Category Archives: Smelly Armchair Musings

Smelly Armchair Musings: I will try

“Child, finish what you started.”

I often speak to myself in this manner when I’m in a low spot while running. For some reason, it makes me feel a little better to encourage or nudge myself as if I’m a child: the adult in me is comforting the child in me. I’m pretty sure I don’t have spilt personality, but maybe….

Three years ago I started something big. After having run a few 50K’s, I decided it was time to run a bigger ultra: I signed up for the Javelina Jundred K. At the time, this race consisted of four washing machine loops on Pemberton Trail in McDowell Mountain Regional Park. I was cocky. I’d run this trail numerous times. It is a pretty clean trail, very few rocks, very little elevation change, wide as a highway. It really is a great location for a first ultra-distance. My first 50K and 50 miler were both there (the 50 miler took place after the event being described here). So, as any runner is wont to do, I began training and I trained through the summer. My training, however, was inappropriate for what I was tackling. In my cockiness, I didn’t recognize it at the time. I did the typical back-to-back long runs on the weekends, but they weren’t long enough. My overall weekly mileage was too low. I didn’t cross train to make up for this. The trails I trained on were inappropriate for the terrain I would be covering on race day. Race morning dawned, I took fun pictures with my friends before the start and then we started. I had one good loop, two terrible loops, and I quit.

“But”, I’ve said to myself, “your IT band was in BAD shape. You were limping and walking that entire third loop. You couldn’t have done another loop!” Really? I really couldn’t do another loop? I had all night long and part of the next day still for crying out loud! “It would have been unwise to continue.” Maybe, unlikely, but maybe. Now, three years later, it’s too late and I will never know for sure.

This is the one that got away. This was my first DNF. I was blogging at the time, but I didn’t blog about this. I was ashamed. Ashamed of what? Everyone DNF’s at some point, who cares? I cared. I didn’t finish what I’d set out to do. I went into it all arrogant and presumptuous. “Oh whatever, it’s just Pemberton, no big deal.” I was ashamed of my failure. Ashamed that I’d been so cocksure and failed. Ashamed that I didn’t finish.

Well, that race taught me everything. First and foremost, never, ever, EVER quit. The runner’s adage, “If the bone ain’t showin’, keep on goin’.” is a true statement, but I didn’t realize it until I did quit. I stopped because I didn’t want to go on. It was dark, my knee hurt, my pride was hurt, I was tired, I was emotional, I quit. This failure at JJK has driven me at races and difficult runs since. Now, I will make them pull me from the course, I will not quit.

“Child, finish what you started.”

When deciding what my running goals for 2017 would be, I decided I wanted, no, NEEDED to finish what I’d started. At the beginning of the year, I had attempted 3 distances that were 50+ miles. I’d DNF’d two out of three, and that was shitty. Failure hung over me. Nobody else cared about this, but I did. Was I actually capable? Could I do this? I didn’t see the point in signing up for other, new 50 mile or 100K distances if I couldn’t even finish the ones I’d already tried. I would try to finish what I’d started.

This lead me to put my name in for Zane Grey again, when I’d already decided I wouldn’t run that again anytime soon. I got in, and by the toenails on my feet I finished it. FINISHED IT! YES! It wasn’t pretty. In fact, it was ridiculously horrible (my pacer Amy told me recently that she was starting to get a little concerned towards the end when I began sort of singing quietly, all mumbly under my breath), but that’s ok, I made it! Okay, one goal down. Now on to the evil angel who haunts my dreams, Javelina Jundred K.

After a full month’s rest from Zane, I began training for JJK this week. I will be seeing a lot of Pemberton and the canal. Two places which rate fairly low (REALLY low) on my scale of desirable places to run (Where is the climbing? The technicality? I need mountains! Adventure!). The bright side though? They are not road, and they are fast. I’m hoping this translates into more time at home with my family, even though I’ll be running a ton, since I won’t need to be driving very far, and I can run a whole lot faster at either of those places than on any of my favorite trails. For instance, for my first long training run that took place this weekend, I did “Loop 2” of the race course, somewhere around 19 miles, in 3.5 hours (and it was hot, and I ran out of water, just sayin’). Nothing to write home about, but this same distance in the mountains would have taken me probably at least 5 hours, plus extra drive time. I got home in plenty of time to brag on Strava, shower, and go see Wonder Woman (I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS MOVIE! I will be watching it at least 10 more times, probably way more! Strong, beautiful women, RAR!) with my family.

