2012 ~Back to the Start

The year 2012 is just around the corner and in a few days a large number of people will make a resolution, promising some kind of change.  Most will be changes they have thought of hundreds of time, maybe promised before and perhaps behaviors that have been pointed out by others or suggested by a health care professional.  They gym will be packed with all of these newly dedicated people, overdoing it and trying to lose all the weight and get in shape  in the first three days. 

I don’t usually make NY resolutions, I don’t believe in using one date out of the year to make changes.  As a health professional I find the idea of focusing one week a year on growth and goals crazy. Why aren’t we doing this every week?   I often point out to my clients that they generally spend more time planning their vacations and picking out a car than on their personal goals. 

My best thinking happens while I am running, and often by the time I get home from a run I am overflowing with ideas, goals, plans, people I want to talk to, articles I want to write, things I want to create.  I lose some of them in the transition of rushing to shower and getting out the door, but the big ones I keep long enough to talk into my phone on my way to work.

2012 will be one of my biggest challenges and one I have been thinking about often the last few weeks.  As January 1^st approaches, I will be once again starting to train for Ironman Wisconsin.  Déjà, I was here last year.  I am now $1200 into registration for a race I have not done, and one I am quite sure I don’t have a chance in hell of completing.  “What the hell am I thinking?” is the recurring thought that keeps looping through my head.  I am not strong enough, not conditioned enough and not sure I am able to fight hard enough.  I can’t swim, yes I said can’t.  The furthest I have ever swam is a quarter mile, the last time I was able to ride seriously I needed help getting off my bike because once bent I couldn’t straighten on my own.  My running mileage total this year is the same as one month last year!  Again what the hell am I thinking? 

I know and I believe beyond any doubt that I cannot do this.   Yet as I organize my planner for 2012, my training plan is in there and along with everything else I have in my life I will begin the process.  This year, unlike last year I don’t even have an endurance base to build from so starting from scratch takes on a whole new meaning.   

Mapping out my calendar, my first week of January looks like this.  Teach at the college two days, work at my clinic 4 days, work at the EAP office 2 days, work at Gold’s 4 days, 3 social engagements, 2 little boys at home that are more exhausting than all those things combined, 3 dogs that I love to spend time with….and somewhere in there did I mention I need to start training for a race I am sure I can’t do.  I am convinced I am on the wrong side of the desk in the therapy department.

I have been here before though and know that what I can’t see today does not mean the same thing as impossible.  I know that what I am not capable of today, is not a life sentence and that God willing I will get to the starting line and God willing I will be upright crossing the finish line.  When I was weeks from leaving for Africa and so sure I could not possibly do this I reached out to someone who had been a huge support and has wisdom beyond human capabilities.  Ray Zahab is an amazing man who has an amazing spirit.  He said all the right things and he was completely right in this prediction.  He told me at the start of the race I would be too scared to breathe, and in the middle of the race I would wonder what the hell I was doing t here.  But there would be moments where I would look around and realize the beauty of them moment and be amazed that I was. He said at the end when I crossed the finish line it would be the best feeling in the world and in moments I would start to plan my next race.  He was right.  Knowing this I will not make resolutions, rather I will focus on results. And when the negative thoughts, doubts and fears take up residence in my brain I will know they are there, and know that despite my efforts to quiet them they will return a hundred times.  But they won’t stop me from training and they won’t stop me from putting it out there on the calendar.  2012 I will focus on results instead of resolutions and when I am afraid I will focus on faith and get out there anyway.  I will take all my fears and doubts to the starting line, knowing I will leave them out there on the course, to be replaced by gratitude and grace. 

Where are you Christmas?

"Where Are You Christmas"

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away

Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go

Three days before Christmas, driving home, I listened to Faith Hill sing these words. Its been one of my favorite Christmas songs since I first saw The Grinch. I was tired in a way that can only be from days that are too long and stress that is too much.  I felt the lump in my throat and my chest start to tighten and without the energy to fight it I cried most of the way home. It has been such a crazy year of crazy. I thought about my world and truly how much everything was rearranging.  Last year at this time I had a plan mapped out and my goals were laid out in front of me.  Yet despite my plans so much had changed that I barely recognized my own life some days.  Physcially, I am fighting back again from another surgery that I hadn’t expected.  I am a foster mother to a 4 and 7 year old set of boys with special needs, 9 months into this “couple months” placement with no clear ending in sight.  My workload is busier than it has ever been and balance is a getting more than five hours sleep a night.  I lost my dog, people have left my life and some days I am not sure where I belong in my own life.  I have friends I am too tired to call, and despite my faith, church has become something I do if there is time left over.   I am drained and empty, having giving everything to everyone else during the course of the day, and as I fall into bed I count the scarcity of the hours until the alarm goes off.  I could get a bit more sleep if I skipped my morning run, but in the complete darkness running with Ellie before work, I can believe there is a me in there somewhere.  

Christmas has always been an emotionally chaotic time for me, sometimes high and sometimes low.  I didn’t embrace the season and it’s celebrations until I was well into adulthood and it took several decades of seeking my own meaning and celebrations to find joy and peace in it. It was a hard fought battle to let go of what my Christmas had been as a child and intentionally make a decision to live it with a different meaning.  This was most challenging when my dad died nine days before Christmas in 2005, but I held onto the meaning of the season, the connection, the love that people share a bit more openly this time of the year.                            

