8HOKsbpLS6NfgYNCs8q_o8Yv2tUvd0TUk4csjn7CNcZ_7dC7p5xFb1z2Xe2hw14eJn/s833/IMG_1605.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="833" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCBsduFGxrLKq1P80eE8pNo5C9cocZhNKCuxjdk-WDgYQg5paJHG5n8NEFzVoiOWzW3JGe7QH1q8HOKsbpLS6NfgYNCs8q_o8Yv2tUvd0TUk4csjn7CNcZ_7dC7p5xFb1z2Xe2hw14eJn/s320/IMG_1605.jpg" /></a></div><p><b style="font-size: large;">I have made a promise to never again abandon myself.</b></p><p><span>As a life-long perfectionist and empath, I have spent my life keenly aware of the emotions of those around me, and of my ability to manage the emotions of others. I have felt responsible for others' emotions, and put myself in a position to influence those emotions and to help others “feel better” often to my own detriment. I am so used to reading the room and adjusting myself and my needs to meet the needs of others, I usually do it without even noticing.</span></p><p><span>As the awareness of my tendency to do this became more apparent this past year I decided - no more. Glennon's book is a workbook for those of us who have been conditioned to shrink and fit in and to keep those around us comfortable even to our own detriment. This will always be a struggle for me, one that I am fully committing to.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38x_7LyRDjY_t23tbDacIedg-44rdyoI07lB4b_MxQuvqACRLyFtgeVDOMDY4sS6hpIk1puONrZoIhLWAMUZXy9-YfxpvOe6ibJG9fANN7IlDi-v7izWlgKCmsNaPtUv82JHk2ydQuHXf/s831/IMG_1607.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="831" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38x_7LyRDjY_t23tbDacIedg-44rdyoI07lB4b_MxQuvqACRLyFtgeVDOMDY4sS6hpIk1puONrZoIhLWAMUZXy9-YfxpvOe6ibJG9fANN7IlDi-v7izWlgKCmsNaPtUv82JHk2ydQuHXf/s320/IMG_1607.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p><b style="font-size: large;">I accept, deep to my core, that my life is fleeting and one day I will die.</b></p><p>Okay so I know we all know that we are going to die. But do you really know you are going to die? Do you think that this thing or that thing will never happen to you? To some extent I think we all have to push away the looming fact that we will die one day. Working with people who have a terminal illness is a constant reminder that not only is this my one wild and precious life, but it could very well end before I think it should. And when that happens, for the most part, the world will go on. Sure my small circle of people who love me will miss me, and as time goes on they will miss me less, and one day a person will say my name for the very last time.</p><p>This fact doesn't make me sad, it makes me want to be intentional. It makes me want to buy the car, to wear the bikini, to piss the person off, to never abandon myself, and to sign up for the goddamn race. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>“Nothing quite brings out the zest for life in a person like the thought of their impending death” ~Jhonen Vasquez</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvxBN7dL01kRFJy5_-JW1xcBYaYkYsm1LbQL_94fIBAzEEFvodsLnqcBv6zaT2kJ84PiicQPlLGmBloheMKNFpezmuo_eCYDzC6fCm_MT9OcGkPSpBw4BjtJAlesuZY0Yf10Lu0cDMt5t/s828/IMG_4000.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="828" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcvxBN7dL01kRFJy5_-JW1xcBYaYkYsm1LbQL_94fIBAzEEFvodsLnqcBv6zaT2kJ84PiicQPlLGmBloheMKNFpezmuo_eCYDzC6fCm_MT9OcGkPSpBw4BjtJAlesuZY0Yf10Lu0cDMt5t/s320/IMG_4000.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>-----------</i></p><p style="text-align: left;">This list is my own, and it sure has a way to go. I am only one year into the apparent best decade yet, and if the next nine years are anything like this past year has been, my untaming will really be something.</p><p>The messages I have received in my life are loud and clear. Stay small. Don't draw attention. Keep everyone comfortable. Tame the wild parts of yourself so you may be controlled and predictable. In her book Glennon describes the women who are held in the highest regard in our society as being completely selfless. So those of us who abandon ourselves for the sake of others are what society paints as the highest goal of attainment. I cannot say it better than she does:</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>“We weren’t born distrusting and fearing ourselves. That was part of our taming. We were taught to believe that who we are in our natural state is bad and dangerous. They convinced us to be afraid of ourselves. So we do not honor our own bodies, curiosity, hunger, judgment, experience, or ambition. Instead, we lock away our true selves. Women who are best at this disappearing act earn the highest praise: She is so selfless. Can you imagine? The epitome of womanhood is to lose one’s self completely. That is the end goal of every patriarchal culture. Because a very effective way to control women is to convince women to control themselves.”</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Glennon Doyle, Untamed #getuntamed</i></p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-91897365985220983562020-08-03T21:06:00.007-05:002020-08-04T07:31:37.772-05:00The Origin Story of My Nickname, Anna-Mae<p class="MsoNormal">It’s August 2020 and I don’t know about you, but Hamilton
the musical has invaded our home and any time we say anything about a room it is
followed with “where it happens”. As a huge fan of musicals, I am actually
loving it. This line has captured my mind lately though:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Who lives who dies who tells your story?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My dad recently shared a beautiful story about his grandmother
and it had me thinking; when his generation is gone, who will continue to tell her
story? Who will ever say her name again? The story included the fact that she
wrote in a journal every single day from 1954 through 1976. He has been reading her journals and it has connected him with her all over again, even though she has been gone for years.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That made me think about this blog. I wrote a lot when BBZ
was little, wanting to capture everything he was doing and everything I was
feeling as a new mom. As time has gone on I have shied away from blogging about
the boys as I now feel protective of their stories and want them to be able to
share what they choose about their lives, not what I feel like is worth
sharing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have also been thinking about capturing some of my own
stories that they may want to read one day. So here I am, ready to tell a
story. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s a just a little one, but one that is meaningful to me
nonetheless. It’s the origin story of my nickname, Anna-Mae. Many people have
asked me if my middle name is Mae and it is not. There is a fun story behind it
though that dates back to 2001-2002.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In college I worked part-time in a group home supporting people
with developmental disabilities. I loved the work so much, I decided to stay
within the state system and took a job as the manager of a group home where 8
men with developmental disabilities lived in St. Charles, MO.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The group home sat in a cul-de-sac not in a neighborhood but
positioned near one, which was an attempt at de-institutionalization and at the
time was a big deal. State hospitals were still open and this new
semi-integrated setting was all the rage. The home had reopened after being
closed for some time and the men who lived there along with the staff and me
were new to group home #6.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In this home was a man named RRR. He was one of the kindest,
most selfless, funny and positive people I have ever known. He also had a
severe seizure disorder and a diagnosis of “profound mental retardation”, back
when that term was used widely. I think he was in his mid-50s and used a manual
wheelchair. One of his hands was contoured but he was able to wheel himself around
his home independently. He and I had an immediate connection.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I imagine he lived all of his life in an institution, as
parents of young men with his type of disabilities during his birth time period
were often told that is what was best for their child. Knowing RRR though, with
the right amount of support he could have easily lived anywhere he wanted, and
was happy no matter where he lived. He was a light in this sometimes dark
world. Thinking back, my little LBZ would have loved him. In all honesty
though, everyone loved RRR.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of my job responsibilities as the group home manager was
ensuring the men in the home maintain their Medicaid status and keep their bank
accounts at or below $999, a rule of Medicaid. RRR’s account was edging closer
to this parameter and I asked him what he would like to spend some money on. He
emphatically said he wanted to be able to listen to music. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I worked with our accountant to purchase him a Walkman and
some audio tapes. He had requested music form the 60s so I found him one with
all 60s top hits. One of the songs was “Soul Man” and he would sit outside of
my office, which was a hallway coat closet that had been turned into a
makeshift office with a desk that I think was an old door that sat upon two
file cabinets. There were no computers in offices back then, but the space did
give me a private place to make phone calls and work on paperwork.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, RRR would sit outside of my office with his
headphones on singing with more gusto than I can put into words:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m a Soul Man!” (da da da da-da da-daaaa)</p><p class="MsoNormal">“I’m a Soul Man!”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLR0tLlzGho_OJwsVMzZsLwYTJqKUgVIs7sVR5HIt2Cbi9NQOCxsDclX-pqUai_f8A77WduQnNI5xcM4vNX4aYTztPOq-Xq9bhsNrqE6z9h80XiptMCjEFrUYlVfl1cQ5DZpKOVlCKnm34/s500/soulman2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLR0tLlzGho_OJwsVMzZsLwYTJqKUgVIs7sVR5HIt2Cbi9NQOCxsDclX-pqUai_f8A77WduQnNI5xcM4vNX4aYTztPOq-Xq9bhsNrqE6z9h80XiptMCjEFrUYlVfl1cQ5DZpKOVlCKnm34/w320-h320/soulman2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><font size="2"><span style="text-align: left;">In case you want to hear the song RRR enjoyed so much, check it out </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1cSyZY1dBpI" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="text-align: left;">.</span></font></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">I can still hear his sweet voice in my head all of these
years later. The other staff in the home were so bothered by this, it would
make them crazy! I loved it every single time. His little soul just screamed
through that music and he was absolutely in love with life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So this sweet man just started calling me Anna-Mae one day.