I will still be hopping up to the mountains. They hold my heart. I cannot stay away. But a significant portion of my time, and likely any blogs I get around to writing, will center around my “adventures” at Pemberton, or on the canal. It’s not the location that makes the adventure, it’s the person!

“Child, finish what you started.”

I will try: October 28, 2017

 

 

 

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Runner’s Lullabye

All you have is your fire
And the place you need to reach
Don’t you ever tame your demons
But always keep them on a leash

       Arsonist’s Lullabye, Hozier

2016 is wrapping up and I finally find myself in a frame of mind to write again. This year has been hard, very hard. Actually, the beginning of it was great, but I’m here now, at the end, so I will write about the latter half.

Adjusting to graduate school was difficult and something I wasn’t ready for, but I doubt I ever would have been. Kind of like a race, it’s something you just have to jump in and do. I never handle difficulty with grace, EVER. I would love to handle everything looking like Audrey Hepburn, but instead I am… well… see below….

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Plus, I think it makes people a little teeny bit uncomfortable when they greet you with, “Hey, how are you?” and you answer with, “Shitty.” Sometimes I try to make it a little more palatable with things such as, “Meh”, “It’s rough”, or “I’m hanging in there”, but even those make people kind of chuckle a bit and move on. I dunno, I hate the fake. What can I say?

So I ran.

A beloved family member died suddenly and unexpectedly half way through the semester. I’m not sure I will ever be completely okay from that. I have this big ass brain and can do the science, but I cannot understand how this person is no longer here. Seriously makes no sense to me. Random things remind me of them and I start crying at inappropriate moments (see images above).

So I ran.

These past few months have brought a multitude of other things which I will not go into here. Wrenching things. Things I don’t understand. I am left here alone, fractured, shattered, and yet, I have grown. I am certainly not who I was at the beginning of this year; I have hurt, I have aged, I am changed.

And I run.

This broken heart has found beauty through running; the pain driving me to seek and to move. I have explored innumerable new trails. I have seen new views. I have met incredible new people. I have eaten new foods. I have learned more about my fears. The dark night is my blanket and the dawn my lover. I run with them, I find grace in them, and I am whole.

All I have is my fire
And the place I need to reach
I will never tame my demons
But always keep them on a leash

Smelly Armchair Musings: On My Zane Grey 50 and DNF’ing

How do you write about a failure? How do you share it in a way that reflects your true feelings, but that is also palatable to those around you? I don’t know. So I’ll just do like I tell my children and “word vomit”, letting the words fall where they may.

I went into the Zane Grey race with trepidation. I’d injured my calf and I had taken time off to try to let it heal. I had no idea how Zane would go.

The night before I scoped out the start line so I’d know where I was going in the morning. The smell of pines in the air was fresh and wonderful. I walked the first few feet of the trail barefoot and enjoyed the dirt underfoot.

Race morning came and the start was electric. Everyone was excited and talking and there were so many friends there! That was wonderful, but I was very in my head, making it difficult to engage very much.

The race began in the dark, so headlamps bobbed and flashlights weaved. We were tight together on the trail, rubbing elbows, watching out for pine cones. We were an ebbing and flowing stream, slowing and accelerating as one.

My injured calf felt okay until, while still within that first mile I stumbled and caught myself on it. It had felt a little tight but at this point it cramped up and felt rotten, ripped. I tried to keep running and couldn’t, so I moved to the side and started walking. I contemplated going back to the start line. If I couldn’t run, what the hell was I going to do? I tried stretching it. Eventually the raw feeling calmed down and I was able to maintain a light jog.

I recognized the voices of friends up ahead of me on the trail as the quiet grey light of early dawn began to give shape to the forest around us. It was peaceful, incredible, fulfilling, but what was wrong with my body? Calf aside, my body felt sluggish, bonky, and at the slightest incline my heart was racing. In a race filled with uphills, that wasn’t a good sign. What to do? Go back to the start? It was close. Or keep going?

