December 11, 2009

taking action

Posted by Amy C under reflections, surfing, yoga | Tags: , , |
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I realized something recently. Maybe it’s something y’all have known. Maybe this isn’t new. But maybe it’s something that bears repeating.

Action does not need to be physical.

I am an active woman. I enjoy moving. I enjoy the physicality of being in the world. I enjoy touching and feeling things as I learn about them. I have to do to really feel I understand. I love the feeling of my heart racing after a good workout. I love the feeling of joy when my body moves with grace and precision.

But for me—and this is what I’ve realized—sometimes the mental work I do is just (if not more?) important.

The past couple of weeks I’ve been feeling pretty overwhelmed, displaced and missing the familiarity of Colorado (despite the frigid temps I’ve been hearing about). Yoga has been feeling more and more of an obligation. Surfing was creating anxiety and I found myself questioning “why?”

Why do I want to surf? What’s so cool about it? It’s hard. I suck. It’s cold and getting colder. Why did I commit to six days a week of Bikram yoga? My body hurts. It’s in the middle of the day.

I struggled and fought with myself for days. I made myself go to yoga. I went to the beach and cried when my friends went out in the waves and I stayed back, feeling like a complete wimp and failure.

So I stopped. I skipped yoga one day. I stayed home and worked all day. I didn’t go surfing. I read and napped on the beach. I journaled about my confusion, trying to understand the contradicting voices in my head: “i love surfing”; “i don’t want to go into the water to surf.”

I filled pages in my journal. I explored the questions swirling around in the morass that can be my brain when I get overwhelmed.

I stopped doing. I skipped yoga again two days this week. I went to the beach and absolutely loved watching my friends surf. And through the journaling, watching my friends, and reconnecting to the water mentally, I realized that my love of the sport of surfing hadn’t died (whew!). I do want to put forth the effort required to do it well. (Or, since the learning curve is so exasperatingly slow, somewhat competently.) I do want to be in the water, tumbling into waves lost and finding my balance as the wave moves under me.

I think if I’d continued to force myself to “just get out there and do it”; or pushed myself to keep up my yoga streak of six days a week, I’d be so worn down that none of it would be fun anymore. And I believe in fun. I believe in the power of the connection between our minds and our bodies. It’s a powerful connection that can hide itself if we’re not aware.

If we’re not aligned, we lose sight of the fun. We lose sight of our motivation and our purpose in the doing. Doing for doing’s sake gets boring and exhausting.

So my realization tonight, as I think about my morning yoga class and my late afternoon surf session, is that my break was needed. Mental action is often vital to keeping our love of physical action balanced and in check. In fact, I may go so far as to say that breaks are not only needed, but essential.

I am smiling tonight and feeling worked. My back hurts. My legs and arms are feeling jelly-like and I am smiling and feeling good.

 

November 26, 2009

thanksgiving

Posted by Amy C under observations, reflections | Tags: , |
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I am thankful for so much in my life, it’s overwhelming and humbling.

Today is just one day. One day where we, as a country, think consciously about what gifts and treasures we have in our lives and celebrate those with our loved ones. But what if we could take the spirit of today and spread it out over the full year?

What if we gave thanks each and every day? What would our gratitude feel like and look like if we had the time to notice all the little things that happen to add up to the love, the friendships, the fortune we enjoy? What if we found gratitude for our challenges? For the mundane and the ordinary?

Today is a beautiful day and I adore the ritual of spending this holiday with friends and family in celebration. But I want more. I want to remember this spirit of giving throughout the year. I want to capture the spirit of kindness and appreciation that comes with the tradition and celebration and give thanks on Monday. On rainy days. On the day I’m traveling for 12 hours.

I want to remember to give thanks on days when I’m missing my family, and on days when I feel overwhelmed with the good in my life. I want to appreciate the work someone put into writing an instruction manual that helps me understand my new gear. I want to appreciate the engineering that goes into building the bridge that takes me to a new place; the painter whose art creates beauty and brightness in a room; and the seamstress that put together my favorite jeans.

One day just doesn’t feel like enough.

 

November 25, 2009

expanding our possibilities

Posted by Amy C under observations, perceptions, reflections | Tags: , , , |
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Two days ago, a friend of mine sent me this link. It’s a news story from Canada about a new approach and treatment to Multiple Sclerosis. Some might say revolutionary.

For those of you who don’t know, MS has long been described and categorized as a neurological disease. You can read more here. The article my friend sent features a doctor from Italy, Dr. Paolo Zamboni, a former vascular surgeon who has been researching MS for the past 10 years.

It seems he has discovered a trait common in every MS patient he’s tested: A narrowing of particular veins in the neck or chest that are responsible for carrying blood out of the brain.* The theory is that, because of the narrowing, it creates a blockage that prevents the blood from draining as well as it should. Thus causing the heavy metals that are in our bloodstream to get stuck in the brain and form deposits, creating the lesions in the brain that are the telltale sign of MS.

Veins. Not nerves. Not wiring in the brain. It’s a very new theory and one that is in the beginning stages of research, but it’s exciting to think that this might be the breakthrough so many have been waiting for. And although MS is a cause near and dear to my heart, this post isn’t really about MS or this discovery (amazing though it is).

