Happiness

A Jeep ride with one of my girls, music playing, sun shining, her paw resting on me the whole way. Feeling loved!

Hitting the trails by 6 am on Sunday morning means I have them all to myself and the lake too. The stillness of the world is my peace.  

Results Final and Posted

Official Results

Ireland, Part I

In the mist and early morning blanket of gray which had settled heavily in the air, I could barely make out my rocking chair as I slowed my pace and pulled back slightly on the two leashes tethered to my waist.  Always happy to have a few more minutes of their run both dogs immediately wandered into the grass, absorbing themselves in the aromas and clues left behind overnight.  This far in the country it was a morning smorgasbord for their acute senses.

The mist and light fog clung to my skin, mixing with my sweat and hanging heavily on me, adding to the already significant emotional weight I carried.  It suited my pensive mood, which I had been trying to shake for days now.  The inner scolding in my head had been waging a constant war with my heart which chided me, and reminded me to be grateful for my upcoming trip.  Ireland was known to be a beautiful and mystical country, and I would be connecting with girlfriends I had not seen in far too long.  Yet I couldn’t quite feel in my heart what my mind was telling me I should be feeling.  In the furthest part of my heart there was a piece of me that didn’t want to go. 

In the weeks leading up to my trip, in the moments I should have been focusing on other things, important things I found myself ruminating over my inner turmoil and conflict.  How could I not be excited?  It had not been easy for me to swing this trip and I had had to work hard to make it happen. 

I carried out internal opening and closing arguments every day.  I always ran through the same checklist.  Was I afraid of a catastrophe, a plane or bus crash?  Nope.  Long ago tired of my desperate need to control the world around me, I had given up those large pieces of “what if” which are silly to even worry about.  Unless I am flying the plane or driving the bus I no longer allow myself to worry about it, because in the end it is not in my control anyway.   Ironically enough this epiphany happened as my knees pressed into my chest, jammed in the back of a Cessna, climbing to 10,500 feet.  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel the movement on my knees and as I tried to talk myself out of being too afraid to jump, I realized all the decisions were out of my hands already except that one.  Jumping was the only thing I had to worry about.  The pilot was in charge of the plane, the chute had been packed and I didn’t possess enough skill to do either anyway.  So the only thing I was in charge of was jumping and then staying in my head to make sure I deployed and landed safely.  This imaginary box I drew around what I could do was life changing and thankfully it has translated into other areas of my life as well.  Giving up control on that visceral of a level is either crippling or liberating and for me it was the latter.  Was I afraid of the run?  There was a piece of me which was apprehensive however I had the comfort of knowing I could drop my status to a lower distance, and that some of the other girls were likely going to do this as well.  So although I had not run since June 1, almost four weeks earlier, I wasn’t overly concerned about this either.  Which by the way, if rational is the benchmark, this should have been it.  A stress fracture in my foot which popped up only two weeks before I was to leave should have been the primary source of my angst.   Maybe, I thought, it was connected to being overtired and burnt out from long hours and little time off, with work and financial stressors at an all-time high.  But, I argued to myself, then I should have been looking forward to the break, and all I felt about being away from work was a slight sense of relief and a strong sense of apathy.

 In my daily introspect I could identify only one area which produced strong emotions and this was my dogs. 

In the four weeks since I lost my buddy of 14 years, my heart was still fragile when I thought of Tanner and experienced the daily reminders of his absence and how much I missed his big steady presence.  Ellie, my fierce and fragile rescue dog, shares an emotional enmeshment with me which is, I admit is uncanny most times.  She will mimic my facial expressions, she never leaves my side, she knows I am coming twenty minutes before I get home, and she refuses to leave her den for anyone else.  Maggie, my adorable little moppet of brown curls and tongue hanging out, loves the world.  However earlier this year when I was in Colorado she didn’t eat the entire time I was gone.  For any pain I have ever had in my life, my dogs provide the faith and love and healing which only unconditional, truly unconditional love can.  They give me safety, protection, significance and remind me daily to share with them the joy of the moment.  Ok so that was part of it, but it wasn’t IT.  And no matter how many times I returned to the loop, trying to unbundle the pieces which had now become woven so tightly together, I couldn’t come up with the answer.  I knew I would know it when I did, I knew it would resonate within me and then I would experience relief at the certainty of the answer and the promise of a solution.  Because surely as soon as I knew what it was which was creating this sensation of exposed and raw nerve endings, then I could find a way to address it sensibly and move forward with my trip and feel the way I knew I should. 

