The runner stirs

I was going give this blog entry the decidedly uninspired title of "Update," but thankfully the title you see above crossed my mind next. It seemed a tad more fitting, given the recent inactivity of my inner runner.

I have not felt like a runner this week.

I have felt like... well, I have not been feeling a whole lot at all, except when the kids are around. During the day, I've been trying to stay focused less on feeling and more on doing, and what needs to be done. I even write notes to myself in case my mind wanders off and it needs to be refocused on specific tasks. Right now, on the pad to my left, is written the words "Your job today is to write articles." The sentence is in large letters, and underlined.

Under that, a smaller note says "File unemployement."

Last Friday, I lost my job. It was a surprise to me, though in retrospect I should have seen it coming. I should have been looking for another position some time ago, frankly, but instead I chose to work harder at doing an even better job in my existing position over finding a new post.

Ultimately, it was not to be, which is ok - though unpleasant, these things happen. But it does mean I've had to start looking for a new position immediately.

I am hopeful about my opportunities. What's more, I actually feel joyful not to be tethered to my last position anymore, for while there were many great people and benefits, the industry never really evoked as much passion in me as I would like.

By being released from that position, I feel like I am now free to make closer and closer approximations towards more true career goals.

But... back to the running. As I mentioned, I have not been feeling much like a runner... I have gone for short runs here and there, but nothing over 6 miles and probably no more than 12 miles total so far this week (YIKES!).

It's just hard to get out there for a quick run when there is so much to be done here at home. That said, I know we all have certain hobbies or activities that help keep our sanity and sense of balance; that provide a mental and physical break from other activities. For me, that is running... but of course, it's more than that.

It's also a reminder of who I am... what I love... what I'm here for. It reminds me of what's real, and takes my mind to what's important....

Family. Health. Happiness. Security. Living and loving with an open heart. Boldly and fiercely going in the direction of your dreams, and doing everything you can to achieve them.

I yearn to remember these things, to feel them.

My goal today is to continue writing articles - it says so on the pad on my left, you see - but if I accomplish what I need to there, I will take half the day tomorrow to run in the mountains under the sun. 

The views and the setting that will be mine once more

It seems almost irresponsible to take half a day to do so, but the weekend will be be spent with the kids, with no breaks to be had... no, it must be tomorrow. Half a day to climb up ridges and skip over rocks. Half a day to sweat, trip, and stumble, to swat at flies and to dodge under branches. Half a day to run in my outdoor playground. Half a day to wake the runner within.

And then she can sleep again, when Monday comes, and the job hunt resumes in earnest... and for now, that is exactly as it must be.

Having it all

Sometimes I wonder if I should ease up on the running just because I'm doing such a crappy job at some of the other areas of my life.

Then I think "Well now, let's not get hasty. No need to ease up on the running - after all, it helps you process stress, gives you confidence, and teaches you to overcome challenges in other areas of your life - just figure out how to keep the running, and get better at everything else as well."

Well, now that just sounds exhausting.

But, there's something to that. Or at least, if I can't do a good job on the other important areas of my life, I need to consider giving less time to running. It's only fair. Problem is, I don't wanna.

It's easier to give more time to running. It's more fun... and more selfish. Compared to figuring out how to tackle my biggest challenges regarding how to  be a better mother, wife, business professional, and loving and supportive family member, figuring out how to shave time off my next 50 miler is no big deal.

But it sure doesn't feel good when I am not doing as well in these other areas. When I am impatient with my kids, or frustrated by their latest squabbling, or can't figure out why Caden can't seem to stop smacking his sister or me every time he is told "no", or when I feel I'm not giving my kids or my husband the time to be the best person I can be, for them... it doesn't feel good.

I'd like to have it all... I'd like to be it all... the best runner, mother, spouse, marketing professional, sister, and daughter I can be. 

Is this possible? I'm not sure yet... but I've got to give it a go. I've got to!

Fast and Female: Pink or not, good for them

Was browsing Ellie Greenwood's blog recently (man, she fast!) and was interested to see a story about a group called Fast and Female. I googled it to learn more. 

What is "Fast and Female"?

As detailed to their mission statement (in full here), this group is dedicated to "the empowerment through sport of young women ages 9 to 19."

This is accomplished in several ways; mainly by hosting events featuring female endurance athletes and leaders who might serve as role models and inspire the girls to "gain the confidence and leadership they need to reach their full potential in life and sports." 

The group currently operates in Canada only. Ellie Greenwood is one of their ambassadors. 