It’s about possibility.

It’s about remembering that we so often get stuck in the comfort zones of our own realities. “I’m a realist” we hear (or say). “This is the truth,” we tell ourselves. But is it really? Isn’t is just the truth as we know it? Why don’t we ask ourselves if our truth is the only truth? If truth and reality can’t be altered. Why do we believe truth is static?

It’s common knowledge that MS is a debilitating disease and that it’s progressive and degenerative—and neurological. Ah, but maybe not, right?

We create our own realities and our own sense of how the world works. It’s taught to us in school; we learn it from our parents, our leaders, and the society in which we grow up. I believe in the power of the mind and how what we think, so often becomes. It can be a scary thought, but it’s also one that challenges the status quo.

If we’re not happy, we can change—whether it’s our circumstances, our attitude, or our perspective (or all three)—we can change. When I heard this news Monday morning, I was skeptical. I asked a lot of questions about it as my friend was talking. I wanted to know more about the research, the approach, the results. And I felt relief and growing excitement as my questions were answered as I watched the videos and read the article. It seemed more and more possible that this man had dared to think differently and acted on his curiousity and found something that worked. He may have changed the world for many, many people. I still hesitate to think that this is “it.” That it’s the cure for MS.

But it has opened my heart and showed me how narrow-minded I’ve been. And it’s making me wonder what else I believe to be “real” and a “realistic perspective” that might actually be narrow and limiting.

It’s refreshing and humbling to remember that even in the face of the most devastating circumstances, there is possibility. In the most mundane of circumstances, there is possibility. Let’s remember that even when something seems impossible or false, there is the possibility that we—the collective—are mistaken. And then the possibilities to explore and expand our truths are wide open before us.

What is possible for you today?

*as I am not a doctor or researcher, my account of this discovery comes solely from the videos and article linked at the beginning of my post. My intent is to paraphrase the basic details to encourage further research and reading (and to tie into the subject of my post).

 

November 14, 2009

injuries and setbacks

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, observations, surfing, yoga | Tags: , , |
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I fell off my surfboard Thursday evening and landed in too-shallow water. My left foot twisted, landing under me at an awkward angle. The pain shot through the top of my arch and I screamed “OW” (true story). I knew what it meant and I was pissed.

I hobbled out of the water to the sand and sat down to examine my foot. It hurt. A lot. A dull, throbbing pain began to course through my foot. I saw weeks—maybe months—of surfing disappear before me. I thought about yoga and balancing on a foot I couldn’t put weight on. It didn’t seem likely that I’d be moving around anytime soon.

I cried. Some because I was frustrated. And a lot because I was so utterly disappointed.

I’d waffled about going into the water at 5:00 in the evening. I get cold easily and the sun was going down. I didn’t feel like my mind was totally engaged. But I shook off the feelings, knowing how much I want to keep working at this new sport and with the intention of not giving in to my fearful, hesitant, and admittedly-sometimes-wimpy side.

And now, here I was, one wave into my session, sidelined. Certainly for the evening, but quite possible for months.

frustration settles in
 It’s so easy to indulge in the pity party that accompanies an injury like this. When it’s not clear how bad it is, we tend to envision the worst.

I figured I’d broken it, or suffered a severe sprain. As I gingerly hobbled back to the car with my board and bag, I thought of all the stuff I’ve been wanting to do: get some hikes in, start running again, surf, walk the bay, window shop through town… the list goes on. I watched my friends try to walk slowly beside me, only to quickly end up far ahead. It’s hard to match the pace of one walking barely faster than a slug. Ugh.

My tears came and went. Every movement sent a sharp pain or dull throb through my foot. I snapped at something someone said. I lost some grace along with my patience. And then I felt embarrassed and bad for losing my cool.

All I wanted to do when we got home was clean up and then curl up in a ball with ice on my foot and cry.

small victories
 I had two choices that evening: indulge my private pity party at home, or go out and have fun with new friends. I will admit at the time it was a tough choice. Sometimes I’m simply not fit to be around other humans.

But I knew we were all a little on edge and I figured that getting out of the house might just be the thing we needed to turn the energy around.

And what a good idea it was! The entertainment was fun and the company good for getting my mind off myself and what I might be missing in the coming weeks. I was still thinking about my foot, but it was a good (and much-needed reminder) that I can still have fun despite a set-back. That life continues to move forward even when we want to stop and get off the ride for awhile.

a choice in perception
 That night I made up my mind to go to yoga the next day. I knew it might not be a good idea, and I knew I may very likely end up doing nothing for the 90-minute class, but I wanted to see. I wanted to know the extent of the injury. I knew there were at least a few postures I could do. And there was also the fact that my hip had just started to open up. I could feel my flexibility increasing and I wasn’t ready to give up on that too easily.

(And frankly speaking, I was really hoping I’d wake up pain-free with the realization I’d over-blown the injury.)

I wasn’t so fortunate. After a night of tossing and turning with constant, dull pain, I woke up with more pain and stiffness all along the top of the arch. I couldn’t bend my toes up or put any weight on the inside of the foot. What was yoga going to look like?