Except this year, I couldn’t seem to find it. This year I was so overwhelmed with the changes in my life, the uncertainty and the fight that I felt numb and empty. Along with those painful feelings I retained just enough awareness to be angry that I couldn’t quite get there even though I wanted to.  I sometimes remind myself that even Mother Teresa questioned her faith at times, and  it comforts me on a rational level, but it does not quiet the emotional hurricane that sweeps through me in times of struggle.

Moments and Peace

MY MOMENTS, MY QUESTIONS, MY PEACE

The past six months have been a whirlwind of frantic days, increasing workload and a sense of losing any grasp of order in my life.  A short term placement of two little boys which happened on the heels of my unexpected surgery, took my already chaotic life to a new level of insanity. The past month has been even more hectic and my long days even longer.  These days the moments of sanity I manage to get are infrequent. They typically come when I am doing one of the things I love most, teaching fitness, coaching, or running and training. 

When I was training for Africa, running 135 miles a week, working long hours and juggling life, there were plenty of nights I drove home and spent the twenty minutes crying. I wasn’t crying about anything in particular, it was a pure release of complete exhaustion.                            

Lately, most days I am a bit closer to that than I am comfortable with. I continuously remind myself of the big picture and that despite my questions I need to rely on God’s plan. Some days this works and other’s I have to just try to run it away.

Last weekend I headed out for a run with Ellie.  Ellie is so many things to me, but of all the things she gives me, a running partner tops the list.  Maggie at 7 months is still too young to run and Tanner at age 12 is just too tired.  Aside from her energy which reminds me of a Tasmanian devil, Ellie has been my security blanket as I eased back into running after surgery.  She is the presence that keeps me feeling confident when I am a few miles from home, safe on the trails, and present when I could be feeling alone.  My brief but frightening stalker from last year no longer worries me as much and the doubt of getting back home from the run is less daunting. Within a week of her joining my life this year, the sound of the leash brings her running and literally dancing at my feet. Our routine was established almost immediately and the sight of me grabbing my running shorts sends her into frenzy.

As I headed out with Ellie this last week, I was irritable, anxious and stressed.  My weekend had no less than six social engagements, two little boys that were going to be bat crazy after a home visit with their mom and more paperwork waiting for me than I can do in a month. On top of all that, it was 30 degrees and raining. I absolutely love running in the summer rain and will do a go out of my way to run on a warm rainy day.  Winter rain is different and I tend to find it miserable and painful.  But Ellie had too much energy and I couldn’t stand the thought of the treadmill.  Because of the rain and temperatures I decided to drive to the start of the trail, seeking out the protection of the woods.  I got dressed and grabbed a leash, and Ellie who doesn’t care for the rain at all, was so excited she could barely sit still in the Jeep.  My obligations the last two weeks have affected some of our runs so she had way too much energy.  We got to the trails and I was surprised to see how muddy they were.  In the insulation of my office and work from pre-dawn to late evenings I had forgotten how much rain we had this week. We took off and I didn’t even bother dodging puddles as we wound through the woods.  We were a bit more protected in the shelter of the trees but not so much that it kept us dry.  I had just barely an hour to run and although I wasn’t really measuring distance, I turned on my GPS anyway.  As I warmed up and we ran the familiar ground, I found myself allowing Ellie a few more stops to explore the smells and explore, and eventually I turned off my GPS.  I lost interest in my pace and distance, and when Ellie’s attention wandered to the side of the trail I stopped more than usual.  I walked up the hills, stopped fighting my heart rate and gravity, and allowed Ellie to set the pace. We slowed for sticks and sprinted for squirrels and listened to noises. We were splattered from head to toe in mud, soaking wet and had to entire trail to ourselves. When I finally looked at my watch I realized we had been running for 90 minutes.  I was well past my schedule and yet knowing how tight my schedule was, didn’t pick up my pace and even took a small detour to allow Ellie to sniff the shore of a pond. I was reluctant to end the run and felt unsettled.

It took a few minutes to figure out what I was feeling and I realized it was sadness at ending our morning out there.  I wanted to stay in that place all day and just meander through the mud and the rain. I wanted to capture the moment and the contentment I had found in the rain and mud.  I felt physical tightness in my throat and chest as I finally turned around and headed in.  Ellie must have been feeling the same things I was. Normally after that long on the trails, she is ready to drink some water and get her post run snack.  Not this morning though.  As I toweled off her muddy legs, she kept pulling against me trying to head back toward the trail.  She kept looking at me and I knew she could likely sense how much I wanted to go too.  She and I shared our usual banana on the way home and I thought about the difference in this morning’s run. 

I am not sure I can explain in any way that does it justice. I know this though. I spend every hour of every day trying to achieve, to be better, to do well, to be a good person, to help others.  I spend the hours of my life asking questions, of myself, my life, my faith, my past, my future and  of others.  I live in a state of relentless drive, to propel myself forward in a universe filled with the pull of gravity.  I am never far from the street kid, homeless half my life and living on my own at fifteen, proving to the world that she would not allow her past to be her future. 

In the woods, with Ellie none of those things matter and I am the closest I can be to letting go. It doesn’t matter who I was then, and the fear  goes away.  Ellie, who was so badly beaten she was blinded, trap marks around her backside and so scared of strangers she pees herself, lives in the moment.  In her presence, she gives me a beautiful gift, because I am able to do the same.  I find peace in the moments, silence in my questions and a wisdom that is more intuitive than intellectual.  This amazing four legged girl, so badly treated by others, can love the moment, living in just the smells, the trails, the run. With her along side me, I am at least content knowing my futile attempts at controlling my world can rest for a moment. A fairly popular sticker reads “Who Rescued Who” and there is no doubt in my mind she rescues me, moment by moment, day by day. Defined by too many roles, tugged at by too many people and fighting with too many demons, I lose sight of the battles on our runs. She turns and looks up at me with her blind eye squinting against the rain and her tongue hanging out, and she is a reminder of the love and loyalty in my life and that I get to do this.  For the moment I find peace and the moment gets me through another day.

