February 25, 2010

magic

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, surfing | Tags: , |
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final colors of sunset

Yesterday evening I sat balanced on my surfboard, watching for the next set of waves; my eyes riveted to the light of the sky as it shifted and changed with each new minute that passed.

The sun was setting behind the mountains. The clouds reflecting orange, yellow and pink. The water before me shimmered a deep orange.

I looked behind at a swell approaching. I checked my alignment to the shore. I checked right and left, making sure no one else was paddling.

My arms began pumping. My heart beat louder. The swell was closer. I smiled as my speed picked up. A moment later I was standing, my pop-up successful. My board raced down the face of the wave, whitewater exploding behind me.

My smile grew into a grin. The grin into a hearty laugh.

I am hooked. I surf.

 

November 4, 2009

managing tasks a little at a time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

October 28, 2009

a yoga journey begins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

October 19, 2009

magical places

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

Mt. Sanitas

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was my favorite day of the week.

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

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

heading up the trail

heading up the trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

spring on sanitas

spring on sanitas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

June 9, 2009

race report – the golden gate dirty thirty 12M

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, trail running | Tags: , |
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Ah… May and June in Colorado have to be two of the most beautiful months along the front range. The late-season snows and rains in March and April have created lush, green growth along the foothills. If you’ve never experienced this, I encourage you to get out and go for a hike. The trails are soft, fragrant and stunningly beautiful.

A few months ago I was volunteering at a fundraising event for The Women’s Wilderness Institute (TWWI) and heard about a new trail race that was being held as a benefit to send Gilpin County high school girls on a leadership course with TWWI.

Be still my beating heart! A trail run for my favorite non-profit? Sold! I went home and put The Golden Gate Dirty Thirty on my calendar.

The race featured three distances: 7 miles, 12 miles and a 50K (31 miles), and wound through the trails of Golden Gate Canyon State Park. I thought briefly of signing on for the 50K. But in respect of my goal to relax and not train through the month of May (post-50-miler), I decided to sign up for the 12 mile course, intending it to serve as a jump-start into renewed training for the Pikes Peak Marathon.

Bracken and our good friend Andrew Hyde headed out early Saturday morning. The weather was calling for cool temps and potential for rain. Nothing could’ve been further from that forecast. It was chilly in the shade, but certainly not for long.

The 12-mile course was predominantly on single track trails (a HUGE plus for me as I much prefer technical trail to the 4×4 dirt roads a lot of trail races include) and featured about a 5,000 foot vertical gain. It’s a tough course. And I loved it.

It’s been a while since I’ve run a full race course smiling most of the way. And not smiling at others (although everyone running was in great spirits, friendly and helpful), but smiling just because.   

Because this course was beautiful. Because it was technical and fun. It crossed the creek 11 times over wooden bridges, log bridges (some a bit precarious and wobbly), single logs and rocks. We jumped over fallen trees and crawled under them. It reminded me of the Muir Woods marathon I did in 2006… very much like an obstacle course. Just good ‘ol fun times.

Along the way, instead of the easy training run I’d planned, my goal morphed into, “can I run the entire distance—steep vertical climbs and all?” I wasn’t planning on pushing myself. It’d been a month since I’d run longer than 5 miles. A month since I’d pushed my body to do anything it didn’t really want to. But it just seemed right to push during the race.

I wanted to see if I could do it. I knew I’d finish faster if I walked a lot of the vertical. I can power hike quickly and efficiently, giving my body and muscles needed recovery during the run to go faster. But I ran it. All of it. From the girl who couldn’t hike uphill for longer than 5 minutes just a short decade ago, my pride in myself was bursting.

I almost caved in the last 2 miles. There was a final, very steep incline and I wanted so much to stop and walk, but had come too far with this surprise goal to back down. I grunted. I pushed. And I made it, running into the finish strong and smiling.

Both Bracken and Andrew had amazing races as well. Andrew was so inspiring to watch. He’d signed up for the seven mile course and at the last minute, switched to the 12 (having never run more than about 7 in his life). His determination, joy and fortitude was so fun to witness.

Since Bracken ran as well (finishing 2nd overall, I should add), there are no pictures. But rest assured, it was green, green, green and lush and soft and fragrant with the smell of spring. 

results
They did something a little different with the categories for this race. Instead of placing in your age group, you signed up based on what you thought you could run. So the categories were as follows: Mountain Goat (you should win overall); Snowshoe Hare (you’d win if the elites weren’t running); Homosapien (you’re average); Burro (you’re slower than average, but not last); and Tortoise (you may indeed be last). 

