The Taper

Relentless forward progress is the art of finding finding oneself by becoming lost to the world... 

The taper. The dreaded calm before the storm of your big goal, your day, your race. It's a terrifying and frustrating time in an endurance athlete's life when, instead of enjoying our reduced energy output and increased healing time, we put that energy into holding everything together as it seems to be falling apart.

We feel the physical pain of old and new injuries that come on without cause or explanation. My knee hasn't hurt this whole training season, yet I limped up the stairs while listening to it grind on Saturday night.

Our mental demons pop up and remind us how much that daily dose of endorphins helps us through the day. For me, it's a slide into the trap of diminished self-worth and self-love. It manifests with a need for companionship and spontaneous affirmation (my profound thanks for those who unknowingly provided just that over the past two weeks, you are a daily blessing in my life) , which I am objectively aware is a response to my rejection of myself. While I enjoy good company, I only crave it when no longer at peace with myself. In turn, I become someone who I respect and enjoy spending time with less... And the vicious cycle becomes hard to break.

Sometimes, luck and all things out of your control seem to take advantage of the fact that your guard is down. So while you use your suddenly old, aching, and fat 28 year old, 130lb, ultra runner and fighter body to stare down your self-worth demons, your truck breaks down, your clothes get stolen, and your replacement driver's license gets lost or delayed somewhere in the mail.

Tapering almost makes running a 200 mile race seem easy by comparison, right?

Last Tuesday, after the "Go get up and run you lazy girl!" voice finally won over the "Just stay under the covers... And maybe eat some cookies" intonation, I ran up the road to Mt Bigelow under brilliant blue skies does with white clouds. As I neared the crest, I could hear the faint echo of thunder. Staying at the top, there was a wall of black on one side, allowing me to have one outstretched hand and rain and the other in sun. It was like standing in a real life analogy of dark and light, if climbing a hill only to have a storm. And yet, all I could do was smile and turn my face up to feel the contrasting breezes of dry warmth and cool damp. You probably know by now that I love running in the rain. Especially in the mountains. It fills me with joy as each step feels like an accomplishment; as the tactile stimulation of each raindrop grounds me and tells me Be Here, Be Present, Just Be, This Is Real, You Are Real, You Are Enough, This Moment Is Enough. For an instant, for a series of moments, for a ten mile loop, the trail of the taper cycle is broken. Soaked to the bone and sliding along rocks, I am light and beautiful and alive and free.

Some day, I would like to say that I respond to the things I cannot control in the same way I do getting caught in a thunderstorm. Right now, getting stuck in the taper blues tells me I'm not there yet, but today it's raining hard enough that I can feel a smile building and am ready to make my own luck on the way to a great adventure.

Bigfoot 200, here I come!

Are your dreams big enough?

"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." ~Helen Keller 

Once the precedent of pushing limits is set in our lives, of identifying fears and facing them with a touch of masochistic glee, it is nearly impossible to remain content with remaining where we are, regardless of what we have accomplished. And so, it is only in natural progression that, having completed the once far off goal of running a 100 mile mountain race, this formerly red-faced and miserable Physical Education participant would train for a new race over double the distance (Bigfoot 200-August 2015). That is a long, long way to go on foot, and I am excited to learn whether this time I have finally chosen a physical challenge too big to finish the first time around.

To dream dreams with the understanding that failure is real option, and to strive forward whole-heartedly anyway, is one of the bravest (and possibly stupid) things humans can do. Evolution selects for those who avoid risk, who embrace the negative bias; joy and growth select for those who place the potential for more over survival. As a rational person, a scientist, a doctor, it is hard to make high-risk life decisions. Since last writing, an attempt to do just that resulted in two cross-country moves, bringing me back to where I started (fortunately physically, more than mentally) after an all too brief taste of the Cascadian wild. I’d like to believe that the search for physical failure is teaching me to be more accepting and loving of the professional and personal failures in my life, to view all aspects of life in the way I feel about a challenging solo climb with hail stinging my face and the rocks dissolving under me. Without my most recent “failure,” I may have never had the freedom to volunteer 50 hours of trail building time, eaten lunch on Mt. Rainier after learning to snowshoe, sang around a campfire with new and hopefully lifelong friends until well past midnight on New Year’s Day, or come back to the desert with renewed appreciation of the people and experiences here, but it’s never easy.