Trends for women in sports

I've recently been considering females in sports (in running, specifically) which is why this group caught my eye. In particular, the number of men vs. women in ultrarunning is something to consider. There's a large imbalance there; in some races I've seen women making up as little as 5-10% of the total field, though I think the larger races are much more balanced, so that statistic is hardly representative of the sport as a whole.

Based on my own experiences and those of my friends (hardly scientific) I'd say some reasons for there being fewer women in ultrarunning includes the following:

1. For women who choose to have children, the time and energy required during pregnancy, nursing, and the raising of young children can be a long-term interruption to training and longer-term physical goals (though some navigate through these constraints regardless, it cannot be argued that it's not a challenge).
2. Women don't consider endurance and competitive events as readily as men, as they are not as consistent with traditional gender stereotypes.

These are highly subjective guesses from a novice ultrarunner. I have no idea of the true reasons for the lowered numbers of females in ultras are, but I'm interested to learn more about it.

After all, the more people that have access to running and to sport in general, the better - better for one's personal health and wellness, better for the family, better for the community.

But, when it comes to ultrarunning and endurance events, women in particular seem to be less likely to take these one - that's interesting! Do they not know what they are missing? Is there something about ultras that is more appealing to men? Or, are there other reasons... and what are they?

But, back to Fast and Female.

The fact that this group exists is wonderful, as is their mission. The extensive use of pink on their website and e-boutique, however, was more than a little offputting... not that I have a problem with the color pink, which is used to great effect and to evoke a certain feeling and emotion in the campaign for National Breast Cancer Awareness.

In the case of Fast and Female, however, I find it hard to believe it will resonate with the majority of females in sports... but, that's a personal opinion, and pink or not, good for them. Our kids, both male and female, need strong positive role models - kudos to Fast and Female for giving such role models a platform.

As for me, I'd like to learn more about women in ultrarunning - what are the challenges that females in their 20s, 30s, and 40s face with regard to ultras, and are they gender-specific, or similar to those that men face?

I don't know the answers, but my little mind is thinking on it... and running on.

A great way to end the day

I took to the streets for a quick seven mile run. Expecting weariness at the day's end, I was happily surprised to find a lightness and joy in each step. 

I jogged easily up the hill and over the top; danced over the backside, then zoomed towards the streets below. Dark shadows dipped between the streetlights. I stepped around them and through them, eying the bushes carefully for skunks or naughty neighbor's children who I sometimes imagine waiting there to leap out and scare the bejesus out of me. None came. 

My legs felt light and fresh. The day of rest and extra hour in bed that had seemed so slovenly that morning now seemed extremely worthwhile. I ran down the hill feeling lucky and free.

Seven miles passed quickly, each as easy as the first. as I descended the final hill I marveled at my overwhelming feeling of being light yet strong, quick yet tough. In the final stretch I hear a pack of dogs howling from the hillside and felt as though they were singing for me. 

Once inside the house, the sirens came... and then the helicopter. For fifteen minutes, it circled the neighborhood, the police spotlight searching the bushes below.

They weren't looking for skunks... or maybe they were, what do I know.

I hoped it was a false alarm and wished they would be on their way quickly... after all, their presence in my neighborhood will do little to support my case when I look to take to the streets again tomorrow.

Developing the competitive spirit: So what if your parents let you win?

I was out with the kids and my husband on the grounds of USC today, and as usual when on that campus, we freely availed ourselves of the grassy hills and wide-open spaces by running and playing over as much of the grounds as we could.

After playing like a fool with the kids for a while, it was my husband's turn, and I stood back to catch my breath. Our daughter initiated a game of tag with my husband, and I watched them, amused. She kept running up to tap him on the leg and say "Tag, you're it," but as soon as she turned to run away, he would swat her easily on the back or hip as she ran and say "No, you're it!" 

After this they would both laugh, then she would spin to chase him again and the cycle would repeat itself. As I watched, our daughter began to get frustrated with the ease with which he tagged her back despite her best efforts to away quickly. Each time he tagged her, I noticed her shoulders slump sharply, and she'd let out an increasingly disappointed "Awww!"

"Give her a moment to get away," I said quietly but firmly to my husband after watching this for a few minutes.

"No!" he said, as he swatted her yet again on the back as she ran after tagging him yet again. "This will build her competitive spirit!"

I smiled and shrugged, knowing she was enjoying the game, and also not certain that my suggestion was the right one - rather, I just knew it was what I would do in that situation. 

