Running as Play?

This morning as I ran round my neighborhood on something of my normal route, it occurred to me that my legs felt tired. This was not a surprise - I had run 13 miles over steep terrain the day prior, and 8 miles per morning for the two days before that. Such miles are paltry for some, but not for me, and my legs were looking for a little break.

Still, I had decided to add the Sunday morning run in to get a few more miles, so when my mind registered the fatigue, it was noted, then dismissed as any other passing thought.

I live in a residential neighborhood with lots of narrow, winding streets and some steep climbs and descents - nothing tricky, but still interesting enough that you can map out various routes and add in (or leave out) extra climbs as desired without having to wander too far from home. This morning I was planning on running a hilly 4-mile loop twice.

After completing one loop and turning right to head up for the 2nd, my mind was struck by a thought, and I smiled. My legs were tired, but as I chugged up the hill I thought "I wonder if I can negative split the 2nd loop..." I smiled again to myself, pushed up and over the first hill, then began to speed down the back of it and from there, into the straightaway of another residential street.

I felt great (or course, downhills will do that for you), but more than that, I felt lighthearted. For as many runs as I've been on in my lifetime, I am frequently struck by how running brings out the kid in me. More often than not on morning runs I will find myself charging down a dark street an the middle of the road, feeling like a kid on my first bike looking around at the landscape whizzing by as the voice in my mind yells "Wheeeeeeeeeee!" I love the sense of fun, the feeling of play, of begin young at heart, and free, and alive. In those moments I feel lucky and in love with my life.

It was that feeling this morning that took my mind back to an article from earlier in the week regarding the value of this very thing - an example of what the author called "adult play". Sounds risqué, but what "adult play" refers to are activities where adults allow themselves to play, or to do something for the experience and joy of it rather than for "work" or a qualitative result.

"Stop right there," I hear you say. "You can't tell me running has nothing to do with a qualitative result. If that were the case, why all this talk of times, training, and getting faster?"

Ok - you've got a point there. But running can be both, can't it? There's joy to be found in traveling over trails and roads and up and down hills, and in the feeling of sweating and sprinting as the world flies by and thoughts move freely through the mind... but that said, many of us also find it fun to get a good result.

It's fun to get faster, more fit; to accomplish what we could not have just months before. In that sense, it's work, and certainly results-focused, but it is still intertwined with fun in a way that integral to it's longevity. If it did not have fun at it's heart, and at times, bursting from the seams... the training would not be worth it. At least, not for long.

The fun is the thing.

But enough about that, and back to the article. This article (by Joe Robinson) is called The Key To Happiness: A Taboo for Adults? and explores the notion that adults focus too much on activities that are deemed productive and rational, while activities of leisure or "personal expressiveness" that do not work towards an external result are seen as "taboo".

While the article does tend to make this trend (if you can call it a trend or even believe it exists at all) sound more black and white than it may actually be, it makes some statements that I found hard to argue.

For example, it is Robinson's belief that play activities are most important in helping us have more meaningful and rewarding lives. Here is one section in particular that jumped out:

Studies show that play reflects more of who you are than your work. When you're engaged in activities of "personal expressiveness," ones that are self-chosen and that reflect intrinsic goals, you're operating from the "true self," says Alan Waterman of the College of New Jersey.

In another part Robinson describes people he met while researching his book, which centers around folks who participate in these personally enriching activities.

Everyone I met had dramatically upgraded self-esteem and a sense of self anchored by something that's supposed to be worthless.

Another recent piece of media that touches on this idea is a Christopher McDougall speech at TEDxPennQuarter. In this clip Chris opens with a story from the NYC Marathon then goes on the cover themes from his book "Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Super Athletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen." 

Towards the end Chris talks the audience about the importance of getting back to the basics of running as it was in older times.

"We've got to... stop focusing on urban marathons, where you know, if you do 4:00:00 you suck, but if you got 3:59:99, you're awesome, because you qualified for another race, and we've got to get back to that sense of playfulness and joyfulness, and I would say, nakedness, that has made the Tarahumara one of the most healthy an serene cultures of our time" Chris says.

The material was familiar, yet I nodded as I watched, for it still resonated. Running serves many purposes - as a fitness tool, a de-stressor, a means of getting from A to B, as a challenge, and as a job (for some arguably lucky folks). But as play?

Abso-freakin-lutely.

It's with a feeling of play that we will sometimes pick a point or a hill on the not-too-distant horizon and say "I wonder if I can run to that point." It's with a feeling of play that we will glance out the window, throw on the shoes, and take off down the road with no real idea of where we're going except that we are moving forward on our feet. It's with a feeling of play that we will sometimes look at our fellow runner or pacer and say "Race you to the top of the hill!" And it was with that same feeling of play that I had smiled mischievously and dared myself to negative split the loop, knowing there was no training goal scheduled in that workout other than to cover the miles. It was for the fun of it, that's all... the challenge... and the fun.