I prepared myself for the very likely chance that I’d leave in the middle of the class. I laid my mat down by the door (for a quiet exit), talked with the instructor about my injury and had brought along my journal and book, ready to pass the time as I waited for my friends to finish class.

the mind of the curious
 During the initial breathing, I thought about the class. I thought about feeling frustrated, and then I thought about my overall goals for not only yoga, but for being here in Hawaii. A big part of this trip is about restoration and nurture. I wanted to heal myself and at the same time, accept that things we don’t want to happen, sometimes do, despite our best intentions.

It’s how we respond to the bad stuff that defines our future, right? I decided in that moment that I wanted a good future based on my present situation. I asked myself, “What can I learn from this? What can I get out of this particular class, on this particular day?”

I adopted a curious mind and thought about what I could learn about my foot. How bad was it? How much range of motion and flexibility did I really have? I wasn’t too worried about over doing it. (I’m pretty aware of my physical body and my boundaries for pain, and tend to err on the side of caution.) Sometimes that trait gets in the way of progressing. Today, it served me well as I took it slow, held back and explored the pain.

I learned so many new things. There were moments of defeat when I realized I couldn’t do certain balancing postures and when my foot began to ache and throb too much from standing on it. But I was able to do far more in the class than I’d thought.

It’s only one foot after all. I have many other parts to my body that are in perfect working order. And with the help of my right foot, I was able to maintain a good balance between both feet for the initial postures.

During the first posture I was unable to do fully, I poured my concentration into my arms. (Awkward pose, for those of you familiar with Bikram. It’s the one that requires you to stand on your toes—and THAT definitely wasn’t going to happen.) The instructors are always saying to “lengthen the arms; hold them strong; maintain active muscles in the triceps.” In previous classes, I always work so hard to get my feet and balance right, that my arms are the last things I think about.

Yet here I was, given the opportunity to focus solely on the arms and core muscles. And it stunned me to realize I’d been using very little of my muscles there (or in my core). So much of my posture relied on my legs.

Ah-ha, I realized. I can still come to class and work on my arms until my foot heals.

I was reminded of the foundation. The platform upon which I am building my life. It begins with the smallest of movements. An observation here and there of the little things.

I imagined that process to be similar to what happens when someone builds a house. They check the angles of the construction and the materials they’re building with to make sure the house is stable and built to last.

It couldn’t hurt to check my materials. To make sure my muscles were engaged and moving forward with determination and strength. To align my mind with patience and clarity of direction.

My curiosity found new areas for growth and a newfound patience with myself. I found some creativity in seeking modifications for postures to get the stretch I wanted, but avoiding pain.

i admit the ugly
 It’s certainly not an easy process for me. I will admit that I wanted to cry and feel sorry for myself. I wanted to move quickly and efficiently and am at my best when I am physically in motion. I wanted to talk about it and mention it to everyone I see. I wanted sympathy and kind words.

at peace
As I sit here with ice on my foot, thinking about the day, I am reminded that I am strong; that it’s a set-back, and not the end of the world. I know I will recover, and know that if it’s a slow recovery, then it’s a slow recovery. In the meantime, I will cherish the slower pace. I will pay attention to the smaller aspects of life that add up and give nourishment for a richer life ahead.

As in yoga, it is practice—A practice of patience and openness to what life presents us. A chance to relax into our lives, no matter what it looks like at the moment, and to trust in change and progress. It’s a practice to remember that within each setback, be it disappointment , injury, heartache or pain, there is growth, renewal and room for exploration and discovery.

In class, I chose to be curious. Curious as to how my body would respond to yoga. Curious to see if I could stand strong and accept the new, unhurried pace I walk and move through my days.

Our perceptions are so often within our control. How we choose to see and approach our world leads us into our future. The lesson isn’t new, but it’s always harder to put into practice. So I’m curious, what new perception will you explore today?

 

November 4, 2009

managing tasks a little at a time

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, trail running, yoga | Tags: , |
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Last week I had the privilege to participate in The Runners Roundtable podcast. That particular week, Stuart, a twitter friend of mine (@Quadrathon) was hosting a session on “Going Long.” He invited me and five other speakers to talk about our experiences finishing our first Ironman triathlons or ultra-distance races.

Along with Stuart on the call, we had myself, Carlos, Mike (@dirtdawg50k), Matt (@rundigger), and Erin (@erin337).

You can download or listen to the audio of the podcast here (the 10.28.09 episode) or here.

One of the topics we covered that I find fascinating was the “how.” How do we do it? How do you stand at the start line of a 100 mile run, or 140.6-mile triathlon and actually begin?

increments of time
We all agreed that it’s overwhelming and difficult to stand at the start and think about what we’re about to do. But thinking in smaller steps—increments of time and milestones—makes it far more manageable. For some, it’s about making it from aid station to aid station, one at a time.

For me, it’s a variety of techniques. I definitely break my races down, but I don’t have a consistent system. (I think it actually makes it better to switch it up a bit… fools the mind just a little more.)

