November 2, 2009

building a solid foundation

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

a beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

Hanalei Bay, Kaua'i

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

standing bow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

relaxing into our future

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

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

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

 

October 28, 2009

a yoga journey begins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

October 19, 2009

magical places

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

Mt. Sanitas

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was my favorite day of the week.

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

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

heading up the trail

heading up the trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

spring on sanitas

spring on sanitas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

October 11, 2009

kaua’i: the beginning

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

 

October 1, 2009

finding home

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
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I remember when I moved out of my parents house, that figuring out where “home” was was something I thought about. Was I coming home from college for the summer, or visiting my parents for three months? Was I leaving home for four years, or moving to a new one?

It took me awhile to feel comfortable calling my college dorm room “home.” (And I’m not convinced I ever really did… I never felt that connected to Miami.)

The fall after I graduated, I moved to Colorado and finally felt like I’d landed. Maryland had been my home because my parents lived there and I grew up in the same house for 18 years. But I knew that house, and Maryland, wouldn’t be home forever.

Although I’d only driven through Colorado once or twice as a child on family road trips, being here and living here felt right. I moved around a lot at first, but as the years went by, I realized I identified myself as being “from” Colorado instead of Maryland. All my apartments and houses I’ve lived in over the past 14 years were homes for me. When I moved to Boulder, my connection to the state and to this particular town was stronger than ever. The air, the trails, the routes, the coffee shops… they fit.

And now, I’m leaving on a new adventure with my new husband. We’re leaving Colorado. We’re leaving Bolder. We’re leaving our apartment and putting all our material possessions in a 10′ x 15′ storage unit.

We’re moving to Hawaii for six months and then plan to travel through the US for a year when we return. We’ll have only clothes and a few essentials with us in Hawaii. A van for the road trip. Our possessions could be in storage for almost two years.

So where is home? It’s a question I have been pondering and mulling over recently. A good friend of mine has a great attitude about it: Wherever you are that day, is home.

Wherever we are.
Wherever we are. It’s a new perspective for me. One that intrigues and tantalizes. I want to explore it and feel it and notice it. I want to sit with it and say it to myself over and over. “I am home wherever I am.” Will it be challenging? Or will it feel natural right away? How will this new perspective effect other perspectives in my future? Will I find more or less meaning in tangible objects? Will I end up traveling nomad-style for longer? Or will I long to “nest”?

The concept of home has infinite variations. I love that about our world. Maybe Colorado was a stopping point in learning where my true home actually is. For me—today—it’s here. Right where I am. Wherever I am.

 

September 10, 2009

taking in the moment

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, setting goals, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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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.

 

July 21, 2009

the space between

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, observations, transitions | Tags: , , , |
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the space between
We seem to be a society that “does” a lot. We work. We socialize. We recreate. Yet sometimes it seems we don’t do much between the doing—whatever it is we’re doing. It’s constant movement.

I talk a lot on this blog about being conscious of our lives and being present for them, and making decisions with our eyes open and with meaning.

It matters what we do between our “doings.” It matters that in music, we rest. The silences between the notes and rhythms accent, prepare and complement the notes themselves.

It matters that we stretch and eat right between running, or biking or any other type of physical activity. Stretching our legs and gaining core strength decreases our risk of injury and works to ensure we’ll be active for years.

It matters that we take time for ourselves between relationships and careers. Taking the time to review our mistakes and get to know and reconnect with our inner selves can solidify our sense of self and place in the world, thereby bringing forth a stronger, more confident self into the next chapter.

The space between matters.

expectations and breath
I (and our society at large) seem to have internal expectations that we must always be “doing something” in order to be successful. Leisure time is wasting time, right? I disagree. I’ve heard the “you can sleep when you’re dead” mantra before and wonder how it came to be something to value or to look up to. Resting between action is vital to our mental, physical and emotional health.

Pay attention to your next breath. To breathe in, one must breathe out. There is a natural pause when the exchange happens.

space in action
even in action, what we do between our movements and judgments matters. I signed up for a Parkour class a few months ago and the instructor, Ryan, gave us this advice (paraphrased):

Those who are the best at this discipline are constantly scanning their environment and perfecting their movements between the obstacles. It’s what they do to get into the right position before they make a big move, and what they do to land safely after each jump that makes them so good.

peace with inaction
And from this idea, I realize that all the time I’ve taken between jobs… the worries, the frustrations, the time I felt I’d wasted, and the ideas generated are all good things. Because I now realize that when my next career launches in full force, I’ll have scanned my environment; stretched my mind; and I’ll have paused to feel the rhythm of my life. And all of that information I’ve gathered will result in focused energy and knowledge for my next big move.

 

June 15, 2009

stepping into love is like learning to ride a bike

Posted by Amy C under integration, life experiences, mountain biking | Tags: , , , , |
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Imagine, for a moment, what it was like when you learned to ride a bike. You were a little scared, but excited at the same time. There was a future in front of you wide with possibility and adventure.