But, I reasoned, I'm the mommy. He's the daddy. There's a difference. 

At least, there had been a difference in my family. In my family, my mom was the more nurturing one, the one who was quick to hug, cuddle, or offer a compliment or reassurance. As for my dad, he was also nurturing - a kind and gentle man. But he was also an honest man; direct, and less willing to coddle. If he saw something a certain way, he'd tell me so. For example, at age 17 after I returned home from my first semester at school in the UK, he was the only one who pointed out that I'd gained a few pounds - and by few, I mean 15-20.

My mom would never have done that.

Similar to not being able to speak his mind, my dad was also unable to hold back in physical or strategic games. When playing checkers, he always won. I never won, not once. Not even a pity win. I was never good enough. In a wrestling match, he always won. He was 6'4" tall and I was less than 10 years old, so really, I guess the outcome was inevitable, but I still fought as hard as I could ever time... and every time, he pinned me easily, until I cried.

At my tears, my dad would always immediately let up and tell me he was no longer going to play with me - after all, it didn't make him feel good to drive his daughter to tears - but I would beg and plead with him to play, certain that I could beat him just once if I just tried hard enough... so we'd try again, and sure enough, as mightily as I would fight, he'd pin me again... and again I'd burst into tears.

My dad simply didn't see why he should lessen his game, beit checkers or wrestling, to make it easier for me to win. I guess he didn't think he was doing me any favors that way.

I'll never know the exact reason why - my dad passed away when I was 19 years old. He died very suddenly in our home in the early hours of the morning. It was a stroke... he never knew what hit him.

Even if he hadn't died suddenly, however, I'd probably still never know. After all, "Why didn't you ever let me win at checkers," was probably not at the top of the list of topics requiring investigation. But still, watching my husband play with our daughter on this day... it made me wonder.

Why is it that my mom and I would ease-up or "play dumb" to let our children win, while our male counterparts would not? And, more interesting... which approach was right?

At first thought, rather predictably, I felt certain my way was best - after all, I reasoned, it's more important to encourage a child by allowing them to experience and relish success, than to crush their spirits by never allowing them to win.

But then, I realized this: it's not that my husband and dad never wanted us to experience the joy of winning - it's that they wanted us to earn it. What's more, they refused to cheapen the experience by giving it away.

Some may think I'm reading too much into this - it was a game of tag, for goodness sake - but I have seen this tendency in my husband before and in other parents, and it always intrigues me.

As for what's best, I think the (somewhat convenient) answer is that what we are doing now with our kids is best - that is, we have one parent who coddles them a bit more and allows them to celebrate smaller victories, and we have one parent who challenges them more to hit harder, jump higher, turn sharper... tag faster.

If my kids are like me, they will end up appreciating both of these styles for different reasons. My mom was always the one I'd turn to when I needed comforting or a soft place to fall, and that, I appreciated to no end. My dad, on the other hand, was the one I went to for more sage advice... there was no sugar coating with my dad, and I valued his opinion highly for that very reason. When my mom gave her opinion, it was easier to brush it off... she was the softie; she was my mom. But when my dad talked - you listened. And when my dad gave a compliment - you knew it was earned.

As for that win in the game of checkers, that was something I never earned - not sharp enough for him, I guess. But I kept trying. It light a fire under me, and I kept trying... I'd leave each game disappointed, cursing inwardly as I just couldn't believe he'd won so easily yet again... but still, I'd always be back for more, every time.

Watching my husband, I had initially thought he was teaching our daughter that she could not beat him, that she was not good enough... but perhaps he was teaching her perseverance.

After all, Sevilla never stopped running, not even as he tagged her again and again, just seconds after she tagged him... she kept going back for more. As had happened with the wrestling, the game was halted only when the parent said "Ok, that's enough!"

In both cases, it was not the child that called "uncle" first... it was the parent.

It's ok that I'll never get to play another game of checkers with my dad - I was never that good at it in the first place. But I'd love to hear what he thought about trail running. About ultras. About 100 mile races. About a lot of things, really.

But, I can only guess these things, and that's ok. I'll just smile and continue to watch my own children laugh and run and play.

Hairy and Unimpressed

There's an LA Fitness right down the street from my office, and often thought of getting a membership there so I can have a place to work out, swim, or shower after a run outside and still be near to work.

Today, I decided to pull the trigger. The guy who signed me up was geniune and enthusiastic despite his salesman schtick. He asked what I like to do for exercise - I told him I'm a runner.