Overall, I think it was a fun idea. However, looking at the results, it’s interesting to see some of the discrepancies in expectations vs. reality (i.e., the overall male winner for the 12-mile had signed up as a homosapien). That could be a subject for a whole other blog post.

My results were very respectable. My total time was 2:42:01. Overall, I came in 15th out of 37. I was 7th out of 22 women. Looking at the last time I ran a 12-mile trail run at Golden Gate Canyon (my second ever back in 2004 where I’d placed 56/62 overall), my progress over the years is amazing to me. 

strong women
Running for charities always makes me feel good, but this one in particular was an awesome feeling. Having been on a course with The Women’s Wilderness Institute, volunteering for them over the last year, and knowing everyone in the office, it is with pride and appreciation that I was able to run for this cause. The race raised over $9,000—enough to send six Gilpin County girls on the 12-day leadership course. A huge thank you to those who ran, donated time, money and energy.

 

May 25, 2009

inspiration

Posted by Amy C under observations | Tags: |
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Sitting here at Folsom Street Coffee, I am inspired. 

 

Bracken and I are watching about 53,000 people running the Bolder Boulder. It’s one of the largest road races in the country (4th, I think?) and it goes right through our neighborhood. 

 

I’ve run it a few times over the years (it was my very first run over 4 miles back in 2001), but I decided to watch it today. I admit I’m kinda wishing I was running it right now… the weather is perfect and the energy is amazing. 

 

However, my dominant feeling is inspiration. All sizes. All shapes. All athletic abilities. Costumes. Smiles. Tears. Looks of ease running next to looks of pure torture. Dads running with their daughters. Grandmothers, teenagers, families together, friends in support of each other, folks running alone, pushing their limits. Folks in wheelchairs, the overweight, the injured, the young, the old, the determined. The newbie and the veterans and the slightly bewildered.

 

I heard a quote a few weeks ago on “The BIggest Loser” that made me sad. One of the contestants said, “Fat people don’t run marathons.” It was in the context of one of the final challenges where the contestants were, in fact, running a marathon and were amazed that they’d done it. 

 

But what made me sad was that there’s this perception that only skinny or super-fit people do something like {gasp!} run.

 

So I wish, as I sit and watch such a deep breadth of shapes and ages run, that everyone could see the possibilities before them.


 

May 11, 2009

a running evolution: from zero to 50 miles

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running | Tags: , , , |
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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.

 

April 15, 2009

life lessons from the trail

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, setting goals, trail running, transitions | Tags: , , , , |
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setting out

I trail run. A lot, it seems, these days. When I started running eight years ago, I tended to dread it. Then I went off-road and found exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for: peace. fun. challenge. patience. and a little bit of zen.

As my life shifted into new territory recently (I moved, left a secure job for an opportunity to find a career I was passionate about, got engaged and started the wedding-planning process), the trails in the foothills of Boulder have been instrumental in helping me focus my energy, maintain a semblance of sanity, and find that ever-elusive balance.

On a recent long run, parallels between the current challenges I was experiencing on that particular trail, and the challenges and fears I was working to overcome in my professional life began to emerge.

Know your goal, but you don’t need to know every little thing about the path you’re on.
We’ve all been there. We want to know exactly where we’re going; how long it’s going to take; what it’s going to look like when we get there; and how we’re going to feel. Some of us are a little less relaxed about this than others, but we’ve all learned the same lesson: Not knowing everything can be good. Why?

Our minds stay open to possibilities and opportunities. We become (and stay) more flexible when things don’t go as planned. A better way to go about it and reach your goal might just appear before you (if you’re looking).

Prepare for your journey, but don’t overdo it.
Remember your first backpacking trip with the 60 lb. pack? Or your first international trip with two (or maybe three) suitcases? You wanted all your comfort items and were determined to have everything you needed on hand “just in case.” I’m guilty.

Make sure you have the essentials dialed in. Your business plan. Knowledge of the product or service you’re offering and an ability to actually articulate it to others. A rain jacket in your pack. Enough food and water (plus a little extra).

But too much weight can, well, weigh you down (I couldn’t help myself). Feeling compelled to have all the “right” materials before officially announcing your new company to the world can leave you with missed opportunities to network and get the word out.

Learn (and trust) that you can start with less and expand as you move forward. Finding that magic balance of supplies, knowledge and gear might take some time, but know that it’ll never be perfect, so get to where it’s “good enough” and go for it. 