We are accused of acting like kids when we do or say things such things... or at least, I have. In retrospect, seems like that's not such a bad thing.

I enjoy acting like a kid, and don't get to do it that much, but maybe need to work on doing it more. For now, I'm glad to be able to do so in those precious minutes of running through the dark streets, leaping over curbs and charging up and down hills in what can feel like an inane effort to beat a goal that was set just a few minutes prior.

I did negative split the loop. Then, like a kid, I gave little "Whoo-hoo!" cheer, then giggled to myself in the street.

Who's afraid of a DNF?

Me. Over here - I am.

Well, maybe afraid isn't the right word... but I don't really enjoy them. I avoid them wherever possible. I find them highly distasteful.

Ok, fine, DNFs suck. And actually, it was that statement exactly that led to me writing this post.

I was told just yesterday that I worry too much about DNFs, and as this feedback came from a seasoned ultrarunning veteran whom I respect highly, it got my attention. And what exactly prompted the feedback? I told a fellow runner that "DNFs suck" and he should "do everything he could not to DNF"...  

I can see how this may give the impression that I hold DNFs in a negative light.

This fellow, my veteran associate, was arguing that I need to re-examine that attitude. And, I decided he's right.

Re-adjusting the attitude

Truth is, his comments did get me thinking, and I realized that I do fear DNFs... and I realized that's not entirely rational. It would be nice to be able to re-frame the concept of a DNF, because, let's face it - they are going to happen.

In fact, if we're not getting DNFs, then we may not be pushing hard enough.

Why? Because some DNFs happen when you dare to enter a race you are not sure you can finish. When you eye up a race, find it challenging, realize you're not even sure you can finish, and then, with a gleam in your eye, say "Aw hell - let's go for it anyway."

I wanna have that gleam in my eye.

I wanna look for the challenging races and decide to go for it, understanding that I might not finish, but damn sure I'll learn something in the process. In fact, this is what I already do... it's what all of us do. We're ultrarunners. It comes with the territory. Whenever we enter an ultra-event, triathlon, or endurance challenge of any kind, we're entering something we may not be able to finish... and along with that comes the possibility of a DNF.

But the probability of a DNF? Well, that part is negotiable. We can increase our odds of finishing by training harder. Training smarter. Understanding what we are getting ourselves into - in the distance, on the course itself - what are the unique challenges? Where have race participants gotten into trouble in the past?

That's where I like to do a little thing called...

Reducing surprises by researching your race

An example of how this works in practice:

Later this year I hope to run in the Plain 100. The Plain 100 is a self-supported 100 mile race in Plain, WA (actually more like 106 or 112 miles, no-one knows for sure... mysterious and alluring, right? Right).

The race caught my eye due to it's low finishing rate and reputation for being a "tough" ultra.

True to my "I'm afraid of a DNF" nature, I vowed a month ago that I shall finish this race, come hell or high water, and I set about doing my research to understand the challenges out there - what are the main reasons people DNF at Plain?

I started out by reading some race reports online; there were several on the race website itself, and more were found by conducting an online search. In either case, I was able to find reports from both finishers and DNFers, and I read reports from both groups with interest. What were some of the techniques the successful folks used? What critical mistakes did the DNFers make? I read the reports earnestly, and scribbled my notes.

In addition to this, I scanned the list of race finishers from previous years, looking for people I knew in the ultrarunning community. When I saw the name of a fellow I know, I e-mailed him, let him know I am intending on entering the race, and asked if he could offer any advice.

Mark's reply was prompt, good-natured, and full of sound advice (Mark would be Mark Swanson, another experienced and highly knowledgeable ultrarunner). Mark was kind enough to share with me how he prepared for the race, what he enjoyed most about it, what took him by surprise, and what he wished he had been better prepared for.

One tip in particular I thought was a great one - he noted that the only aid station was in the middle of the race, between 2 loops, and as this was also the Start/Finish area, it is also the spot where participants leave their cars. From what Mark described, when you finish the first loop and arrive back at your car, you must be fortified against the desire to drop out and stay with your car. As Mark told it, this point on the course can come as it is starting to get dark or may already be dark, so you will feel the pull, the irrepressibly strong desire, to stay with your car and not go back into the dark.

This made a lot of sense to me, and I was glad to have it called out so specifically. On the day or night, when you are tired and your defences are down, I can see being caught of guard by something like that, and it making the difference between finishing the race or deciding not to go on... and I was glad for the warning of this particular siren's call.

Research your race... but what else?