A little back story on DNF’ing. Two years ago I made my first attempt at a 100K at the Javelina Jundred in McDowell Mountain Regional Park. It consisted of four loops on the Pemberton Trail, a trail I know well. My first two loops were fine, but my third loop was not. Excruciating IT Band pain hobbled me and I walked the entire third loop. I started out power hiking, but by the end of this loop I’d cried a legion of tears and was unable to bend my knee. 45 miles in and I called it. I didn’t have another loop in me. I DNF’d. But was that my best? Was that everything I had to give? It was evening at the end of that third loop which bolstered the feeling of hopelessness. What if I had slept for a few hours and tried for that last loop? My knee still would have hurt, but could I have made it? I don’t know, and I’ll never know now. That DNF taught me something so cliché, but something I think we each must learn on our own and in our own way; never give up. I was ashamed of this race, ashamed I didn’t finish it, ashamed of the unknown, and so I never really talked about it, and certainly never blogged about it, until now.

And so, as awful as I felt so early in my benchmark race, I would not give up. I resolved to make them pull me off the course. If I was ahead of the cut-offs for each aid station then I would keep going.

I made it into the first aid station at 8 miles doing okay. I think I was thirty minutes ahead of the cut off, so I was doing fine. Plus, a number of my friends were here volunteering. It is such a boost to see familiar faces along the race- I love it!

At some point, Meghan Trainor’s “Dear Future Husband” began making its rounds through my head.

The whole race ran along the base of the Mogollon Rim. It was incredible and I knew I was desperately, head over heels, in love with this trail. I snapped photos with my phone, moving as quickly as I could. At the second aid station I was greeted by more friends. I was still ahead of the cut-off, though not as far.

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Dang it Meghan Trainor. How many times can one line of a song go through one person’s head?

Third aid station- I was definitely slipping but still ahead of the cut off, so I ate quickly and got out of there.

Zane Grey

At Zane Grey 50 Mile Race

The next aid station was where my husband and children would be waiting for me and was at mile 33.5, just 9.5 miles from the third aid station. But I was so slow. So slow. My body was done. My quads were shot. I wanted to quit. I wanted to just sit down and be done, right there on the side of the trail. But how would I get to my family? I had to keep moving: no sitting, no stopping, no quitting, one foot in front of the other. But I was so slow. Nothing was working correctly. I trudged along, thoughts of Javelina flitting through my head, and Meghan Trainor of course. I cried, feeling sorry for myself, starting to give up, then, “No Amber! No quitting! No slowing down on purpose! Keep going!” Then I cried again, listened to the Meghan Trainor song in my head again, thought about Javelina again, the cycle continued. I refused to look at my watch because I didn’t want to know how slowly I was moving. I was POSITIVE I was behind cut off and would be done at Fish Hatchery.

I came upon a section of trail that looked odd- I was pretty sure I was on track, but I was getting all messed up in my head and hadn’t seen any ribbons. Just behind me were two men who said we were good and on trail still. Then one of them said we were still fine, still ahead of cut-off. What??!?!?!? How??!?!?! I was disappointed because I wanted to be done so badly, but I still had a chance and I really did want to finish. We ran into the aid station. And I burst into tears, there was my family and more friends. Everyone had been worried about me- I was hours behind when I normally would have made it to this point. I had to make a decision- keep going or be done? I only had ten minutes to get out of that aid station if I was going to keep going. Everything hurt, I didn’t want to go anymore, and the next section was supposed to be the hardest of the entire trail. I was a hot mess, but I would not repeat Javelina. I grabbed food and water and got out of there. I asked my husband to meet me at the next aid station, See Canyon, because I didn’t know if I’d make it there in time and because if I did, I needed to see him.

I walked out of the aid station, eating as I went. Meghan Trainor kept up her noisy vigil in my head. I crossed streams, I got passed by other runners. I reflected on the fact that for the first time in my life I was running in the back of the pack, it was a new experience for me. I wasn’t trying to beat anyone, I certainly wasn’t being competitive, I was just trying to finish.

 

More people passed me. Then, the dreaded event happened- the sweeps caught me. They were very kind. They made sure I was okay and then they hung back and gave me my space. I appreciated that because then I cried a bunch. I’d already climbed the big hills, the rest was relatively easy-ish into See Canyon so damn it but I was going to cover it running. Ha-ha, running! It was a running motion, but it was as fast as I could go.

Meghan Trainor ran with me. Then she walked with me when I couldn’t hold that motion anymore- but I did power hike like a crazy white suburbanite mom in the park on a Tuesday morning. The soothing grey of evening began filtering in through the trees, slowly blurring the edges and making the forest soft again. The breeze brushed against my skin. I could hear the people at the aid station, and then I was there. Again, the rushing torrent of tears erupted out of my face as I hugged my husband with my nasty self. About 46 miles in and just 6.8 miles left of the race, I’d missed the cut off by about 15 minutes. I was pulled.