My Buddies

A Weekend for Me

Just 48 hours ago the weekend stretched out ahead of me with the selfish pleasure to do whatever I wanted.  I was about to enjoy two short days of just me and my three dogs.  Friday night arrived and I found myself conflicted between my overwhelming desire to sink in to the quiet of my home, but also to dive into everything I wanted to accomplish.  With my two foster boys at a respite home for the weekend, I wanted to hoard every moment and stretch it to its fullest capacity. But I also wanted to avoid the pressure of any expectations and truly have a break from any kind of pressure or demands.  In my life of achieving, accomplishing, performing, meeting expectations, answering others needs and most days also failing, missing and neglecting, I was checking out.  I had decided I was not going to worry about anything but enjoying the moments. 

I had been looking forward to Friday night with the enthusiasm of a child waiting for Christmas.  When it was finally here I wanted to enjoy every moment of it and savor each second.  I was greedy in my need to squeeze every bit of pleasure of out of the solitude and the absence of little boys demanding attention from me.

A list person by nature, I had decided I would absolutely not make a list for the weekend.  But I admit to having an informal list in my head and if I had to outline my informal list, it included these things. 

ü  Spend as much time as possible with my three dogs that I adore.  I frequently feel a bit cheated at the end of my long days, and never get tired of hanging out with them.  To actually play with them instead of trying to frantically make sure they get some exercise at the beginning and end of my long days.

ü  Reading-actual reading just for the love of it and nothing I needed to educate myself on, educate someone else about, or know for morning

ü  Sort the mountains of paperwork that are piled throughout my house, from my office to my chair by the window, to the dining room which doubles as my desk when I need to be downstairs, to the briefcase that is so heavy I can barely lift it.  Keep in mind much of this paperwork includes articles which I can’t wait to read and never seem to get a moment for.

ü  To rifle through my notebook in which I jot all the random phrases that push into my thoughts.  These are tidbits I jot as I am in the midst of something else, always thinking how much I would love to expand on the thought. To spend time indulging my love of writing and lose myself in exploring the words and thoughts.

ü  To stay as far away as possible from the ridiculous amount of paperwork that taunts me on a daily basis.

ü  To keep plans for Saturday night despite my knowledge that I am feeling obsessive about spending as much time at home as possible.  I love my home and feel as though it is a long distance relationship, in which I constantly long for physical connection.

ü  To spend time with my mom who is always so patient and who never complains when days go by with only a few minutes for rushed phone calls, usually punctuated by telling my foster boys to stop doing whatever they are doing.

ü  To go the entire weekend without worrying about anyone’s needs but my own, except for my dogs of course. 

ü  To organize and straighten my home gym so my rushed 5:00 am workouts can be more effective and I feel a semblance of peace while I am in it.

ü  To email and call no less than 18 people that I have not talked to in way too long.  Ok at least 3 people!

ü  To get up at least one hour later each day just because I didn’t have to take care of anyone else.

ü  To enjoy my workouts for the sake of my own personal and physical accomplishment, rather than planning and coordinating someone else’s workout.

So how did I do? My weekend of solitude started at 7:00 pm Friday night and I was due to pick the boys up by 6:00 pm Sunday night.  I had just 48 hours to do all this and to relax!

Friday night when I didn’t get home until 7:00 pm I was comforted by the fact that I at least had 3-4 hours left of my day. My usual bedtime lately has been between 10:30 and 11:00.  Often I look at the clock and force myself to get to bed only because I am aware of how tired I am when 4:00 am comes.   Except on Friday night, the peacefulness of the house and the lack of demands lulled me into an early bedtime.  I was almost comatose by 9:00p.m. and sound asleep hours earlier than usual. 

My plan to sleep an hour later Saturday morning was spoiled by two of the three dogs having a wrestling match on the bed that shook the room!  Their internal alarm was outraged that it was a few minutes past 4:00 am and they hadn’t been fed.  By the time I let them outside, wrestled them away from each others food dishes, making sure the puppy got all of her food, I was wide awake.   Oh well I counted it as one of the hours I missed out on by falling asleep early. 

The rest of the weekend went much the same, with every single thing I had “planned” somehow being realigned in some way.  Most things on my list, I didn’t even get close to and by the time I picked the boys up tonight I wondered what I had done with my weekend.  My days had vanished and I was not sure where it had gone.  

If I count the checks on the list, the weekend was almost a complete failure.  Of the massive list I started with, I accomplished only a few things, failing miserably in my unofficial list for the weekend. 

B

ut when I tried to figure out where the weekend had gone this is what stood out to me:

Taking Chances and Living Naked

There was a race I signed up for in 2008 with the intention of using it as a training event for my marathon in China.  The Great Wall Marathon was reputed to be one of the most challenging in the world, partially because of the 5164 steps.  I decided a 103 story race up Sears Tower would be great practice so I trained, I climbed and I stepped for a month before heading to Chicago.  Sunday morning I was scheduled to start at 9:00 am with no idea what to expect, I was excited about spending a weekend in Chicago.  My procrastination in booking a hotel left few options, so instead of staying downtown I settled for a hotel near the airport.