I am not sure why. He never explained why and I never asked. He was one of the
best people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. N met him a couple of
times during his Special Olympic games and overheard him calling me Anna-Mae,
so it has stuck. N still calls me this to this day, and it is all because of
RRR.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">RRR died a couple of years ago, as did any opportunity for
him to create more stories. This one though, I will carry with me for as long
as I can. The origin of the nickname he gave me that my husband carries on belongs
to RRR and RRR alone. This story will continue with me and I hope it brings a
kind smile to your face on this lovely summer evening.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Goodness knows memories of a sweet man named RRR who lived in a group home in St. Charles, MO certainly does that for me.</p>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-89064977998810376312020-06-03T20:00:00.001-05:002020-06-03T20:00:29.131-05:00Running 50 miles while in a Cocoon of Self-Preservation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u7vl3r5H7_xpN6UkiW7J6NtS395hDubssRHAqyErcJ5PrqZmU7FrLETqW8bJyMq-JBnV46Eh5K7bN4_d5AyzK1poKrZcrQiM30l6b_1M4kjgPCEb_y9_XmmE5cfg7MTQuMPkVzbPKZ42/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_u7vl3r5H7_xpN6UkiW7J6NtS395hDubssRHAqyErcJ5PrqZmU7FrLETqW8bJyMq-JBnV46Eh5K7bN4_d5AyzK1poKrZcrQiM30l6b_1M4kjgPCEb_y9_XmmE5cfg7MTQuMPkVzbPKZ42/s320/IMG_9802.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><font size="2">Sunrise on the river the morning of my first 50 mile run</font></i></div><p class="MsoNormal">Back in February I had just finished running with a friend and
told him I was thinking of running the marathon distance of an upcoming trail marathon/50 mile race. Without hesitation, my friend said I should just run the
50. This is a friend who has no problem telling me when I am doing something really
dumb. Do you have a friend like that? If you do, you’re so lucky. If you have a
friend who’s not afraid to tell you that you’re about to do something really
stupid then you know you can trust them when they tell you there is something
you are absolutely ready to do. Even if it feels huge.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I did it, I signed up for the 50 mile race that was scheduled
to happen on May 16<sup>th</sup>, 2020. I was training and not really feeling
strong, but I was getting some long runs done.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then enters COVID-19. On March 15<sup>th</sup> St. Louis County shut down. We were on a mini vacation in Branson, MO and decided to
avoid the large crowded areas but to continue our trip. It was a nice and
relaxing trip and when we returned home, the whole city was sheltering in
place. While we navigated through the next few weeks, all events were
cancelling, one after another. Including my 50 mile race.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I continued to run, not really with a plan but more with
just a lighthearted sense of doing something I really love. As we all began to define what social distancing meant for us, I made the decision
to run alone and to not run with anyone at all. Deciding whether to run alone or with a group put many
people in the running community at odds with one another. Friendships ended over this. It was sad to watch. I
genuinely believe all of us were and are doing the best we can to cope with the
situation in which we find ourselves.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What was best for me was running alone. And before I
knew it, I was hammering out more miles than ever before.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another part of this is that I was and still am spending
more time with my beloved little family than I ever have. Being home with my
family, and seeing them all day everyday allows me the flexibility to be guilt
free about spending more time than usual on the weekend on the trails. So that’s
exactly what I did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I spent most of my time training on the trails in Weldon
Spring, MO. They are some of my favorite trails and hold thousands of memories
of races we put on, of hikes I’ve done with my little family, peaceful sunrises
along the river and nighttime miles with friends. Those of us with a
special connection with this group of trails say there is magic out there, and
I truly believe there is.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had been running about 35-40 miles each week, with back to
back runs on the weekend of 13-16 miles each. One day it was extra crowded
when I finished my first of two 8-mile loops, so I decided to cross over to the
other side of the highway to add on some miles where there were fewer people. I
got to a split where I could either turn right and land at a 20 mile run, or
turn left and land around 15. I stood there for a minute, and decided to do the
20. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had only run 20 miles alone once, and it was nearly two
years ago. I’ve done that distance many times in races or with friends, but
only once on my own. Finishing that 20 mile day feeling strong, knowing that it
was me and me alone who set out to run it, left me feeling so incredibly
strong.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That run was a game changer. With my 50 mile race cancelled I
am not really sure what I was planning, all I knew was that I was feeling
stronger than ever before in my running, and I was doing it for me and
for me alone. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The same friend who encouraged me to sign up for the 50 reached
out and complimented my solo 20 miler, as did many other friends on social
media. I’m telling you, there is something about 20 miles solo. A couple of
weeks later, a week before what would have been my first 50 mile race, I hit 50
miles in one week for the first time. I told the same friend that I felt great
and wondered what I should do with all of these miles and this fitness. He
said:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I think you should run 50 miles”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then he gave me probably the best advice possible. He told
me I should hammer out two weekends worth of back to back 20 mile runs before
I try to do the 50. This would give me more strength and more
confidence rather than rushing to run the 50 mile run just a week after my
first 50 mile week. This put 50 mile run day on May 30<sup>th</sup>. The date and
training was set.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So the next two weekends I ran back to back 20 mile runs. My
friend joined me for some of the miles but I did most of the miles alone. I spent
the first year of my running life running alone. Slowly over time I opened up
and started running with groups. Then I started hosting group runs. Then I ran
with a group of the same friends nearly every weekend. While all of that was
certainly enjoyable, running alone has proven to be what I need at this point
in my life to reach my goals.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to talk about that for a minute. I am an empath and
spend my life deeply feeling and understanding the feelings of others,
particularly their pain. It is not something I have chosen, and I truly cannot
help absorbing the feelings of those around me. When COVID-19 first hit our
community, many people around me were drastically divided in their approaches
to group running, social distancing, mask wearing, media believing, etc. I worked
hard to try and keep friendships strong and to keep harmony amongst everyone. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eventually, this completely wore me down. I retreated into
what I have been referring to as a cocoon of self-preservation. I retreated from
anything or anyone that would need anything from me besides my little family. I
said no to any run invitations. I declined facetime calls. I silenced social
media accounts that I didn’t want to see. I retreated so far into myself that I
began to be able to be exactly what I needed to be to myself and to my family.
My cocoon of self-preservation allows me to truly care for myself and deny
giving anything more than the bare minimum to anyone else. This might be the first time in my life that I have ever protected myself in this way. It is
the biggest boundary wall I have ever built. And it is strong.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So in this place, where my relationship with my husband and
my boys has grown so incredible strong, so has my running. I just run. I don’t
think about pace, I don’t think about anyone else. It is me and the trail and
my goal to run 50 miles. On one long run my knee began to hurt, so I practiced
power hiking and didn’t stress over it. The next day my knee was fine. All the
signs were pointing to the fact that I was ready to run 50 miles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The two weekends of back to back 20 mile runs were nearly
perfect. There was sunshine, rain and mud, perfect weather, cold weather, insane heat and humidity too.
I was trained for whatever came on 50 mile run day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The week leading up to the run wasn’t too stressful. Keeping
in my cocoon of self-preservation, only my little family, my friend who had
been coaching me along who would be pacing me, and 1-2 random friends knew I
was going to do this. I didn’t want to tell anyone. This was about me vs. me
vs. the trail. I wanted to keep it private and know that if I really needed to,
I could stop and do the run another day. Anyone who knows me knows how damn stubborn I
am and knows that I would have walked all night long to finish what I started, but
having the option to quit if I wanted was some pressure relief one doesn’t find at a
race.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The run was as perfect as I could have expected. The weather
was gorgeous, my first loop alone was a little faster than I intended and the
second loop running with my friend was smooth and fun. At one point, as I
talked about how much I was enjoying myself, he said something that basically gave
me permission to complain if I wanted to. But I had nothing to complain about.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am so grateful for the fact that life has put me here in this
place where I can and want to run 50 miles on beautiful trails. So many people do
not do this. They either don’t want to, don’t believe they can, or maybe want
to but their health or circumstances don’t allow for it. Here I am in this
place and time where everything has come together for me to spend 12 hours on
my favorite trails, with a really good friend with me and my beloved husband
and boys waiting for me to finish. I cannot think of anything that would make
this situation anything but beautiful. I am so grateful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The route I took ended with a 5-mile loop from my car, so I
grabbed my handheld and took off down the trail I have probably run a thousand
times. That’s when it hit me that I was actually going to run 50 miles. I
texted Nate to let him know the timeline and we managed to run a lot of that
last loop. My legs felt strong and were it not for a nasty blister on the bottom of
my foot, I would have been nearly pain free. Tired yes, but certainly not
miserable. Absolutely grateful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So 50 miles is done and I feel amazing. I’m not sure what is
next, but I do know I am not interested in slowing down. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwlxCiDC2kBE-tRccylpUrGI6AseKCRTnFiM1Sz5GuCOhK0z7sbu3ztAbg3UINRESbpfQVq7Mkz492FcR8idzR1ZsX3TR_h12whqPFBSQGQc3W1oAFqC0RvBTmaD4qKNKt5SrR3-oB4kFi/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwlxCiDC2kBE-tRccylpUrGI6AseKCRTnFiM1Sz5GuCOhK0z7sbu3ztAbg3UINRESbpfQVq7Mkz492FcR8idzR1ZsX3TR_h12whqPFBSQGQc3W1oAFqC0RvBTmaD4qKNKt5SrR3-oB4kFi/s320/IMG_9810.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXvSWkbvsWj58hOAiwLH9VdwRPcLfqTv21D-39sunEL58gZ6DmbsUaOS64PMwq2MOYObxezV9vKF_nw3FLhmcucw-yFtGr5irPP61FgQOlEuu-4TY4cH3z7Pn_M7qum2S_Cejoqokm6-I/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4128" data-original-width="3096" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXvSWkbvsWj58hOAiwLH9VdwRPcLfqTv21D-39sunEL58gZ6DmbsUaOS64PMwq2MOYObxezV9vKF_nw3FLhmcucw-yFtGr5irPP61FgQOlEuu-4TY4cH3z7Pn_M7qum2S_Cejoqokm6-I/s320/20200530_181616.JPG" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 1; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWV2kjioVTE4wR6WXsgRSFTKlHdt04r19V73lWCpAXDHmbfljCr3-nBcpWNvdYA8ds3QY-et9p75CL8CmojCWP-Cuzb_QPiwchtPXKtj9_fe4xkV1UID8sSERT9oPcvU9dlzbL4yp3r_gg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWV2kjioVTE4wR6WXsgRSFTKlHdt04r19V73lWCpAXDHmbfljCr3-nBcpWNvdYA8ds3QY-et9p75CL8CmojCWP-Cuzb_QPiwchtPXKtj9_fe4xkV1UID8sSERT9oPcvU9dlzbL4yp3r_gg/s320/IMG_9838.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"><i>“Man often becomes what he believes himself to be. If I keep
on saying to myself that I cannot do a certain thing, it is possible that I may
end by really becoming incapable of doing it. On the contrary, if I have the
belief that I can do it, I shall surely acquire the capacity to do it even if I
may not have it at the beginning.”</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>~Mahatma Gandhi</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-39442546451181785352020-05-14T15:29:00.002-05:002020-05-19T09:13:35.985-05:00The Way Life Should Be<div>I work with people who have ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease. The people I work with day in and day out, are dying from a disease that has no cure and no known cause. ALS impacts the way a person’s brain send messages to its muscles, and as the messages become more infrequent, the person loses the ability to use their hands, their arms, to walk, often to speak and ultimately to breathe. ALS is sometimes a long and slow process of watching a once active and vibrant person lose all body control and function.</div><div><br /></div><div>While this disease is awful, I love what I do. Every single person I meet has a story to tell, and I am always so appreciative to be in a position to share some of the most intimate moments that come along with end of life with another human. The reality a person must face when they are dying brings with it fear, uncertainly and often clarity. With each person with ALS that I meet and each new way I see someone coping with this hand they have been dealt, the more I learn about the strength of the human spirit, and the differences in how people react to trauma and tragedy.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is May of 2020 and we are deep in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic. I have been working mostly from home since March 13th with a much unknown end faintly in sight. Our boys’ schools are shut down, summer camps are cancelled, the misinformation is flying all about and the level of uncertainly of what our future will bring continues to deepen. My mood shifts from being ever so grateful for this beautiful time of slowing down and deeply appreciating this extra time with my family to being so stressed by the uncertainly of the future that it feels difficult to even get out of bed. </div><div><br /></div><div>I go to the grocery store on Monday or Tuesday nights to avoid the crowds. This week I was walking through the store and paused, looked around the store and saw everyone with masks and gloves, with people avoiding each other, food missing off shelves, paper product shelves stripped bare and I was overcome with sadness and thought, “this is not the way life should be”. </div><div><br /></div><div>Working with people with ALS I have seen two pretty distinct differences between people who seem to cope positively (for the most part) with the disease and those who struggle the most. The biggest difference I have seen is between people who can't seem to see past the way their life *should* be and those who seem to let go of what should be and embrace the way life is, ALS and all. </div><div><br /></div><div>This difference runs very, very deep. In the people I have seen, this difference is a fundamental difference of belief in life and living. The difference is truly astounding.</div><div><br /></div><div>A man I became very close with following his diagnosis died earlier this year. He had ALS, but he did not die from ALS. I worked with him for about a year, and throughout that time we had many deep conversations about finding meaning in life. We talked about what he would be doing in life if it weren’t for ALS. He was active and vibrant and while he looked at others with the disease who seemed to be adjusting with awe, ultimately he knew he would never be able to cope with losing his function and dying from ALS. </div><div><br /></div><div>He wrote me and said just that, he had no desire to die from ALS and instead chose to travel out of the country to pursue a physician-assisted death. We said our goodbyes and I was sad beyond measure over the loss of my friend. I also understood and respected his unwillingness to let go of what life *should* have been like for him. He died peacefully surrounded by his loving wife and daughter. His service was filled with people telling stories about his incredible life and with each story I understood even better why he and I liked each other so much. He visited me in a dream a couple of weeks after his death and when I woke from that dream, I felt like I understood life just a little bit more. I am so grateful for him and that life allowed me to walk alongside him for a short while.