When the training wheels came off, you got on the saddle with some confidence and a little trepidation. You wobbled and fell. You got back on, yet hesitated. The realization hit that it was gonna take some time.

Eventually, you experienced “the flow” of riding on two wheels. It was exhilarating! Then you wobbled—and fell. You’d tasted it though… that freedom and energy of balancing on two wheels and what it meant.

So you got on again and again. Each time you went a little farther on your own, but something funny happened, right? As soon as you realized you were doing it alone—that no one was holding onto you (they were, in fact, well behind you cheering you on)—you wobbled and fell.

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how is this analogous to love?

There’s something that happens when our cognitive thoughts aren’t connected to our emotional ones. Sometimes (for me, it seems more often than not), our conscious thought gets in the way.

We listen to the fear. We hesitate. We start to believe the voice that tells us it’s dangerous and we might get hurt.

Horrors! Getting hurt? Send me to the bunker now so I can avoid all hurt and pain for the rest of my life! Right. We all know that doesn’t work and frankly, that it’s not at all good for us.

Conscious thinking has its place, for sure. It tells us a stove is hot. It allows us to find north. But when we allow it to overtake our lives, it can have disatrous results.

We stop living.

stepping into love
When we allow ourselves to let go and surrender, our wiser selves are suddenly given room to expand their wings and fly.

We have faith in our ability. We accept the reality that we can do it. We’ve left the training wheels far behind. We realize our freedom.

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Stepping into love is like learning to ride a bike. There’s the excitement mixed with fear. We consciously enter into new territory, with faith in knowing our wise selves are within us. And our partners are beside us.

There are times when we come out of the glow and fog of the cushy feelings of love, and we panic. We think to ourselves, “I might lose my independence” or “What if I get hurt?” or “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes from the past.”  And we wobble. And sometimes we fall. And the beautiful thing is, it’s okay.

We simply need to remember that our partners are there beside us to help brush the dirt off. That despite the wobbling and the sometimes-falling, that it’s fun.

The more comfortable we get, the more risks we’re able (and willing) to take. The faster downhills and technical inclines are suddenly a possibility. Committing to a lifetime together becomes an exciting opportunity to stretch our boundaries and experience deeper emotional connections.

IMG_8385The nature of love requires that we trust—ourselves and our partners. And once we breathe in and accept that faith, we begin to fly. The trail and journey before us opens up, wider and wider.

It’s about integrating the conscious thought with our faith in ourselves. It’s about letting go of our fears and taking the leap of faith—whether it’s a ride without training wheels, a technical and rocky downhill, or being present with the ones we love.

 

June 6, 2009

spring cleaning

Posted by Amy C under life experiences, transitions | Tags: , , |
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IMG_8532Maybe it’s that spring is in the air—this annual season of renewal and growth. The pungent fragrance of roses and lilacs, mingling with fresh pine, linger in the wind. 

 

The past couple of weeks I’ve sensed a growing need to purge: possessions to make room for a new home, a new life shared with a partner along with hibernating emotions from past wounds, and some inner voices to quiet and cease listening to.

 

I wonder if this is purely the spring air, or does my upcoming marriage have anything to do with this sudden need to start anew? My guess is that it’s a little of spring and a lot of a new chapter in my life. 

 

The getting rid of possessions is the easy part, although for me, the more tedious. Garage sales where strangers haggle over your memories; craigslist meetings and coordination, donations to charities you hope will appreciate your old CDs.

 

 

And then there’s the emotional “baggage” to get rid of. (I prefer to believe I have a small carry-on.) It’s been much more difficult to uncover and face old, outdated thoughts and beliefs from my past—recent and long ago.

 

It’s a good feeling… refreshing and cathartic. The thoughts have been nagging me and holding onto a past that I’m now feeling strong enough to let go of. It won’t happen over night, but it’ll happen and I anticipate, come July 25, that I will have created space for energy to devote to a new life as a life partner.

 

I don’t mean to sound dramatic. My fiance and I have definitely started the “purge and combine” process of possessions, habits, energy, etc. that come with the commitment to share our lives and living space.

 

However, the strong motivation to clean, sell, get rid of, have come as a surprise. And the need to reflect, resolve old (and current) hurts and let go of past haunts has risen up rather suddenly and insistently.

 

The ceremony of marriage is ancient, and one I am anticipating with excitement, awe, humility, and a deep sense of commitment. There is something about the act of speaking your promises in front of those who bear witness to your vow that seems pretty amazing to me, and makes it (for lack of a better word) real.

 

It’s time to move forward. I am listening to the voice that’s been whispering its advice to admit failures, apologize to a friend, and (finally) to let go of past resentments and create space to move forward. 

 

I liken it to a snake shedding its skin. The old skin served to protect and shield, yet is old and must go; the new skin is still tender and raw. It continues to grow and generate, revealing beauty and grace.

 

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.

 

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