Another Tucson runner offered the following advice regarding my next race adventure “Just will and plain stupidity to finish is all it takes.” So cheers to dreams that are too big, to will, to stupidity, and to change!

Lifestyles

The title character in Life of Pi (my current Audible workout read) talks at length about his experiences with God and love in many religions. First introduced to that relationship through Hinduism, he sees through that lens clearest, yet appreciates that “Hindus, in their capacity for love, are indeed hairless Christians, just as Muslims, in the way they see God in everything, are bearded Hindus, and Christians, in their devotion to God, are hat wearing Muslims.” His faith grows and deepens as he finds brotherhood with wise teachers of each religion, even appreciating atheism, and is both troubled and confused by the need he sees in others to violently defend one belief over another. 

While less likely to lead to wars and political upheaval than religion, I see the same theme and challenges play out with many other "lifestyle" beliefs. When I say lifestyle, I mean a conscious deviation from passive existence, generally based on a core concept or value. Examples include abiding by a certain nutritional philosophy, being an athlete, and pursuing a vocation instead of a job. It could even be committing to being a certain type of partner or parent. When we embrace a lifestyle choice, it becomes part of our identity...you are an athlete, even when you aren't running...you are a teacher, even when you aren't teaching. A lifestyle isn't put away at the end of the day.

If you know me, or have read many of my previous ramblings, you'll know that I didn't intend to become a runner, let alone compete in 100 mile endurance events. Though exposed to a variety of sports growing up, I was a participant, never an athlete. Even today, amidst two-a-day workouts and a vague outline of future race plans, I consider myself more of an adventurer of the athletic (and possibly extreme) variety. For me, running was the introduction to the athletic lifestyle that enriched and expanded my desire and ability to say "yes!" to any adventure. Training is done with the aim to experience more and accomplish new things in the limited time I'm given, never to impose restrictions. That's not to say it's always fun, but even on the days it's not, I'm doing the work today so I can have more fun in the future. 

Unfortunately, once you embrace a lifestyle and experience the rush of positive self-changes, it's sometimes tempting to be overzealous, defensive, and even judgmental toward those who haven't made that same choice (insert born-again evangelist, recent Paleo convert, etc. here). It's all with the best intentions...clearly you just haven't found the true way to live yet and it would be irresponsible, even immoral, to not at least try to bring you along with them. As we settle into the lifestyle, giving into these tendencies can lead to alienation, a close-minded world view, or eventual disillusionment with the lifestyle itself. 

When we adopt a lifestyle, whether that of a Christian, triathlete, vegan, or writer we have a choice. We can use it as a lens to find brotherhood and connection with both ourselves and the world around us, or as a tool for separation that narrows our view of the world. Whether you look for connection or division, you will always find what you seek. 

June 8, 2014

Time passes, whether we want it to or not. In the good times, it seems to fly by and we wish the moments would slow down before they become memories. In bad times, minutes seem a torture of survival. Sometimes, goals and deadlines are upon us before we know it and we are caught unprepared. Time is so intangible, and yet, for right or wrong, we use it to value so many things…our maturity, our commitment, our worth to our employers. Every now and then, time becomes completely irrelevant; it ceases to lend meaning to where we are, who we are with, what we are doing, or where we are going. In those moments, we simply are… That is what it’s like to push the limits of ability, to go into the unknown separated from fear, to feel everything and nothing because past and future do not exist.

