setting goals

Archived Posts from this Category

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: , , , , , , |
[2] Comments 

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!

 

November 4, 2009

managing tasks a little at a time

Posted by Amy C under setting goals, trail running, yoga | Tags: , |
1 Comment 

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: , , |
Leave a Comment 
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: , , , |
Leave a Comment 

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: , , , |
[3] Comments 
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 11, 2009

kaua’i: the beginning

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, surfing, transitions, yoga | Tags: , , , , |
[4] 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.

 

September 10, 2009

taking in the moment

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

being.

Sometimes I find it hard to simply (and consciously and deliberately) “be” without thinking about where I just was, or where I’d like my life to be tomorrow, or in a week or maybe in five years from now. It’s hard not to think about what might make it (whatever my present reality is) better—even if I’m currently really happy with it.

Over coffee in the back garden of Espressoria the other morning, my good friend and I were talking about my upcoming plans to move to Hawaii for six months this winter. It’ll be the first time in my life I’ve moved somewhere without a set plan on where I’m staying or exactly how long I’ll be there. I think about the adjustment. I think about the challenges and the newness of it all. I think about the adventure and about experiencing this together with my (new, yay!) husband.

Our conversation began to center around a conundrum we all seem to face (similar to “the grass is always greener” and “you always want what you can’t have”) of wanting what we used to have or what we see as “better” or “easier.” There’s the flexibility vs. structure continuum. Those with 8-5 jobs yearn for the freedom to set their own schedules and go play when they want to; those with flexible jobs yearn for more structure so they know when to stop working and can go play without a sense of guilt for not working.

Sick vs. healthy (or more often in my world, the injured vs. healthy) is another one I’m often faced with. Healthy but unmotivated or tired, I think about the rest one gets from being sick or injured (the kind that forces your body to slow down). And when I’m sick or hurt, all I want to do is get out of the house and go running, or clean or do something.

It’s hard to find a balance, and sometimes I wonder if it’s really balance I’m after. Maybe it’s simply the ability to accept what is. I appreciate the ups and downs of my life. I love the feeling when things are going well; when the energy is flowing and things feel good. And when they’re not, I find a renewed appreciation and gratitude for those good times and try to take advantage of the extra down time to rest the body and the mind.

So here’s my Thursday morning musing and thought … I am happy to be. Right now. Today. At 9:17am. And in each moment, I will remember that whereever I am, I am good. Life is good. And by wishing and dreaming too much about what isn’t, I’m missing what is.

I have a feeling that I will need to remember this over and over again… but over time, I know it’ll get easier. With more experience and with more wisdom, I can be a little more often each day.

 

August 18, 2009

race report: pike’s peak marathon

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: , |
[20] Comments 

Holy cow.

Pike's Peak (taken in 2006)

Pike's Peak (taken in 2006)

the back story
Yep. That’s right. Holy. Cow. Remember this post? The one telling the story of a woman (me) running a full mile for the first time—ever—when she was 26? The one detailing that she (me again) was the girl in the back of the pack in high school gossiping with her friends while walking the mile during gym class? Remember? And then she started running. And got totally hooked. Yet was average, generally finishing in the 50th percentile for most races she entered. (I promise I’ll start writing in the first person soon.)

There are goals. There are dreams. And then there are fantasies. We tell ourselves to make our goals realistic. Achievable. Our dreams are there to guide us. We may not realize them, but if we head in the general direction of our dreams, life gets better and we’re closer to our goals. But fantasies? Those (we tend to assume) are the unrealistic dreams. The ones where, if we think about them too much, or try for them too often, we’ll be disappointed.

I think fantasies are good. In the sense that dreaming big is good. If we head in the general direction, some of the fairy dust might rub off on us and we’ll see some success. Not the fantasy-come-true success, but the this-small-part-of-my-fantasy-feels-really-great kind of success.

I felt that two years ago at my second running of the Pike’s Peak marathon. My first race had been painful. I’d pulled the muscle connecting the hip to the quad a few weeks prior and decided to run anyway. I cried in pain most of the way down and experienced pain with every step I took for four months after the race that year. I was happy to have finished, but it hadn’t been pretty.