It might seem like your goal is far away, but trust in the process of the journey.
It’s closer than you think. I do this all the time when I’m approaching a summit. I stand at the bottom of the trail looking up and think to myself, “I’m never gonna get there.” Yet I make it. And along the way I find myself taking in the smell of the pine needles, the color of new blooms or the sound of crunching snow on the way up.

We’re an impatient species. We seem to shrink away from the tedium of an approach, only to feel depressed when we actually get to the summit. We made it and forgot to enjoy it because we were so concerned we weren’t going to make it. Trust that you’ll get there and remember to be where you are.

Remember to look where you’re going.
Manage the details of your journey, but don’t forget to look up once in awhile. Keep your eye on the rocks and terrain before you, but make sure you remember to stay on trail. When you do look up you’ll notice the brilliance of the sun and the way the wind moves through the trees. It’ll remind you why you’re on this path in the first place.

slow and steady

Take baby steps when you’re going uphill.
It takes less effort than an all-out run and it’s easier to stop. Running uphill is tough. And counterintuitively, it can often take more energy than walking—and be a lot less efficient. The same thing happens when we’re in a tough spot at work.

I know I often over think whatever seems to be going wrong. I invest so much energy into worry and frustration that I forget that sometimes going a little slower is okay. Taking a breath, making time to slow down often ends up saving me time.

We all know it, but stuck in the moment, it’s difficult to remember. When we rush into a tough challenge, we’re at a higher risk for falling down or making a mistake. And those mistakes made at warp speed can be doosies!

Get into the rhythm when you’re going down.
At those moments when things aren’t going well and you know you’re falling, go with the flow. When we try to slow it down, stop or otherwise control momentum, we’re at a higher risk of injury. When we move with the flow, it tends to be a softer landing.

Breathe deep and let your legs guide you. Trust yourself. We all fall at some time or another. It’s okay and it’s expected. We just need to remember to pick ourselves up and move on with grace and humility. Others admire those who take failures in stride. Just tuck and roll…

Tell someone when you’re out alone.
Having someone at home supporting you and knowing what to do if you get into trouble is important. They’ll know when to call in the troops if you need it; and will support you in your goals.

Trying to do everything by yourself can be tiresome and draining. Even just knowing someone’s home, cheering you on from the sidelines, can help keep your perspective and energy.

honor the accomplishment

Take a moment to stop and look where you’ve come from.
Success can creep up on us. One day we step out of the house for our first 3-mile run, coming home tired and sore. And the next time we look, we’ve covered 31 miles of tough, vertical terrain in one day. Or we stand on the summit of a mountain, looking over the vastness of the land before us and see a bird in flight far below.

How did we get here? When did this happen? I’m constantly amazed every time I climb a summit to look down at the trail below and know I’d just been there. The first time I actually ran up an incline on a trail I was stunned. How did I get so strong? Wasn’t it just yesterday I was huffing and puffing my way up? Stopping every few feet to catch my breath?

Recognize your progress and honor it. Success comes to us each and every day, in a myriad of forms and experiences. Take a moment to notice.

 

April 2, 2009

scheduling rest days

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

the “g” word
March has been a busy month for me. It’s been a frustrating training month for a variety of reasons. As some of you know, I have signed up for my first 50-mile trail run. Yep, you read that correctly… 50 miles. 

As part of my training, I recently completed the Moab Red Hot 50K+ on Valentine’s Day. I ran 34 miles and finished strong. It was afterwards that I fell apart. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but logging a total of 70 miles for the entire month of March (that should be my weekly mileage this close to my race), is a clear indication that something isn’t quite right. And it’s certainly not the recommended way to train.

My best guess as to what happened is this: I didn’t put in enough training miles leading up to the 50K, so I didn’t recover as quickly as I’d hoped. I then fell out of the habit of training and continued to put it off. I indulged in making up tons of excuses as to why I couldn’t run (too tired; too busy; too much in pain; too snowy; etc.). Granted, I started a new part-time job in March, began to plan my wedding in ernest, caught a bad cold and was, in general, feeling extremely fatigued and unmotivated. But those are merely excuses and justifications. I made a commitment to myself.

While I was justifying all the missed runs to myself, I was also adding stress because I knew I needed to be running. And not running or training added to my stress levels because of the “G” word.

Guilt.

