January 17, 2010

perfectly imperfect

Posted by Amy C under observations, perceptions | Tags: , , |
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When you look out over a wide vista, what do you see? Strong and stately mountains? An ocean, smooth and glassy? Or a winter wonderland of soft snow blanketing your city?

I went hiking the other day along a ridge line I’ve often admired while walking along the beach at Hanalei Bay. The rise of the earth above the river with the sheer cliffs and lush green trees beckoned. The scene resembling a live Hawaiian postcard of paradise.

We parked at the trailhead and began to hike up (and up and up). I imagined myself walking right into that postcard of perfection. Then there were the mosquitos, and the dead, rotting branches and the smell of rotting fruit. The trail itself was slick with mud, quickly caking layers onto my shoes.

Postcards don’t show the humidity of those lush, green, tropical forests. They don’t show the hard work it requires of your heart to climb a steep hillside for two miles. They don’t include the pungent odor of wet earth.

Yet it was beautiful. And it was real. It wasn’t perfect and yet my smile and energy and enthusiasm only grew as we continued hiking.

***

Along the trail, toward the top, I noticed a bright burst of pink peeking through the foliage. I sped up, intrigued, to investigate. It turned out to be something I (as a mainlander) had never seen on a hike before: an orchid—growing wild.

My perception of orchids is of carefully maintained and nurtured perfection. I look at an orchid in a flower shop, or at a wedding, and I think about the fragility of the petals and the attention needed to make the blooms so velvety and symmetrical.

Yet here were orchids growing wild. (Of course all things in nature have an origin, but I’d never given much thought as to where orchids came from; where they might show up on their own.) They are wild, pristine and stately flowers thriving in the midst of these island forests.

From the beach, looking at the postcard image, I hadn’t imagined this small bloom would greet me with such beauty (and I certainly couldn’t see it from so far away).

I leaned closer into the orchid to get a picture. There, on one of the petals, was a brown spot. Gasp! An imperfection on what I had formerly seen as absolute perfection. And yet, to me, it seemed so much more beautiful and alive.

The way I see it, nature’s perfection is in her imperfections. Our lesson is to realize this, extrapolate the concept, and embrace it for ourselves. We, as humans (and our lives), are perfectly imperfect.

So look again at the postcard-perfect image before you.

Go hiking, surfing, or snowshoeing and immerse yourself in that vista. Look around and notice the irregularities; the dead leaves; the broken branch; the ding on your surfboard and the shells kicking up and swirling around at the bottom of the sea.

How do they add to the beauty? To the experience? What would it be like if everything was indeed perfect? Would we be missing something?

I appreciate the variances and the uniqueness of how imperfections add to the character of a scene. I think about myself, my friends, and my community and am grateful for our imperfections and how they add balance and originality to the world around me.

Our life, in all its wild variations, truly is like beauty in nature: perfectly imperfect.

 

January 3, 2010

the influence of awe

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, observations, perceptions | Tags: , , |
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the Na Pali coast

Awe.

I read a quote in the August 2009 issue of Oprah recently. It was a parenthetical comment. An aside. It struck me as the most important thing I’d read in the entire magazine and it made me think.

On page 96, Gabrielle LeBlanc wrote:

Awe, it seems, influences people to act on behalf of the greater good.

What a bold statement. I’ve been mulling it over in my mind for awhile, asking myself, what is it about the feeling and experience of awe that would have such an influence? And was it true? And if it’s true, what causes it?

Newport Beach sunset

It feels true. It resonates with my own experiences. I think about the times I’ve felt awe. Sometimes it strikes me while listening to music, reading a poem or particularly poetic prose, or in a photograph or illustration. But mostly I find awe—I feel awe—in nature.

In the mountains. Looking out over the wide expanse of ocean as powerful waves rock the shoreline.

Colorado mountains

Utah desert

Hawaiian surf

I feel it when I run under a canopy of rhododendron or through the white barks of aspen trees, hearing the leaves rustle in the wind.