The reminder of how quickly life can change became even clearer on the way to dinner.  The night before the race, a group of us were getting together for dinner.  I climbed in the backseat of a car, glad I didn’t have to drive for once, as we headed to the restaurant.  Less than five minutes from the hotel, I had no idea how much things were about to change.  The discussion in the car was about planes, triggered by the busy sky so close to O’Hare and general conversation somehow became reality as we were hit from behind without warning.  An explosion shattered the rear window and I remember thinking the car had been hit by an airplane and it was coming thorough the back window.  I could hear screams, glass shattering and metal screeching, but I remember being very confused about what was happening.  When we finally stopped moving I recall seeing broken glass all over me and I was wondering what had happened.  I couldn’t wrap my head around any logical thought and it was as though my brain could not catch up to real time or to physical sensations.

Somewhere in the process, between the accident and the hospital I learned we had been hit by a 19 year old, driving his parent’s Corvette. People who saw the accident said he was drag racing and weaving in and out of lanes.  A firefighter had seen him heading toward us and estimated his speeds were more than 80 mph.  From my position in the backseat and pictures I saw later, it explained the explosion behind my head, although I can’t understand how I survived.   

After an ambulance ride to the hospital and several hours in the worst emergency room I have ever seen, I was released in the middle of the night.  My friend, who was there to do the race with me, was the person who picked glass out of my head. I saw the doctor at the time of admission and not once after that. The pain was a screaming, living thing that had taken up residence in every cell of my body.  The pain was so intense it was impossible to focus on any one thing, so I focused on my anger and my fear. I was angry at the driver’s recklessness and I was angry I was being cheated out of doing the Tower Climb.  I lay in the hotel bed for a couple of hours, unable to sleep and not knowing what to do with myself.  I was conflicted internally and couldn’t seem to find a place I didn’t hurt physically and emotionally.  Yet I also was so completely consumed with how different things could have turned out and the reality of life’s fragile state, which was completely at odds with my other emotions.  I had reassured everyone that I was not doing the climb and I would call them in the morning when I woke up.  Through the early morning hours, wide awake, hurting and yet grateful, I spent a lot of time wishing.  I wished again and again it hadn’t happened and the night had been different. I was in Chicago because of a spinal fusion and my effort to recover, yet I was in more pain than before. I thought about a lot of things, deep and meaningful life questions that come naturally with glimpse of your own mortality.  Throughout my recovery I had been unwilling to accept someone else’s opinion about what I was physically capable of doing and I questioned if this should be different.  I knew nobody would agree with my decision, but at some point during those hours I knew one thing. I realized that if in fact I was going to choose my life and my circumstances, it meant doing so in the most challenging of moments also.  By the time 5 am came I was both furious and calm. It felt so unfair, that someone else’s actions, beyond my control were going to take something from me that I valued.

I decided I could either accept the situation, or confront it and write my own ending to the story.  Desire and fear are powerful motivators of action and for me I was feeling both.  I had an urge to live my day, knowing how quickly it could be taken.  I wanted to be true to the determination and passion that had brought me here in the first place. And with every breath I took I felt fear.  I worried about the long term impact of the accident.  Getting out of bed, I was physically unable to lift my head off the pillow without using my hands to pick it up.  I could hardly swallow, the muscles in my neck hurt so badly.  I couldn’t eat and taking a drink was enough to make me scream.  The act of getting up and getting dressed was so painful it made me question my decision. I managed to take Tylenol and headed downtown, lining up at the door of the stairway without sleep or food and barely able to dress myself. I was consumed with pain and nausea and although I couldn’t fathom getting myself up 103 stories, I couldn’t imagine not trying.

I did it, climbing 2109 steps. I had no benchmark to gauge it by, and I might not have done as well as I could have.  I did hit my two main goals though, I finished and I didn’t throw up. My satisfaction had nothing to do with the race, and nothing to do with my time.  I felt a deep sense of pride in taking the moment, defining it on my own terms and fighting for it.  I would never look back on this and wonder if it were a chance I could have taken.  

It is easier to face a challenge in ideal circumstances, like the ones I had at the start of the weekend.  I had trained, I was with friends, and had prepared for the event.   But in that one moment, the reality of how little you can actually prepare for life and how little control you have was clear. That was where my emotion was living and life reflection is impossible to avoid.  It is impossible to not ask yourself questions about how you have lived and what you will do with the day you have in front of you.

In Steve Jobs famous Stanford speech he said  “Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”

He was right, with the wisdom only experience can give you.  Everything I had prepared for, my expectations, my time goal, none of it mattered. It didn’t even matter if I failed to get to the top, because at least I could make a decision to start.  In that moment I did feel naked, naked of all pretenses, stripped so bare and so vulnerable by the closeness of death that nothing else mattered.  I was emotionally naked and without guard.  That can be a frightening place to be, and since then I have made an effort to live life with less pretense and fewer masks.   I remind myself the things I worry about are really not all that troublesome and what I am stressed about today will be forgotten tomorrow. 

This year has been a year of challenges and decisions.  In 4 days I will again line up for the climb. The tower is now the Willis Tower and I have since completed races around the world.  I have also had another spinal fusion and am currently in the early stages of recovering from this. I will line up at the door of the staircase feeling challenged, physically disadvantaged, and unprepared. I am fearful of how my body will respond and what kind of setbacks I might feel.  At the end of the day, my time for the climb won’t define me and neither will much else about this year.  The issues that seem so big today will fade but what will define me are the decisions I make about how I live my life, my gratitude for today and how honestly I live my life.  