2007 came along and I was excited to try it again. And I ran a really good race. Knocking my ascent time down nine minutes (to 4:09:56) and my total time by about 26 minutes (to a very good 6:34:41). It was my brush with fantasy. Placing 6th out of 24 in my age group and 42nd woman out of a total of 189 finishers felt unbelievable. I’d felt good afterwards. Proud and happy. I didn’t think I could do much better.

second thoughts
So 2009 rolls around. Sign-up for the marathon is in March. It fills up quickly, so you have to know then if you’re planning on running it or not. There was a lot of thinking and hesitating going on inside my head regarding this race. I’d missed it last year. But I had a lot going on leading up to the August 16th date. A wedding (my own) three weeks before, to name just one. I wasn’t sure I wanted to put the time in to train. I was running a lot and thought I might need a break—especially with the wedding plans.

But my friend, Rich (thank you!!), convinced me that I was running strong this year, and of all the years to run, this might be a really good one. So I committed. But I made a deal with myself in hopes of relieving some of the stress I anticipated: I wasn’t going to worry about it. I had a few goals in mind, but they were secondary. I looked at this year’s Pike’s Peak as an “easy” race; one I’d done before and that I knew I could do so I didn’t have to worry too much about training for it.

the training
I knew I had a good base built up from my two ultra runs (see here and here for details on those). But Collegiate Peaks had been way back at the beginning of May. I’d had over three months of semi-but-not-really training runs. I had a lot on my mind, and Pike’s Peak was only a small part.

I logged only 29 more miles in May (after the 50-miler), 68 miles total for June, and 75 in July. I went on a total of 4 runs in the three weeks between my wedding and the race (when I taper, I taper well!). Did I feel ready? No. All four of those runs felt sluggish and hard. The few days before the race, I began to have serious second thoughts.

seeking grace
She’s a big mountain. It’s a BIG race. You can read about the course description here, but suffice it to say, it’s not for the faint-of-heart. It climbs 7,800 vertical feet over 13.1 miles to the summit of Pike’s Peak at 14,115 feet above sea level. Then you turn around and pound down 13.1 miles to the finish line.

I realized my predicted time of 6:15:00 was a little unrealistic considering my training (or lack thereof). I adjusted it in my head (and to my friends who would be at the finish) to be just under 6:30. I’d still be happy with that. It’d be a few minutes off my 2007 time and if I was close (or just under) four hours for the ascent, I’d be ecstatic.

the dream
So in my mind, I held on to a couple of “dream goals.” My main goals that I figured were fairly reasonable, were (in order of importance):

  1. to finish
  2. to finish without injury
  3. to finish under 6:30

And then there were my dream goals. These are the goals I secretly hoped and longed for, but didn’t allow myself to dwell on since I hadn’t put in the training time. They are:

  1. to make it to the summit under four hours
  2. to make it to the finish around 6:15 (my original predicted time back in March)

One of the crazy things about this race is understanding the length of time it’ll take you. It’s a pretty good rule of thumb that if you’ve run a flatland marathon, your finishing time will be the rough equivalent of your ascent time. My fastest flatland marathon is 4:26, so in some (possibly warped?) way, having a sub-four ascent time would mean that I could run a sub-four marathon one day (if I was interested in running on roads ever again). So the sub-four ascent time was important to me. Unrealistic, but most definitely important to me.

50 years of women marathoners
I will take a step back briefly here, to mention a very cool, and very important milestone the Pike’s Peak marathon marked this year. Fifty years ago, in 1959, a woman named Arlene Pieper, along with her 10-year-old daughter, lined up at the starting line of the 4th annual Pike’s Peak marathon. She finished the race with a time of 9:16, and became the first woman on record to officially complete a U.S. marathon. (Her daughter, incidentally, made it to the top in 5:44.)

The organizers of the PPM tracked Arlene and her daughter down, bringing them out for the weekend festivities. Arlene counted down for the starting gun at 7:00am Sunday morning and they were both there at the awards ceremony presenting.

the fantasy
I woke up the morning of the race with a sense of calm. Deep down, I knew I would be fine. Whatever happened during the race, I would be fine. I could be running for over seven hours and it would be okay. I had fallen in love with running awhile ago. I love the mental challenge of long courses, the weather looked good, and there was nothing more to do but run.

I put on the clothes I’d decided on the night before (my favorite running skirt, a camisole and a mid-weight long-sleeve shirt), packed up my fuel (two gels, two packages of shot bloks and an extra package of luna moons) and fluid (32 ozs of gatorade) and put on my running shoes. My breakfast included a banana, half a croissant and a tall americano from Starbucks. Sunscreen applied, we headed out the door.

