I'll simply start by saying, and this is an understatement, the past 12 months that made up the year 2013 were challenging. I embarked on new endeavors, I started some things that are now finished, some things finished that I never really started, and every other ambiguous analogy for stuff happening that I could potentially come up with.
But this post ins't about rehashing the last 12 months that are now behind me...the initial intention of this post was to speak briefly about my experience at Aravaipa Running's Across the Years race, my first attempt at a timed event. Knowing that my running has been sporadic due to balancing injury recovery with work and school schedules, I did my best to be realistic with my personal goals and distance hopes. 83 has been my lucky number for a long time, honestly I couldn't even tell you why, how is that for an anti-climatic anecdote? Still, I figured that 83 miles in 24 hours was more than reasonable, so that was my hope. Then, of course, my brain got to thinking and mathematical probabilities and equations ensued and I even got to a place where I had figured that 100 miles was still within reach, if I really wanted to put my head down and get to it.
So what happened? How far did I go? Do I have a new belt buckle to add to my collection?
No. I fell sick two days before the race. I coughed my way through the night for both nights preceding it, and was told the morning of the race by part of my support crew that I 'sounded like shit' and was asked to reconsider even going. So, of course, I went. I held onto the hope that my lungs would magically clear in the 25 minute drive to the race, and figured I'd just start off smart and slow and hope for the best.
To paint a picture of what was going on in my lungs, imagine this: visualize your breath as an elevator, and your lungs as a 12 story building. A full breath would start up on the roof and go all the way down to the 1st floor lobby. My full breath, an hour before the race was to start, was only getting from the roof to about the 4th floor, but that was still manageable. I could and would work with that. I saw some people I knew, I chatted with them briefly, I got last minute words of wisdom from Nick Coury about race approach and strategy (he thought I had a good handle on it), I did that thing I always do at any ultra- connect with other crazy people with whom I have at least one thing in common, the willingness to willingly run pretty far for fun.
We counted it down together and our group of 24hour runners got started at 9am on December 31st. The plan was to run through and into the new year. This was a new start, all of this years trips and falls and tribulations would be left in the dust behind me and I'd move confidently forward.
By about the fourth lap my elevator was going down to about the 6th floor. I was doing my best to ignore it and just press forward.
Because the outcome is predictable, I'll make this a brief recap. Less than four hours in, before the first direction change, it was obvious to me in the logical portion of my brain that I was only going to make myself more sick and that the elevator was becoming less and less cooperative. In the stubborn, willful, driven portion of my brain, I put on a brave face for my mom and nephews as they cheered me on, and tried to keep it equally convincing for my special chauffer/signmaker/cheerleader who also showed up to support me. By the time my mom returned with my nephews having been exchanged for my dad, I was convincing myself that, since I was not yet cyanic and that I could still feel most of my face, in spite of extremely shallow breathing, that I was okay to keep going. That illusion did not last long, the elevator was only getting to about the tenth floor. With the support and encouragement of my loved ones around me, I decided that the right decision for my health was to call it a day before I was headed to the hospital.
And so, my first attempt at a 24 hour race resulted in 8 hours total at the race, and about 6 of it spent slowly moving and wheezing around the course. I ended up with 31.494miles/50.685K officially recorded. Technically, that's an ultra, so I reminded myself.
I was disappointed. Not with my effort, but with my body's limitations. So it goes. I learned something, which always seems to come with every race, and so I'm quite glad for that.
Looking forward, the first 12 days of this year have been interesting, trying and unexpected. I've picked my next race, and am excited to be training to run the Crown King Scramble 50K, and also excited to be treating myself to an overnight stay at one of Crown King's old lodging cabins.
I've also come to terms with the fact that the aftermath of having broken my hand (and my radius) has caused damage enough that my future plans as a massage therapist/yoga instructor are pretty much off the table/mat. I'm hoping to work things out with my school and figure out what, if anything, I can walk away from all of this with other than a giant basket full of nothing. I do have hope.
So, I embark upon this new year running. Some things I'm running towards, some things I'm running from, sometimes I'm just running aimlessly, other times with great purpose, and in my better moments, I run in the concentration and spirit of meditation.