I know the importance of showing up and facing the challenge.  Steve Jobs spoke about living life naked and this is often my biggest challenge. Because it means I will take chances, face challenges and jump over the edge with only faith to catch me. I can admit I would like to be someone other than me some days, and on other days I don’t care. I can embrace all the parts of me that make me who I am, including my weaknesses, and always be ready to say to hell with what I should do. I embrace my passions knowing the reward and thrill of life when you are fully open. I dream it, live it, love it and am thankful for it.  If you have ever been on a roller coaster, jumped out of a plane or made a decision to leap with all your heart straight out of your comfort zone, you know the thrill.  There is nothing like it and only in that moment when nothing is certain are you fully open and naked. None of us can say for sure where we will be tomorrow, next week or even in the next moment.  I hope along the way I become the person I want to be, and I hope I show the world the person I really am. Nobody expected me to do the race and no one would have blamed me for not doing it. But it wasn’t about what anyone thought of me for doing it or not doing it, it was about stepping into my decision and owning my life.  It was about my ability to show up even on the days when life isn’t fair and the cards you are dealt are bad.  Sunday, as I line up to run 103 flights of stairs I will carry this with me, knowing whatever the outcome, in my faith and in my life I am following my heart.

They get it right every time!

Nike Women's Marathon

Growing up in Texas, Kerrie Jo is the perfect name for a little girl.  Or it might have been, except I was born a tomboy and despised anything girly.  I spent a lot of time in trouble for sneaking outside when I was supposed to be inside doing chores, because I loved the boy jobs and games. My mom eventually gave up on trying to get me in dresses, and pictures after that show me in tube socks, jean shorts and Astros jerseys.

One of my most powerful memories is my first game of tackle football in the backyard.  As the only girl in the family, my older brother would have preferred I fall off the face of the earth. It didn’t matter how much I begged, he was never going to let me in on his weekly game of football with his friends.  Each week I begged anyway, and finally my dad made him include me.  The week I finally got to join, I put on my Houston Oilers shirt on and raced to the backyard.  I was the only girl and three years younger than the boys.  At 5 years old I didn’t realize what it would be like to play the game with boys that really didn’t want you there.  I learned within the first few minutes though and I learned the hard way.  It was not flag football and they were not gentle with me, in fact just the opposite.  I kept playing and trying until one tackle made me eat dirt and tore part of my ear. At that point I did what most 5 year old girls would do.  I went running as fast as I could, crying to daddy.  I was sobbing, bleeding and couldn’t tell him fast enough about the boys ganging up on me and how unfair they were. I waited for the hug, the soothing words and of secretly hoped they might get in a little bit of trouble.  

What I got was a verbal spanking, reminding me I had begged for this chance. He told me I better stop crying, get back in the game and he better not see me again until at least one of the boys looked like I did.  He made it clear that quitting was not an option and fighting back was my only choice.  I was further humiliated when he smacked me on the backside and sent me off.  Bleeding all over my favorite shirt and sniffling, I headed to the back of the house.  In the few minutes it took me to get there, I got really mad. I was mad at the boys, I was mad at my dad and I was mad that I was bleeding.  I rejoined the game and although I don’t recall doing a lot of damage to the 8 year old boys, I do remember looking at my ripped and bloody Houston Oilers shirt later on and feeling ridiculously proud of it. 

It was one of my first lessons in experiencing strength and humility in the same breath.  I learned what it means to be resilient and to stay in the game even when the odds are good that you are going to bleed.  His approach seems harsh to some, but my dad’s refusal to rescue me taught me a lot about perseverance. It shaped a part of who I am today and it helped me be the person who ran a marathon last week.

A few days ago, I was in San Francisco for the Nike Women’s Marathon one year after vowing to come back and "run the hell" out of the course. A year ago I couldn’t wait to do this, but in the past year, a lot had changed.  Eight months earlier I had my second spinal fusion, so instead of feeling excited, I was anxious and scared.  The surgery had not been in my plans last year and it changed everything.  The night before the run was pure emotional chaos. I was afraid, knowing I would finish no matter what, yet also knowing with certainty I was not ready for this.  I had no way of knowing how my body was going to react which scared the hell out of me. I knew it was going to hurt, I knew I would be slow, and I even expected to have problems with my leg.  Knowing those things and feeling uncertain made it difficult for me to find any internal stability.  Eventually I had one big emotional tantrum, which left me feeling only slightly better. By the morning of the marathon morning I still couldn't get focused, but it was time to run.

I went into it with a secret goal.  It is one of those goals you whisper to yourself but don’t say out loud.  My secret wish was a  4:30:00 finish time.  I knew this would be tough, but I thought it might be possible.  In the end I didn’t even come close and I spent most of the marathon watching it slip further and further away, but not really caring at that point.  For several hours,I was in the kind of pain that allows you to focus on only one thing.  My single thought, over and over, was putting one foot in front of the other, with no room for any other thoughts.  It was not the race I expected and I keep struggling to find some perspective and in trying to sort out my conflicting emotions.  Did I fail, did I succeed?  I go back and forth and can’t seem to find a middle spot to balance on. 

Almost a week later, I am still undecided.  I know the right answer is to say I succeeded because I crossed the finish line. I agree but I would also be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed too. I am disappointed in my body and myself, and at a deep level I feel as though I failed in some ways.  This marathon brought me to a place I haven’t been before and it was demanding physically and emotionally.  I was challenged to manage my disappointment for several hours, and I didn’t handle it as well as I would have hoped.  Of course I wonder if I could have pushed harder and done better, which is always an easy question to ask when you are no longer running.