I write this in retrospect, having now returned from Ireland and am abashed at how myopic my vision was.  I truly was blind to the opportunity and experience I was about to encounter.  I am not always this nearsighted, my only defense, flimsy as it is, is the trials of the last two years. 

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs describes a pyramid with the base level consisting of food, water, shelter.  Only as you reach this and each successional layer can you realize self-actualization which includes fulfillment and contribution. It is my true nature is to live with a focus on self-actualization, the traits of this being a strong part of my value system and my daily discipline.  Yet, as it often does, life took a spin for me these last two years and the series of changes and life changing events had left me reeling and moving through my days with rote and routine.

What I couldn’t have known as I vainly attempted to diagnose my pensive state was how much I needed this and how much the world was about to come barging in and remind me of who I used to be and how much I had forgotten who that was. The pieces of me which I had lost along the way and at times just let go of were still there.  It took traveling across an ocean, running beyond what most consider possible and opening myself to the very real possibilities of being hurt, feeling vulnerable and facing what I had allowed to happen to myself.  And as so often happens, along with the progress comes pain and lessons which defeat me in the moment but strengthen every part of me eventually.  As only retrospect can do, looking back with the clarity of hindsight, I am grateful beyond what words can describe for my trip to Ireland. 

300 Complete!

 

 

Impossible is what I thought heading into the Celtic Traverse 300k.  Physically I was sure it was impossible for me given the timing.  Something so challenging on any day, with the limitations I had heading in and the circumstances I had been dealing with.  I promised myself to take it day by day and just run as much as I could each day.  And I did, running the full distance of the 300k all six days.  I was third overall and first place female.  I struggle to stop myself from making jokes about how slow everyone else would have been, because I detest bragging.  But I know to do this would be rude to the other people who ran and also minimize that I started this race with a significant injury.  I am proud of myself personally but most of all feel grateful that somehow and someway I was able to be there and do this race.  More to come later on how incredibly life changing it was for me.  For now I need to rest up for 50 mile event this weekend.  I should be dreading it after doing 50k for 6 days in a row, but I am excited!!

Answering Questions About a 100 Mile Run

A little over a  week has passed since I crossed the finish line of the Kettle 100.

I am still fielding questions and believe me I understand the challenge of wrapping your head around a 100 mile run.  My mom mentioned in a conversation that it was difficult to imagine running that far and I understand what she means.  Even though I physically did it, it is still hard for me to wrap my head around that kind of distance.  In my head it doesn’t seem like it was that long and to be honest, there was no point out there where it felt that long.

Here are some of the most common questions.

Do you stop at night to sleep?  No!  Stopping was a constant temptation.  The bonfires that were going to keep crew members warm were tempting and the hard plastic chairs looked as inviting as my bed ever has.  As much as every cell in my body screamed for a break,  I knew allowing myself a rest would be more than a break.   

The urge  became a battle in my head the last few hours.  If you could have recorded my internal thought process I would have qualified for any number of diagnosis, and my sanity was no longer in question.  It was just nowhere to be found.  I seemed to be stuck in a loop of the same thoughts over and over with the same rebuttal and argument.  “Stop, rest”.  “Just keep moving,  don’t stop”.   Repeat that at least one trillion times and that was my thought process for the final 15 miles.