I’ve broken down races by mileage (“only a 10k left to run”), by aid stations (“only 2 more aid stations left” or “after this aid station, it’s all downhill”), and when I’m running on a familiar trail, by terrain (“I’m at the first steep part, and just after this it’ll be a rolling 5 miles before we go down”).

For the swim portion in my last triathlon it was buoy to buoy. (Word of caution: don’t go swimming for the first time in a wetsuit you haven’t worn in three years after building climbing muscles… the wetsuit might not fit and you might not be able to breathe while you’re swimming.)

For the Pike’s Peak marathon I considered it two separate races: one uphill and one downhill. This was really effective. I wasn’t prepared for the race and simply tried to have fun on the run. Breaking it up into two half-marathons with very different personalities was extremely helpful for me.

For the Collegiate Peaks 50-mile trail run, it was a combination of aid stations (only 6 miles to the next one), weather patterns (the clouds are breaking… the view of the snow-capped 14ers in the distance is breath-taking), hills (7 miles downhill to the turnaround and then another 7 miles up), the half-way point (time to change my costume for something cooler), food intake (every 45 mins to an hour I try to eat), and mileage.

It helps to talk to other runners every now and then along the way. It helps to focus on the movement and the steps you’re taking. It helps to remember to smile and have fun (‘cause that’s why we’re doing this, right?). It helps to notice the scenery; the flowers and trees and views. It helps to remember that I’ll finish faster if I run when I want to walk. It helps to simply remember that all I have to do is put one foot in front of the other.

applying small steps in other areas of life
Bikram yoga used to feel looooong. The postures were held for a long time. My pain lasted throughout the pose and it often felt like it was never going to end.

Now, after running a few ultra races and long training runs, I have noticed my mind breaks down the series of postures. Only four postures after the initial breathing and I can have a sip of water. Only three balancing postures before I get to my favorite stretch. Only two more postures until we begin the floor series.

Each set is broken down in my mind. It happened without me thinking about it. It somehow, and quite simply, became easier. The 90 minutes goes by quickly. I feel more present for each posture. I notice each breath more often.

Endurance. I didn’t think it would translate so effectively to other areas of my life. But now I know. When I break things down, I notice more. I am conscious of the path and the journey. The milestones are spaced a shorter distance apart. They come more quickly and allow me to pay attention to what’s happening now, because I’m not so worried about how long it’s going take.

My mind shifts into a space of comfort and steadiness. There is time to breathe.

 

November 2, 2009

building a solid foundation

Posted by Amy C under integration, observations, setting goals, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , |
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a beginning

a beginning

Yoga is teaching me a lot these days. Building a solid foundation is just one, but it might be the most important thing I learn on this adventure.

life happens
Our move to Hawaii is one of a number of new things in my life. There’s the new marriage, the education and launch of a new career, and a new fitness/workout/nutritional routine. I feel like I’ve swept away aspects of my life that were based on bad habits, or that I’d outgrown, or simply weren’t serving me anymore, and I now have a clean slate to begin building “awesome.”

I’m not saying that my life up to this point has been horrible. Quite the contrary. It’s led me here, and here is—quite frankly—amazing. But I needed a change.

And now, I have before me an incredible opportunity. One where I can very deliberately and consciously create a life that fits me now and paves a path toward a future that feels right.

So often life seems to happen to us. Time goes by and we find ourselves looking back and wondering how we got to where ever it is we are. Maybe we stayed on the path our parents took. Or we assumed that now that “x” had happened, it was time for “y.” And years later we realize that “y” just wasn’t right for us and who told us that that was our path anyway?

Society, influences, assumptions, time—it’ so easy to get caught up in it and forget to ask ourselves key questions every now and again. “What do I want to do with my life?” “Am I living a life I love?” “Is there something more out there that I can do?” “Am I truly happy with the life I’ve chosen?”

It’s easy to forget that time goes quickly. And it’s easy to go through life never realizing that we have the power and ability to create the life we want and dream of.

openness
For me, after realizing I was unhappy with my career last year, I took time to explore and discover what I wanted to do. I started a company that spun off from my marketing career, thinking I would enjoy that until I found my true passion. Although there were aspects I truly enjoyed, the overall excitement and motivation I was hoping for was absent. However, what it did help me to do is identify what I didn’t want to do (which is actually quite valuable information).

Once I realized that I needed to focus my energy on figuring out what I did want to do, I stayed open to whatever was presented. I noticed what inspired me. I paid attention to what lit up my eyes and kept me talking. What was it that made me smile? Think? What brought out my passion? What books did I read? What articles and blogs did I enjoy?

A month before moving here, I chose a new career path. I committed to going through a certification program to become a life coach, and my intuition hints that this is only the beginning of something amazing. The classes I’m taking and the certification is only the first step. There is more to be done in my life and more to accomplish. The possibilities are vast and open.

shaking things up
It’s great to have a path and direction in life that feels good. It’s a heady feeling filled with excitement and motivation. But there are challenges ahead. And as with anything new, your foundation is what everything else is built upon.