</div><div><br /></div><div>So when I say that there is this difference between people who seem to be more able to move past what life should be like and those who are not able to so, I don’t mean that one way is better than the other. We are all made up of so many interesting characteristics, it is unreasonable to think it is as simple as bad or good, right or wrong. I do know that my friend worked hard toward accepting his disease and ultimately decided not to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Working in a job where every person I am hoping to help is dying, I guess it is expected to also wonder how I might cope with a diagnosis or disease like ALS. My cancer diagnosis certainly tested my coping mechanisms and approach, but not to the extent something like ALS would. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am a positive person deep down to my core. I genuinely believe that the universe is a friendly place and that anything that happens in my life is happening for me, not to me. I am currently in a rough place though. The state of the world in the midst of COVID-19 is a difficult place to be. I hear myself saying what should be happening and wishing things were different. My son's missed starring role in theater, the other son's baseball season, pre-pubescent exploration with friends, summer camp, birthday parties and winery trips. My first 50-mile race. I notice it being more difficult to concentrate and am losing focus. I am sad about the ways things are and unmotivated to try and change them. It’s an unfamiliar place and it is not enjoyable.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I began to write this blog I googled “the way life should be” assuming someone probably wrote something along these lines before and it could provide some guidance as I wrapped my head around what I wanted to say. I did find a couple of quotes from a book of this same title that I have never heard of:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“I have found that the biggest moments in life, the ones that change everything, usually catch you by surprise.” </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“Every decision I make is determined solely by the spark and limitations of my own perspective”</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“It’s a longing for things to come, possibilities unfolding before me, the charged expectation of change.”</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>― Christina Baker Kline, The Way Life Should Be: A Novel</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Those who know me well know I will probably never read the book since I have many unread (un-listened to?) books and unused credits on Audible, but these quotes hit home. As my days have blended together I have felt both desperate for certainty and bored by it beyond measure. It’s an interesting and frustrating dichotomy. I realized yesterday I needed to shake something up.</div><div><br /></div><div>One thing that is on fire in my life right now is my running. I am pounding out the miles and feel so strong and trained. I am able to spend 2 long runs on trails on the weekends which is building my strength and confidence and helping me grow into a really strong long-distance runner. </div><div><br /></div><div>I decided to get up early today, drive to my favorite running spot and throw down some mid-week trail miles. This is very unusual for me and it felt like a really special treat. This last quote seems to positively accompany this photo I took today as the sun was rising over what has become one of my very favorite places to visit. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp2Wz_sn_rRzDnJR5aszXcMUR7FznDJZwZyHGt-Xsbhb2tpltmlCgh-FUEz0JZAs4B4pkQWjNh-jb6bD2JcVslzioKf7fMLXn9JRfuCLo28bdacnFkRqpCmx8bI4mjWyuSEHrTQuclezc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="874" data-original-width="1165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp2Wz_sn_rRzDnJR5aszXcMUR7FznDJZwZyHGt-Xsbhb2tpltmlCgh-FUEz0JZAs4B4pkQWjNh-jb6bD2JcVslzioKf7fMLXn9JRfuCLo28bdacnFkRqpCmx8bI4mjWyuSEHrTQuclezc/s320/IMG_9572.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>“... I am halfway between two worlds, the known and the unknown. I feel as transparent as the wind, as if my spirit is hovering in the sky, waiting to land. I am driving toward a future I can't see, leaving behind a past that already feels distant. Nothing is clear - and yet the trees are sharp against the sky; I can see the hard outlines of everything.” ~ Christina Baker Kline</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers friends to accepting things as they are, while holding out hope they will soon return to the way we think they *should* be.</div><div><br /></div>Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-39463459724939691652020-03-14T13:02:00.000-05:002020-03-14T13:02:12.465-05:00The Vomit War of 2020Alternately titled: That One Time the Stomach Flu Made My Son Shit His Pants and the Dog Run Away In the Middle of the Night.<br />
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There is a lot of chaos going on in the world right now. COVID-19 (Coronavirus) is wreaking havoc on the world, our country, and my little community. I told this story on my trail run this morning and my friend said I should write a blog about it. I haven’t blogged in a while so I thought, why not? Let’s all have a common laugh over bodily fluids and midnight antics, shall we?<br />
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So N has been traveling a lot for work. He left Monday night and we did all the things on Monday and all the things on Tuesday. I fell asleep on the couch at like 8pm, so I woke up at 8:30pm to put the boys to bed. Bedtime is the best time in our house. We snuggled and goodnight kissed and I went straight to bed myself feeling sleepy from the long day. I was prepared for the full night of sleep I am accustomed to now that my boys are so much older.<br />
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Then, at about 11:30pm I got the nudge…”mommy, I threw up”<br />
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Ugh. “Okay buddy let’s go get cleaned up” We walked into the hallway, he went into the bathroom and I went into his room. I am not sure I was fully prepared for what I was about to see. I clicked on the light to see more vomit than I have ever seen. It was everywhere. The bed, the floor, on his books, on his carpet, on his slippers, under his bed. It was freaking everywhere.<br />
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I started cleaning it up not really knowing where to start. I got some cleaning going and walked back into the hallway to see him standing in the bathroom kind of frozen. I turned the light on to see that he had vomit all over his face and hands. He had been standing there for who knows how long, likely unsure of what the heck just happened to his body.<br />
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I helped him wash his hands and face and we decided a bath was in order. Then, he turned toward the toilet and vomit came flying out of his face again. At least he’s facing the toilet, I tell myself. Then I saw it. The splashing, so much splashing! The toilet seat was down. For the love.<br />
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I grabbed the trashcan to catch the rest but the damage was done. Vomit was everywhere. Again.<br />
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I started to help him take his clothes off when he said so quietly, “mommy, I think I pooped my pants.”<br />
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Poor little buddy. This virus was sending itself out of every possible hole it could in a massive attempt to escape his little body. I cleaned him up in the true pre-bath style and got him set up in the tub.<br />
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It was around this time that I saw the animals milling around his room and the vomit I had yet to clean up. I decided to let the dog outside since he was losing his mind about why we were all awake at this hour.<br />
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With the dog outside and the boy in the tub I knew what I had to do. Clean up as much vomit as possible so the boy and I could get back into his bed.<br />
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Towels, paper towels, strip the bed, wipe off the books, trash bag for the book casualties of the vomit war of 2020. Make the bed, add some towels, dry the boy off, get him a bowl, back in bed.<br />
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Oh crap, the dog!<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Back when I thought he was a good dog.</span></i></div>
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It’s about 12:15am or so by now, so I go outside and the dog is…gone. Freaking gone. We don’t have a fenced yard but it is tree-lined and the dog usually stays in the yard. Not tonight though, of course.<br />
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I put a glowing collar on him at night and he is nowhere to be seen. I put my shoes on and start walking back toward the woods, whisper-yelling his name. I hear nothing. No crunching leaves, no other dogs barking. It is silent and he is freaking gone.<br />
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I go back inside to be sure the boy didn’t vomit in his bed again. I look outside to see if the dog came back. I look at the front door to see if he’s waiting. Nothing. Back outside, whisper-yelling his stupid name and asking myself, why do I love this dog??<br />
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About an hour goes by, yes an HOUR!! I wonder if I should go out and drive around to find him but decide a lost dog is better than repeating the great vomit war of 2020 because I wasn’t in the boy’s room to catch round 2. Finally I look out the front door and the dog is there, looking quite proud of himself likely because he found his way home from his big adventure.<br />
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I went back into the boy’s room and thankfully, there was no vomit yet. He would go on to vomit about every hour on the hour until 11:30am the next morning. Poor guy was so sick.<br />
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So there it is, friends. Just another Tuesday night/Wednesday morning in the Z house when N travels, LBZ has the barfs and the dog runs away.<br />
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The End.<br />
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Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-79898469377454602182019-10-02T16:56:00.000-05:002019-10-02T16:56:16.605-05:00Anna's 5 Stages of Dealing With Disappointment<br />
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I am no scientist. I like to read science-y things like
research and theories and stuff, but I did not do any of that before typing
this blog. I don’t know if someone else has developed a list similar to this or not and I certainly do not claim to know that everyone will experience disappointment in this
way. All I can say is, this is what I have discovered about myself, and my goal
is to move from initial disappointment to the final stage in as little time as
possible. I almost always get there, but the length of time depends on many
variables.</div>
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Stage 1 – Sadness and Self-Criticism<o:p></o:p></div>
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Disappointment effects people so differently. When something
doesn’t go the way I want it to, I am immediately sad. I typically welcome sadness when needed, so it isn't a surprise that this is my initial reaction. Next I turn inward and beat myself up. When my 8yo experiences disappointment in a missed soccer goal or a poor video game outcome, he lashes out and says how unfair the world is and expresses anger. I turn inward and criticize myself and the many ways I allowed myself to mess up or contribute to the disappointment. This coupled with the sadness I feel for things not turning out as I hoped is a dark place for me.</div>
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It might be easier to illustrate this by using an example.
Let’s take a recent race, which did not go as planned. I was cruising along
feeling really strong (while ignoring some knee pain) when at mile 8 I realized
I had to stop running. The realization that this race would not end the way I
hoped brought me to almost instant tears. I then immediately began berating myself for a variety of things I was certain contributed to this disappointing situation in which I found myself.</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Totally faking it and smiling through the knee pain.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></span></i></div>
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Stage 2 – Pity party, Why Me and Poor Me<o:p></o:p></div>
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After sadness and beating myself up over the initial disappointment, where I hate to be but can tend to stay for a while, comes the big ol’ pity party. I start feeling really
sorry for myself. I think of all of the other disappointments that have come my
way and wonder why nothing good ever happens for me. I feel like I am the
only person in the world who has ever had something disappointing happen to
them and I am so sorry for myself. Boo freaking hoo. I might even have some anger here at those I view as never having to face a challenge like whatever it is I am dealing with.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In relation to the race, I kind of went back and forth
between pity party and sadness during the actual race. I was able to finish
albeit hobbly, which definitely made things feel more positive, but as my knee pain persisted throughout the weekend so did the feeling really sorry for myself and my injured POS situation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Happily, I don’t usually stay here very long. This is an
important place for me to go though, for if I don’t go to this place, I can’t
access my thoughts and feelings surrounding why this story I am telling myself is
not the truth. If I don’t spend at least a little bit of time here, I can’t get
to Stage 3.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stage 3 – Gratitude<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is where I think of the many people in the world who have
it so much worse off than me. My mind goes to my friends who are strong and
fierce and who have disabilities that do not allow for them to experience the
beauty and rush of a trail run. I think of the people I work with who have a debilitating
disease that would love nothing more than to be out living their lives as
opposed to being trapped in so many ways by the disease. It is here where I
find my grateful heart and can appreciate all that life offers me, even in the
times when what is happening might not make the most sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This stage initially happened during the race, which is why I
could finish at all. In the race example and I imagine throughout lots of
examples in my history, I spent some time dancing between these 3 stages. Sadness and self-criticism,
poor me, why me, wait I’m grateful, this sucks, people have it worse than me, I’m
sad. Eventually though, without a doubt, I move into Stage 4.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stage 4 – Problem Solving <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know I am a creative problem solver. It is one of my
superpowers and I take great pride in my ability to think of creative ways to
solve problems. In times of disappointment though, I forget this is my power.
It takes me a while to get here, and I often need to ask for help. I have people
in my life I can reach out to who will remind me I am strong, who will build me
up and help me see that I nearly always hold the key to my own success. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know the root of my knee problems that keep derailing my
racing goals is my gait. I know this, and began trying to problem solve on my
own after the race and became quickly overwhelmed and discouraged. I tried to
do it by myself and had not yet remembered my superpower. I reached out to a
friend who reminded me of my strength and who helped me sort through the ridiculous amount of
information, which is where the planning happens. I need to have a plan when
things don’t go the way I hope they will. Problem solving and planning have to
happen before I move into stage 5.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stage 5 – Acceptance and Total Domination<o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay that might be a little dramatic but it really can feel
this way sometimes. Once I accept that this is my story and I develop a plan that I begin to execute, I feel like I am totally dominating my own life. I got knocked down, but I am back up and better than before. When I face a disappointment or challenge or things don’t go
the way I want them to, Stage 5 is when I use that experience as
fuel for my learning fire. It is where I grow and become better. It is through
these hard things and challenges that I become a better version of myself. When
I can say “yes this bad thing happened, and it was the best thing that could
have happened for me” I am accepting and I am dominating. I am in stage 5 when I
realize that this situation didn’t happen to me, it happened for me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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***<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the race example, I moved across all of these stages in
about 2.5 days. I finished the race Saturday morning and had made it to stage 5
by Monday night. My goal is to move through these stages in as little time as
possible. Some issues or challenges take more time, and others it may be lightning
fast. </div>
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For an example of fast, say I am on my way to work and I hit really bad traffic.