I knew I wasn’t putting in the mileage I needed. I felt like I’d lost the key to my motivation and commitment. I wasn’t enjoying the runs I did go on. I felt weak. I felt like I was actively failing not only in my training, but in life management. Negativity begets more negativity… a nasty cycle.

permission
So  here is April. Blue skies, spring around the corner and my race exactly one month from today. I am resting today. I have given myself permission to take today off. It’s a tough thing to do. I cannot make up the miles I missed. To even make an attempt to do so is training suicide. I’d run myself into the ground, risking injury and would be fatigued and depleted for race-day. So what to do?

Being a fairly driven woman who believes in staying active and purposeful, I am still learning to juggle multiple jobs and to navigate the balance of self-employment. A day off for me rarely feels like a luxury. It often feels like I should be doing something “useful” or “constructive.” I think about all the projects I have on my “to-do” list. I think of all the things I could be doing to generate an income. I think of all the miles I could be running to make up for the absent miles of March. I don’t feel productive. I don’t feel like I “deserve” the day of rest.

But here’s the thing I know intellectually (but it’s still difficult to execute in reality). I know that giving myself a mental and physical break, or rest day, is essential to increased efficiency and motivation. Running 50 miles is more than a physical effort—It’s a lot of mental strength. And if my brain is mired in guilt and rumination and self-flagellation, that 50 miles will become 100, or 1,000. An impossible length to run because my brain is busy elsewhere (likely telling me I can’t do it).

And with regards to my job, if I work and work and work without a break, and without time to process the thoughts and efforts going into the work, any inspiration and motivation will be overcome with frustration and mis-guided effort. It’ll become harder to get things done. It’ll take more time to get things done because half my brain isn’t there. It’s stuck in the land of guilt.

execution
I’ve given myself permission to take a rest day today. And not only permission, but I scheduled it. I planned on taking today off. It’s a funny thing, scheduling it. It works to ward off the guilt. I was mentally prepared (and even excited) to wake up and do with this day what I wanted.

And here I am, happily getting some things done that have suffered in the past month (my blog, reading, calming the mind). They don’t feel like extraneous or irresponsible things to be doing. 

It feels good to be writing again (I’ve missed it). If feels good to drink my coffee and catch up on my reading. And it’s going to feel really good to curl up on the couch with my current book. 

Tomorrow I will go on my scheduled run. I will catch up on my work emails and cross more things off that to-do list.

I am excited about running again. And I know that while I may suffer a little (or a lot) for not putting in the miles I’d wanted, I will finish the race. I will be present mentally and that’s going to be half the battle. I’ve adjusted my strategy a little to save energy I’ll need. But I will run and I will finish. And I will NOT try to “make up” for March. 

And for the next race, maybe I’ll train a little smarter and a little better.

 

February 16, 2009

race report: moab red hot 50k(+) – 2.14.09

Posted by Amy C under trail running | Tags: , |
[11] Comments 

 

best. valentine gift. ever.

best. valentine gift. ever.

 

Valentine’s day… it’s usually associated with flowers, chocolate, hallmark… love… I’m not a huge subscriber to the holiday as a one-day celebration of love. I’d much rather enjoy the day-to-day journey and celebrate the general idea of love. The love for family, friends, the human race… 

So running a 50k(+) trail running race didn’t seem like such a strange way for me to spend the day. What was surprising was I received one of the best Valentine’s gift I’ve ever experienced. At mile 29, I was approaching the 4th aid station, running up a rocky slab, and there’s Bracken—standing there with his camera and smiling. 

To see him there, knowing he’d biked from the 33k route to meet me here… it’s the best description of how “actions speak louder than words” that I can think of. Really. Such a simple gesture, but I smiled and grinned the final 5 miles just thinking of how special that moment was.  

Now, on to the actual race report… Bear with me as this is my very first one! 

I signed up for the race a few months ago as a training race for my first 50-miler (the Collegiate Peaks Trail Run). I started my focused training in the fall, but I’m not sure I trained as well as I would’ve liked. (Is this just me, or do most athletes feel they could’ve trained better?)

Friday afternoon, Bracken and I drove out to Moab, arriving around 7:30. It’s always interesting to me to think about my food intake prior to a race. Especially since this is only my second ultra. I want to make sure I have enough energy, yet I don’t fill up too much and have problems during the race.

We stopped for some thai noodles in Glenwood Springs and settled on some light hummus and pita chips (and, um… chocolate chip cookies, of course!) for the evening. I woke up the next morning at 6:00am, warmed up, and began to contemplate my wardrobe options. Tights? Knickers? Warm hoodie? Windbreaker with light shirt? The weather report predicted snow and wind for most of the day, so I opted for the tights, light shirt with windbreaker, which turned out to be perfect. 