Regarding other ways to ensure a successful finish, these are also fairly common sense, and include the following -

• Train consistently, covering distances and terrain that will best prepare you for the event you are entering
• Bring the right equipment for your race - that includes hydration packs, type of trail shoe, weather-specific clothing, etc etc etc...
• Don't eat, drink, or use anything that you haven't already tested in training
• Review the course maps - you can never assume all trails will be clearly marked (and if you DO assume that and DNF due to getting lost, you have no-one to blame but yourself. I know this one firsthand).

For those of us who have run races before, this should all be familiar advice... but that doesn't mean we won't occasionally get too confident and forget to follow it (I've definitely been guilty of snagging something yummy-looking from an aid station regardless of if I've had it in training, just because I feel like it and nothing bad has happened yet... we'll see how that continues to go).

But, after all this talk about how to ensure success, at some point, the inevitable will happen. It might be due to injury, hypothermia, hyponatremia, or a number of other conditions or circumstances... but we will find ourselves having to pull out of the event we are in, without finishing. 

And in that event... wait, for it, we're going full circle... it again goes back to attitude. 

Re-framing the DNF

Right now I think of DNFs as scary stuff. Of something looming over me. A DNF means being depressed for weeks, not having closure, that you have to do another race quickly (and finish it) to wipe away the feeling of failure from the first.

This is not the case.

A DNF is the opportunity to grow. To learn - to be stronger and more determined.

On some courses, a DNF (or 2 or 3 or 5) may even be what's neccessary before success can be obtained, because without having that first-hand knowledge, the chances of a successful finish are significantly diminished (Barkely, I'm talking about you... I'd be honored to DNF in such a place).

Given all this... a DNF is not such a bad thing. I still won't go running towards it with open arms (and I don't think that's what my u-lister friend was suggesting) but perhaps I do need to put some of that DNF fear to one side.

I'll still do what I can to avoid them. I'll still train to finish strong, research the event and plan accordingly, then run steady and long, all day and all night, for as long as my legs will carry me... but if I DNF, well...

I shall nod graciously, and accept it from the course as my due... then go home, and start plotting my revenge.

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.

Another Plan of Retribution... Foiled

After attempting the Twin Peak 50 Mile race last February 2010 and, at mile 42, being mercilessly bitch-slapped by the course with the first DNF in my immature career, I was eagerly anticipating the 2011 event.

I signed up for the race as soon as registration opened.
I joined the Facebook page.
I signed up for e-mail updates.
I even returned to the scene of the crime between 10-15 times for training runs to familiarize myself with the area.

This last action more than any other seemed particularly wise, given that my 2010 race had unraveled as a direct result of not knowing which path to take at a fork on the course, a situation I quickly made worse by pausing for just 0.2 seconds before picking a path at random and charging along it, full speed, for 5 miles... running ever-deeper into the woods, at night, in the wrong direction, with no water, no working cell phone, and 1 gel... stupid.

Thank goodness for that troupe of Boy Scouts.

The group was just finishing up their own 18 mile hike, and were kind and patient enough to listen to my confused questions ("but... where is the START from here?"), my defensive reactions ("I didn't miss the cutoff! I nowhere NEAR the cutoff! I'm telling you, I did not miss the cutoff..."), and my frustrated, tearful implorations, once I realized I desperately needed their help to get out of there ("I... don't... {sob}.. know... where... {whimper} ...I am...").

So, after finally getting home that night (where I promptly threw up in the front yard before dragging my sorry butt inside) I vowed that in 2011, in Corona CA, I would be back.

In 2010 I did some more races. I trained, finished races, learned, trained, and learned some more. Specifically, I trained for the Twin Peaks 2011, going back to the course in Corona and running the sections I found most challenging in the 2010 race. Five weeks from the race, I thought I was ready... until the e-mail letting me know the February race would not be happening.

My first reaction upon reading the e-mail was to gasp, then say "No!" aloud (which I instantly regretted, as I was sitting at the airport next to a young man I didn't know, who immediately started giggling).

Then, I re-read the e-mail and lightly scolded myself (quietly, this time) for my reaction. A race being postponed, or even canceled, is not the end of the world. Sure, this was to be "my" race, but these things happen.

As the race director explained it, the recent rainfall in CA has simply made the ground too unstable in some parts of the course for the run to be safe - indeed, there is even a section where the trail had collapsed entirely, so extensive planning would have had to be made to re-route the course and volunteers around this area were the race to go on... but it all seemed too challenging and uncertain, especially if more rain was to fall in the meantime. The result was that the race would be postponed until October of the same year, when better conditions were more likely.

It's not my ideal result - after all, I have been building up to this race for the last 6 months or so - but it is certainly justified, and it's the right thing for the organizers to do (I'm sure they are relieved to have my approval).

And, it gives me more time to train. Train, train, train... and study. And learn. And get rid of every last excuse.

So when October 2nd dawns, on the bright winter's day in Corona, CA... I'll be ready. And I'll make that course my own... sans Boy Scouts.

I'll be ready for you, Twin Peaks... will you be ready for me?

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.