I’m going to be sad and criticize myself because I’ll be late and what does it say about me as a
person to be late? How could I not be the super prepared person who knows better than to be late? (Stage 1) Then I’ll feel sorry for myself and say man, this always
happens to me and why me and feel like the only person who has ever been stuck
in traffic. (Stage 2) I’ll realize in the grand scheme of things how lucky I am to have a job and a place to be and will recognize the many people who don’t. (Stage 3) Then I’ll realize the people I
work with are reasonable and will totally understand that things happen. All I need
to do is make a call or send a text and it’s fine. (Stage 4) Lastly, I’ll recognize
that this traffic could be preventing me from some other type of challenge,
like an accident if I were in the wrong place or if I were driving faster
(Stage 5). This thought process probably happens in about 2 minutes, if that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Other times with big stuff, like my cancer diagnosis, I
moved repeatedly through these stages and certainly not in a straight line. I
can still look back and break that time into the various stages though. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Like I said, this is not based on any science besides my
uber observation (read: over-analyzing/obsessing) of myself when I face something challenging. I think it is
valuable to understand the ways in which we face challenges and discover the positive ways we cope.</div>
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There are some
issues I face where I just can’t get past the pity party. I might sit there for
weeks with a given situation and until I reach out for help to remind me of my problem-solving
super power, will sit there frozen and totally prolonging advancement to the next stage. I feel strongly that the more we understand who we are and how we do things, the better we are as people. I am no expert, but I do feel a sense of empowerment by outlining all of this and being honest about the way I deal with things in my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For those who know me well, let me know if you think I missed anything!</div>
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-46901432830483097552019-07-25T22:10:00.000-05:002019-07-25T22:19:37.297-05:00The Space Between<div dir="ltr">
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About 10 years ago, when BBZ was a baby and blogging was huge, I read a post somewhere called “The Space Between”. The writer was a young mom who described this space as the space between the mother she was, and the mother she wanted to be. She talked about wanting to be the mom that encourages her children to take risks. The mom who knows life is short and the one who wants them to experience all that life has to offer. Meanwhile, the mom she felt she was wanted nothing more than to wrap them up in bubble wrap and protect them from the world we adults know is far from ideal. At the end of her post she wrote something along the lines of, "because the pain of living in a world that once knew them but they then left would be too much pain to bear."</div>
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My friend’s 7-year-old son died 5 days ago. He was healthy, then he wasn’t, and then he died. A sore knee and a bad headache was soon diagnosed as cancer soaring through his little body, ultimately causing multiple strokes from which he could not recover. Just like that. He died. Just like every mother I know has envisioned and prayed against since that precious baby was placed in their arms. There isn’t a mother in the world who hasn’t envisioned their child being taken away from them. It is a primal instinct to do everything in our power to protect our children, and we can only do this with the realization that they could be taken away at anytime. </div>
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I had lunch with a social worker colleague recently who has spent her entire career in the field of grief and loss. She shared with me that when she is not teaching at a nearby university, she runs group and individual counseling for mothers who have lost a child. When she said this I immediately balked with the feeling that “I could never do that”. Familiar with this reaction she says to me, “I can do this work because I have a worldview that says short lives have a purpose in this world. My worldview believes that young and little souls have a place here, just as old souls do”.</div>
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A worldview. We all have our own way we see the world. Her worldview supports this idea of souls leaving this earth earlier than most foresee, so she is then able to support others who are struggling with how their world has been completely undone. This is not a worldview that many hold, yet it exists in her so she is able to support others. I find such beauty in this.</div>
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The space between. As I have been writing this post in my head I have really been exploring this idea. Do you know what is in that space? Do you know what lives in that space between who we are and who we want to be?</div>
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Fear.</div>
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It's fear that takes up that space. I have been trying my hardest lately to embrace my fear, be energized by it and to run toward whatever scares me. It has lead to some really incredible things in my life recently.</div>
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I ran on a trail at night for the first time and discovered the exhilaration of running through dark trails with a headlamp and a new found child-like energy. I was scared of night running and wanted to see myself as brave and strong and able to complete night races sometime in the future. The only thing standing in that space was fear. Dealing with<a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/10/rockin-rockwoods-53k-ultra-marathon.html"> a knee injury dating back to October,</a> I completely backed off running and have been going to the gym and even working with a trainer. I wanted to gain upper body and core strength but the gym seemed unfamiliar and scary. For years I have wanted to strengthen my muscles in the gym, yet my fear stopped me.</div>
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The space between the person I am and the person I want to be is full of fear.</div>
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There are so many things I hope to be. Yet the fear that lives in this space often seems bigger than what I can face. I want to be an exceptional wife who can love and be loved freely, I want to feel in control and caught up with all of my tasks at work, I want to be vulnerable and brave and adventurous in this life, I want to be a good friend, and I want to love myself with all of my many imperfections. Some of the fears living in the space surrounding these hopes will take a lot of hard work. Harder then showing up to a gym or a dark trail, anyway. Some of the fears living in these spaces run deeper than I even realize.</div>
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Experiencing this season of life with my friend is heart wrenching. I am fighting with myself to continue to <a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2019/05/fully-experiencing-joy.html">fully experience joy</a> as I am watching as someone I care about copes with one of the biggest fears a mom has - the loss of their child. I want to be the mom who doesn't waste a minute fearing the future, one who stays present and fully experiences each moment with them. Right now though, I am distracted by thoughts of how it would feel knowing they would not make it to the next grade, or of not being able to wash their hair in the bath again, or of walking through the child's section at the store knowing I no longer need to buy their size. These are all fears I have thought about as I envisioned what my friend will experience. The fear held in this space is so strong. </div>
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Yet as parents we take on this role knowing that at any moment, our lives can be interrupted by tragedy. We willingly <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2010/02/our-journey-to-parenthood.html">face the fear of bringing children into this world</a> knowing the risks life ultimately brings. Yet we do it. We face our fear each day we send them into the world without the bubble wrap, with a zest for adventure and a desire for them to face their world without fear. We teach what we know, whether we mean to or not. If I want my boys to be willing to test the space between who they are and who they want to be, I need to approach them without fear. With the realization that if they are meant to be taken before I am ready, that it is the way my story is meant to be written.</div>
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We do our best to show up. We face our fears and try to teach our children well, with the plan to release them into the big bad world. If we're lucky, we challenge ourselves to test our own fears and eliminate the space between the person we are, and the person we hope to be.<br />
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Unfortunately, I have been to more funerals than I can count. When someone in my life dies, I am made to be face to face with how fleeting life really is. I see the world differently. It is now, in this delicate time where the truth about this precious life is so raw that I can explore some really hard questions...<br />
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What do I want?<br />
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What do I need to do to get there?<br />
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What fear is living in the space between where I am and that place I want to be?<br />
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Life really is short, and we don't have time for fear to stop us from being the person we are meant to be. To ourselves and to our children. Thanks for reading, friends.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizc_rmuvP9zDvOm8dlmUiJByfRoijOKQIEYXrBBr_kYcE2rbZ2SZ32gscey-UeiR-O8AVjIFo9tw_fkFp3IC75k3a4VMysQ_Xa7l2bkm9bO4EG2DhIk79IJnKmZc6vrpj6kNIlPotV1HGH/s1600/image1+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="737" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizc_rmuvP9zDvOm8dlmUiJByfRoijOKQIEYXrBBr_kYcE2rbZ2SZ32gscey-UeiR-O8AVjIFo9tw_fkFp3IC75k3a4VMysQ_Xa7l2bkm9bO4EG2DhIk79IJnKmZc6vrpj6kNIlPotV1HGH/s320/image1+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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P.S. Did anyone else sing "The Space Between" song by DMB during some of this post?? I sure did :)</div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-944488239824967872019-06-04T17:31:00.000-05:002019-06-04T17:31:54.337-05:00TriggeredTrigger<br />
3: to cause an intense and usually negative emotional reaction in someone<br />
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Being in the counseling space I’ve heard the word trigger for years. I’ve even used it a few times when talking about something sensitive in an attempt to keep someone from reliving a trauma in reaction to something I am about to say or do. I have even experienced some triggers in the past, but I never really suspected I had anything that I needed to be cautious of related to triggering past trauma. Yesterday and today has me rethinking that.<br />
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I had a doctor appointment yesterday to address nagging knee pain that hasn’t really improved since I hurt it during the <a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/10/rockin-rockwoods-53k-ultra-marathon.html">Rockin’ Rockwoods 53k</a> I ran back in October. I have seen my chiropractor regularly since then, and the knee pain would improve, then act up, then improve, and now 8 months later he and I agreed that we should probably look into what else might be going on (besides the really tight quad and calf that we have been working on).<br />
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A good friend recommended a particular sports medicine doctor and I was delighted to get in to see him within a week. I met with him yesterday and thought to myself when I got there how typical a doctor’s office is. They mostly ask the same questions and gather the same information. Weight, height, allergies, medications, etc. I noticed two differences this time: first, no one balked at the fact that I am an ultrarunner and have been running on the knee that’s causing pain for 8 months and second, this is the first new doctor visit I have been to in the last few years where I didn’t have to take off my pants. Dealing with a reproductive type of cancer, it seemed that every office I entered had this requirement. I noted this difference and reflected on the other visits I’ve had where I sat in the room for often more than an hour with no pants on and a sheet draped over my waist.<br />
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The appointment was pretty awesome. This doctor knows my chiropractor well and noted that if he wasn’t confident in that chiropractor’s care, he’d refer me to PT before doing anything. But because he knows him and is familiar with the level of care he provides to his patients, he was confident that we are past PT and needed to go in a different direction.<br />
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They took x-rays and I didn’t have to wear one of those long blanket things to cover my reproductive system because, well, most of <a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/10/hospitals-are-not-hiltons.html">it is not there</a>. The x-rays were mostly normal but showed a couple of areas he wanted to look at more closely. He said we could do a cortisone shot which would definitely help, but if something else is happening in the knee, like a tear in the meniscus that he and my chiropractor hesitantly suspected, it will resurface later in life and could be detrimental in not only my running but even my just walking around. Next suggestion: a MRI.<br />
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So I had never had a MRI. I really didn’t even know what it was. I set the appointment for 7:45pm last night and googled to see what, if anything, I needed to do to prepare. It looked pretty standard so I figured I’d show up and go from there.<br />
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I won’t go into the details of the MRI, instead I’ll just say that I used lots of deep breathing and mindfulness meditation to get through it. The noise was intense and as I left it felt like my face was melted. Something happened in there that doesn’t feel safe, for real. I'm a believer in medical necessity but am also super comfortable with it being a last resort. I know it's supported by science as safe but for real. <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=face%20melting">Face Melted</a>.<br />
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Anyway, it’s done and the results are in and while he did see some "fray" on my meniscus that is a bit concerning, since it was only on one vs. the three angles that would necessitate a scope, we opted for a cortisone shot. Holy crap that hurt! I'm not afraid of shots at all. I have had more shots than I can recall over the years working in the healthcare field. Hep A, TB tests, etc. were just a part of the job. This was crazy and unexpected. I guess I should have googled cortisone shots first. Actually, maybe not! It's definitely a better step than a procedure like a scope that would require anesthesia though.<br />
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Thankfully this was all good news. What I didn’t expect in any of this was how this seemingly unrelated event would trigger so many memories for me. For the MRI, I had to remove all of my jewelry and place it in a bag in a locker, I had to do that before my other two cancer related surgeries. While the MRI tech at the hospital was quite friendly and kind, he is also there for his job and I am just another person on his schedule. It’s hard to not feel at least a little dehumanized when someone is hooking you up to stuff that you don’t understand. At least I was wearing pants this time, I thought.<br />
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Also, waiting for the results brought up so many feelings. For months and months I waited for results from test after test after test. Each one building upon the last that lead up to the final answer...cancer. I was so glad that this new doctor reached out to me almost first thing this morning to call me in for the results. There was no 3+ weeks waiting to find out what I was dealing with. That was a huge relief.<br />