I hope the new year has brought everyone some sort of new challenge and perspective, and I dare you to make the most of it.
But this post ins't about rehashing the last 12 months that are now behind me...the initial intention of this post was to speak briefly about my experience at Aravaipa Running's Across the Years race, my first attempt at a timed event. Knowing that my running has been sporadic due to balancing injury recovery with work and school schedules, I did my best to be realistic with my personal goals and distance hopes. 83 has been my lucky number for a long time, honestly I couldn't even tell you why, how is that for an anti-climatic anecdote? Still, I figured that 83 miles in 24 hours was more than reasonable, so that was my hope. Then, of course, my brain got to thinking and mathematical probabilities and equations ensued and I even got to a place where I had figured that 100 miles was still within reach, if I really wanted to put my head down and get to it.
So what happened? How far did I go? Do I have a new belt buckle to add to my collection?
No. I fell sick two days before the race. I coughed my way through the night for both nights preceding it, and was told the morning of the race by part of my support crew that I 'sounded like shit' and was asked to reconsider even going. So, of course, I went. I held onto the hope that my lungs would magically clear in the 25 minute drive to the race, and figured I'd just start off smart and slow and hope for the best.
To paint a picture of what was going on in my lungs, imagine this: visualize your breath as an elevator, and your lungs as a 12 story building. A full breath would start up on the roof and go all the way down to the 1st floor lobby. My full breath, an hour before the race was to start, was only getting from the roof to about the 4th floor, but that was still manageable. I could and would work with that. I saw some people I knew, I chatted with them briefly, I got last minute words of wisdom from Nick Coury about race approach and strategy (he thought I had a good handle on it), I did that thing I always do at any ultra- connect with other crazy people with whom I have at least one thing in common, the willingness to willingly run pretty far for fun.
We counted it down together and our group of 24hour runners got started at 9am on December 31st. The plan was to run through and into the new year. This was a new start, all of this years trips and falls and tribulations would be left in the dust behind me and I'd move confidently forward.
By about the fourth lap my elevator was going down to about the 6th floor. I was doing my best to ignore it and just press forward.
Because the outcome is predictable, I'll make this a brief recap. Less than four hours in, before the first direction change, it was obvious to me in the logical portion of my brain that I was only going to make myself more sick and that the elevator was becoming less and less cooperative. In the stubborn, willful, driven portion of my brain, I put on a brave face for my mom and nephews as they cheered me on, and tried to keep it equally convincing for my special chauffer/signmaker/cheerleader who also showed up to support me. By the time my mom returned with my nephews having been exchanged for my dad, I was convincing myself that, since I was not yet cyanic and that I could still feel most of my face, in spite of extremely shallow breathing, that I was okay to keep going. That illusion did not last long, the elevator was only getting to about the tenth floor. With the support and encouragement of my loved ones around me, I decided that the right decision for my health was to call it a day before I was headed to the hospital.
And so, my first attempt at a 24 hour race resulted in 8 hours total at the race, and about 6 of it spent slowly moving and wheezing around the course. I ended up with 31.494miles/50.685K officially recorded. Technically, that's an ultra, so I reminded myself.
I was disappointed. Not with my effort, but with my body's limitations. So it goes. I learned something, which always seems to come with every race, and so I'm quite glad for that.
Looking forward, the first 12 days of this year have been interesting, trying and unexpected. I've picked my next race, and am excited to be training to run the Crown King Scramble 50K, and also excited to be treating myself to an overnight stay at one of Crown King's old lodging cabins.
I've also come to terms with the fact that the aftermath of having broken my hand (and my radius) has caused damage enough that my future plans as a massage therapist/yoga instructor are pretty much off the table/mat. I'm hoping to work things out with my school and figure out what, if anything, I can walk away from all of this with other than a giant basket full of nothing. I do have hope.
So, I embark upon this new year running. Some things I'm running towards, some things I'm running from, sometimes I'm just running aimlessly, other times with great purpose, and in my better moments, I run in the concentration and spirit of meditation.
I hope the new year has brought everyone some sort of new challenge and perspective, and I dare you to make the most of it.
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