Sitting in the dirt, I cried in disappointment and relief. So close. However, Meghan Trainor was finally gone, thank goodness.

I’d failed. I DNF’d my race. I was angry. Sad. Disappointed. Frustrated. And yet oddly, I was incredibly proud of myself. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d left every last piece of me out there on that trail. I gave everything that I had and on this day it wasn’t enough. There was peace in that. I’d found a new strength in that which wasn’t there when I began the race that morning. I’d heard many people say that the majority of ultra-running is mental and I’d thought I understood that- I hadn’t. Whenever I get to attempting my first hundred I’m sure I’ll revisit my understanding of the mental capacity required in ultra-running, but for this day I had a new found knowledge.  

So, now you hold my word vomit in your hands, filled, apparently, with a ridiculous amount of tears (what can I say, I’m an emotional person). What will you do with it?

😉

Run on.

Smelly Armchair Musings: On Scary Dreaming

“If your dreams do not scare you, they are not big enough.” – Ellen Johnson Sirleaf

 
Full quotes, even short ones, don’t typically stick with me. I think, “Oh, that’s nice”, “inspirational”, “funny” etcetera, and then I forget about it. I don’t know where I first heard the above quote, but it is one that has never left my mind. It is also one that I gain a deeper understanding of as the years go by.

I began running and going back to school at approximately the same time. Then, I didn’t have a specific direction, I didn’t know where I wanted to go, I didn’t have a definitive goal in mind. I just knew I wanted…. something. Needed… something. I began running as something that was just for me. It was mine and it belonged only to me. I’d also had babies and I really didn’t want to be fat, so there was that. I’d never been into sports, and had never done cross country, so this was new territory to me. The more I ran, the more I realized what an amazing gift our bodies are, how capable and strong they can be. I started going back to school because I’d always enjoyed school, excelled at it as a matter of fact (except in handwriting- I’m really, horribly bad at handwriting). While I loved my children and our family, I just couldn’t stay at home. Again, I needed an indefinable…. something. There was this ache, this need, there was something I needed to be doing and I wasn’t doing it. I felt like God had gifted me an ability to learn, and I owed it to myself to see where that would lead.

In the beginning, running was not a dream. It just was. I was doing something, and that was all that mattered. I started out running with the plan to just be able to run one mile. It was difficult, but I was able to do it. Then I had a friend who said, “Hey! Let’s run a half marathon!” While life took that friend and I in different directions, I’m sure if you’ve read my blog for any length of time you know that those were fateful words; running long distances is now a passion. At the time, a half marathon was a scary long distance. I didn’t know if I could do it; it was well beyond my capacity. Not at all so now.

In the beginning, school and a career were not dreams. Wanting to see what I could do, I first pursued an Associate’s degree, then a Bachelor’s degree. I honestly never thought I’d finish the Bachelor’s. Not because I didn’t think I was capable but because it was intangible to me- you could almost say it was a baby dream. I couldn’t really wrap my mind around it. Then, suddenly, it was done. Of course I knew when I’d have all my credits completed, and I did really well in school, and yet, I was just done so suddenly, I didn’t know what to think.

My husband mentioned once that somehow in me, my running and my pursuit of school and a career are intricately intertwined. This is true.

For me, a long race is all about breaking it down into manageable parts, staying on top of the important things (food, hydration), and keeping a steady pace. School has been that too. I broke that down into degrees (Associate’s, Bachelor’s) and when even those became such big pieces that I couldn’t handle them, I broke it down into semesters. Sometimes, when I was crying in bed because it… was… all… so… very… hard… I had to break it down into individual assignments. Sometimes that was the only way I made it through, and that also kept me on top of the important things. I had to take a little longer than many of my peers to finish school, taking fewer credits at a time, in order to keep a steady pace and be able to finish each semester. Long runs are like this. Sometimes the parts that sounded easy and manageable in the beginning are way too big. When you are crying on the side of the trail because you are puking, everything hurts and is falling apart, and you still have oh so very far to go, you must instead simply become one foot in front of the other. There is no other way to the finish line.