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There is one tiny round spot on my MRI that he said something about but said was likely no big deal. Guess what I told myself it was? Cancer. Once it has been somewhere in your body, and the reality that it doesn't just happen to other people, it is a much more common concern. I'm other people to other people. It happens. It did happen. To me. And while unlikely it is a very clear fact that it can happen again.<br />
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My experience related to my cancer is something I thought I moved past. Never in a million years would I imagine that all of this would come flooding back to me after a seemingly unrelated doctor visit for a sore knee.<br />
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As with all of my past experiences, this is part of my life now. Each experience related to my cancer journey was traumatic in it's own way. The motion of moving from the gurney onto the surgery table scared and unsure of what was about to happen was extremely similar to the feeling of crawling onto the bed thing outside of the MRI machine not knowing what was about to happen to me. I think I have great coping mechanisms and do not feel like I repress these feelings, yet they jumped up out at me like it all happened yesterday. I remember each detail and can't help but find similarities.<br />
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Trigger. It's a real thing, even for people who cope really well with bad shit like I do.<br />
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Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-13387664196731932952019-05-07T17:24:00.000-05:002019-05-07T17:24:03.870-05:00Fully Experiencing Joy<br />
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It’s been quiet around here on this blog but things in my life have been less than quiet. Things have been joyous, and I have been soaking it up and basking in the belief that this life is so wonderful. It has not been without challenges, by any means. But after facing something like cancer, the definition of a challenge changes. I am incredibly grateful for where I am in this very moment.</div>
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Before I go too much into what I’ve been up to, I want to bring a concept up that sits in the back of my mind and reminds me to feel the joy I feel deeply, without foreboding. </div>
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I have shared many times that Brene Brown is one of my very favorite public figures to follow. Her research-based approach to people and how we interact with the world around us has been life changing for me. One topic she discusses frequently is foreboding joy. She describes joy as the most vulnerable feeling humans can experience. The best example she has shared is that feeling of looking at your child sleeping, and you’re in awe of how much you could possibly love someone and how incredibly happy you are that they are in your life. Then immediately you imagine something awful happening to them. Basically you imagine your incredible joy being ripped away from you. In that moment of foreboding joy, we interrupt the full experience of joy out of the fear of losing it. That is the vulnerability associated with the feeling of joy.</div>
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Brene also explains that the antidote to this as gratitude. In those moments when I am snuggling with one or both of my boys and I breathe in their sweet smell and cannot imagine what my life would be without them, that feeling tries to sneak in, but I don’t allow it to. Instead I think about how grateful I am that they are in my life at all. I genuinely cannot imagine what life would be like without them, but I can promise that I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve had with them for anything in the world. If my story would include losing one of them, I wouldn’t do anything different. I would never go back and choose to NOT have them even if I knew I’d lose them. I, and the world around me, is a better place because they have been here. I am so grateful for every minute I have with them, and I will not waste one of them imagining something that hasn’t yet and very likely will never happen.</div>
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So all of this to say, I am fully experiencing the joy that is in my life right now. I have a job that is challenging and makes me work hard. N and I are adjusting to his new schedule and are enjoying the quiet life we have built for ourselves. The boys are strong and healthy and happy. I am running more miles and feel stronger than I maybe ever have in my life.</div>
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N bought me season tickets to the Broadway series at a St. Louis Theater for my birthday, so I saw some awesome musicals this season.</div>
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We added this handsome boy to our family.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZQcornaCgPB-pjvOLJaeXwNoyPegwLaJSacq-I2klfH0GgrLjShZZKnaSfYGm04ZwzX9ydUl0rf1id5_CIC1X7yHHdHUKZfuRHFTs-OWdsVOYsrfUWz6_5nKXupddA4ZLm_DFGOcBWPJ/s1600/Oscar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZQcornaCgPB-pjvOLJaeXwNoyPegwLaJSacq-I2klfH0GgrLjShZZKnaSfYGm04ZwzX9ydUl0rf1id5_CIC1X7yHHdHUKZfuRHFTs-OWdsVOYsrfUWz6_5nKXupddA4ZLm_DFGOcBWPJ/s320/Oscar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I completed another 50 kilometer ultramarathon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW09BiCL-Kpv4_VY_ZMKKVebBdT3SUfKVNh1ayRRs5gor7XnDJ371f-siyjul2RQY5blfB26qsQolWGEFCYfNkQJhKrIc02oWyHHCh-xS2EGl3OS9SQkGNKfX3GB8ADlu3tPCrAfjB796/s1600/OF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW09BiCL-Kpv4_VY_ZMKKVebBdT3SUfKVNh1ayRRs5gor7XnDJ371f-siyjul2RQY5blfB26qsQolWGEFCYfNkQJhKrIc02oWyHHCh-xS2EGl3OS9SQkGNKfX3GB8ADlu3tPCrAfjB796/s320/OF.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(Photo credit: <a href="http://www.mile90.com/">Mile 90 Photography</a>)</i></span></div>
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I ran the color run with this incredible group of ladies. They are strong and supportive and my own unicorn tribe.<br />
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I was invited to speak at the hooding ceremony where I went to graduate school.</div>
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From that talk I was invited to speak at another upcoming event.</div>
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I raced a 10k race and set a 2-minute PR.</div>
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I have made friends with a group of trail runners who I connect with in a deep and beautiful way. They make me laugh everyday and have offered to change my dirty socks during a run. Now that's friendship.</div>
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My heart is happy and full.</div>
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Life is good and I am enjoying it as much as I can. It’s funny but as I write this I feel how vulnerable it feels. As though since I am putting this happiness out there it is somehow going to curse me and make something bad happen. Isn’t that crazy how we do that? It’s the knock on wood theory, right? If you say something hopeful out load you have to follow it up with an understanding that it might go away. How crazy is that?</div>
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It’s the fear of fully experiencing joy, and I won’t entertain it. I will practice gratitude and recognize all who are hurting right now. I am not hurting, so I am not going to waste my time worrying that I might hurt later.</div>
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The new job I started earlier this year is going so well. I work with people with ALS, which is a terminal illness. There is no cure, and there are very few treatments. ALS causes a series of losses that slowly but surely take away all physical abilities from a person, ultimately including the person’s ability to breathe. I work with people in their homes and at their doctor’s office. Sometimes, I am the first person they see after they are told they have this awful disease. </div>
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Can you imagine that for a moment? Seriously. Read this and then close your eyes and imagine what it would be like to sit in a doctor’s office and be told that you have a disease with a prognosis of 2-5 years. A disease that will take your ability to walk, to talk and eventually to breathe. Pause and try to experience what that might be like. Who would you call? How would you tell them? What would you tell your friends and family? What would that pain be like?</div>
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I have sat with people who have this disease and I have looked them in the eye as they face their pain. Seeing this kind of pain makes the rest of the world look pretty bright. Being invited into this intimate moment of their life is an honor. Not being able to fix it feels helpless. I cannot fix it, but I can sit with them and assure them that I will not look away. I will not look away from their pain and leave them there to hold it alone. Being able to give them this is one of the most incredible experiences of my life, and I am grateful for the opportunity to be in the position I am in to be able to do this. It feel like it is what I am meant to do.</div>
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I practice something similar at home. My LBZ is 7.5 years old now (WHAT??), and he is what I would call a very emotional little guy. When he feels something, he feels it with his entire self. He wears his happiness like a colorful cape that follows him around and shines in the sunlight. His fear and pain come out in bursts of uncontrollable tears and yelling. He is full of big and beautiful emotions.</div>
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While he is mostly happy, occasionally he is overrun with sadness. It often happens at night, and his little tears flow and he tells of all of the horrible things that happened in the last few months that feel like they happened in the last twenty minutes. He wraps himself up into a ball of tears and sadness and it can make me feel so helpless.</div>
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In these moments though, he doesn’t need me to fix those things that happened. He doesn’t need me to problem solve or tell him that everything will be okay. What I say to him is always the same:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You are so sad. Everything feels sad. I am so sorry that you’re feeling so sad. I am going to stay here with you so you do not have to feel sad by yourself.”</div>
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Isn’t that what we all want when we are feeling sad and overwhelmed? We don’t need someone telling us how to fix it, that only communicates that the person giving advice is better at life than the person struggling. What we want is validation and the knowledge that no matter how bad things get, the person will not turn away from it. It’s a gift we can give someone, to be willing to sit with them and their pain.<br />
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So my job is a unique combination of holding space for feelings and helping them to solve the problem. I need to be able to do both, which is a nice fit and combination for my personality style. One of my favorite things to do is problem solve. A man I work with loves to cook but gets very tired when he stands in the kitchen and was looking for something to help him conserve his energy and allow him to keep doing this task that he enjoys so much. We talked about a wheelchair but he doesn’t need that yet. We decided to try an office chair that he can perch up high and roll around from the kitchen to the dining room. I’m excited to see if this works.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Another man I work with explained that he felt incredibly tired after his last doctor appointment because of the long walk from the garage to the clinic. We talked about a manual wheelchair and he is resistant to doing this because the wheelchair means that things have declined. This is a very common issue for people who need adaptive equipment. They see a cane or a walker or a wheelchair as a sign of decline. I work with people to reframe their outlook on the equipment and to try and see it as an avenue for independence, not a sign of things worsening. If he uses the manual wheelchair, he will have the energy to make it through the doctor appointment with a clear and fresh mind. Although as we talked we decided it would be much cooler to have a golf cart driving around the doctor’s building giving people rides. That was a fun discussion.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I know firsthand what it’s like to sit in an office and get news that I didn’t want to hear. My disease had a treatment. My disease had a cure. I can honestly say I have put it behind me, although I do feel a loss I didn’t expect. While N and I were clear that we didn’t want more children, there is a big difference between choosing not to have more children and being unable to have more children. It is a loss I didn’t anticipate that shows up as sadness occasionally. Sadness for what might have been had things been different.</div>
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Not that I really wanted more kids anyway. Starting all over with an infant would be SO HARD! </div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-56652399896421015482019-01-12T15:46:00.001-06:002019-01-12T16:02:15.922-06:00My World After Cancer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The world looks different after cancer.<br />
<br />
It's a bit hard to explain but I’ll try. First though, while I consider myself quite lucky since I didn't have to go through actual cancer treatment, I still feel that I faced something most of us fear - the potential loss of the dream we have of a long and healthy life.<br />
<br />
I find myself feeling the need to justify the impact this experience had on me since my experience was pretty mild compared to what many people facing cancer go through. I am going to try and just speak for what this has been like for me, without comparing it to the experiences of others. It is difficult for me to talk about something being bad for me when others have it so much worse. I also feel that I need to honor the impact this experience had on me so I can own it and move forward.<br />
<br />
Being off work for 7 weeks after my surgery was absolutely wonderful. I loved being home, having no deadlines or requirements, and basically just managing the day-to-day operations of my home. Once I gained my strength back I went on walks, cooked lots of meals, followed up on all of my doctor appointments, and most importantly, I met the boys at the bus stop every day.<br />
<br />
I have always done the morning drop-off and while hectic, I love the extra time with the boys in the morning. Getting them off the bus though, with their big smiles and huge hugs and desperate need to talk over each other in an attempt to be the first to tell me about their day...that is the stuff of life. Seeing this part of their day was so wonderful. I was really, really sad when this ended.<br />
<br />
The first couple of weeks back at work were really hard. The work I do is not hard, so I don't mean that the tasks were hard. Readjusting to life after an experience like cancer has been really, really hard.<br />
<br />
As I struggled with the first few weeks back, I was desperate to figure out why I was so unhappy and what on earth I could do about it. At first I thought that the answer was I wanted to spend more time with the boys. That my life was meant to be defined by how well I raise these beautiful little people who are growing and changing before my eyes. I reached out to my boss and talked about reducing my hours. As I shared with her what I was struggling with, I realized it wasn't just the amount of time I was away from the boys that was bothering me but rather what I am doing when I am not with them.<br />
<br />
I have been yearning for something more from my job for a while. As a counselor, I enjoy being with people and helping them grow. As a leader, I enjoy supervising a team and seeing professionals in my charge provide excellent services and grow in their careers. My current job does not allow for opportunities for either of these preferences.<br />
<br />
I knew this when I took the job, and wanted the reprieve of this type of job after <a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2016/01/movin-to-country-gonna-eat-lot-of.html">my last experience</a> that while wonderful, left me feeling stretched thinner than any other job I've had. I also feel like that job I left challenged me more than any other and forced me to grow.<br />
<br />