We arrived at the start in plenty of time to warm up, be nervous and take care of business. Just before 7:00am, we all lined up and listened to “America the Beautiful” (whose words, if you don’t know, were written at the summit of Pike’s Peak by Katherine Lee Bates). Arlene Pieper counted down, and the gun went off.

at the start, running up Hydro Street

at the start, running up Hydro Street

I settled into a slow, relaxing pace. Too many people go out too fast and blow up early. I was happy to allow many runners to pass me, biding my time when they’d be walking up the W’s and I’d run past. I was thankful for having run the Barr Trail Mountain Race six weeks before. I knew my pace was good for the long haul and simply put one foot in front of the other, walking the super-steep sections, moving quickly while saving energy.

One thing I’ve always done well is walk fast. And I can hike fast and efficiently, which I use often in trail running. Many times it’s faster for me to walk up steeper sections, rather than try to run them. So I paced myself throughout the ascent, walking when it made sense, but pushing the pace and then running when I knew I could.

What amazed me was how often I was able to pass people. I figured I’d be passing a lot of people at first, but would eventually settle into a group going the same pace as me for the majority of the incline. I was wrong. Since I try to stay pretty self-sufficient with my fuel and fluid needs, I only refilled a bottle of gatorade once, running through all the other aid stations (and passing people when I did). I kept going. I kept alternating my walk and run, feeling strong and steady.

I passed Barr Camp at 1:50. At this point, I knew I had a chance to get to the summit before four hours. I started to get excited, but tried to keep it in check so I wouldn’t be disappointed if I didn’t. I kept pushing.

I reminded myself that I had no races coming up. Nothing to “save” myself for. I could push and hurt and be just fine. I kept passing people. And the weird thing is, I kept feeling good. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t too out of breath. The increasing lack of oxygen wasn’t bothering my lungs (only my hands, which by this time, resembled the stay-puff marshmallow man).

We passed the A-frame and I was again reminded of why I do this. One of my favorite places in the mountains is that space where you go from treeline to alpine (around 11,500 feet). It’s just beautiful. The trees are all gnarled and then they open up into wide, open spaces of rock, grass and wildflowers with views all around. Running and hiking through this part, my smile started to stick. I was having fun. I was loving this race.

approaching the summit

approaching the summit

I spied the summit and turnaround point and looked at my watch (my new gps) and realized I was crushing my “dream” goal. I wasn’t sure if I should believe it. I’m rather notorious for mis-reading my times and getting it all wrong. But sure enough, there were the kazoo-ists playing the “Chariots of Fire” theme along the sixteen golden stairs. They joked about that stretch being a “sprint” zone and I was feeling sassy, so looked back and said, “really? sweet!” and took off running again. I heard laughter and cheers behind me. And then they were far behind me. I had been able to keep running!

I passed a few more people. Smiling, running, grinning widely. I was going to make my dream goal. I heard my name, looked up, and saw my friends cheering me on.

me (in blue) at the turn around

me (in blue) at the turn around

I looked at my watch as I went through the turnaround. 3:46:53!!! Seriously? Thirteen minutes faster than my goal time? 22 minutes faster than two years ago? This was a good race.

my goofy grin (that stayed with me most of the way down)

my goofy grin (that stayed with me most of the way down)

I couldn’t believe it. I was beyond any feeling I’d experienced. Excitement. Pride. Joy. All rolled together. My adrenaline was running high. As I began the descent, I knew my 6:30 time was well within reach. Maybe even close to the 6:15. I had to remain calm and focused to keep from falling on the technical descent. And I knew that although I’d gotten better at descending, I was still more cautious.

I found a good rhythm and stayed with it. One of the great things about being faster is that you have more space between you and other runners. I wasn’t passing many people and I wasn’t being passed. Those still on the incline would call out “runner” and move to the side of the trail to let me by. We all exchanged “nice jobs” and “looking strong” sentiments back and forth.

I was loving my new GPS (thanks sis!). I watched my pace on the downhill trying to calculate my finish. I thought about the race itself, and how, to me, it seemed like two very different races. One up. One down. Two different strategies. Two different mental approaches and techniques. I think this helps me break it up in my mind and makes it possible to think of it as “not that long.”

As I passed the mile markers (10 miles to finish; 9 miles to finish…), I noticed slight fatigue in the legs setting in. I stopped once to walk a short incline and once to give some ibuprofen to a woman who’d sprained her ankle, and had trouble getting my legs going again.

I put one foot in front of the other. I continued to fuel every 45 mins. I soaked in the change of scenery from the alpine, to subalpine, to aspen groves. I noticed when the heat kicked in again as we descended closer to town. The sun felt warm on my back.

