amelia carolyn

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.

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).

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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.