The world looks different after cancer. I am no longer willing to do a job that I don't enjoy. I am no longer willing to spend time away from my boys that is not spent doing exactly what I want to be doing. I am no longer scared of the uncomfortable conversations and conflicts that come up when managing a team. I am no longer unsure of my own strength and no longer afraid of what might happen if I try a new thing.<br />
<br />
There’s a running joke in my house that I always start sentences with “I was listening to this podcast”… N even got me a t-shirt with this as my catch phrase.<br />
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<br />
I love learning new information, and I don’t enjoy reading. Mostly because reading forces me to sit down and I’m not great at that. I am great at taking walks though! Walking and listening to podcasts is how I usually spend my lunch hour.<br />
<br />
I listened to two very influential podcasts in November and December that gave me the push to change the thing in my life I seemed to want to change. I started to include some specifics about those podcasts but it is super long and can totally be a post on its own. Stay tuned for that.<br />
<br />
Since listening to these two podcasts and doing some pretty serious self-exploration and self-development, I applied for a job as a director, interviewed, easily found six references willing to support me, and was offered and accepted the position.<br />
<br />
I showed up to both interviews as completely myself. I didn’t dress up, I didn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t just to get the job. I was me, take it or leave it, and the ED nearly hired me on the spot.<br />
<br />
My sister came in town for the holidays, and she and I are both tattoo fans. I got this new tattoo, without really realizing the statement I was making until I was visiting with another survivor friend a few days after I got it. She said, “Doesn’t it feel like you don’t give a shit what people think after you go through cancer?” Man, if that is not true I don’t know what is. It’s like a badge of honor. Every time I look down at my wrist I am reminded that I am exactly who I am, and not only am I free to show up just as I am but I have a responsibility to do so.<br />
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<br />
The recruiter who worked with me for this job asked for six references. Six!! That’s a lot of people. As I thought back to my previous jobs it was actually pretty easy to think of people to ask. Each of them said they felt honored to speak on my behalf. I have such a strong and supportive tribe surrounding me. Here’s a fun fact I didn’t realize until I was writing the references down...all three of my personal references are women, and all three own their own businesses. I’m surrounded by some pretty amazing women!<br />
<br />
I found a job that will allow me to supervise a team, to have direct contact with people who are dealing with an illness, and that will give me access to clinics within hospitals so I might share how to better treat and care for people who are sick. Plus its more money, which is a plus :)<br />
<br />
This job is the culmination of the skills built throughout my career combined with my new knowledge of what it feels like to be diagnosed with a disease. I have spent the last 19 years supporting people with various disabilities with only my empathy to help me understand what it must be like. Because of cancer, I now understand disability more than I ever have before.<br />
<br />
A survivor friend’s cancer has returned. Once a person finds and rids the body of cancer, a fear it will return always lingers. My heart is heavy for my friend. Not because I feel sorry for him, I certainly don't, his strength is something to be coveted. I simply feel angry that he has to go through this again. Isn't once enough!? His experience also brings up the fear that accompanies the reality that what I went through isn't necessarily the end. Therefore, I will waste no more time being unsatisfied with any aspect of my life. This is the beginning of whatever is next.<br />
<br />
My world after cancer.<br />
<br />
More beautiful,<br />
more <a href="http://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/12/wrapping-up-2018.html">trust</a>,<br />
more courageous,<br />
more open,<br />
more vulnerable…<br />
<br />
…and just beginning.<br />
<div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Live the life you have imagined.</i></div>
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<i>~Henry David Thoreau</i></div>
</div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-75269150659774732512018-12-26T19:16:00.000-06:002018-12-26T19:52:05.106-06:00Wrapping up 2018 and my word for 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
I think it is safe to say that 2018 was one hell of a year. I have learned so much about myself this year, and about life, really. The biggest lesson is that there is always meaning to be found, particularly in the negative events in our lives.<br />
<br />
Before I get too much into that, I want to talk about the <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/01/stretch.html">word I chose for 2018</a>: STRETCH. Each year I choose a word that is the focus for my year. This year I wanted to stretch myself both literally as in stretching to keep my muscles loose and healthy, and also figuratively as I intended to stretch myself beyond what I thought I was capable of. 2018 stretched me in more ways than I ever could have imagined. I ran not <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/04/running-my-first-ultra-double-chubb-50k.html">ONE</a> but <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/10/rockin-rockwoods-53k-ultra-marathon.html">TWO</a> ultra marathons, saw my chiropractor on a regular basis, volunteered for a bunch of races, threw down a ton of trail miles, and even got a story published on <a href="https://ultrarunning.com/featured/rockin-rockwoods-the-best-kind-of-medicine/">Ultra Running (dot) com</a>! I also faced the biggest health issue of my life so far when I was<a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/09/happy-birthday-anna-you-have-er-had.html"> diagnosed with cervical cancer.</a><br />
<br />
Through it all though, a theme emerged. As I stretched myself beyond what I thought I was physically capable of, I also faced some of the biggest challenges of my life and quickly realized that I must also stretch what I believe to be true in the world. I hold a strong truth that the universe is a friendly place that is on my side. There were more times this year than ever that I had to stretch this belief far to find the meaning behind what life threw at me.<br />
<br />
The year began a bit uneasy when N was essentially laid off from his job. It wasn't sudden, and we had plenty of time to plan for the potential of him being out of work, which was all for nought as he quickly leaned into the change and decided to go into business for himself as an independent consultant. This was the first of many experiences that showed up to challenge us and to test our perpetually optimistic attitudes towards life, which includes the strong belief we both hold: that the universe is friendly and wants us to succeed.<br />
<br />
It was much later in the year that I realized how necessary it is to look not only at the perceived negative event, but also to the positive that came of that negative, which likely would have never happened without that first crappy thing. Case in point: while N's new job required a lot of travel every other week, when he was in town he set his own schedule, making it feasible for us to cancel post-care for our boys and provided for extra time with N when they got home from the bus. Plus the time alone gave me complete control over the TV a few nights every other week, which was actually pretty nice. I also had to deal with <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/04/when-i-know-better-i-do-better.html">the raccoon situation</a>, which ultimately helped me feel like I could handle a lot more going on at the house than I realized.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to mid-year when we <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/06/delilah-jones-z-10920046142018.html">lost our beautiful dog</a>, Delilah. She was 13 years old and lived a long and happy life. I am so grateful to have spent almost her entire life with her. What a sweet girl she was. I miss her terribly.<br />
<br />
The loss of Delilah was devastating. I could barely walk into the house without breaking down in tears. She was our girl and I wasn't sure how to go through the day-to-day life without her. Around the same time that she died we were hoping to remodel our kitchen. We moved forward with the remodel after she died, and there were workmen in and out of our home for 8 weeks, which never could have happened when she was alive. While we loved her dearly, she was an aggressive dog and we could not allow her to be around other people. We would have had to kennel her to get this work done, and that would have been very difficult for her.<br />
<br />
It was also in her loss that I realized how much it means to me to have animals in our home. In August we <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/08/winter-is-coming.html">welcomed our new kitty</a>, who became a light in the darkness of our animal-less home. N might beg to differ, but even with torn up pieces of paper and kitty footprints on the counter and early am wake-ups and the overall annoyances of a young cat, we are smitten with him. He is teaching the boys what it is like to have a friendly cat and has brought a light to our home that even I didn't realize had burned out. If not for the loss of Delilah we would not know our sweet new kitty.<br />
<br />
And of course the biggest issue we faced this year, and truly the biggest challenge I have faced in my life so far, my cancer diagnosis.<br />
<br />
I am still searching for the meaning in this. In the previously mentioned examples, the meaning became clear sometime after each experience. I am still waiting for the meaning of my cancer to be revealed. I feel a strong sense that life cannot just go on like cancer never happened, or that it can go back to the way it was. There has to be some deeper meaning for what I went through. I have no doubt that this meaning will reveal itself at the right time. It might be subtle, or it could hit me like a ton of bricks. I'll wait patiently knowing that the universe is friendly, and trust that there is something to come of this.<br />
<br />
I am so looking forward to what the new year will bring. More stretching? More <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2016/01/adventure.html">adventure</a>? More opportunities to be <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2017/02/my-word-for-2017.html">vulnerable</a>? When I think about power and strength and all that goes into the way I make decisions in my life, I realize how much fear I have as I approach the world. I have spent a lot of my life afraid of what might happen. What am I so afraid of? Failure? Success? Feeling too vulnerable? Things not going perfectly? Any of these and more, I suppose.<br />
<br />
I have learned two very important things this year. First, the universe really is a friendly place, even when it doesn't seem so. So what is there to be so afraid of? Second, I do not want to spent my life allowing fear to keep me from doing not only what is possible but also what might just bring me the most joy in this life.<br />
<br />
My first word choice for 2019 was fearless, but this really is inaccurate. To operate without fear is inhumane. We are wired to be afraid in order to stay safe. While I would like to face the world with a sense of fearlessness, I do not think this is exactly what I am going for.<br />
<br />
As I explored words that would capture what I hope for myself in 2019, one kept coming to mind...<br />
<br />
TRUST<br />
<i>noun</i><br />
<i>1. firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or something</i><br />
<br />
I have to trust that no matter what life throws at me, I have the strength to handle it. I also have to trust that all that happens in life has meaning, whether I find it immediately or after waiting patiently.<br />
<br />
If all of this is true, what do I have to be afraid of?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"I truly believe that everything that we do and everyone that we meet is put in our path for a purpose. There are no accidents; we're all teachers - if we're willing to pay attention to the lessons we learn, trust our positive instincts and not be afraid to take risks or wait for some miracle to come knocking at our door." ~</i><i>Marla Gibbs</i></div>
<br />
Bring on 2019!Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-88675980838094676942018-10-22T19:28:00.000-05:002018-10-22T19:28:46.697-05:00Feelings. So Many Feelings.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First and foremost, I am so happy to share that my doctor confirmed today that I am officially cancer free! All of the pathology came back clear, so I am at no more risk than anyone else for cancer in the future. Hooray!!<br />
<br />
I have so many feelings today as I process this news and all that has happened in the last few months. It is officially over, it seems. Yet I feel that I have more processing to do. While the surgery was the end of a fairly long story, it also feels like it all happened very quickly.<br />
<br />
I read the pathology today, which was more detailed than the other reports I have read. The report described my uterus and fallopian tubes in detail. It described the colors and even the measurements. As I read this description, I became very, very sad. I imagined the doctor who was looking at the specimen as just that, a specimen. I understand science and that my uterus looks the same as anyone else’s. That the cancer growing on it was the same as anyone else who has had cervical cancer. Yet it came from my body and served such a huge purpose.<br />
<br />
I wondered if the pathologist thought about me as the person whose body once housed that incredible organ. I wondered if she had an appreciation how magical that organ was, or if it was just another part of her day as a scientist. I wondered if she would appreciate the fact that it twice grew from the size she saw into huge as a tiny embryo stretched it to house a beautiful 8+ pound baby boy.<br />
<br />
What I read was the science behind it all, and it sort if hit me that my uterus really isn’t there anymore.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, I am glad it is gone. It was to serve no purpose going forward. It was the source and cause of a lot of stress and worry over the past 5 years. So much worry that I can now put behind me, but interestingly enough, I am not quite ready to do that just yet. I suppose it makes sense though. I mean, I have been very aware of its existence since August 13, 1991. Does anyone else remember the day of their very first period? I don’t even know how I know that, but I totally do.<br />
<br />
I have more healing to do both physically and spiritually and am looking forward to four more weeks of rest and recovery. I am still on orders of taking it easy and no running and will hopefully be able to try some light impact exercise soon. I am missing the way exercise helps me cope with the stresses of life. Although there isn’t much stress in doing word puzzles and binge-watching Netflix 😊<br />
<br />
So for now I will spend some time in introspection and reflection, in hopes of getting to a place where I can genuinely say that all of this really is behind me.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-40756736262343693412018-10-11T20:23:00.002-05:002018-10-12T14:23:35.528-05:00Hospitals are not Hiltons<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am home. I had my surgery. And I am so humbled by this
whole experience.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So much happened in the last 4 days. It feels like both the
longest and the shortest days of my life. Is that even possible?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was me at about 10:50am on Monday outside of the
hospital.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQntDD7v7Re_NUs5z7qogn86N-kwyCxQ4cF47AdeMh6PueDyqC6yw-hn87FD9VO4rkXqaNoaXgO1qmWqCrhXWYZfng6KLrL9iKRDmF0bAn4-cnp9cuPnqPWA-pPsZA52k8pd0GkFJS7cms/s1600/bye+uterus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQntDD7v7Re_NUs5z7qogn86N-kwyCxQ4cF47AdeMh6PueDyqC6yw-hn87FD9VO4rkXqaNoaXgO1qmWqCrhXWYZfng6KLrL9iKRDmF0bAn4-cnp9cuPnqPWA-pPsZA52k8pd0GkFJS7cms/s320/bye+uterus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
N and the boys got this shirt for me as a nice way to keep
the experience positive and light-hearted. While the photo was taken when I
arrived, I waited to share it until after the surgery. I figured I’d want to
share it when it was over but some thought this was after the surgery. Heck no!