I could romanticize the bucket list achievement of finishing a 100 mile foot race, tell funny stories to make it seem like something anyone could do, drive up stupidity/bad-ass points for finishing in the face of low mileage, injuries, and long work hours leading up to the race, educate you in my nutrition/hydration/pacing choices, or scare away future racers by bringing everyone into the experience of running through hailstorms, sleep deprivation, and failing Achilles tendons. Instead, when asked about what it was like to run the Thunder Rock 100, it is most honest for me to say that it simply was. The rain was. The pain was. The cold was. The moment was. Time was not. Each moment was new and unique, no step like the last, yet not compared to any other step.

As humans, we are uniquely equipped to carry memories of the past and anticipation of the future with us. This gives us more capacity for hope and gratitude, but also for more stress and pain and fear. That, in combination with our opposable thumbs, allows our species to have more impact on the world and environment than any other. Detaching ourselves from time is not what we are taught or our natural state of being, but finding that detachment can give us new perspective on value. How much more could we do if we step back and see pain as just pain, without fear of whether it will continue? I don’t think you have to run for 27 hours to find that detachment. Each person has their place where it’s easiest to experience a moment as just a moment…in meditation, on the bike, performing surgery, painting, dancing, jumping out of a plane, etc. Spend time where time itself ceases to exist and work to bring those “timeless” lessons into ordinary life. Those lessons teach us that time and value, while sometimes related, are not synonymous, which frees us to endure more, love more, and live more than we ever imagined. 

May 3, 2014

While stuffing myself with grain-free pancakes and guzzling coffee between Run #1 and Emergency Call #2, I read a recent Trail Runner article (trailrunnermag.com) about the past and present of ultrarunning in Seattle. Living less than an hour from the US-Mexico border, surrounded by cacti and spring dust storms that block out views of the mountain ranges that frame each side of town, northern Washington State is about as far away as you can get while still remaining in the same time zone and country. Much as I look forward to some day running and living in a place that offers both mountains and rain (and maybe fewer rattlesnakes), what struck me most about the article was the universal subject of community.  

Whether racing or training, I rarely run within talking distance of other people. Sometimes this is intentional, such as during a night race when the person behind me doesn’t realize that his flashlight “necklace” is transforming an unimposing piece of single track into a motion-sickness inducing Fun House. More often it’s logistical, a consequence of a faster than the “slow group” but slower than the “fast guys” pace or simply a tight work schedule. I think there is a sizeable group of seasoned ultra-runners who come to events simply to share a little “community” time with similar people in the hypoglycemic/hyponatremic recovery phase after crossing the finish line. No social media network can replace that unique sense of camaraderie with people who you are only connected to by the path your feet have covered.  Who needs party drugs when electrolyte imbalances can result in hallucinated elephants appearing in the middle of the Grand Canyon?

Seriously though, endurance sports can be isolating. Part of the very definition of “extreme” is going beyond what the vast majority of the bell curve is willing to do. We are an intentionally small group, not by exclusion, but by personal expectation. To my knowledge (and I’ve searched extensively), there are no other women in my large, mountain-framed, marathon-junkie, Southern Arizona town currently competing in race distances greater than 50 miles. And yet, as humans, we crave community within our self-imposed isolation… So we are left with two choices, to build community where we are, or follow it. It’s no wonder we flock to places like the Seattle of old, or now Bend and Boulder, where the “elites” become real people and there’s always someone to push you harder. It’s a dream that the well-sponsored or flexibly employed can live daily, while the rest of us fly in for destination races framed as “vacations.” Outside of those hotspots, how do we cultivate that sense of inspiration and community without dimming our own personal expectations? How do you keep pushing harder when there’s no one around to push back? What does it take to cultivate an ultra-running community that is both inviting to the “average” runner and challenging to the “elite”? Or, as evidenced by the evolution of Seattle’s trail community, does one draw have to wane for the other to wax high?