Do you eat?  Yes, at least at first.  I had everything carefully planned out, labeled, sorted, marked, organized into bins, times and aid station marked.   I had calories, mg of sodium and hydration marked out hour by hour. Part of running this distance though it the necessity of flexibility. We have had a cold spring here in Wisconsin and my last long run three weeks ago was in rain, sleet and 30 degrees.  At the start it was already over 70 degrees,  the humidity was 80% and climbing.  We have had high amounts of rain which  meant the trails and woods were wet and humid, and the air was tropical even at 6 am.  Within the first hour I knew my initial estimates for sodium was not going to be enough, so I doubled my intake.  This worked OK, but by 4 pm, about 10 hours in, my body started refusing calories.  With a long way to go I knew this could be an issue, so I quickly came up with a new goal.  To make it through the race without vomiting. Judging by what I saw at aid stations a lot of runners were not so fortunate.   Nutrition from that point on was sporadic at best, it was a constant balance of trying to get something in me and to figure out what might stay down.  As long as I kept up my hydration and sodium I thought I could make it through.   As evening approached the aid stations started providing broth which would turn out to be a lifesaver for me, and just under the 100k mark, one of the stations had perky volunteers making grilled cheese!  It was the best sandwich ever!  

How do you run that distance?  Early in the day, I was surprised multiple times when I looked at my GPS.  The course, although extremely difficult was beautiful and I was feeling good.  I remember looking down several times and being completely surprised to see another 5 or 6 miles had clipped by.  It was clipping by and I was enjoying every moment of it.  Part of my strategy mentally is just running from aid station to aid station which makes it feel like a bunch of shorter runs clumped together.  The camaraderie of ultra-runners is also amazing and even though most of us were out there running on our own, there is a genuine encouragement versus competitiveness among runners.  Whether it was someone coming back on a loop meaning they were really far ahead of me or someone I was passing, no one ever passed without an encouraging comment.  I was shocked and surprised that I didn’t hit a wall until after the 100k mark. The training I had done had prepared me well.  Through the night as my pace slowed,  I kept trying to figure out what was wrong.  I had slowed down, I was tired and cold and the miles started to feel really long.  In my head I caught myself a hundred times trying to determine if it was an issue of fuel or hydration.  Then I would laugh at myself realizing that at 3 am after running for 21 hours, it wasn’t any of those things.  I was just tired!!  And then 5 minutes later I would be mentally checking my list of what I had taken in, trying to figure out why I was falling short.  Mental smack. “ You are just tired, you should be tired.  Oh yeah.”  Repeat.

The race was officially 100.8.  On any normal day .8 is not a big deal.  The last few hours of the morning though, I had fantasies of stopping exactly at 100 miles and making them move the finish line to me. 

Would I do it again?  Without a doubt.  Despite the pain, the fatigue, the challenges that come with it there  is nothing quite like it.  It is sense of pushing myself in a way I will never be able to put into words and a feeling of empowerment which is priceless.   It is a sense of coming face to face with your deepest layers and your deepest fears.  It is facing them, acknowledging them and knowing that no matter what they are you will be OK and you have what it takes.  It is a personal accountability and a personal challenge to survive the highs and lows and to know you can go from heaven to hell and back again, but in the end smile as you hit the finish line. 

Pictures from kerrie

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Tanner

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning In The Soul of Animals Gary Kowalski writes about our animals that they are "closer than our own breathing-and our soul will suffer when they are gone."  It is a  selfish suffering, a suffering about what I miss from him.  His big steady presence, his quiet strength, his ability to know with uncanny precision when he needed to come and stand alongside me.  He made me laugh, at times he made me cry, but he always made me love.  So in selfishness I miss all he gave me and the whole in my heart is in the shape of his unconditional dedication to loving me.  The third and empty food dish breaks my  heart and my eyes are swollen from crying.  Despite the pain which feels as though is about to break me, I wouldn't trade one single day with him to avoid the pain.  I love you buddy, sleep well and tell Bell Bell how much I love her too.  

Blessed and Grateful~ Womens Adventure Magazine

Once again it is impossible for me to express how grateful I am for the opportunity to be able to share my journey.  Thank you for all of the comments and emails so far, I am responding to every single one I promise.  I am not even halfway through yet, so if you have not heard from me, hold on it is coming.  Here is the link to check out my latest on Womens Adventure .

Counting Down

Colorado Pics~Next Stop Virginia:)

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Defining Moments

My mom being a trooper taking
 a  ride in my Jeep despite the forecast for rain! 

"This will be the first time I don't have to move out in the middle of the night."