I didn’t wear real clothes until sometime late Tuesday morning and I sure didn’t
look this well as I hobbled from the wheelchair to the car!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, I felt pretty good going into the surgery. It’s funny
though, going to a hospital I figured they would just be the experts and know
everything that needed to be done and I would just be able to relax and let them
take care of everything. Not so much. Hospitals are not Hiltons, after all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The consent form they handed me was the first clue that I
will always have to be my own advocate. The form included the removal of my
ovaries, which was not part of the plan. Needless to say, I did not sign that
one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next, while a very kind nurse was trying to give me an IV, a
very impatient phlebotomist came in to take some blood. She actually wanted me
to hand over my right arm while the lady was trying to start the IV in my left
arm. Settle down lady, can’t you all just get the blood out of the IV line so I
am only stuck once?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Theoretically yes, but the woman trying to start the IV
couldn’t. She set the IV then the impatient lady got my blood with one stick
and was out! Then I noticed my skin burning at the site and a big bubble
pooling under the site. That IV was definitely NOT in the right place. The main
nurse restarted the IV in my hand with no issues.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At about the same time the IV was finally restarted, a tall
doctor who introduced himself as the anesthesiologist came into the room with
his rolling computer and began talking really fast and clicking buttons. I
looked at him and realized I hadn’t heard one single word he said. So I
interrupted him and said “I am going to need you to start over again and slow
down so I can understand you.” He stopped clicking and looked at me, then he
actually saw me. He answered all of my questions (like would I need a catheter
and would I be awake when they took the tube out, yes/no FYI).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest is a bit of a blur. I signed the right consent form
kissed N goodbye, and as nervous as I was I ept thinking about how happy I was
that this was me and not one of the boys or even N. Inside I wanted to run
away from it all. I wished the pregnancy test had been positive or that the
doctor would have been called away for an emergency. But I also wanted to get
this over with. It was a constant dichotomy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even though the rest is a blur, I will never forget the way
I felt right before I drifted off to sleep. Nicole, the anesthesia nurse, looked
me in the eyes each time she spoke to me. I crawled up onto the operating table
and scooted to where they needed me. I laid my head back and she put the mask
on my face. Then she placed both hands on both sides of my face and said she was
right there with me and that they would all take very good care of me. I let
out a little cry of relief and fear and thanked her. I closed my eyes, which
started to water, took some deep breaths and fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next thing I remember is opening my eyes in the recovery room. My nurse spoke to me and I tried to talk but my throat was sore from the
tube. The more I spoke the easier it was. I drifted in and out of sleep and
felt really good. I had no pain. My mouth was pretty dry and she gave me ice
chips to suck on. Apparently general anesthesia shuts off all body systems
including the creation of saliva. It takes awhile for that to return. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was about 4:30pm when I first woke up and my pain level
was never more than a 2. It was very well controlled. Long story short, I
finally made it to a hospital room at 8:30pm. Yes, I was in recovery for 4
hours! I should have only been there for 1-1.5 hours. It was actually a very
entertaining 4 hours. I’ll have to share that part of the story for another
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was so relieved to see N in the hospital room. I was
really sad that it was too late for the boys to come to the hospital, but we
talked through FaceTime, which was nice. I was also really disappointed that I
couldn’t eat anything. I was starving! I was NPO then in clear liquids. Tea
never tasted so good!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gCBA-nLQJuOJ9aYmCKvmqYs8DC9wh7qEqN6WpFNobZqdxKaQev7b5ZmBQuyXqgrD0bF-lWtN1CEdbbSxhX_bWl-_y2nqvkKmwfi6YUFU41l6OXIeu2PsEAFJFVyTCuDyl-Hsoeuimxz5/s1600/IMG_1364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0gCBA-nLQJuOJ9aYmCKvmqYs8DC9wh7qEqN6WpFNobZqdxKaQev7b5ZmBQuyXqgrD0bF-lWtN1CEdbbSxhX_bWl-_y2nqvkKmwfi6YUFU41l6OXIeu2PsEAFJFVyTCuDyl-Hsoeuimxz5/s320/IMG_1364.JPG" width="179" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Not a great photo, but you get the idea.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t sleep well overnight but enjoyed the peacefulness
of the empty room and the TV to myself. I was anxious to get home and was
released at about 10am on Tuesday.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m slowly gaining strength each day but man, this is SO
HARD! I have a whole new understanding of and respect for surgery. I have often
said that BBZ’s whole personality changed after <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2009/07/long-story.html">the surgery he had at 9 months old</a>, and I believe that even more now. I am an adult and this experience was
traumatizing. Don’t get me wrong, I am okay, but this experience was no joke
and has been harder than I could have predicted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the worst part for me has been the pain from the gas
they injected into my abdomen to make room for the laparoscopic surgery tools.
Apparently the gas irritates the diaphragm which is on the same nerves as the
shoulders, so the pain radiates from my front to my back and doesn’t seem to be
helped by any medication. I was not prepared for that! Tonight was the
first time I have really had much relief. Luckily I am just taking ibuprofen
now rather than a Tylenol/ibuprofen combo. I tried taking the Tylenol 3 but it didn't seem to be any different and I hate taking prescription medications.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As should be expected, I am having a hard time with the lack
of activity. I am so used to being crazy active with 13k+ steps daily and this
drastic reduction seems like a shock to my body. I am getting up and moving
around, but I get tired really quickly and have to sit back down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The good news is I am feeling stronger each day! I am just
not good at taking it easy. I am trying though. I don’t really have a choice.
My mom and dad have come over to keep me company and make sure we are all
eating well, so many friends have reached out and I have received some really
thoughtful care packages with goodies to enjoy post surgery. I’m working on
word puzzles and binge watching Netflix and trying to remind myself that I will
be able to run again sometime soon-ish. I walked around the little circle
outside a couple of times, but I get light headed and I can’t go alone and it kind
of freaks me out.<br />
<br />
I’m trying to listen to my body and not think about my
fitness, but it sure is hard to turn off the part of my mind that is so focused on finding health through movement and activity. I am trying to focus that same
health-seeking mindset on resting and allowing my body the time it needs to heal
but man, it is hard!<br />
<br />
I’m on strict no driving orders until next week and I see
why. My abdomen is sore and my reflexes are a bit delayed. Hopefully all of
that will be back and in order for Monday when N travels again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks to everyone who has helped so far with thoughts,
prayers, positivity, cards, messages and stuff to keep me occupied. I genuinely
appreciate it all.<br />
<br />
And I really, REALLY can’t wait to run again. I should
probably focus on being able to walk around the block first.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-81745452239984112982018-10-01T22:16:00.001-05:002018-10-02T09:24:01.534-05:00Rockin' Rockwoods 53k Ultra Marathon<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>“The measure of a person’s strength is not his muscular</i></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>power or strength, </i><i>but it is his flexibility and adaptability.”</i></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>~Debasish Mridha</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp04oWkQ6QSeXRRBa0XIKpmIQvbEvGx0SXrNh51H4MtdQWwGhXsavH1p5JUT3S116EPv9y9eXkyV8pPFDMJ6tjMPS77huf74O-U7YvW0OuOYhtLKFCJrK7VAlPU2yvq-jXGJ3SxZaLj2B1/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp04oWkQ6QSeXRRBa0XIKpmIQvbEvGx0SXrNh51H4MtdQWwGhXsavH1p5JUT3S116EPv9y9eXkyV8pPFDMJ6tjMPS77huf74O-U7YvW0OuOYhtLKFCJrK7VAlPU2yvq-jXGJ3SxZaLj2B1/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1319.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
<br />
I have had a beautiful relationship with one particular race
here in St. Louis, MO. The 20k distance of the <a href="https://rockinrockwoods.weebly.com/">Rockin’ Rockwoods Ultra Marathon</a>
was my very first taste of the ultra world back in 2016. I returned for the shorter
distance in 2017, which was increased to a half marathon, and loved it as much
as the first year.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is one of the most challenging races in the area, with an
impressive elevation of over 2000ft for the half and over 5000ft for the longer
distance, which is the 53k. For many reasons, this is my all time
favorite race. It’s challenging and in a beautiful park with gorgeous and tough trails. It has been a dream of mine since 2016 to one day complete the longer
53k distance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, my dream came true and I completed the race this past Saturday! And as should be expected from a super challenging course, completing it was not without its challenges.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ran the first 6 miles feeling strong. I was averaging about an 11 minute mile, which I knew I could maintain until the steep climbs came after mile 15. Then out of nowhere at 6.5 miles,
I began to have some knee pain deep down inside my right knee. I stopped and
stretched it out and tried to walk it out. I was able to keep the pain at bay by
giving myself frequent walking breaks until about mile 10 or so, then I took
some ibuprofen to see if it would allow me to run more and finish the race. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The time between mile 10 and 13 were really rough. I was having
some serious doubt that I could finish. I had a long way to go and I knew I
could drop at the next station at mile 15 and walk back to the race start. I
thought maybe I could cheer everyone on and still feel good about the
situation. Maybe my body would do better for my upcoming surgery if I wasn’t
recovering from a full race. I cried a little as I realized how hard it would be to
go into the surgery shortly after my first DNF. My emotions were all over the