Well, I was in luck, he announced, because he is a running EXPERT and has completed THREE marathons! The emphasis on EXPERT and THREE was his...

He then paused so I could be suitable impressed... I nodded idly for several seconds before realizing he was still waiting for a reaction. Not wanting to be rude, I then raised my eyebrows, nodded, and said "Mmm-hmm," in what I thought was an encouraging tone.

Driving away I thought what an exercise snob I've become, where three marathons is more the norm than something that stands out as impressive.

I can look forward to more gems from this fellow next week as I get a 60 minute session with a trainer (him) free with my membership. Upon hearing this from him, my first thought was "Well, shoot... guess I'll have to shave my legs for that one..."

Hairy AND unimpressed... what a lucky fellow this guy is that he gets me for 60 minutes, huh?

Finding focus

It's been a bit of a weird few weeks.

About two weeks ago, I was hyper-focused on all things running - I had gone from running 35 miles a week to 50 or more, I had reached out to a local running coach (Coach Jimmy Dean of the SoCal Coyotes, HOOOOWWL!), and I was feeling in excellent shape, both mentally and physically, for the upcoming Coyote Two Moon this March 18th.

Since then, however, I've been feeling distinctly less focused. I've been lingering before training more. I've been staying up a bit later, and saying "Yes," more frequently when my husband asks me if I want to watch a movie, instead of hitting the sheets by 9:30 or 10PM (ok, so I've done this twice. Sue me).

On the other hand, I've been finding myself more focused at work. I've been wondering less what training tips and conversations are being kicked around on running chat boards, and more about how I can be increasingly effective in managing my work responsibilities (Boss, I hope you're reading this).

Hard not hang out with this little guy..

 

And to top it all off, I've been enjoying my kids more. For the past two weekends I've found myself blissfully satisfied with just hanging out with my kids and my husband as we go about our typical weekend routine... nothing out of the ordinary, just grocery shopping, going to Home Depot, stopping by the park and Toys R Us. Ordinary, everyday activities, but ones that have filled my heart and smoothed over the chips and cracks that I had not noticed were lying there. 

Making cupcakes on the weekend with Sevilla

I have felt more restful, more at ease than in previous weeks - but at the same time, my focus with running has been off. And actually, I'm ready to start honing it in again... a tad reluctant to step away from what feels like the warmth of the family's embrace, but ready.

After all, I can always linger close and will no doubt find myself cycling back for my family's comfort as I need them and they need me, for there is no exclusivity; rather, there are only degrees of overlap and of symmetry in these worlds. 

I've come to anticipate that many of my moods and interests - beit towards school, work, "hobbies", sports, and the like - go through cycles like this. I seem to experience periods where I am hyper-focused and goal-oriented for weeks at a time, only to shortly after feel adrift and out-of-touch with what had seemed like such sharp focus.

But, this will happen over the course of many months, not weeks, and I can only assume it is the natural course that happens for all of us as we strive to navigate our way through life; juggling roles and responsibilities two and three at a time, while we also strive to quench our creative, spiritual, competitive, and/or inquisitive urges and tendencies... 

Sevy, Caden, and friends

What a complex and beautiful world we live in.

In my more naive, more confident (er, more out-of-touch) moments I think of myself as "having it all"... and in a way, I do have it all. I have so much that so many do not.

At other times, however, I can only feel the pressure of what can result when one tries to juggle it all... or juggle too much.

But that's ok, because the cycles will work themselves out again, and balance will result... I have faith in this system. So, when the time comes that I feel that hype-focus in running, I will welcome it with open arms, knowing that focus will cycle out again as projects from work mount or my heart yearns for my family's chatter, play, and touch.

I'll find that balance, find that focus, and don't have to worry about pushing it or forcing it too hard to where I think it "should" be... I have faith that I will find it, in the same way that I know I will find myself.

Zach, our kids, and their buddies at the beach. A beautiful evening.

My Dad had a favorite quote, and while I cannot find the exact phrasing or to whom it is credited, I recall it as being thus: "I have the answers I need inside me. I just have to be quiet enough to hear them."

I know I have the answers to where should spend my time; where I need to place my focus. I can trust in that instinct and in my decisions, which are based on my understanding of what is important for myself and also for my family. I just have to be quiet enough to hear them.


At the same time... I'm still darn excited for the Coyote Two Moon. Again, what a complex and beautiful world we live in...