There are wonderful things in store for me, but I need to maintain my vision of where I’m headed amidst all the change. How do I do this? How can I prevent myself from falling into the same ruts and same routines I’m familiar (and frankly quite comfortable with)? How does one build a new foundation at the age of 36?

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

For starters, I’ve moved to Kaua’i. Thousands of miles away from a home I’ve known for 14 years. I am on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Romantic and exotic? Sure. Challenging and a little bit scary? Absolutely!

But what I love most about it is the chance to begin. Fresh. New. I am shaking up long-held beliefs and patterns in my life. I am rebuilding.

the wisdom of yoga
One of the other big changes I’m making here in Kaua’i is taking a hiatus from running—my sure-fire cure for emotional turmoil—and committing to yoga every day except Sundays. Over 150 days of exercise that will break down my body, cleanse toxins from my system and will challenge every cell, molecule, muscle fiber, tendon and ligament throughout my body to be stronger.

The postures and flexibility won’t happen overnight. It won’t happen in one week, but over time, I will have altered my alignment, my overall health, endurance, strength and flexibility.

As I embark on week four, I’ve realized that yoga has much to teach. Not only with my body, but in my approach to all things new.

building a strong foundation
In yoga, one cannot be successful in any posture without a solid foundation. Balance and strength begin in the feet. The connection of the feet to the ground must be balanced. The legs engaged and strong. The core muscles solid, supporting the back and head. The arms and hands firm and stable. The head straight and the eyes focused.

Without a solid foundation throughout the entire body, moving into new postures, or moving deeper within a posture is difficult. And if you move too early, you can fall, or simply not get the benefit the posture was designed to give.

And if you have a solid foundation and push deeper, you have more resources for balance and success.
There are two key lessons I’ve learned in yoga that I hold onto during class, that have begun to transfer into other areas of my life as I approach new changes and growth:

  • build and keep my foundation strong.
  • relax into it.
P1040462_2

standing bow

starting slow
For the first full week of yoga, I didn’t push my postures or go fully into them (even the ones that are easier for me). I focused on my feet and my balance. I went close to the edge of my comfort and then backed off.

Why not push through? Because having a solid foundation—in yoga and pretty much anywhere in life—allows you to build a strong structure so when you’re ready to take a leap, you can. In yoga, it strengthens your muscles and creates the awareness of what you need to do to stay grounded. In life, it strengthens your mind and your relationships and creates the awareness you need for what the future might bring.

It takes patience and discipline, but is well worth it when you’re struggling and you fall (which you will at times). If your foundation is strong, you can return to it, rest there, gather your energy and build upon it. If there is no foundation; if you go into a full-blown balancing posture and waver, you’ll not only fall, but risk hurting yourself.

As I begin moving into the postures deeper, I am grateful for the foundation I have built. I can feel the internal strength and sense of balance within. I know that there will be some postures I’ll move into quicker than others—and there will be some that will take years to progress and perfect.

That’s okay. It gives me time to keep building that foundation and stability.

all things slow
The pace of life on Kaua’i is slow. Time passes, yet there is a stronger sense of calm. There is a sense that there is time for things. I’m not worried I won’t have time for this or that. I wake up early and work. I go to Bikram yoga. I eat well. Sometimes I cook. I go to the beach and surf if the waves are good, and I read (or nap) in the sun if they’re not.

Every day in yoga I am reminded that I am not only building a foundation for class, but I am building one for my life. In everything that I am doing right now, the foundation is the key.

  • In yoga, for a strong connection between the mind and body.
  • For a new career, to lay the groundwork for abundance.
  • To gain the ability to balance (and stay) on top of a moving, fiberglass board.
  • And to build a strong marriage that will weather the tides of life.
P1040252

relaxing into our future

relaxing into the process
Relaxing into the process—whether it happens in a day, a month or over years—allows the foundation to settle.

I am learning to relax into life (instead of pushing and attempting to exert control over it). I believe that when our foundation is strong; that when we create a solid vision for ourselves; that we can then relax and breathe steady. We have the ability to allow our foundation to guide us into the next phase of the process—where ever it may take us.

And if we falter, or change direction, we have a solid foundation upon which to land.

 

October 28, 2009

a yoga journey begins

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , , |
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Here in Kaua’i I have one main fitness goal: to begin a yoga journey. I want to increase my flexibility for climbing. I want more core strength and mental focus. So for the next six months, I have committed to going to yoga six days a week (every day but Sunday). Our days are scheduled around it. And it helps that both Bracken and I are embarking on this journey together, as there’s no waffling when one or the other is feeling too tired or not in the mood to go to class—we go to yoga at noon every day. That’s it. No question.

I’ve done yoga before—Bikram, Corepower, yoga with weights, yoga for relaxation—but I’ve never gone more than two or three times a week at the most (and usually struggled to maintain a once-a-week routine). And I’d never gone two days in a row.

Today is my 18th day on the island and will be my 15th day of yoga. I’ve had mixed results. As a runner, my flexibility is extremely compromised. I notice it most in my hamstrings, but my back and neck are pretty stiff as well.