At 4 miles to finish, I was about 5 hours, 30 minutes in. If I kept under a 10-minute pace, I’d make my 6:15 goal with minutes to spare (figuring I was running 10-minute miles). I kept my eye on my watch. 9:30. 8:22. 10:58. “Keep it moving… under 10. Pick it up,” I told myself. 9:24. 8:43. 7:37. What?!? Sub-eight? (I’m a very consistent 10-minute-miler on flatland.) “Keep it under 10. You’ve got this.”

I hit pavement at one mile to go and 5:54 on the clock. Holy cow! I was early. I was moving! I knew Bracken and our friends were planning on getting to the finish at around the six-hour mark to start looking for me. That was the “super-early” time we discussed because there was no way I’d be there that early. “They might miss me,” I thought to myself.

Then I smiled. It turned into a grin, with tears of amazement threatening behind it. It finally started to sink in that I was really and truly crushing my previous times. My feet took off, my heart pounding, my legs feeling the pavement beneath me. I felt elation. Amazed, I kept running. 7:22. 6:37. 6:22. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever, run that fast for so long. The cheers got louder. I knew this course. I knew the finish. I wasn’t fooled by any false corner. I kept my pace. My grin wouldn’t go away (not that I wanted it to, but it made me laugh harder, realizing it wasn’t going anywhere).

I spotted the corner where, just beyond, I knew the finish line awaited. I looked at my watch as I rounded the corner. I pushed harder. I stepped across the finish line at 6:01:15.

6:01:15!!!

Holy cow. That’s not a typo. That’s one minute (one minute) and fifteen seconds after six hours.

that’s not the end of the story
I was crying with glee as I received my finisher’s medal. I saw Bracken and went out to give him a huge hug. He’d been crossing the street, getting into position, when he’d heard my name called. He saw my back cross over, but couldn’t get his camera out fast enough to get a picture of the finish. Cause I crushed it! :D 6:01:15! Holy cow!!!

soaking it all in

soaking it all in

As I was sitting down, eating pretzels and m&m’s, Bracken went to go look at the unofficial results they post as runners come in. He turns around to me, with a huge grin himself and says, “third in your age group!”

I’m not sure what we imagine fantasies feeling like when they actually happen. I’m not sure if we ever actually imagine it, because they’re the impossible dreams, right? For a girl who had only been running for nine years (hadn’t run a full mile ever, before that), who consistently ran 10-minute (or more) miles on flats, and who finished most races right smack in the middle of the field… for this girl, placing at all was a feat in and of itself. But to place in a race like this? In one of the most competitive age groups?

It was truly an indescribable feeling. I won an award! I placed!

me shaking hands with Arlene Pieper and her daughter after accepting my award

me shaking hands with Arlene Pieper and her daughter after accepting my award

And I’d had fun. I’d finished without injury and with a smile on my face.

I have to add here, that technically, I finished sixth in my age group, but they don’t give double awards, so if you’re fast enough to win an ‘overall’ award, you’re not counted in the age group results. So the top three in my age group (I told you it was a competitive age group, right?) had times fast enough for the overall awards, so I qualified for 3rd. Yipeee!!! (I was the 23rd female out of 171 women to finish and 163rd overall, out of 711 finishers).

To be perfectly honest, it’s a little unsettling to realize that when I think of the Pike’s Peak marathon, I think “fun” and “amazing” instead of “painful” and “what-was-I-thinking.” Maybe it’s the beginnings of a recipe for a 100 in my future. Who knows. What was once impossible in my world has become possible.

i leave you with a wish
My story here is long. I thank those of you who have made it through to the end.

I wish for you to see, through my experience, that you have a story to write, too. A story about an impossible dream that comes true. About a far-fetched fantasy that one day, when you least expect it, will turn into a moment to hold close forever.

feeling on top of the world

feeling on top of the world

 

July 17, 2009

race report: barr trail mountain race

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: |
[6] Comments 

Last weekend, on Sunday, July 12, 2009, I ran the Barr Trail Mountain Race (or BTMR). I’m training for the Pike’s Peak marathon in August, so this is a perfect training run for me. It starts in Manitou Springs, CO and is a wonderful, 12.575 mile single track course that travels halfway up Pike’s Peak and back down. The elevation gain is 3,630′ with the high point at 10,200′ above sea level.

Last year was my first year running it, and was one of the first races I felt I actually raced. Sounds weird, I know, but I don’t get super-competitive with other racers. I’m good at pacing myself and finding my own rhythm, and generally prefer to compete against myself. Since beginning to run, especially trail runs, I’m a middle-of-the-pack finisher. Generally right smack in the middle of my division. So the feeling of racing against someone else was new, and surprisingly fun.