A simple statement from my mom had the impact of a punch in the stomach when I was least expecting it.  I felt it slam into my chest,  the whoosh of air leaving me breathless. My chest locked down, my stomach hurt and the burning shame of memories closed off my throat, causing a dull ache in my forehead.  

I think I responded, and I must have managed to respond almost normally.  I somehow kept talking and the phone to my ear. I am not sure how, because while my mouth and body were carrying on a conversation, my heart and my soul were spinning back in time and re-living every midnight move of my childhood.  

There were many.  They were always unexpected.  A middle of the night wake up, and an order to pack everything, dictated by his mood and alcohol levels. We would have  a couple hours to grab what we could.  Then we were off hurdling down a dark highway toward a new town and new levels of uncertainty. There was never a chance to tell friends, get addresses or say good bye to your favorite things.   It was before Facebook, Twitter and even email, so as we drove away leaving layers of our life behind one more time, it was another goodbye with no forwarding address. There was no new house to live in, we would simply find it once we got where we were going, which hadn't yet been decided.  

The phone still to my ear, I struggled to come back to the moment. Gripping the phone I forced myself to pay attention to what she was saying.  Several weeks ago I finished the last detail of buying a house for my mom.  Although I am proud of this, pride is secondary to the relief I feel at giving her a place to live which will finally be hers.  After years of living in other people's spare rooms, ranch hand quarters, hotel rooms for staff, and rental houses that sometimes had no finished walls or flooring, she had settled for the last 20 years in an apartment.  When she moved in it was nicer than anywhere else she had lived. Today it is a disgustingly neglected unit with apathetic and uncaring management.  

For years I have worked hard to be in a position to give her a stable home, a house that feels like home and has room to grow flowers, hang a bird feeder and allow her to paint the walls whatever color she wants.  Her only window these past 20 years has been a patio door with a view of the highway.  

In the last few weeks, I hear excitement in her voice every day as she talks about having a yard, sitting outside on the screen porch, planting flowers, having sunshine and a view from her living room.  Although she has repeated the same statements over and over, each time I listen again, smiling.

I smiled up until I heard  "You know what the best part is?" 

"What is that?"  Expecting another round of excitement about extra closet space.

"It will be the first time I don't have to move out in the middle of the night."  

A punch in my gut, packed with memories.  Remembering every one of those  midnight moves.  The tears I couldn't shed because it would have made him even more angry.  The pain of lost friendships, lost memories, and an identity never quite formed.  The pain of being the new kid again, the outcast.  A combination of my poor kid clothes and a protective shield I held high,  kept anyone from getting too close.  The shame of my life, my family, my story and the fear of someone discovering who I really was, made it easy after a while to leave the towns behind.  Easier but never less painful.

Maya Angelou defines an epiphany this way. "It probably has a million definitions. It's the occurrence when the mind, the body, the heart, and the soul focus together and see an old thing in a new way."   What I hadn't realized during this process,  was I wasn't just buying my mom a house or a home.   I was buying her freedom from the only way she had ever experienced change in her life.  I was buying her a chance to do this the right way and in a way she could talk about, brag about and look forward to.  It was the first time ever she had been able to talk about moving before she did and the first time she could tell other people!

As we wrapped up our call that night, I managed to hit the button to disconnect before I sank to the floor and cried  the sobs of a little girl and years of choked back tears.  I cried so hard my eyes hurt and my stomach hurt.  I held my dogs close as they rushed in to comfort me and I cried for all I left behind each time we got the wake up call.  Twenty six times before the age of 15.  I cried until I physically could not cry anymore and my exhaustion gave me a respite from the overwhelming grief of all that had been lost and taken.  Hearing her sound so happy  should have been a happy moment and I am happy for the moments my mom will have in the first home that will be hers.  The reason I have some happiness only exists because of the gut wrenching pain, which adds an indescribable layer to it. It brings a lost and vacant feeling that comes with  years of homelessness and wandering,  searching for  new places to be homeless.