My mind opens. Colors are brighter and smells are more distinct and pungent. I feel a greater sense of awareness—of my surroundings; of my thoughts; of the bigness of the world around me.

infinite bliss

When I am in nature, I am grounded. I feel connected in a larger-than-life way. I can’t explain it, but my heart fills. I want to drink in the scene and wrap it around me like a cozy blanket on a chilly winter evening. I breathe deep.

I feel the power of the whole and I recognize my interconnectedness with others (both in my immediate community and those across the globe, thousands of miles away).

I think this is what LeBlanc meant. This feeling we get when awe fills us up from the inside. We want to share its bigness, show others how beautiful and sublime our universe is.

Long's Peak from Mt. Audubon

My energy expands. I feel peace. I feel motivated to be better. I step out of myself and see beyond the problems or worries that seemed so huge just a moment ago.

I used to think awe was a luxury. It was something you only felt on special occasions. As an adult, I realize it’s essential.

Joshua Tree Nat'l Park, California desert

I have chosen to surround myself with the opportunity to experience a bit of awe every day. To drink in nature’s art. To experience first hand her grace and depth.

a lone orchid along the Na Pali coast, Kaua'i

It never gets old. It never gets tired or overplayed. It sinks deeper under my skin and into my being. This awe. This grace. The desire to grow and expand. The motivation to contribute to my world and those in it.

Kalihiwai Bay, Kaua'i

I breathe in the view before me. My heart opens and I smile.

 

December 31, 2009

10 years ago

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, perceptions, reflections, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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There’s a trend on twitter right now that got me thinking. #10yearsago — what was happening in your life 10 years ago?

The first thing I tweeted was: #10yearsago I had never run a mile in my life, couldn’t hike uphill w/o taking a rest every 5 mins & sanitas too 3 hrs to complete.

Then I remembered that I thought climbing was crazy and had sworn I’d never do it.

So I thought it would be a fun exercise to look back at 1999 and think about where I was and what I was doing in 1999 and into 2000.

10 years ago:

  • I thought swimming 15 laps in a pool was a good workout.
  • I didn’t like seafood. Or spicy food. Or interesting food. Or any food that wasn’t a carb or meat.
  • I was living with a boyfriend that wasn’t incredibly healthy for me (or him).
  • I was singing with the Colorado Symphony Orchestra Chorus.
  • I was working at a nursing home (as an Activity Director), burning out as a music therapist.
  • I got winded hiking up a trail and usually stopped every 5 minutes to rest.
  • I thought digital cameras produced inferior quality images and didn’t see the point of owning one.
  • I drove a Dodge Neon.
  • I didn’t know trail running was a sport.
  • I didn’t know much about the sport of climbing and thought “those people” were crazy.
  • I enjoyed snowboarding on greens and easy blue runs a few times a year.
  • I sewed a lot of crafts and things.
  • I was living in Littleton.
  • I didn’t know what perseverance felt like.

What I didn’t know 10 years ago:

  • That fresh sushi is about the best food in the world.
  • That climbing up a mountain was exhilarating and freeing. And that I could do it.
  • That my body was capable of developing muscles.
  • That my body was capable of running. At all, much less long distances.
  • That I would be competing in triathlons, marathons, trail runs and loving it.
  • That I would work in corporate America and go on business trips that involved good meals and a passport.
  • That I would meet amazing people who would teach me about true friendship, trust, support and total and full acceptance of who I am.
  • That I would meet, befriend and fall in love and marry an amazing man.
  • That I would climb 16 14ers and run up one of them (three times!).
  • That I would learn what a harness and carabiner were and then use them on real rock.
  • That I would fall in love with running and climbing so deeply.
  • That I would find a passion and turn it into a career that involved the outdoors, fitness and helping others learn and find that passion.
  • That food tastes really good with heat and spice added in.