We picked up my friends at the City Market Starbucks and headed to the start line. We arrived an hour ahead of time… plenty of time to get our race numbers, visit the port-a-potty and warm up. 

 

cold and windy before the start

cold and windy before the start

 

10... 9... 8...

lined up and ready: 10... 9... 8...

And then… we were off! I was heading into a full day of pure running. The wind was strong, air cool and snow was wafting down.

3... 2... 1... GO!

3... 2... 1... GO!

Normally, when a race has a lot of vertical, I find I’m far more efficient walking up the inclines and running the descents. This season however, I have been running strong on the inclines around town. So I set a personal goal to run as far as I could without stopping—up, down, flat and through the aid stations.

the first mile

the first mile

For the first 17 miles, I ran slow and steady, not wanting to blow myself up too early. At the third aid station (the halfway point), I finally stopped, adjusting my jacket and making sure my fuel was easily accessible. It was just after this point that my body started breaking down… not a good sign with a full half marathon (plus) left to go.

heading into the first loop

heading into the first loop

I was slowing down and I was worried. I hadn’t run more than 22 miles in training. My knee was hurting on the downs. I was tired. 

At the fourth aid station, I overheard another runner mention ibuprofen and asked if he had any extra… Hallelujah, he did! I took 600mg and it seemed to kick in pretty immediately. With my knee and quads feeling better, I felt a second wind fill me up and off I went. 

magical views of the La Sals

magical views of the La Sals

Instead of pushing myself and running through the hills, I walked the inclines and ran the downhills… my energy and body responded to the new plan quite well. I actually welcomed the inclines as it allowed me to stretch my muscles and switch things up a bit. I actually think I was walking faster than I would’ve run them.

following the pink ribbons

following the pink ribbons

Navigating the trail was a fun challenge. Following pink ribbons blowing in the breeze, hanging from trees and wrapped around rocks reminded me of scavenger hunts as a child. It kept me alert and watchful. And immensely thankful that the course was marked so well. Even on the trail maps, there is a section marked with caution as it’s difficult to follow. I saw a few people running towards me a few times, coming back on trail after having gotten turned around. It was pretty easy to do if you weren’t paying attention. 

I am an interesting runner in terms of speed and strengths. Some days I feel like a mini-metronome… all those years of practicing the violin seem to kick in and I often run the same pace whether it’s up or down (or whether it’s a 5k or a 50k!). And then the flat sections… you know, those sections where most folks breathe a sigh of relief when they happen upon them in a tough race and are able to somehow, magically, pick up speed and make up time? 

 

Not me. I see a flat section of paved or dirt road and my body immediately begins to plod along and I slow down. I haven’t yet figured out what it is about the flats… I think I just get bored, or my body struggles with the repetitiveness. 

relishing the inclines

relishing the inclines

There were more flat sections throughout this course than I had anticipated, but enough cool and interesting rocky jeep trails to keep it interesting. And Moab is simply a magical place. I felt privileged to be running there for the day. 

zen in the desert

zen in the desert

The 6 – 7 miles between the fourth and fifth aid stations felt loooong (roughly miles 22 – 29). I was really thankful I am pretty self-supportive with my water and fuel rather than dependent on the aid stations. (I’m really glad they’re there and it’s a great morale boost, but I like knowing that I can eat and drink when I need to.) I needed the additional sustenance. 

As I approached the final aid station at mile 29, I saw a man standing at the top of the rock I was climbing up. He kept watching me and smiling. I knew Bracken had planned to bike part of the course, but I had no idea he’d decided to wait for me at this aid station… but there he was. It was such an amazing feeling to be running strong, proud of myself for being there, and to see Bracken cheering me on in full support and encouragement… my heart was full.

smiles and grins

smiles and grins

He biked alongside me for a couple of minutes (stopping to take pictures) and then took off to be at the finish. 

As I was nearing the final stretch and heading downhill, a spectator cheered me on and said the magic words: “just a quarter mile to go.” That was all I needed… I’d been looking at the river below, thinking the finish was a lot further away, but nope… just a few more minutes and I’d be done. And the faster I ran, the sooner I’d be there, so I took off and found my flow. The final moments felt so fun and so good, I almost kept on running past the finish. Oops. 

42

7:14:42

I finished the 34(ish) miles in 7:14:42, placing 13th out of 22 in my age group. Not too shabby for a girl whose first-ever mile was run just 9 years ago!

 

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