Along with my disappointment, I feel proud and successful. Ironically, it has little to do with crossing the finish line and more to do with passing the finish line.  This course starts those running 26.2 and those running 13.1 at the same time.  The two groups stay together until mile 11 when the course splits, and by mile 11, I had already been struggling for a while. Physically I was falling apart, the pain was increasing, and my right leg was not doing its job. With an option to take a right turn, cutting off 13.1 miles but still “finishing”, I never once considered it.   I knew the next 17 miles were going to get a lot worse, but it never crossed my mind to take the shortcut.

I am also proud that I didn’t stop.  Once the urge to quit running loops through your mind, it is relentless.  It starts as a small voice and it crowds out every other thought. It makes convincing arguments, showing the wisdom in giving up, and telling you how much people would understand.  I had to force myself to make a decision to keep going with every step.  My only concession was walking as fast as I could when I couldn’t run, and then making myself start to run again when I could.  I also feel success in knowing I crossed the finish line running.  It may not have been fast but I crossed the line running.

I can’t really figure out any one thing that decides if it is a success or failure.  I would have liked to have finished in less time and to have felt stronger.  I could have done without the reminder of how far I have yet to go in my recovery.  I don’t like the reality that no matter how hard I work, I can’t will my body into something it doesn’t have. As much I am bothered by those things, I also feel grateful and proud.

I realize it’s not about the race at all, but about me, and who I was, and who I become with each experience.  How do you divide strength and humility when they come hand in hand?  How do you know which moments are there to build you today, and which are lessons waiting to be learned another day?  

In the same moment that I judge myself, I also believe next time will be different.  I am confident I have the resilience to do it again and it won’t be long before I do. And I might still fall short of my expectations but I know next time my fears will be a little smaller and rob me of a few less moments. I have complete faith in this, and I remember to be grateful I get to do this and to appreciate the experience.  I am committed to the lessons I learn today, as well as those I will see clearly only in future days. For now my challenge is accepting both the failure and the success in the day.  I know the lesson I learned in the backyard is as powerful today as it was at 5 years old. 

Although it turned out so different than I hoped, I am truly at peace with it.  I notice the things I work for on the outside make me stronger on the inside. Working for the finish line I had moments of living so far outside of my comfort zone I couldn’t imagine getting through it.  Last Sunday, I lived what I believe, which is to never accept that who I am today is good enough for tomorrow.  I felt the passion, the risk of believing in myself, and the thrill of heading to the start line even with bad odds.  The ripped and bloody Houston Oilers shirt symbolized a win, and I think I might have been wearing it when I crossed the finish line.

Refuse to Pretend

Last January, I ran a marathon in Phoenix with a group of women I love dearly.  A conversation we had raised questions in my head and ten months later the question is still with me.  Why do we sell ourselves short, predict failure, dismiss compliments, or talk about ourselves in ways we would never talk to a friend?

When we are facing a challenge, taking a risk, breaking a personal barrier, reaching a personal goal, why are we comfortable pre-scripting a failure but not predicting success?  With the advantage of social media and instant status updates we have a streaming view of this, any time of the day or night.  Status updates often include fear and dramatic predictions about all of the potential catastrophes that could happen.  Rarely, if ever, do they make bold and confident statements.  And how would we react if they did? 

The common approach is to downplay any positive statements or votes of confidence because somehow it is much more acceptable to make statements about the likelihood of failure and falling short.  What if the status update said, “I am going to win this damn thing” or “Damn straight, I am going to rock the house”?

Usually you don’t hear people talk about their months of training and 5 am runs, or the hours or preparation for a speech or presentation.  They don’t acknowledge the daily commitment and discipline as a building block of their self assurance.  They don’t talk about the sacrifices and say “you are right, I will do great!”  or “I have trained hard and you know what, I will feel awesome!  “

What would we say if someone responded to your encouraging statements with this response?  What if someone’s usual response was they were feeling very confident and strong and sure of themselves and the outcome?  What if they took it one step further and talked about how confident and strong they felt. 

In most cases they would get a pained and superficial response, maybe even a patronizing affirmation followed by the other person’s urgent need to find someone to tell about the grandiosity of the conversation.  Can you imagine that conversation?  Your arrogance would grow into fairy tale legend within the hour.

Why is it completely acceptable to maximize our weaknesses and minimize our work, our discipline, our strength and our confidence?  Why is self assurance automatically tossed into the category of narcissistic and arrogance, as though feeling this way about ourselves assumes we think we are better than someone else?

I am not referring to those people out there that clearly think they are better. I am talking about simple statements of personal dedication, conviction and self-trust.  This stance often brings out the nasty competitive edge in others.  It reveals the pattern of insecure people trying to bring you to their level. In the past three years I have had amazing opportunities and along with those opportunities I have heard a long list of statements. They have been directly and indirectly delivered and designed to bring me down a notch or two.  Everything from a reference to not really thinking I was going to actually run my first marathon, to a rebuke about how many good things I was entitled to in a lifetime. 

When we define ourselves and our outcomes by what others are comfortable hearing, and their expectations, we are being dishonest.  When we pretend to feel a single dimension, the fear and the anticipated failure, do we lie to ourselves and everyone else? What about the excitement and pride, the anticipation of knowing you are about to do something challenging, yet knowing the risk is worth the achievement. Fear and failure is perfectly acceptable to acknowledge and focus on. In fact it is encouraged.

I think women and men suffer from the same expectation to downplay their confidence, achievement and abilities.  Men are bound by cultural and social expectations which encourage a lack of genuineness just as much as women, it is simply a different color pen. Men and women alike define their self and their beliefs with the thoughts they allow, the environment they live in, the people they surround themselves with and repetition of self talk.