I think the biggest thing I didn’t know in 1999 was that I was an athlete. I ran for the first time in March of 2000. Thinking back on all that I’ve experienced, tried, and accomplished in the world of sport and outdoor activity over the past 10 years I’m pretty amazed I fit it all in.

The journey and discovery of that hidden strength opened up so many other doors and perspectives for my world.

I anticipate the next 10 years will open up and reveal even more. I’m ready.

Where were you 10 years ago? What’s changed? What surprised you? What’s coming next?

 

December 23, 2009

2009: a year in review

Posted by Amy C under climbing, integration, mountain biking, reflections, setting goals, surfing, trail running, yoga | Tags: , , , , , , |
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my annual rite of passage
I have begun the annual ritual of assessing the past year and looking toward the upcoming one in anticipation of what’s ahead. I always enjoy rereading what my annual goals were for the previous year (you can read my goals for this blog here, and my overall 2009 goals here). By the end of 2008, I knew that 2009 would be a big year.

Along with a few specific goals I set for myself (like flossing my teeth and eating my vegetables… both of which, I’m happy to report, saw an increase in activity throughout 2009), each December I think about a word or two that encompasses what the year ahead means to me.

2008 was a year of risk and wonder. 2009 was a year of creating possibility and abundance. As I write this post, my 2010 words are rising to the surface.

my writing goals for amelia carolyn
I realized when reading about the goals I’d set for my blog, I didn’t take my own advice. I didn’t revisit my goals and take time to reassess and revise them. And this December, I’m in a similar place with my writing and blogging goals as I was last December. I have made small steps, but none big enough to allow me to say, “I’ve met my goal.”

I haven’t achieved the frequency or discipline in my writing or posting that I’d set out for myself. And I know that had I read my goals again throughout the year, I would have made some changes. I might have made them a little more realistic considering the life changes I embarked on in 2009. I may have laid out smaller steps.

Writing is a huge part of my life and my dreams. I love the process and clarity I get when I write. And there have been small advances towards my stated goals to blog more and to write with more discipline (and less of writing only “as the mood strikes”). But I have work to do.

Luckily, I don’t believe 2009 was the only pocket of time where that particular goal could thrive. 2009 was a busy year. Lots of pretty big life changes happened in 2009 that took time and energy. In 2010, my writing will become more defined and frequent. I will have more purpose and more substance to my thoughts and posts.

So what took up so much of my energy and focus in 2009, you ask?

what a year!
Here’s a recap of my 2009 experiences:

I got married. July 25 was a fairy-tale day. The weekend filled with family and friends from all over the country was a magical weekend. The 11 months of planning that went into that weekend was exciting, challenging and filled with emotion.

crested butte, co

I ran. A lot. My running season was unexpectedly amazing and awesome. I entered and completed two ultra marathons. The Moab Red Hot 50+K and the Collegiate Peaks 50 miler. I also ran my best Pike’s Peak Marathon three weeks after the wedding and enjoyed a few other fun and challenging trail runs (the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty in June, the Gothic Crested Butte Third Marathon and the Barr Trail Mountain Race in July).

moab red hot 50k+

collegiate peaks 50 mile trail run

pike's peak marathon

I moved to a new state, into a new home, with my new husband. In September I sold my car and began packing. At the beginning of October, we moved all our furniture and most of our possessions into storage. Then Bracken and I moved to the island of Kaua’i, in Hawaii. We have been housed by the generosity of amazing friends and are still adjusting to the experience of reality in paradise.

polihale state park, kaua'i

sea turtle in poipu, kaua'i

sunset at hanalei bay, kaua'i

I embarked on a journey toward a new career and subsequent new business. In September, I became a student at the International Coach Academy, based in Melbourne, Australia. I will graduate in 2010 with a Professional Coaching Certification. I will be a life coach working in the outdoor and fitness industry helping others integrate fitness and sport into their lives. I plan on concentrating on “late-bloomers” like me who are new to sports and fitness and need education and motivation on how to get started and what to expect throughout the journey. (Stay tuned for more information coming in 2010.)

