The Winds of Change

Each time I run on a trail, no matter how many times I have been there before, it is different.  From one day to the next, week by week, new flowers bloom while others die, trees lean and fall, creeks swell and lower.   These changes are what makes each run a new and delightful experience, much like the changes in our life.  If everything were to stay the same, we could never fully appreciate what we have.

Four years ago I met up with an incredible group of trail runners that introduced me to the forest.  Not the "occasionally I go camping" forest, or the "lets take a hike with the kids" forest, but the miles and miles of rocky, hilly, muddy, sticky, quiet forest where you can run forever, because it goes on forever.  You only need to stop when you get tired, but even then you can sit down, have a drink, eat a sandwich, and continue running.  It is limitless, boundless, and beautiful.  And that is what my friends showed me.  It is like a well kept secret that anyone can know but few can understand.  And it is beautiful.

Deep and dark, or sunlit and sparkly, the trails are always holding a surprise.  Yet, even as they change, the trails are comfortingly familiar.  Excitement lies in what might be ahead, but at the same time, you know that there is always a way back if you venture too deep, or ever want to return to where you came from (if only for a little while).  It's not hard.  Because the trails, just like the Evil Sisters, will be ready to open their arms and welcome you back whenever you want to come back home.

Love to Evil Sisters Rhonda and Beth....as they take the path less traveled.  

Back on the Horse...

After a pretty miserable late March and early April, I finally feel like my old self again.  In fact, I feel so good that I ran both a half marathon and a 50K in the last seven days. Crazy, I know, but now that I have gotten all my "issues" figured out, I am like a new woman.  I didn't burn through the course at the Frederick Half, but finished in the top half of my age group, so I was happy with that.  I wondered how my knee would feel as I picked up the pace, but it stayed so well behaved I had to remind myself it had ever been injured.  It was a cool, crisp day, perfect running weather for me (and just about everyone), and with the relatively fast course, I didn't struggle at all.  Probably should have gone faster, but with a 50K just 6 days later, I didn't want to risk it.  It was good to cross the line and feel good.

The following Friday, after a v-e-r-y long drama banquet, we headed to West Virginia for the Capon Valley 50K. I first planned on driving in early Saturday morning, as I had done in the past, but my hubby suggested cashing in a few hotel points to get the extra hour or two of sleep. Coincidentally, it also gave him a nice place to resume sleeping after I began running (;
We didn't arrive until midnight, and I woke at 4 a.m. but at least we were close to the race start.  It had poured and poured all through the night, but was just misty when we arrived.  It seemed strangely lonely without the rest of my "Evil Sisters" there, but we were off so quickly, I didn't have time to think too much about it.
Three words can sum up the run this year: Mud, Wet and Deforested.  I had received an e-mail warning the runners that many trees had been cut, but new ones had been planted.  It was so sad to see some of the majestic trees lying in heaps in the mud, even with so many new ones planted in their place.  These areas were shoe sucking mud pits that threatened to swallow you whole if you stepped wrong.

Add that to the steady rain that fell and you can imagine the coating from thighs downward.  Luckily, the race directors planned the course with an abundance of stream crossings that were very high, so bathing was no problem.  I was worried about my knee in the sloppy conditions, but once I started running through the mud, it actually felt like my shoes had extra cushioning and I was bouncing over the trail!  I didn't try to avoid the puddles (there was no way) and instead stirred up the water and mud as much as I could.  I was already a mess, might as well have fun!  And I had a ball.   I really felt like I was six years old and had an endless supply of mud and water to play in.  The small streams had become rushing waterfalls that were just beautiful and at some points I was knee deep in water. There was no way for me to run really fast, but I ran a lot, only walking some of the steeper inclines.  Twice I saw tiny orange salamanders (newts?) crossing the trail, and running under the power lines with the rain pouring down gave off a strange electric sound that had me stepping up my pace!  I was truly happy on this run from start to finish.  My knee was completely fine, even on the pounding downhills and I didn't get tired at all.
Hubby was waiting at the finish to snap a few pictures, and after scarfing down one half of a chicken and a piece of blueberry pie, we headed back home.  Back on the horse and ready to get down to business in preparation for an official finish at Highland Sky!

No More Hurting People

Ever since I started running marathons, my family has almost always been at the finish.  One of my favorite pictures, taken at the first marathon I ever ran, shows my husband holding the hand of our then eight year old daughter while her three year old sister lays on the ground, pressed up against the fencing, sound asleep.  They always wanted to be right there, so worried that I might need something after the long race.  They always carried a backpack, with dry, warm clothes for me, a nice cold diet coke, and flip flops, since my running shoes never remained on my feet for very long.  My husband has continued the tradition years later, joined by the girls when they aren't busy with high school or college activities.  They are there to shout out my name, take pictures, and embrace me once I cross the line.  And while they worry for me, I never thought about worrying about them.
The attack this week at the Boston Marathon changed everything.  It left a vulnerable and open place that mixes shock, fear,anger, and even guilt among the running community.  One pediatric doctor, who ran the marathon and then aided the wounded, spoke with raw emotion to CNN when she said "Did they die because of me?"  I can't begin to understand what it feels like for those who might have been there - to witness horror unimaginable.  I do understand, however, how that young doctor might feel.  Anyone who has run a race knows the incredible amount of support it takes from family and friends as the runner trains:  no late nights before long runs, special diets that are adhered to, carving into family time to work in another run.  It is a sacrifice made by many families so that their runner can achieve a personal, even selfish, dream.  But my family, like countless others, never question the dream.  They share in the excitement of the planning, the training and the race.  They get up early to see the start, and are right there, holding signs and ringing cowbells at the finish.  We may be the ones running, but those who support us are every bit as important to our success.
When the bombs went off in Boston, they attacked the heart of the running community.  Those bombs killed and wounded the very fiber of the runner by attacking those who make our running possible.  By targeting the spectators, those bombs did more damage than if they had been aimed at the runners alone.  In the process, they left a wake of disbelief and pain that will be difficult to overcome.  I can't bear to think of my own family standing at that finish line in Boston.  It is just too real.  Time heals, or so we are told.  I am praying that it is true for all who were affected, in Boston and beyond.