  

So many things in life start out as one thing and turn into something else.  I wish I only felt the single dimension of joy and happiness and anticipation that she does.  The truth is, without the shame and pain as a driving force I am not sure this would have been on my bucket list. Would I have had the drive and dedication to do this for her?  I can handle all the sharp angles this comes with,  as long as she just feels the happiness.  Because that is what this particular journey was about anyway.  Her happiness. And I smile with tears in my eyes as my mom tells me for the hundredth time "do you know what the best part is going to be?".....  This was a defining moment for me and in the pain I see the old things in a new way.  I wish it didn’t hurt so much but I am grateful beyond measure to hear only joy in her voice.  As the memories raced through my mind, body and heart felt the full impact,  I wouldn’t trade it for a moment. 

Don't play safe

If each experience we have adds a piece to our lives, then I became a bit stronger today as the thermometer read frigid and my teeth chattered in the single digit temperatures and below zero wind chills. The sun was deceptively bright making it look like a beautiful day.  The reality of the biting cold was anything but, and no matter where I stood or moved I could not get warm.

The beer tent evidently was enough of an insulator for some, as they ran around in shorts and T-shirts and some even less.  Men in underwear were running around, men that should never be publicly seen in underwear. Struggling to comprehend their indifference to the cold, I waited until the very last possible moment to shed my layers.  I had intentionally avoided the plunge area, not wanting to see what I was about to do. There are times ignorance is bliss and I wanted to hold onto my ignorance as long as possible.  Finally getting in line, my stomach danced with the anticipation and the realization of what I was about to do, denial being ripped from me in quick layers. Why was I doing this?  I could have said no.  But I never say no to things that scare me, in fact I intentionally always say yes. The more it scares me the quicker I am to say yes, shifting into a stubborn five year old girl stamping my feet and going toe to toe with fear.

There is no preparing for something like this, yet it is impossible to avoid the imagined experience in anticipation.  I knew it would be bad, but I had no idea how painfully bad it would be.  As we stood on the edge of the hole we were going to jump into, I settled into the familiar lack of feeling.  Much like skydiving once you are in the plane and on the way, you begin to disconnect from the anxiety and the motions become automatic.  The decision had been made long before this and despite my fantasies of imagined escape there was no way I would have backed out.  So standing there looking at the water, the ritual of a decision already made took over. Wanting to just move I grabbed the hand on either side of me and we jumped. 

The physical shock is indescribable and the pain is so overwhelming and intense that my mind could not keep up. Yet I was painfully aware my brain was falling way too far behind. Like a sideline spectator I distantly heard a screaming voice telling me to move, move faster and get out.  Yet the paralysis of shock made it seem impossible to breathe and move.  I struggled to fight through the mental fog slowing my brain but the pain in every cell of my body made it impossible.  I had assumed  the dive team in the hole was for emergencies. But as they verbally directed me to keep moving, to go toward them, grabbing my hand and helping me toward the exit I understood they were not so much for emergencies but to prevent them.  Immediately as I  the water I was physical and mental shock, beyond description overwhelmed me and I lost all rational thought.

Recently I have been priveleged to do some clinical work with veterans and the reminder of how long some have endured daily and repeated stress, pain and suffering was with me as I stood on the edge of the hole.  I reminded myself this was a short and brief pain I was about to feel, with a known end and safety guaranteed.  Questioning what I could endure with this reminder put things in perspective.

I didn’t change the world today by jumping into a 30 degree lake. I raised money for Special Olympics and I was part of a shared experience and  I took a leap outside of my comfort zone.  Part of my life philosophy is to be something and represent what I believe is important.  I was true to that today for me the plunge was simply another opportunity to step up, to be part of a team, to step into fear, and to be part of something bigger.  It is a little piece of my foundation and added to who I am.  I didn’t play safe.

Humbling Courage

Most of my life has been spent outside the lines, being a bit different and not fitting into the averages. My early years are a story of traveling, living in cars, hotels, horse ranches, orange orchards and other bizarre places.  We never lived in one place very long, we didn’t stay long enough to make friends and the constant transitions meant I never really fit in anywhere I went. 

Throughout my life, the pain of this this uniqueness  paid off in many ways and most days I am proud of my stance in my beliefs and my ability to be different from others.  The silver lining in my odd childhood was I had traveled through most states by the time I was in middle school and geography was a cinch, since I had been through the map several times over.  My ability to be different and unique has been a solid foundation many times in life, but the fear and aloneness that comes with it can be painful.  Sometimes I find myself on the brink of melting into the crowd so I can belong and be liked.