I played. I summited two 14ers (Antero for my annual birthday climb) and Pike’s Peak. I climbed. I bouldered. I ran. I bought a mountain bike and began to learn. I took up surfing. I began a yoga journey (going six times a week).

looking towards the summit of mt. antero

my new mountain bike on the 401 in crested butte

my new surfboard

I began to explore the kitchen. I enjoyed a few cooking lessons. I shopped at the Farmer’s Market. I observed and participated in the cooking process. I plan to write more on this, but for me, enjoying nutrition and preparing meals is a foreign, enticing concept.

an abundance of possibility
Has 2009 truly been a year of possibility and abundance? Definitely. I didn’t make a lot of money as I’d hoped, but I began to build a solid foundation for a new career. The abundance came in the form of love. Of community. Of grace and compassion (from others, mind you… I’m still working on that ‘have compassion for yourself’ mantra). An abundance of experiences, of emotion, of newness.

Possibility seems harder to pin down. Yet it feels like the possibilities presented to me, and the experiences I’ve had this past year, have themselves, been abundant: surprising myself at the Pike’s Peak marathon and placing in my age group; moving to a small island in the middle of the Pacific, miles from anything familiar; exploring a new career and life calling; writing on a variety of topics and experiences.

Life feels wide open in front of me. And maybe that’s what possibility looks like. Vast and open and free.

a year of promise
2010 promises to be a full year. The words that come to mind when I think of all that’s on the horizon for me are words like: grounding. integration. expansion. maybe this is the year for compassion? emergence. discovery. motion.

What’s in store for me? What do I have planned? Lots of goodness and awesome. As much as 2009 was a year of new things and beginnings, it was also a year of building foundations. It was a year where I consciously and deliberately worked to set up a foundation that will support big things to come. Those things may appear in 2010, or 2046. I just don’t know, but I’m building and I’m creating and I’m nurturing my world for my present and my future.

In 2010 my marriage will still be new. We will be exploring the newness and integrating each other deeper into our lives, becoming stronger partners in this life together. We’ll spend time building the framework for our future; our communication; our finances; our habits and preferences. We’ll be sharing our love through the ordinary and mundane, as well as the awesome and magnificent. Or maybe it’s more like we’ll learn to recognize the magnificence hidden in the ordinary. Solidifying our union to stay strong and sure through the many changes and journeys that are ahead of us as individuals and together.

In 2010 my company will launch. And with that, I dream of introducing others (and creating within them) a life-long love affair with the outdoors. I plan on learning a lot more. I plan on putting myself out there and introducing myself to others so they know who I am, and what my mission and goals are (and hopefully by that, I can reach even more people).

In 2010 we plan to return to the mainland, with a good bit of surfing under our belts, to embark on a year-long road trip around the U.S. to climb, mountain bike and run through our country’s celebrated and hidden gems.

In 2010 I want to surf tougher, climb stronger, run longer and bike with enthusiasm (with a little bit of badass thrown in to the mix).

I want to write. A lot. (In my journal; for my personal blog; for my professional blog.) I want to write a book or two (maybe just a short one to begin).

I want to smile more often and connect deeper. I want to love generously, with compassion and grace. I want to walk in confidence and recognize my strengths and gifts, sharing them with the world.

So my words for 2010? Integration and joy seem to resonate with my insides.

Integrating my marriage, my home-within-myself, and my new career into my future. Consolidating my thoughts and ideas onto paper and out into the world. Merging my passion for the outdoors into a career that inspires and motivates others to fall in love with nature.

Joy for the energy and momentum I’m experiencing in my life. Happiness in the simple and humble. Exhilaration in the challenges and transitions ahead. And a childlike exuberance for the travel adventure I’ve dreamed of for many years.

I raise a toast to 2010: A year of integration and joy. Cheers!

 

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.
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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.

 

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