While I credit my once-a-week yoga practice back in 2004 for keeping me injury-free during my first marathon (February 2005), I began to think that combining long-distance running with yoga was tricky business. More often than I’d want, I would notice tweaks and pains in my knees and hips during a run after a yoga session. I have no scientific proof or resources to back up this theory, but I feel like the yoga was doing its job and stretching my muscles, but that my muscles didn’t have the time to strengthen along with the flexibility, and were so loose, that they were actually more at risk for injury.

I believe the two can (and likely quite beautifully) work together and complement each other, but it needs to be done slowly. I didn’t take the time to build that strength and flexibility back in Boulder.

So here in Hawaii, I’ve started developing a plan (always subject to change, of course). I’ve opted to focus on Bikram. I enjoy the heat and the familiarity of the postures. I may do a few other classes here and there, but will be predominantly focused on the Bikram series.

I have not gone on a run since I’ve been here, and plan to wait another couple of weeks. I want to take the time to gain some flexibility and strength before introducing the repetitive jarring of running back into my routine. And since running is not my primary goal here, it feels like the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the rest and allow myself to work back up to long distances slowly.

I don’t want to lose my current fitness level, but I do think it’ll be worth the small step back to incorporate more flexibility into my running form. When I do begin to run again, I plan to begin as though I’ve never run. One or two miles to start. And these will be slow miles. I want my body to build its strength while maintaining the flexibility and openness that yoga is providing.

Maybe in another few months I’ll be up to running 5 – 10 miles regularly, but my intention is to keep to this (admittedly painfully slow) plan. I miss running!

However, yoga is teaching me many, many wonderful things—about life, about fitness and about the journey toward a truly healthy body. Stay tuned for more posts on my yoga journey.

 

October 19, 2009

magical places

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, reflections, setting goals, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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Mt. Sanitas

Mt. Sanitas

Our earth is vast—filled with so many places to experience, to live, to dream about and to wonder about. And there are a few places in the world for each of us that hold a special meaning. Places that mark transitions or growth. Places that remind us of others. And places that hold history.

These places are small landmarks in our personal history, mapping out where we’ve been, what we’ve experienced and maybe even hold a clue to where we are going.

There are a number of such places in my own life, but one stands out more than any others for me.

mt. sanitas
Mt. Sanitas is a popular trail in Boulder. It’s a 3-mile loop that covers approximately 1,300 vertical feet within the first mile, reaching a summit of 6,863 ft. From the summit you can see Boulder to the east and Indian Peaks Wilderness area to the west.

I have learned efficiency, humility, patience and strength—and I have known victory—on Mt. Sanitas.

patience and humility
It all started when I was still living in downtown Denver back in 2006. Two very good friends had just moved from Dallas to Boulder and began training with me for the Pike’s Peak marathon. I drove to Boulder every Wednesday after work, meeting them at the trail head at 6:00pm. We’d run the loop, head to the climbing gym for a 2-hour climbing session, and then eat a quick dinner after. I’d then make the drive back to Denver late at night.

It was my favorite day of the week.

They were waaaay faster than me on the trail. Sometimes they’d run/walk behind me, but more often than not, they’d run up ahead (and they could actually run up to the summit, whereas I was running for the first five minutes, only to end up hiking most of the rest of the way up, huffing and puffing, my heart rate skyrocketing). I spent lots of time alone thinking and wishing I was faster and in better shape. “I will run up this trail without stopping by the end of the year,” I told myself one day. And as simply as that, I’d set the goal. That was in 2006.

I didn’t meet that goal by a long shot, but I did experience two very important lessons.

heading up the trail

heading up the trail

1. efficiency
There was one day in particular that summer that sticks out more than all the others. It was one of those mid-summer days when no one wanted to be outside. The temperature was over 100º and the air was heavy.

I headed up to Boulder, determined to get my run in. My friends bailed, wanting nothing to do with such a hot run (and rightfully calling me crazy). However, I arrived at the trail head and climbed out of the car. And it was hot. I didn’t want to run. I wanted to crawl back into my car, crank up the A/C and drive away toward sanity. But I was already there, and I was determined to stick to my schedule.

Fortunately, I decided that simply hiking it might be a good idea, considering the heat. I figured a run might be pushing it a little too hard. I planned to go slow and steady and try to enjoy the effort. I’d been timing myself on the weekly runs to gauge my progress, and was getting a little better at running more often, but looking back, I’d guess I was still walking for over 60% of my time to the summit.

I began hiking, stepping deliberately and steadily, placing one foot in front of the other. I took my time and focused on my fluid and fuel intake. I took very few breaks, keeping my steady pace. When I finally reached the summit, I looked at my watch and did a double take.

I’d made it up two minutes faster than my fastest “run” time.

I puzzled over this on the way down and came to the conclusion that by walking, I had been able to make better placements with my feet and take longer strides. My heart rate had been able to maintain a steadier beat.