Most of us have a painful experience or two from childhood that sticks with us because of the emotional intensity it leaves in its wake.  If that statement made you think back to one of these, you probably felt it somewhere in your body.  Your chest tightened, maybe your face flushed, your shoulders tensed.  You felt that hot pit in your stomach.  It might have been a word or more from someone, it might have been a disagreement, and it might have been a comment from an adult or teacher.  One of my experiences was walking into yet another new school and starting new classes with new faces.  I was in eighth grade, and on top of dealing with the awkwardness that comes with that age, my clothes were not cool and it was the only set I had.  My uncoolness radiated from me as I slipped into a seat and tried to stay off of anyone’s radar.  It never worked.  Within  minutes I was overwhelmed with the heat of shame that comes from knowing you don’t belong and never will.  The things the boys said to me have faded, but the feeling in my stomach, my heart, my head remain vivid. I have come to know them as the red flags of shame.  I know the feeling and  to this day it triggers a hot angry response in me.  The shame of not being good enough, the shame of comparing yourself to others and falling short. 

The pain and anxiety of being different from others is tough to step into and it takes courage to endure this with grace and dignity.  Back then, in eighth grade I wasn’t so good at it.  Up to fifth grade, I hid from those kinds of taunts.  After that I discovered fighting and the power it had, back then the only power I could find.  Growing up with two brothers and a hard ass father  I was good at fighting. I learned that I got immediate respect when I kicked the ass of the boys who taunted me.  It didn’t mean I fit in but people did leave me alone.  Not exactly the result I wanted but the taunting usually stopped. 

As an adult, after  years of work and brutal self-reflection I began to learn to tolerate the pain and stand by my beliefs and to let go of what people thought.  I learned the courage of standing tall but proud in the face of bad behavior and after years of practice I got much better at not taking it personally. 

I still intensely dislike feeling uncertain, and I try like hell not to be rejected.  Welcome to the human race I guess.  I have amazing friends and am so incredibly grateful for them, yet I’m cautious and have to push myself to take the risk, taking the chance of being hurt.  I feel the weight of the gamble, and the chance of feeling stupid aka shame for being a sucker.  Because if I get hurt that is what I am right?  How many times have you thought that very thing?  Said those words to yourself….”I am so stupid” ,  “ I knew better” ,  “ How many times do I have to get hurt” …..

As an adult who has accomplished some good things in life, I still find myself standing on the fringes many days, not sure where I fit in and feeling as though I don’t.

I want to belong and in some ways I do, certainly more than I ever thought possible in my younger years.  I have gained enough confidence and self-worth that I no longer come out swinging  to shame and rejection.  Nor do I shrink back and make myself invisible.  Both are still tempting and at times instinctive for me, but discipline practiced year after year have helped break this pattern.

Today I felt the sting of shame deep in my stomach and  the worst part is I didn’t realize it was shame until hours later.  I felt the anxiety of being different, of not belonging, of standing by my beliefs but even more of standing up for myself and my own importance.  I forgot today that this is courage, because I still think of courage as feeling strong and powerful.  In fact, courage today felt small and anxious and uncertain and different and scary and alone.  Courage didn’t feel big to me today, it was painful emotions and I struggled to take responsibility for those emotions let alone be responsive to them.  Brene Brown defines the first step one of being wholehearted as letting go of what other people think.  Being wholehearted is ironically enough the opposite of shame.  I was humbled today by how little progress I have made in life in my childlike desire to be liked, to belong, to be approved of and to fit in.  I spent entirely too much time today on other people’s opinions which meant I didn’t  honor my own emotions or  honor my courage to be different and true to my principles. 

The lesson from this isn’t entirely clear yet, and whatever it is will be challenging to face in it’s entirely.  It will mean standing out, and standing up.  It will include painful moments no doubt but that is usually the most valuable lesson. If strength, character and courage come from tolerating this type of pain, the pain of not belonging, it was something I developed early on in life. It is hard to step into the pain and accept that its part of the experience and part of my choice.

 

2013