Moon gazing

One of the cool things about running in the early morning is that it has let me feel more at peace in the dark.

I used to feel tired in the dark, or suspicious of what lurked in the shadows - now I feel energized. I look up at the night sky and sign happily at the moon. I think about people in different parts of the world, in different timezones, and how they must look up at that same moon when it is their turn for darkness. We may be thousands of miles away both geographically and culturally yet we still stare up at that same moon and breathe in the beauty of the night.

I think how lucky I am to be out and running. Those that are still in their beds may have slept in longer, but are not necessarily feeling more healthy or rested - in fact, some are probably moving much more slowly and with less energy than I. I don't envy them in their beds.

Yes, I'd rather be out - most mornings, that is... except Sunday.

Sunday is sleep-in day... before the week and then early mornings spent running and moon gazing begin once more.

Early morning discoveries

Found a neat little hill on my run this morning... usually I take the same few routes around the neighborhood, switching it up as I feel or to fit the mileage I'm looking for, but this time I tried a new route.

This new route started from a side road I typically run past, but this morning I headed up it. The road wound through a residential neighborhood then turned sharply to twist up a steep hill. Even in the darkness I could not help looking off over the drop-off to the left to admire what is likely a nice view of the city by day... by night, it was a sea of twinkling streetlights and taillights.

You say hobby, I say lifeline

It can be hard when someone refers to running (specifically, your running) as a hobby.

Of course, it's a fair classification. It looks like a hobby. It sounds like a hobby. But it doesn't feel like a hobby. And, this doesn't matter much most of the time, because it simply doesn't matter what we call it - it's just running; it's what you do.

That is, until you find yourself in one of "those" conversations, perhaps around the kitchen table, where you assess the family priorities and assign such resources as time and money... and then, just then, your running gets referred to as a hobby.

Your ears prick up. Your eyes narrow sharply, and dart forward. Your head tilts slightly, almost imperceptibly as you think "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?"

Early risers

Lying in bed this morning, blissfully unaware of time and place.

Until...

Pit-pat pit-pat go little feet in the room next to ours.

Creeeeaak goes the hinge on the door into the hallway.

Swiiish goes the door to our bedroom.

Mommy? says a small child's voice.

I sit up. Sigh. Slide off the bed. Sneak a look at the alarm clock - 2:51AM. Oh - still early.

No Sevilla, you can't get up yet. Because it's still too early. No. It's too early.

Come on - I'll tuck you in.

Pit-pat pit-pat go little feet back through the hallway.

Shuffle shuffle shuffle go bigger feet behind her.

She climbs into bed. I kiss her twice, give her shoulder a squeeze, then turn to go.

Mommy?

Sigh. Yes?

I'm hungry.

Sigh. 

Shuffle shuffle shuffle go big feet in the hallway... down the stairs... into the kitchen. 

Crickle crickle crinch goes the cereal bag.

Splosh goes the milk. 

Shuffle shuffle shuffle back up the stairs.

I sit down next to her in the bed. Here's your cereal.

Crunch crunch crunch goes the small child sitting in the bed.

Pause... then again, crunch crunch crunch. 

Finally... all done.

Feel better? 

Nods - yes. 

Ok. I love you baby. 

I love you Mommy.

Ok. Sleep well.

Shuffle shuffle shuffle through the hallway. Into the bedroom - glance at the clock - sigh. It's 3:14AM. I reach for the clock - click - snap the alarm off - it's set to go off at 3:15 anyway.

Good thing I caught it.

Sneak sneak sneak down the hall... down the stairs... to the kitchen. Pause... listen... no more little feet. Exhale. 

Shwock as the fridge door opens.

Grab the bread. Grab the milk.

Schtick goes the toaster.

Searching for clothes. 

Half dressed already from the night before, but still missing something... pants.

Need pants. 

Fiddle fiddle fiddle in the laundry room. Pants on. Socks on. 

Just need shoes.

POP! goes the toaster.

Scrap scrap scrap goes the knife... mmmm. Peanut butter. 

Slap the pieces together... then  - whooop - dropped it on the floor.

Pick up the sandwich. 

Pause - then chomp chomp chomp on the sandwich.

Glup glup glup goes the water down the throat... almost ready... just need... front door keys.

Grab the keys.... no, don't need them all... just these... two. 

Turning to go... check the clock... sigh of satisfaction. 

Plenty of time.

Then.... pit-pat pit-pat pit-pat come little feet in the hallway.

Mommy? 