This year I went in hoping to shave some time off last year’s finishing time (which was 2:39:13). I’ve been running pretty strong all season—especially uphill—with a pretty good base for endurance.

The wake-up was early. This year we decided not to stay in Colorado Springs the night before, so left Boulder at 4:15 a.m. I slept most of the way down, and had gotten a pretty solid night’s sleep, so was feeling pretty chipper and awake at the start. We picked up our packets and had a little time to stretch and warm up.

The race began at 7:00am. Early for a race of this distance, but I was glad. The sun was bright and hot early on. I found a place in the middle of the pack and took off at the start. My strategy for the race was efficiency. I wasn’t going to try and run the whole thing (like I’d done for the Golden Gate Dirty Thirty), but rather to walk when it made sense (i.e., when I could walk faster and more efficiently than I could running).

The strategy seemed to work out. I passed a lot of folks on the way up. Either walking or running, I was pacing quicker than those I began with. About 40 minutes into the run, I began to settle in with those running a similar pace. We all leap-frogged for the rest of the ascent, which is always fun and inspiring.

I was hoping to make it to the turn around at Barr Camp quicker than I had the previous year. And… I did it. By two seconds—in 1:39:05. I will admit that I was somewhat disappointed. I’d felt strong and sure that I was faster and stronger than last year.

I sighed a little, but then decided that last year was a really good race for me, so to keep that time wasn’t so bad after all. :)

On the way down, my mind wandered. Descents have always been mentally tougher for me (and I’m finding it’s true for biking as well). I hate falling, and have some pretty solid diggers in my history, so am generally pretty conscious of my pace. The first half felt a little sluggish, but when I hit the No Name aid station the flow started to come.

The trail through this portion is smooth with little obstacles and an easy, really fun, grade down. My feet were turning over with rhythm and ease. My smile appeared and stuck around, and I realized that I was having fun. The need to beat my time vanished and I started noticing how my feet came off the rocks and roots with a renewed energy. Wheee!

As I approached the last aid station, the flow slowed down as the trail got a little more technical. I was okay with it. The sun was hot and I was ready to cross the finish line.

the final climb to the finish

the final climb to the finish

Bracken and a good friend (who, unfortunately, wasn’t able to run this year) were at the finish to cheer me on. I finished in 2:37:29. Just under last year’s time, and good enough to place 10th out of 22 women in my age group. And in a field of 113 women, I came in 45th. A little better than last year.

This year has seen so much joy and strength in my racing… I can’t wait to see how Pike’s Peak feels. Stay tuned for August 16th!

enjoying a (very cold) dip in the creek post-race

enjoying a (very cold) dip in the creek post-race

 

May 11, 2009

a running evolution: from zero to 50 miles

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: , , , |
[8] Comments 

Before March 2000, I’d never run a mile in my life. I was the girl in middle school and high school that hung out in the back of P.E. class and chatted my way around the track.

one mile
I began running somewhat unintentionally. In an attempt to “warm up” for five minutes before a swim, I got on the treadmill for five minutes. After five minutes, I was curious to see if I could keep going and hit the 1/2 mile mark. Then I decided to go for a mile. Twelve minutes later, I experienced my first-ever consistent mile run.

It must be stated that I was never considered an athletic person (or considered myself athletic). I enjoyed snowboarding and hiking, but never went beyond the mild blue runs and hiked relatively conservatively, preferring to capture images of the wildflowers over gaining a summit. Stopping to rest every five minutes wasn’t uncommon. Growing up, I was interested in dance, singing and playing the violin. I liked the outdoors, but it wasn’t easily accessible in suburban Maryland, so my experiences were somewhat limited.

training begins and a habit forms
After running that first mile, something clicked. I’m not sure exactly what it was… a new challenge presented? a chemical reaction in the body? A sense of new-found pride and excitement at what I might be able to do? I don’t know the exact answer but I do know that things began to change.

I picked out two races with a good friend and began training. My first was a 5K run, the second was a sprint-distance triathlon. At the end of that summer, I found I really enjoyed triathlon. I loved the variety each discipline offered. And I was a somewhat better swimmer and cyclist than runner.

Training for these events didn’t come easily for me. I was used to catching onto things pretty quickly. But this was hard—and humbling. I was getting lapped in the pool by women 40 years my senior; I finished a popular triathlon in the bottom 20% of racers; and I continually placed in the 50th percentile of any and all races I entered. I was average. I was definitely humbled, but more importantly, and maybe counter intuitively, I was inspired and encouraged.