Perspective (Part 2)

I guess it is all relative.  Tomorrow I should be on my way to North Carolina to anxiously prepare for Umstead.  Today should have been a day of dizzying excitement, packing, and obsessively checking lists to make sure nothing is forgotten.  I wouldn't have even dreamed of getting a run in, even a little one.
But I did run today, a full four miles at an 11 minute pace and without pain numbing drugs in my system.  And I am over the moon about that!  I feel amazing.  Because last week at this time, I could not even run 2 miles without feeling sick to my stomach from  the knife jab that insisted on attacking my knee.  Little victories.  I would not have wanted to go another 96 miles today, but my knee stayed calm, my breathing was relaxed, and I knew I had made the right decision to DNS.  Maybe, given time and patience, my body will heal itself.  Maybe I can skip surgery and work my way back.  Maybe Umstead just wasn't meant to happen this year, and maybe, with what I have learned, I can find a happy compromise between my lofty goals and my body's ability.  For now though, I am happy with four gentle miles.

Perspective

I wasn't sure how to start a post describing the decision to pull out of the Umstead 100 Mile Run.  I knew it had to include struggle, since I felt that really described my last four weeks.   I thought of the typical images of trying to climb mountains and pushing  and dreaming, but nothing seemed right, so I scrolled through some pictures on images.google.com  and this one stopped me in my tracks:

Right beside the many other images of struggling runners, climbers, bikers, and other athletes, this picture appeared as if to say, "Not having the ability to sit up is a struggle.  Needing help with feeding, dressing, living, that is a  struggle.  Being able to train to run 100 miles through the woods, whatever the outcome,  is a gift.  Be thankful everyday that you had the experience to try, and can try again." 

Nothing More to Say...

Hi Blake

Well, after 7 months of training, I tore my meniscus 4 weeks ago, and even though I tried everything, it hasn't been cooperating, and I will have to DNS for the 100.   I am sure you get more than a few of these e-mails, but it sure sucks having to write one!  I'll try again next year if I get my knee squared away, but for now, wish you great success for the race.  

Carole   That is truly bad luck this close to the Race. I hope the knee heals well and you can come run with us in 2014. I know it is disappointing but there is next year and the finish will be all the sweeter. Thanks for letting us know your status.  Best regards  Blake

I can almost see itThat dream I am dreamingBut there's a voice inside my head saying"You'll never reach it"
Every step I'm takingEvery move I make feelsLost with no directionMy faith is shaking
But I gotta keep tryingGotta keep my head held high
There's always gonna be another mountainI'm always gonna wanna make it moveAlways gonna be a uphill battleSometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get thereAin't about what's waiting on the other sideIt's the climb
The struggles I'm facingThe chances I'm takingSometimes might knock me downBut no, I'm not breaking
I may not know itBut these are the moments thatI'm gonna remember most, yeahJust gotta keep going
And I, I got to be strongJust keep pushing on
'Cause there's always gonna be another mountainI'm always gonna wanna make it moveAlways gonna be a uphill battleSometimes I'm gonna have to lose...

Cautious...But Hopeful!

After three weeks of a modified schedule, I have actually nailed it this week - of course, so far, that has only consisted of one 6 mile run...but that felt so good!!!

 I knew I was healing, both mentally and physically, but that run did more for my confidence than any words the doctor could have spoken.  And when I did finally see the doc, he had more good news...nothing joint related, nothing sprained, strained, or torn.  My MRI did show a very small tear of the meniscus, but he was quick to point out that if 100 random people at the grocery store had MRIs, at least 40% of the "over 40 population" would have similar tears.  (And I am well past that age!)
Great article here:
 http://www.howardluksmd.com/sports-medicine/meniscus-tears-why-surgery-isnt-always-necessary/
He was not concerned.  My tear could have become angry at all the miles I was piling on, and that could have been the reason for the strange twinges I was getting.  (I love that we both refer to my knee as if it has it's own mind, which I guess it kind of does...)
Anyway, he gave me the news I wanted..."Go ahead and run if it feels okay, you will know when it is time to stop."  And seeing how each day it feels more and more "normal", I guess that is what I will do.  I have only one more thing on my schedule, and that is the HAT 50K.  I intend to go, listen to my knee, and test the waters.  If I make it to the end, that will be the icing on the cake to make Umstead a reality. If I have to bail early, that is still okay, because I will have "done nothing stupid."  And with two additional rest weeks, I am feeling pretty optimistic that, despite the detour, I will get to where I want to be.

“Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.” ― Thomas A. Edison