Swoooosh! I slap the light switch down.

There's no-one down here...

Waiting, waiting... there's no-one down here, just go back to bed or get in bed with Daddy like any other morning when I'm already out... 

Plod plod plod of little feet coming down the stairs. 

Mommy? 

Sigh.

Yes Sevilla, I'm here.

Chin wobbling... eyes fill with tears. Little hands reach out, hesitate slightly - then reach higher. The face crumbles.

Mommy but where are you going?

A run, Sevilla - I'm going on a run sweetie. 

But will it be a quick run or a long run?

It will be a medium run. 

Whimpers. But I want it to be a quick run!

I know. C'mon baby. Go back upstairs and see Daddy. You can get in bed and be cosy. I will see you soon. 

But Mommy I will miss you!

I know. Firmly: Sevilla, I'm going to go now.

Bwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.... 

Gently: C'mon Sevilla. 

Hug - I'll see you soon baby.

I stand up. Look down.

Child's face, chin wobbling. 

Mommy - 

What?

I want to say goodby to you in the window.

Sigh. Ok.

Over to the door. Kisses on the face.

Sevilla, you say goodbye to me in the window, then I will lock the door behind me. Ok?

Ok. 

Then you go upstairs and cuddle in bed with Daddy. 

Ok. 

Hug. 

Swoosh of the door behind me. 

Scccchlick of the key - locked tight. 

Over to the window. Look at the little girl behind the glass - sad face, but ok now... after all, we've done this before. She kisses the glass. 

I lean forward and kiss that spot - we pull back - smile.

Wave goodbye - blow another kiss. 

Jog down the steps - run out in the street - then turn. Wait. 

She turns back from the window, crosses the room, makes her way back upstairs.

Silence. 

Except for... small rustles in the dark. Here and there, small sounds... the natural rustling of creatures, trees, the wind in the night... and I tip my head, pausing, listening... then run down the road, the warm night air blowing gently in my face. 

I think of Sevilla and her sharp ears... then, abruptly, of Santa.

Poor old man.

Good luck to him trying to sneak into our house unnoticed...

He's going to need it.

Revelation: Exercise is good

Saturday morning, and both kids were up at 5:30AM. On the weekends we usually head out to the park right after having breakfast and getting dressed - today would be no exception, especially as the kids were already getting whiny.

So, I dragged them forcefully away from their slouchy chairs in front of their Diego DVD (Diego is the cousin of Dora the Explorer, and not only does he have equally exciting adventures, but he also insists on yelling at the screen in the manner of his well-traveled cousin and her monkey pal), piled them both in the car, and we headed to the park.

I wasn't sure how this morning was going to go, as Caden (our not-quite-2-yr-old) was already showing signs of a meltdown. Tantrum's a-comin', I thought to myself. Catagory 3. Medium intensity with sustained gustiness. I'd just have to keep a close eye on him, then call "time" when he started to get so tired he didn't know what to do with himself. 

At the park, we climbed out, and I was pleased to note that we were the first ones there. Having other kids to play with is fun, but it's also fun to have the whole place to yourself. Sevilla immediately ran over to the stairs and started climbing up to the highest levels of the play set... and Caden immediately started crying in frustration that he couldn't keep up. 

"AUUUGGHHH!" he screamed, and stamped his feet on the ground.

"Buddy! It's ok," I leaned over and grabbed him under the arm to support him as he started to throw himself in frustration on the padded floor. "C'mon, I'll help you. Let's go up." 

Together we climbed up the steps, then went down the slide. Sevilla darted here and there around the apparatus, but Caden was slower and feeling very impatient... tired kids have a short fuse, and this was definitely the case with our boy. When I refused to let him near the bigger kids' fireman's pole (and a sheer drop of over 10 feet that made my skin crawl), he again threatened a tantrum, but I managed to distract him away from it. 

On the ground again, Caden grabbed my legs, wearily. I checked my watch - only 9:09AM. I sighed. 

We had been planning on going to the toy store, but it didn't open until 10 and it was just 5 minutes away... still way too early. But, I had no idea how I was going to entertain this little guy for the next 45 minutes. 

Then, Caden pulled away, turned around, and started to run. He ran over to the wall at back of the park, about 15-20 meters from where I stood. At the wall he turned back around and looked at me mischievously. 

I narrowed my eyes and tipped my head to one side, teasingly, and we smiled at each other. Then, he began to run to me.