place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hoped to get some guidance from my friends who I knew were at the 15 mile aid station, but I needed help sooner than that. So I texted N.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL7v6U-KjvAwVHiyHWdQ7NibgxQSoLC4cMDJ346FfMqlhhj4-kK6azjifFebTjrSrn1ryEprbxQyv9Lbr2xH0ycwqGe3f_m3-1B_jY0H7LWqCwBkOLVk7SYE-dDhSNDNM1NAX40foLah7n/s1600/IMG_1307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1042" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL7v6U-KjvAwVHiyHWdQ7NibgxQSoLC4cMDJ346FfMqlhhj4-kK6azjifFebTjrSrn1ryEprbxQyv9Lbr2xH0ycwqGe3f_m3-1B_jY0H7LWqCwBkOLVk7SYE-dDhSNDNM1NAX40foLah7n/s320/IMG_1307.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I sent him that first text, I was sure he'd text back that it was okay to stop if I needed to. As soon as I saw his response, which was simply a request for more information, I turned straight to problem solving mode. I had tried to compute the distance but I just couldn't wrap my head around it. He's awesome at math so as soon as I saw that I could walk and still finish in the 10-hour cutoff time, I was golden.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I let go of attempting to run I was able to throw down a decent power hiking pace. I averaged about 16-17 minute miles for the rest of the race, with a couple of exceptions at the main aid station at mile 20 and during some of the steepest climbs.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kRryKsQHIk_4DxD9_LEGdl0yPGLAvOHM4yKRv5gyyKcbYBrRTbcmUx0VMFpafKtcSkFBKzC57hV54wS48T3bJxyxrlALY63-7_P2ru2cJfcucB3EwZU_3epbY1cI_WgMCrkrxO4OuXOf/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5kRryKsQHIk_4DxD9_LEGdl0yPGLAvOHM4yKRv5gyyKcbYBrRTbcmUx0VMFpafKtcSkFBKzC57hV54wS48T3bJxyxrlALY63-7_P2ru2cJfcucB3EwZU_3epbY1cI_WgMCrkrxO4OuXOf/s320/Rockwoods+2018-966.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Doing my best to make it look like I was running :)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could have dropped. I wanted to drop. I had a lot of pretty valid excuses. I have cancer. I am having major surgery in nine days. My knee is in serious trouble. No one would blame me for dropping. I could cheer on my friends. If I was ever going to DNF, I had plenty of excuses lined up to make it a valid choice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I finished this race despite all of those excuses? How strong would I feel? How good would that be for my psyche? I am forced to rest after the surgery anyway, so I can push my knee beyond what I typically would knowing I'll have extra time to let it heal.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXybGC_eWcuVAejDgYDv93ffgBbIkjKF8rkCge3tDQGsDX3lc6gC_K6jMP4t1BvFnR5APTqicMW2aEUZRA4DfMvxzcMpSJYoZt3PJBEtdNftsl7dtaJkVWLcULG5e63ZKtepiJfZcv9PhW/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-987.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXybGC_eWcuVAejDgYDv93ffgBbIkjKF8rkCge3tDQGsDX3lc6gC_K6jMP4t1BvFnR5APTqicMW2aEUZRA4DfMvxzcMpSJYoZt3PJBEtdNftsl7dtaJkVWLcULG5e63ZKtepiJfZcv9PhW/s320/Rockwoods+2018-987.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Making the best of not running. Eating while power hiking!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The decision was a no-brainer. I pushed on and power hiked and felt pretty good through most of the race. People passed me and checked in on me to see if I was okay. I managed to choose music that I wanted to hear as opposed to music that would pump me up. I spent 9 hours in the woods on a beautiful day, texted with my husband to arrange when I'd finish and thoroughly enjoyed the course of my very favorite race.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ksg91ta0hECoizyyZdIZkHdCNRdshCKQaEeHga2r2isCsDHSsU5eGhD25bNeadJ0HM5AORVUI-nyCIapRgCg3m0V61Uk1GERX9pNLWlyfnA4JUD-rBXXioFBVl18ZQu1nBOvB2dXwMlz/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ksg91ta0hECoizyyZdIZkHdCNRdshCKQaEeHga2r2isCsDHSsU5eGhD25bNeadJ0HM5AORVUI-nyCIapRgCg3m0V61Uk1GERX9pNLWlyfnA4JUD-rBXXioFBVl18ZQu1nBOvB2dXwMlz/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1304.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> Rock and roll hands as I rocked Rockin' Rockwoods</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoG06K40kcy86F6Y1c7mj2zxNnVNOLp2GUhJ3oe42MUU_Z6JScUge_ISdrmq2Yiy338isKV48CJBjOAU-MkDiGI1rXhs5AztN8yqD7mc4pqQSo8qw5cGDxA18FCaRapkj3UuDCpGUCCbD/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinoG06K40kcy86F6Y1c7mj2zxNnVNOLp2GUhJ3oe42MUU_Z6JScUge_ISdrmq2Yiy338isKV48CJBjOAU-MkDiGI1rXhs5AztN8yqD7mc4pqQSo8qw5cGDxA18FCaRapkj3UuDCpGUCCbD/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1312.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Bee stung, scraped and blistered at the finish line.</i></div>
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<i>Thrilled by the realization that this trail didn't break me.</i></div>
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<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQELvPoRj8aPtAmErdFpK7JarIXRXqZI7dWZNFIhpflk18oQ82zo1ziUG870-gZt1fGAsKVtWkc8UbK0A0Zjm89To7bqTiA2mJvex12AjdnUAgGu81G3scjchZeWhsar6ZKcYoJFsqoZD/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQELvPoRj8aPtAmErdFpK7JarIXRXqZI7dWZNFIhpflk18oQ82zo1ziUG870-gZt1fGAsKVtWkc8UbK0A0Zjm89To7bqTiA2mJvex12AjdnUAgGu81G3scjchZeWhsar6ZKcYoJFsqoZD/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1315.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i> 09:01:44, two hours past my goal time.</i></div>
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<i>I'll take it over a DNF any day.</i></div>
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<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
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I am so grateful for this lady and her no bullshit take on the ultra running sport. During her race meeting the morning of the race she said no one should drop on this beautiful day. She said we all had 10 hours to complete this race, and she sure didn't want to have to pick any of our asses up at one of the stations, so no dropping.</div>
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Her words echoed in my head as I contemplated dropping. Letting her down would have been letting myself down. She and her crew design these races so we can push ourselves to the brink of failure, hoping that each of us succeed. <a href="http://www.terraintrailrunners.com/">Shalini and Jerod</a> (Jerod is the mystery hand in the photo) and this moment are very special to me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqJcONiII6LSMoLM13kip-5wlcN0Y7fMqrKJ7nIWAo86XueLf13hTQWNhp-brKLlaOrBJLNRaQ6BmwWYq4uornwFf9qme6CwprHu4KAhkYy_MBxGeUUZ-KIjkId969kk49e5BV55zPjcV/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqJcONiII6LSMoLM13kip-5wlcN0Y7fMqrKJ7nIWAo86XueLf13hTQWNhp-brKLlaOrBJLNRaQ6BmwWYq4uornwFf9qme6CwprHu4KAhkYy_MBxGeUUZ-KIjkId969kk49e5BV55zPjcV/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1318.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
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These boys. THESE BOYS!! (and N too, he's just hiding) They both have referenced back to this race and the pride they feel in me. I am so happy that I am showing these boys that great things come from refusing to give up, and from being willing to adjust our expectations in the moment. As the quote above says, we must be willing and able to be flexible and adaptable to our experiences.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85Kt3QAdlc7309ddFRdKD8o19d1ttzLLm7Z6K2BuQSkm6UPRxSqcQit6fV_Q0TaB-QpCDnlvUn0XCsGu6ddpqTetb2shqopJj4c2KjVUmxwSvofmvSpup4fbzvwPs6XOw6UY3lZkXPuAF/s1600/Rockwoods+2018-1320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85Kt3QAdlc7309ddFRdKD8o19d1ttzLLm7Z6K2BuQSkm6UPRxSqcQit6fV_Q0TaB-QpCDnlvUn0XCsGu6ddpqTetb2shqopJj4c2KjVUmxwSvofmvSpup4fbzvwPs6XOw6UY3lZkXPuAF/s320/Rockwoods+2018-1320.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo credit: <a href="https://marcusjanzow.zenfolio.com/">Janzow Photography</a></i></div>
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I told N when I got home that night that his question back to me in that text is what changed the course of my mindset, and he said that he knew I was banking a lot of my strength for the upcoming surgery on my performance in this race. He knew what it meant for me, and he helped me figure out what I needed to do that was best for me, while also giving me an out at the end if I went that way. I sure do love him.</div>
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My other thought was when I do this race again, there's no doubt I will set a course PR as long as I can run it. Guess I can't put this race behind me just yet after all :)</div>
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Official stats:</div>
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53k (33 miles)</div>
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9:01:44</div>
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27th of 30</div>
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9th female of 11</div>
AND NO DNF!!!<br />
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My regular chiropractor is out on paternity leave so I saw his fill-in today. She stretched me out and helped me see and feel how incredibly tight my entire body was. It's unclear if the tightness was in place before the race and contributed to my knee or if the race made me tight all over, but nevertheless, it seems that the stress I've been under likely contributed to my body being "off" leading into the race.<br />
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The best part is she doesn't think the knee injury is anything long-term. As long as I can deal with my blistered feet, I'll be able to squeeze a few more runs in before my time off for <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/09/i-found-my-surgical-pacer.html">the surgery.</a><br />
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I feel so lucky to have this life of mine. To be able to run a race like this is more than many people can even imagine. I have so many wonderful things in my life, and I can't wait to see what is up next in this incredible journey. Thanks for reading friends, and for going along with me in this little life.<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903311867773183594.post-75319298618793326032018-09-24T19:58:00.002-05:002018-09-24T19:58:24.341-05:00I Found My Surgical PacerI met with the new oncologist this morning, and to say it went well would be a huge understatement.<br />
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N went with me this time, which was really great. I wish he went last time so he could compare the two experiences, but considering how ready I feel to take on this challenge with the support of this doctor I know seeking another option was the right thing to do.<br />
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We talked for a long time about what I've been through so far, and she helped me understand why she is recommending a simple hysterectomy. She drew pictures and answered every question we could think of. She even remembered a pen!<br />
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She noticed my socks and recognized them as a preference for running. She shared that she is a runner too and we chatted about running and upcoming races. Mine is this weekend, and she is training for the New York Marathon later this year. There is just something about talking about running with another runner. It creates an immediate connection and a shared language that is difficult to explain to people who are not runners.<br />
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As we discussed the details of the procedure and what I need to do to lead up to it, she said I have likely spent more time and energy preparing my body for the race on Saturday than I will need to do for the surgery. As we continued to talk and she referenced race training and prep with the surgery, she either said or I picked up on the fact that the the preparation for and execution of my race this weekend will likely be more difficult than this surgery.<br />
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So there it is. All I really needed to hear. Not only can I do this, but I have already done something more difficult than this and have done it well. I will be back on my feet and ready to put this all behind me in a period of time comparable to recovering from an ultra marathon.<br />
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And I've already done that once!<br />
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She did an incredible job of helping me feel confident and strong and not only able to handle this surgery, but that I would likely be back to running fairly quickly because I am in such good shape. Not once did I feel like she thought I needed to be taken care of. She pointed out my strengths and reassured me that they would carry me through this with ease.<br />
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I wrote a couple of days ago that although I feel surrounded by people supporting me and cheering for me, <a href="https://companiontothewind.blogspot.com/2018/09/cancer-and-ultra-running-going-at-it.html">I am doing this alone</a>. Well, my visit with this doctor totally challenged that thought. She and her team will be there with me the whole time. It's like she's my surgical <a href="https://www.livestrong.com/article/427304-what-is-a-pacer-for-running/">pacer</a> who will do everything she can to ensure a solid finish. I am so grateful that I held out hope and found someone who makes me feel this confident in the decision to move forward with the surgery.<br />
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We are working on the scheduling and it could be anywhere from 2-4 weeks away depending on what the nurse finds out. I should know by tomorrow.<br />
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They will do pathology on the uterus once it is removed to see if there is any further treatment needed. I am holding out hope that everything will be removed with the surgery and I will be able to put this whole experience behind me soon.<br />
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This has been a whirlwind of emotion and coping since July. I have spent a lot of time feeling fearful of this surgery and unsure of it all. For the first time, I am thinking of how much better it will be afterwards. I am able to see myself sailing through and actually feeling better once it is all over. It's a beautiful and much needed fresh perspective.<br />
<br />Annahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16949476353146102547noreply@blogger.com