How does this change and how do we make an impact? What if we refused to pretend?  What if we were proud in our faith and strength, not as arrogant and better, but living an acceptance of ourselves just as we are.  What if we proudly acknowledge dour own drive, discipline, values, achievements, failures and life. 

Remember a time when you did something for the first time.  Think about how awkward it felt.  Think of riding a bike, throwing a ball, or learning your job.  After a lot of attempts and some moments that are not graceful, the repetition brings improvement. We build our skills and eventually it becomes second nature.  Think about driving a car. For most of us it is so routine we don’t even think about it. Have you ever arrived at our destination only to realize that you don’t remember the drive?  We do it so automatically we lose awareness of how hard this was at first!

Do we do the same thing with maximizing our weaknesses and pretending?  Do we do it so often that it becomes automatic and second nature?

What if we made it second nature to make statements such as:

I love the way I look                              

I love the way I speak

I believe in myself

I am beautiful

I am successful

I am strong

I am capable

I will win

How might our world, our life be different if we didn’t allow other’s insecurities or discomfort mute our voice?  What if it became acceptable for all women and men to make bold statements without censure or judgment?  What if it were acceptable to have trust and faith in ourselves, to own our vision and life with confidence? 

The beauty of confidence and assurance is that it stems from a belief in ourselves and there is no room for comparison to others or for thoughts of being better than another.  This certainty comes from a knowing and accepting our weaknesses, honoring that we all come with many dimensions. It is built in the refusal to play the game by the rules of being so overly humble we lose part of our achievement.

In our purpose and in our potential there can be a quiet grace that is neither boastful nor meek.  In the true spirit of this we can lock honor ourselves and live our life in our own way, with purpose. 

Why don’t we then?  So why then is it so important to pretend failure is certain? Why is it acceptable and sometimes expected?  Why do we focus on failure when in fact, most often we have worked diligently to get to the start line. 

Fear of failure is the easy answer and is likely a part of it. I believe it is a simple answer but not the complete answer. So if fear of failure is the first answer, what are the layers underneath this?  How would others around us react?  Would it require us to stand true in our own self worth which is often uncomfortable?  What would others say about us, how would they perceive us, how would be judged? And perhaps the worst layer of all, what if we predict success and experience failure?  This may be the backbone of it all, but in truth it is never one thing that drives behavior it is a combination of our experiences, thoughts and emotions.  What is your motivation when you anticipate failure?  Are you making those around you comfortable, or do you insulate yourself from the embarrassment of any shortcomings?  Do you avoid the pain of being judged by those around you by staying at their level of insecurity?

In the next few days, before your next presentation, a race, or a performance, allow yourself to be the person you already are.  Be this person without maximizing your weakness and with acknowledgements of your strengths and preparation.  Allow yourself to humbly accept compliments, take credit and enjoy the glory of your achievements and work.  Inspire yourself and inspire those around you with the ability to allow grace and humility to live in the same world as pride and faith.

When you feel fear and think you could fail, acknowledge it in the same breath how much you grow with each attempt, and with every moment you live and risk. And when you hear someone else pretending they have already failed, be the healthy moment in their life. 

Be proud of yourself, set your own standards and declare your worth in your very own space.  Take responsibility for your growth, be diligent in increasing your insight and respectful enough to give someone else a hand up when they are in the middle of pretending.   Be confident enough to be the person you are supposed to be and no matter what, refuse to accept the pattern of selling yourself short.

The Real Glory

“The real glory is being knocked to your knees and then coming back. That’s real glory.” – Vince Lombardi

This has been my year to get knocked to my knees. And knocked again and then again. I cannot say I have had a year with as many challenges as this one.

I headed into this year with an Ironman registration, numerous marathons scheduled and a fierce plan to do it all. Although I knew a surgery was out there somewhere in my future I had no idea it was about to become “now”.

In January, less than 48 hours from flying home from Phoenix where I had run a marathon, I went to my doctor’s appointment knowing the news was not going to be great, but knowing I was going to stay the course no matter what. I remember in vivid detail the image on the screen of my spine, the fusion and the doctor saying “broke” and “now”. The reality of his words and his plan did not sink in until much, much later.

I had a plan, I couldn’t do surgery! Let alone a surgery that would put me out of the game for over a year. I tried every angle. “I am registered for Ironman, the surgery can wait right? Well then I can do the surgery right away and then still train for Ironman, right? Or maybe I can just wait again, like I had after China and Africa? No? The pain really hasn’t been that bad, I think I was just exaggerating. Ok but I will wait and we will work something out.” The harsh reality that I rarely admit to anyone is that many nights I woke up screaming, literally screaming from the pain. I really assumed if I could train a little harder or work on my form a little more I would figure out what I was doing wrong and it would be better.

A couple months before, giving a talk at a running club I had referred to the likelihood of a future surgery. I referred to it many times, but I don’t’ know that I really believed it. After all I had been getting away with “one more race” for a few years.

My doctor encouraged me to schedule the surgery before I left the office so I would have something planned. I did, but as I was scheduling it I was thinking there was no way in hell I was going through with it. I asked for the latest possible date they would allow and the scheduler went four weeks. I asked for six weeks, pushing the envelope. I left, drove to my office and by the time I made the 15 minute drive, reality was settling in. I was realizing the impact this may have. Training, races, commitments, work, life…all of it. I was going to lose everything I had planned for this year. I was also feeling a desperate amount of fear that I would lose everything I had already worked for. My biggest fear was I would never get it back?