Caden loves to run. He's a little guy, so his spurts are short, but like most kids he takes joy in running around any open area. Caden runs with that instantly recognizable style of childhood, in uncoordinated motions with his hands flapping around at his sides, giggling and shrieking as he plods forward in random directions, with no apparent path or even purpose except to enjoy the activity.

He ran to me with a smile on his face, which grew wider as his neared. When he reached me, he opened his arms so I could catch him in a wide hug. We embraced for a quick cuddle, then he pulled back and ran back to the wall again. At the wall he stopped, turned, and ran to me again.

Over and over he ran, and over and over I caught him in my arms, then released him again. After about 6 times I started counting. He didn't stop for 17 laps.

I watched his face as he ran, feeling an increasing sense of wonder at his steady plodding. I was watching for signs of exhaustion - sometimes when Caden is tired he will begin acting randomly (like most kids) and do things like spin in circles or run into things... which might sound funny, but it's sad to watch when you realize he literally just doesn't know what to do with himself - but here, he looked... happy. He looked so happy.

When I caught him in my arms, I could feel his little heart pounding in his chest, and hear his heavy breathing, and after he stopped, he pointed toward the water fountain, then ran over in that direction.

At the water fountain I lifted him up to drink. The cold water ran down his face and soaked his shirt, but he drank deeply, stopping only to snort and snuffle as he got it in his nose. Then he'd go back to drink again.

Caden getting wet on a water break

After letting him drink for a while, I set him on the ground, where he stood for a few minutes and continued to play with the water fountain. Caden has always loved water too. I watched as he stood on his tip-toes, pushing hard against the post with one hand where you trigger the spout of water, then reaching up with the other hand to play with the water as it streamed out. The water ran down his hand and into his sleeve until the whole left side of his body was soaked. I started to stop him,then remembered I had a dry jacket in the car and thought better of it. I let him play.

Caden played for a few more minutes, then glanced at me and pointed back towards the park. "More," he said.

I tipped my head in a slight nod. "Ok," I said, and gave him a smile.

By this time Sevilla had found a friend to play with, and as the girls played tag and hide-and-go-seek, Caden continued to run from one end of the playground to the other. The three of them played like this, separately, for 15 more minutes.

I watched him, fascinated. He had such joy... but beside that, it was his stamina that astounded me. I've seen him run for certain periods of time but never like this. He had probably covered close to 1000 meters by now. I had no idea kids his size ran for this long, but wondered why not.

As I watched, also I noticed that his motions were more consistent, more smooth than they had been originally. He looked steady. He looked happy. He looked how I feel when I run.

With that, I pulled my thoughts away, realizing I was probably projecting way too much of my own feelings and experiences onto our little guy. He was just a kid running, and enjoying the endorphins, that was all.

But at the same time, it cannot be argued: the human body is designed for motion and exercise. We are supposed to walk, to run, to climb, move, dance, do whatever it takes to be active, if we are able. It makes us feel good. It makes us happier. It's good for adults, young and old, and it's good for kids too. It keeps us in balance. It helps us feel alive. It's our natural state of being.

Well-earned slumber in the car

As for Caden? He didn't have anymore tantrums, even at the toy store when I had to pry the Kit-Kat from his little hands while we were waiting in line and tell him no, we were not going to get any candy. There will be more tantrums, that's for sure, but for this morning they were displaced by something better.

Not surprisingly, when I put him in the car to go home, he was asleep before we even left the parking lot. I expect he'll sleep for some time. He's earned it.

The inconvenience of ultras

While having lunch with a coworker today, she asked me about my next race.

I told her about the Coyote Two Moon. That it's in Ojai, about 6-7 weeks from now. I also described the format of the race and why it's called the Two Moon - because while most 100 miles races will start on Saturday morning and end on Sunday, going thought one night, the C2M (as it's known to it's fans) begins sometime Friday night and ends early Sunday morning - so you end up running through two nights.

Hence: Coyote TWO Moon.

"Wow," my friend said, looking surprised. "that seems like a really big oversight." She furrowed her brow. "Why would they start on Friday night? That seems pretty inconvenient!"

Inconvenient. I smiled to myself as I considered how much my fellow runners and I will regularly pay for the inconvenience of running a 100 mile race.... the dirt, the hills, the sore muscles, the miles... yeah, it was all pretty inconvenient. Yet, there is something about every one of those things that make it so, so incredibly joyful, fullfilling, and... wonderfully convenient.

It's a convenient inconvenience, I decided.