February 25, 2014

My body can do extraordinary things. My heart keeps beating, no matter how tired I am. My hands have performed surgery. My legs have pedaled across states. My feet have carried me over mountains. I believe in pushing limits and have accomplished things I never even imagined setting as goals not so long ago. Limits still exist, however. I can’t walk on water or through walls. I can’t do a cartwheel, no matter how many times I try. I can’t run repeat six minute miles. I can’t ride a horse through a Grand Prix course. Some people don’t have my limits. Some people have limits I don’t have. When we disrespect limits and ask for more than our bodies have to give, we get injured. My recent attempt to run a speedy ten miler on pavement after over a week off with the flu provided an excellent reminder…painful IT bands take a bigger toll on training than a week of body aches.

Part of our job as athletes is coming to terms with our limits. We only have one body. It’s the only lifelong relationship we have. We abuse it. We take it for granted. We wonder why it can’t do the things we want. When we focus on the limitations, that’s all we find…more walls. When we nourish it, rest it, and accept it, however, it loves us back in ways that we may one day marvel at.

Part of our job as human beings is applying that knowledge to every other relationship we have; to focus on the ways each person can love and be loved and not on the ways they…we…can’t.

January 21, 2014

“So what should I do on days when it doesn’t feel good? Do I just go out and do the workout anyway?” asked one of my assistants as she looked at the Tough Mudder training plan on the spreadsheet before her. A simple and worthwhile question with about as complex an answer as you can get.  Physically, if we had the answer, there would be far fewer injuries and many more elite athletes in the world today. Outside of the realm of competition, the same question is always present regarding our mental and emotional health. “Should I make myself go out and do something on bad days or is it better to just let it be a bad day and stay in?” Extrapolating from what I know about muscle recovery, immune responses, goal-setting, and acute vs. chronic repetitive-use injuries, I’d have to say that the best answer to both questions is “It depends.” Brilliant, right?

Running or completing a planned workout only on good days seems freeing and relaxing for a while. That’s the best part about a recovery or off season. No pressure. If you feel like it, do it. If not, no worries! Your body takes some healing time for all of those micro-tears and nagging not-quite-injuries. Your mind slowly (and sometimes painfully) readjusts to not relying constantly on the “runners high” after-effects to engage in normal, civilized conversation. Over time, though, the bar for “good days only” gets set higher and higher. Inversely, your body loses condition…you breathe harder, you feel weaker, it’s less fun, and it no longer feels like as “good” of a day. Except for a pre-determined season or period of time, “good days only” training usually ends up with fewer good days in the end.

So how do we decide on the bad days? Going out on bad days is clearly necessary to make more good days, but surely not all bad days are created equal. For me, the internal discussion usually starts with, “Why don’t you feel like it?” If the answer has to do with discomfort, the next question is whether I’m feeling legitimate pain or simply soreness.

Answer: Pain.

Verdict: Give that body part a break today, do something else if possible, re-evaluate tomorrow. You’ll feel stupid if you get really injured/sick because you were too damn stubborn to take one day off!

Answer: Sore.

Verdict: Get off your butt and do the workout. Do more yoga in your free time. Sore means you’re working something, dummy!

If the answer has more to do with motivation, a certain amount of self-bullying, coaching, and compromising comes into play. Everyone has their own strategies for getting out the door, but some of mine sound like, “If you get your least favorite workout done today, you won’t have to think about it for the rest of the week,” “Ok, so no sprints, what about hill repeats on the bike?” “No miles, no pizza, how do you really feel about that?” or the ever present, “You know you’ll be glad you did it later.” Usually, my self-discussion ends with either the planned workout or some sort of compromise (and yes, I’m almost always glad), but sometimes not…and sometimes I even eat the pizza/ice cream/burrito anyway.

I kind of like that philosophy in the rest of life, too. You can’t only be present on good days, otherwise they’ll become fewer and fewer. Sometimes you’ve got to force yourself out the door in order to pave the way for good days to come, even if it means a little compromise. If the risk of injury is too high, though, be at peace with giving one or more days of rest now to support your future health. And, every once in a while, just enjoy the pizza anyway and use it as fuel for next time.