The surgery was worse than I could possibly have imagined and at my two week follow up, my first comment to my doctor was a reference to his attempt at killing me. The actual recovery was made tolerable and at times enjoyable by an amazing group of friends and family that rallied in a way I would never have imagined possible. This included my little girl, my dog Annabelle. My best friend in the world, the creature that loved me beyond any love I have ever known, was with me for round two. Annabelle was 11 years old and at the time of my surgery was receiving treatment for an aggressive form of cancer. She had been an amazing source of healing through my first sugary in 2004 and she was with me again. She lay in my bed with me, she sensed my needs, and she loved me the way only a best friend can, just as she had the first time.

Annabelle hung in there for me and then suddenly, two months after my surgery, she was gone. Lying by my side in bed she left and finally got some peace. It remains one of the most painful and devastating losses I have experienced and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her desperately. The thought of her is still enough to bring me to tears. But in those tears and pain, gratitude lives by its side that she was here during the first months of my healing and by my side with her love.
I could go on with more major life events that have rocked my world this year, but at this point my life begins to sound like a country song. The summary is that I have been knocked to my knees more this year than anyone’s quota should ever be.

I had such a clear map for my life heading into the year and the outcome was clear in my mind and it was in my control. I feel a sarcastic irony as I ponder how far off course I am. My attempt at drawing my life map seemed to provoke some kind of pissed off karma!

Throughout this year I have heard over and over again how much others admire me and how inspirational I am. These and many other kind words are nice, but they never seem to fit me well. I am never comfortable with the statements so I work to accept them as graciously as I can.

I don’t’ say what I would really like to say, which is I am not inspirational at all. I am really just a person driven by fear and desperation and in my lucky moment’s maybe a bit of inspiration.

Following surgery I had permission to walk a few times a day. The limit was to be defined by my tolerance and pain. The lack of specific limits was a gift. My second day home from the hospital I was quite literally in tears attempting to walk to my dining room and will admit to some pretty fierce anger at my own pathetic state. In the anger at the most basic level I was quite simply afraid.

And so fear was my gift. And fear was my push three to four times a day. It drove me to keep going even when I was so tired and so slow I wanted to stop. Fear of failure, fear of stagnation, fear of losing my strength, fear of never being “there” again, fear of losing my determination, fear of everything! I am driven by the most powerful of motivators. By my 6 week check up I was walking 14 miles a day.

There was one more reason I kept pushing, something other than fear. Bigger and more powerful than the pain and the fear, my goal was clear.

My goal was quite simply to run. You see despite my plan to do Ironman, despite how much I enjoy cycling, despite my crazy desire to be able to do my own vacuuming and laundry again, the one goal that lives within me passionately is to run. Some people will read this statement and if they are a runner they will believe it and they get it. Others who are not runners will read that statement and make the usual comments people make when they don’t get it.

I can only explain that when I run, I am someone different. In my worst runs, in my highest level of pain, in my most miserable moments, I am a different woman when running. I am strong, I am fierce, I am a fighter and no one in this damn world is going to grab one piece of that from me. I am happy, I am peaceful, and I am confident and determined. I am complete and raw emotion and the emotion that lives within me contradicts itself at a rate of speed that is astonishing. Because in all of those things I am the fear, the challenge, the thought of quitting, the self doubt is living in there too. How do all of those emotions live in the simple act of me running? I am not sure except to acknowledge the beauty of a spirit is often in the depth of contradictions we experience and reflect.

In my real life the emotions and thoughts scream so loud I can hardly hear myself think. In the moments of reflection I am like everyone else, and just trying to prove the doubt can be quieted. Running is my gift, my therapy, my way of conquering the world and all of the hurts and pain it brings. But it is also my celebration, and is grateful for everything beautiful it delivers to my door. Running defines a part of me that cannot otherwise be defined and in many ways defines me.

So February 2011 found me once again fighting to walk to my dining room, then to the end of the drive way, then to the end of the block. I had been here before and anticipated I might be angry about being here. Instead, I found a surprising peace in the fight and the moments of fighting to get there are some of my best moments. It was an amazing discovery to feel the same inner celebration in reaching the end of my driveway as I did in reaching the end of a 50k. I realized it was a lesson in the importance of the journey versus the distance. I found a glory in getting back up.

I continue to find glory in this fight back and although I am slow in coming to acceptance, I find glory and pride in the midst of fighting back again. In 2004 I thought I would do this once and I would be “fixed”. I didn’t see the fight coming but I meet it every day.

In Annabelle’s departure, I have two new canine loves and my days are filled with the love of my three dogs. I am secure in the love of my family and friends and although the odds aren’t great I am the proud owner of another Ironman registration. The other things that have knocked me down this year, I will put in my basket of faith and know I can face the challenges.

Every day, every single day, I am grateful for this. I know in my heart as I say it that it is true. It doesn’t mean that I am not angry and that I don’t have resentful moments. Those who know me well have witnessed some of my tantrums which are heavy with profanity and not in the least bit logical. I feel fear thinking of what my future holds as I work to gain strength. I feel all of those things but at the end of the day I am still grateful EVERY day. How can I not be?

The gifts I have received through my journey are so many and so significant. The love and support of my family, my little Annabelle hanging in there with me until just after my surgery. An amazing group of friends who rallied around me in a way I would never have dreamed! And I am grateful because every single adversity I have ever faced in my life, no matter how big had made me better on the other side. I realized a long time ago, I am a fighter. And if I am fighting I am glad to be fighting for health.I am doing my first marathon since surgery in two weeks and no matter what my outcome I will be out there, getting back up.

"The most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well." -Pierre de Courbertin