I made a firm mental note to bring this up to the Race Director when I saw him, then let the conversation carry on, my friend munching on her fries.

Progress

The following dialog came to me as I was running over the trails in local Griffith Park in Los Feliz. While closer to the city than I typically like, I have a soft spot for these trails as they were the first I experienced in my ultra-career, and gave me a taste of how trail running differed from road running.

I enjoying going back there now not only for the hills and the views, but also as it's fun to see how far I've come.... which is never more apparent than when I tackle a particular hill or piece of landscape that I used to have to walk up, chest heaving for air all the way...


Whose Legs Are These?
Whose legs are these?

They can't be my legs.

Strong, sure, moving forward with certainty and confidence... climbing one set of hills, then looking for more.
Hey - whose legs are these? Anyone? Anyone recognize these legs? They look familiar... yet, there's a freshness there that suggests they are brand new. And that subtle bounce, in each step, a bounce - that's something I've not seen before, no, not with these legs.

But, when did this happen? How did they get here, these legs that feel like they could go for miles?

They could use a tan, that's for sure - and a shave too, please, while we're at it. But, below the surface, there lies a strength that cannot be argued.

Look here, at this calf - it's hard as a rock. And there, on the left, another one just like it.
And these feet - well, the feet have seen better days. Only seven toenails between them, and with heels that have clearly not seen a pumice stone in years... yes, the feet, I recognize. But these legs - there's something that feels distinctly different about these legs.
Tell me, please: whose are these legs?
Well, they are my legs - and they have carried me over many mountains.

They have carried me in the early morning, in the dead of night, and in the light of day.
Over asphalt and rocky trails, through snow, and sand, and mud.
Over fallen trees, along dried-up creek beds, and around neighbors' garbage cans.
In front of the yapping, frothing mouths of fenced-in dogs - and dogs that were not fenced-in.
Up sheer cliff faces and over mossy logs bridging running streams, then into the steams themselves.

I'll take responsibility for these legs.

I have pushed and pummeled them, I have coaxed them and cursed at them. I have dragged them out of bed (and vice-versa) at 3AM on a Saturday morning, when in younger days we would have only just been staggering home... together, we have climbed peaks I would have never dreamed I'd climb, much less run.

I have pushed these legs to go farther and faster than ever before, and they have responded
These are my legs, and I'll take them now
It's only 8AM here, and there is still much time
to run.

Conditioning

Having recently succumbed to a momentary fit whereapon I found myself on Amazon.com ordering a variety of ultra-related books that have been recommended to me at one time or another, I was excited to get home and see a package from Amazon waiting for me.

I eagerly pulled open the box. My husband, Zach, said "What did you get?"

I held it up, showing him the cover of Bunion Derby: the 1928 Footrace Across America, by Charles B. Kastner... I had read a story about this particular race in a magazine once, then forgotten about it until the race was remarked on by a fellow runner.

Me: It's Bunion Derby! It's about a race!
Husband: (folds arms) Uh-huh.
Me: It's about a transcontinental footrace, over 3,400 miles long, from Los Angeles to Chicago.
Husband: Uh-huh.
Me: (gesturing wildly with arms to better communicate exciting content of book) It started back in 1928! This book is all about how it came about, and what the racers and event organizer faced trying to keep it all going.
Husband: (raising eyebrows and sounding suspicious) And is it still going on now?
Me: What? Oh, no! It was just a one-time thing!
Husband: (relieved) Ok, good... because I was about to say, there's no way in HELL you're doing it!

Based on his reaction, I submit that my physical conditioning is not the only conditioning going on around here.

Thirty Four!

It's my 34th birthday, and already the crisis is starting.

In both my search for meaning and a separate-but-not-entirely-unrelated search for a brutally challenging physical event to complete in the not-too-distance future, so far this morning I have googled the following:

extreme ultra races
most challenging ultra races

toughest ultra races

Great Wall of China marathon
Everest ultra race
swimming the English Channel

I have also googled "age appropriate clothing" but that's a separate issue.

I turned up a number of races of interest, including but not limited to the following (the below just happened to catch my eye for varying reasons):

• Addo Elephant Trail Run in Africa
• 6633 Extreme Winter Ultra Marathon in the Arctic Circle
• The Great Wall of China Marathon

I also learned that when officially attempting an English Channel swim, one must wear a "standard swimming costume" (no covered arms, legs, or made of bouyant materials) and can expect to be in the frigid water for 7 to 27 hours.
Yikes.