I was changing: physically (toner and more muscular), mentally (stronger, more confident) and emotionally (more focused and happier). I wasn’t fast, but I was having fun and feeling good.

a new goal
After a few years, I realized that time goals weren’t that important to me. I didn’t care if I shaved a minute off my 5K time. Or seconds off my transitions. Since running was my weakest of the three triathlon disciplines, I decided to focus some extra time on it. I figured that if I got better at running, I’d enjoy all aspects of triathlon, instead of just 2/3 of it.

I set two goals for myself that year:

  1. to feel that a 5-mile run was ‘short’
  2. to fall in love with running

After training for, and completing my first half and full marathon (Boulder Backroads, 2004; and the Freescale in Austin, TX, 2005), I realized that I’d achieved the first goal. Running five miles wasn’t so foreign anymore. However, the second goal proved more elusive. I liked running a little more, but I wasn’t jumping out of bed to run in 6º weather, either.

something different
I had attempted two trail races in 2004 and felt pretty discouraged. I came in dead last in my age group in the first race, and finished near the very last (overall) on the next one. I stuck to the roads for awhile longer.

After dealing with a foot injury for most of 2005, I came to the realization that I missed running.

What? I missed it? How can you miss something you dread?

I no longer dreaded running, and more importantly, I realized I’d been taking my ability to run for granted. I was itching to get out. I signed up for the 2006 Pike’s Peak Marathon, facing my fears of the trail, and began training on the trails in and around foothills of Denver and Boulder.

Running on trails is different than road—or even flat dirt roads. The single tracks of the foothills are inspiring. I’m constantly paying attention to my surroundings… looking out for deer rather than cars. And making sure I don’t trip on the rocks or roots. Time disappears beneath my feet.

On a treadmill or road, I am constantly looking at my watch. Ten minutes. Thirteen minutes. Sixteen minutes. Even short runs feel interminable.

Yet the first time I usually check the time on a trail is over a half hour into my run. I find myself reluctant to turn around when I need to. I want to continue. There’s something magical about smelling the evergreen, navigating the rocks beneath you and watching your progress as you realize you’ve run up an incline you weren’t able to do just a short while ago.

Over the spring and summer months of 2006 leading up to the August race, I realized I had finally achieved my goal: I’d fallen in love with running. My first Pike’s Peak marathon was painful. I suffered a pulled muscle and was again sidelined from running for awhile. I’d loved the race. Loved finishing and was more determined than ever to keep at it.

distance explored
I’d fallen in love and didn’t want to stop. Triathlons took a backseat (and continue to wait patiently today) while I explored the limits of my body and mind on the trails. I wasn’t fast, but I was fascinated—and still am—by the boundaries I was pushing. How far could I go? How hard could I push? Where was my limit?

I ran Pike’s Peak again in 2007 and felt stronger and more efficient (and injury-free!). I’d fully enjoyed the run and the overall experience. And I wanted more.

I began looking for new races and new challenges. Living in a community that welcomes the extreme in athletics, ultra running can sometimes feel “normal.” Running long distances seems possible here. I was intrigued by the challenge and encouragement I felt surrounding me.

In early 2008 I ran the Mt. Mitchell Challenge with Bracken. It’s a 40-mile run to the summit of Mt. Mitchell in NC (the tallest peak east of the Mississippi, at 6,684 ft). We trained that winter through ice and snow. After spending most of our weekends running 4-6 hours, I decided I wanted a break from racing and embarked on a “year of fun.”

Although I loved running, it was still hard for me to motivate if there wasn’t a race on the horizon. So I ran for the joy of it. It was liberating. And at the end of 2008, I was ready to push a little more.

I’d heard about the Collegiate Peaks Trail Run, but hadn’t found the nerve to sign up until this year. I felt ready. In January 2009, I signed up for the 50 mile run.

50 miles
I ran across the finish line a week ago: May 2, 2009. I’d done it. Ten hours, fifty-five minute, twenty-one seconds. As the miles disappeared beneath my feet, I thought about the girl nine years ago running her first mile on the treadmill. I smiled and put one foot in front of the other—a steady rhythm beneath my feet—moving forward.

what’s next?
I’m not sure what’s next, but I do know one thing: never say never. Another 50? 100 miles? The Badwater? I don’t know where my search for new challenges will take me, but I’m looking forward to the future and stand open to whatever it presents.

 

Next Page »