I learned efficiency can be more effective towards a goal than pride or false expectation (like thinking running is always faster than walking). It prompted me to question other perceptions, expectations and ideas I held for myself and others. And I gained even more confidence and found renewed enjoyment in exploring and pushing my physical limits.

some of the many, often interminable, stairs on the trail

some of the many, often interminable, stairs on the trail

2. perspective
It was my first year running  the Pike’s Peak Marathon and close to the summit it’s a pretty steep climb: all high, awkwardly spaced steps up large rocks for what seems like forever. Tired, hurting, and pushing myself forward, I experienced a relative calm when I looked up at the final climb. I’d realized that “it’s just like Sanitas.” My thoughts shifted mentally and I imagined I was climbing my home trail. It felt similar enough (only my breathing at 14,000 feet was a little harder to manage), and it allowed me to focus on the steps, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before I was on my way down.

I learned to separate the big task (finishing the darn race) into smaller, more manageable moments (climbing that last stretch of stair). The technique worked then, and I still utilize it in so many other aspects of my life (like running, hiking, yoga, travel, packing, working): breaking the task at hand into smaller bits and staying focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

spring on sanitas

spring on sanitas

my experiences on sanitas
I first hiked Mt. Sanitas back in the late ‘90s when I moved to Colorado. It took me over three hours to hike the full loop. Since then, I have run and hiked this trail with a myriad of people, in every season and in tons of different weather conditions. I have cried along the trail. I have run it sweating in 100º temperatures, and I have run it on the ice with screws in my shoes.

I’ve been lost on the trail after following a game trail. I’ve seen the leaves change colors, and I’ve seen the flowers bloom. There were the first dates up Sanitas when I was single, and the weekly runs with my friends. I heard a symphony of insects the morning I ran it after I quit my corporate job and launched into a year of exploration and uncertainty. I imagined they were all applauding my daring.

I hiked it after 18” of snow fell, realizing simultaneously that Boulder is crazy (the trail was already beaten down) and that I was in love with this trail. I remember running it one March after an ice storm where I saw these amazing sparkling creations all over the tree branches and leaves and grass—images I had never seen before, and will never forget. I have been on Sanitas in fog, on ice, through snow, at night, and at the height of a summer afternoon.

And early one morning in the summer of 2008, I ran with Bracken to the summit to watch the sun rise. He proposed while a hummingbird hovered as witness. And a year later, just a few days before our wedding, we ran it again (and encountered another hummingbird while we were on the summit). The place is truly magical.

the magic of victory
Of course, I didn’t run to the summit that first year. Nor the next or the next. I’d let the goal lie dormant as I focused on other things. And then, four years after I’d set that original goal, I went out one morning for a run.

I started slow and steady. I ran the first steep section and was happy to arrive at a flatter portion to lower my heart rate. I lengthened my stride a bit and relaxed into the run. I got to the second steep section and shortened my steps, looking for efficient ways to get to the next step without working too hard. And then I was at the final third of the trail. My curiosity kicked in and I wondered, “can I really run the whole way?”

I could and I did. Slow, steady and strong. (I had some serious stoke at the summit.)

I sat down, looking out over Boulder—my home—and was flooded with so many memories of that trail; of my life since I’d first been on that trail; of the metamorphosis I’d undergone in those years. I was stronger, more confident, moving forward towards a life that felt good and right for me. The imperceptible shifts of life moving along were magnified for me that day at the summit. My journey to that moment when running up felt easy and doable, paralleled so many other areas of life that I was working toward.

I was excited that I’d finally done it—and humbled that it’d taken me four years. It was a powerful reminder that goals take time and when we push too hard, we risk losing sight of the steps in between.

such a place
Mt. Sanitas isn’t just a trail for me. It’s not a summit to snag, or a local haunt to claim. It represents a landmark—a place on the map of my life that has served me well. It’s been a constant barometer measuring the change and growth in my life. In each rock, and in every tree and flower along the trail, I see myself and my lives—past, present and future—melding together through the seasons of experience and transition.

I hold my memories of Sanitas and her lessons close to my heart now as I move into a new environment and new phase of my life. I am so incredibly grateful for the hours spent on that ridge, and for the lessons I have learned. I feel as though I have a solid foundation from which to leap, as I set my sights onto the vast ocean from the island of Kaua’i.

Running up Sanitas felt impossible for me a few short years ago. But now I not ony know the secret, I have experienced its magic: There are no dreams too big.

 

October 14, 2009

distilling fear

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, surfing | Tags: , , |
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There is a question that has been coming up more and more for me over the past several months. It’s a simple question, but one that provokes a lot of thought.

“Am I really afraid, or do I just think I should be afraid?

I wonder if what I’m feeling is a genuine reaction or, if somewhere along the line I’ve come to the conclusion that I am supposed to be afraid of that something and so therefore, I am.

heading out at Hanalei Bay

heading out at Hanalei Bay

One of my goals here in Hawaii is to learn how to surf. I spent my summers on the beach in Southern California swimming in the waves. I have many wonderful memories of being in the ocean. I also have very vivid memories of getting pummeled by surprise sets. I remember feeling as though I was on the spin cycle in a washing machine with no sense of which way was up.

I’ve attempted to surf in Florida, California and Australia (without success). I remember feeling worked before I even got far enough out beyond the breaks to actually catch a wave.

I have taken a long board out only twice so far. At the instruction of my good friend, Adria (who has taken a number of lessons), we’re staying in the white water, working on understanding what the motion of the water feels like with the board, and balancing on the board. The sand is three feet or less below me. I can touch the ground. The waves are not large.

Yet I hesitate to approach a break. I have a large chunk of fiberglass in my arm. I do not want to get hit in the head, or cut, or bruised, or trapped.

Are these valid fears? Maybe. Especially if I was a mile out at sea, with no one watching out for me, in surf that was twice as tall as me. But alas, I am in a safe environment. The risks are minimal. Getting bruised and a little worked is part of the learning.

Yet the fear is present. And this kind of fear—this fear born from past experiences—is the kind that can hinder progress.

I was probably 10, or maybe 14 when I felt out of control in the water. The waves were likely stronger than I’d anticipated, or became stronger while I was out. I remember being scared and not wanting to feel scared. I wanted to be stronger.

I was 18 and 20 when I was attempting to surf. I remember feeling intimidated by the strength of the water.

practicing balance

practicing balance

Yet now, at the age of 36, with a number of years of master’s swimming and triathlons under my belt; with way more core and upper body strength than I’ve ever had; and in perfectly manageable conditions, I feel the familiar anxiety set up shop in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve had similar experiences while climbing, running alone, navigating talus downhill and in unfamiliar situations I encounter. I realize that some experiences serve as good lessons for the future and I certainly don’t live my life in fear of fear. But I do notice fears arising that seem disproportionate to the current situation. And there are some times when the fears seem to stem from someone else’s fears from my past that are more prone to fear, but to whom I relate to in other ways.

I know I will not always (or ever) have an answer to the question of whether the fear I’m feeling is my own, or from some other source, but I do know that being aware of the possibility that I may not be as afraid as I think I am, is an intriguing notion.

“Am I truly afraid?” is a question I plan on asking myself whenever I feel the telltale drop in the pit of my stomach. Can I tap into a hidden reservoir of strength and confidence? There are times when I know without a doubt that that reservoir is there. And then there are other times when it seems merely a mirage.

I want to delve into this idea of fear further, pushing myself to ask the tough questions, seeking greater experiences in this world.

 

October 11, 2009

kaua’i: the beginning

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, surfing, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , , , |
[3] Comments 

Yesterday, I arrived at Lihue airport on the Hawaiian island of Kaua’i.

This is my first visit to Hawaii, and I couldn’t be happier that instead of vacationing here for a week or so, it’s for a long stay. We plan to live here for six months to work, to live, to learn and to experience something new.

It’s so easy for me to stay where it’s comfortable. The familiar routine of morning coffee. Familiar trails. A community of good friends. When Bracken suggested we move here, I committed pretty immediately. It sounded so wonderful (I mean, duh… who wouldn’t want to live in Hawaii?). But more than wonderful and exotic and fortunate to have the means and time to do so, it seemed to fit. There was an aspect that just felt right to me.

So, after a couple of months packing up our stuff after our wedding, a hectic week moving it all into a storage unit, and a week of car trouble where we weren’t sure we were going to make our original flights and feeling pretty displaced and defeated before we’d begun, we made it.

For me, I want to experience something new. I want to slow down and find a way to simply be without my own expectations, interests and familiar routines getting in the way. I finally feel ready to move forward on a new career path (one I’ve been searching for and thinking about for over a year now). And I’m excited to begin that process of recognizing and realizing my (newly rediscovered) long-held dream to write and to work with others, helping them realize their own goals and dreams.

I don’t know how I know, but I know this is the place to do it. I imagine it’s similar to the feeling I had when I moved out to Colorado way back when. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t leave it for a long time, and I knew it was the right place for me. And today, I know Kaua’i has something planned for me. Maybe it’s something big. Or maybe it’s simply planting new seeds of growth for something far in my future.

I’ve learned to trust my intuition a little better lately, and although it’s not going to be without challenges and difficult moments, I feel a quiet calm in my presence here. A quiet and peace that feels good and right.

I’ve tried to keep my expectations and plans open as to what I want to do here and leave here with, but I do have a few things I know, and want to share them here, with you, my dear readers.

  • I plan on doing a LOT of yoga. I want to strengthen and heal my body and to meditate and find deeper peace and knowledge of myself.
  • I will be spending a lot of time working towards a certification as a life coach. This is the first step on my new career path and one that is amazingly exciting for me to think about and finally delve into.
  • I plan on spending a lot of time swimming in the ocean and learning how to surf. It’s a childhood dream to be a surfer and while I have no expectation on surfing large waves, I do want to be comfortable in the water, with a board, standing up.
  • I want to write. A lot. I have a vision of this blog with a lot more updates, observations and stories, as well as writing for a few bigger projects I have in mind. Stay tuned.
  • And finally, I want to slow down. I want to find a deeper sense of consciousness in my choices and an awareness in the world around me.

Over breakfast this morning, I looked around and got the feeling as though I’d been plucked out of my own life and dropped in on an entirely new world. It’s a good thing, it’s a scary thing and it’s an entirely unknown thing. And I’m ready.

 

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