Upon completion of my Bachelor’s, my PhD dreams became more real, and that is when my dreams actually began to scare me. The quote from the beginning of this post is from Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, the first female president of Liberia, from her speech to the Harvard graduates of 2011. The above quote is part of her speech wrap-up, and yet her entire closing is full of impact and meaning:

“The size of your dreams must always exceed your current capacity to achieve them. If your dreams do not scare you, they are not big enough. If you start off with a small dream, you may not have much left when it is fulfilled because along the way, life will task your dreams and make demands on you. I am, however, bullish about the future of our world because of you. We share one defining characteristic that prepares us to transform our world — we are all Harvard University graduates. When we add to that the traditional quests for excellence for which we are known, there is no telling what we can accomplish.
Go forth and embrace a future that awaits you.”

Did you catch that? “The size of your dreams must always exceed your current capacity to achieve them.” I’m now scared- pursuing my PhD scares me.

Back in the fall, I entered my name into the lottery for Zane Grey. A little background; coming across the Zane Grey 50 mile trail race was the first time I’d ever heard of ultra-running. This race runs point to point on the Highline Trail from Pine to Christopher Creek near Payson, AZ. The description on the website says, “Regarded as the toughest, roughest and most beautiful 50 mile trail runs in the country.” Running this race has been a dream of mine since I first heard about it, and yet it has never been anything I thought I could ever do. My friend Kathi pushed me, as good friends are wont to do, into entering my name into the lottery (she entered her name too). In order to enter my name and even be considered I had to list my prior ultra finishes. I did so, but felt wholly inadequate, knowing I would not be chosen. I mean, this was ZANE we were talking about, and who was I? Guess what? I got in. I’m now scared- pursuing Zane scares me.

While Ms. Sirleaf’s speech was directed towards Harvard graduates, it is applicable to all people. Not all of us are Harvard graduates, not all of us will become the president of a country, and yet, every last one of us has a dream of some kind. Do you want to be a mother? Father? Astronaut? Engineer? Gardener? Runner? Hiker? Swimmer? Dreams are transforming. I know I’m not the same person I was when I began this journey. What began as an indefinable urge to DO SOMETHING has metamorphosed into definable dreams. My dreams have changed me, scared me, and will continue to change me and grow me. Perhaps as a part of this process I can have a positive, transforming impact on my little corner of the world.

PhD, Zane Grey, these bring a good scared to my soul. They are big to me. Huge. They are beyond my known capacity. What if I fail? There is always that possibility and it makes me want to throw up in my mouth… a lot. But do you know what is even scarier to me? What if I never even tried? That, my dear reader, is tinged with regret, and regret is something I will not willingly choose.

Smelly Armchair Musings: On the Beauty of Being Yourself

“Just follow her feet. Just follow her feet. Just follow her feet. Oh god, where is the aid station?”

On this day, February 9, 2013, I ran with my friend Dawn at my first ultra, the Pemberton 50K. I’d wanted to “be an ultra-runner” for a while, and on that day I’d set out to try to earn that badge. I was a newb.

Dawn; she is amazing. She’s run numerous races, ultra and not, all over the place. She is kind and always has a smile and a word of encouragement for everyone. She loves her family, loves her friends, and loves the trails. This woman exudes calm, acceptance, generosity, kindness, humbleness, and grace. She taught me so much about myself, and all while simply being herself. She probably has no idea of the impact she has had on my life (well, perhaps until now).

Up until the Pemberton 50K, Dawn and I had been on group runs together. Just talking, chatting about whatever. We were friends and I enjoyed her company.

So we ran the Pemberton 50K. This race consists of two loops of Pemberton Trail at McDowell Mountain Regional Park. It’s a good first ultra because it has minimal elevation gain and is relatively smooth running.

For the first loop, being the newb that I was, I ran too fast, I know that now. But at the time, I felt great, the pace felt fun, I was having a good time. Dawn was behind me a little bit. We came into the Start/Finish line aid station and Dawn, being much wiser than me, took a moment to stop and eat. I kept going.

As soon as I started on the second loop I knew I was in trouble. The flat course no longer felt flat. I couldn’t run. Everything hurt and my legs wouldn’t move. Dawn caught up to me while I was walking, and she was still running strong. I don’t remember now all of the words that were exchanged- I remember seriously hating life and hating the “hill”. She was kind and cheerful, as always, but not in an annoying cheerleader way, she was just herself. I ended up following her feet; she pulled me in this manner for miles (5? 6? 7? I don’t remember now.). All I remember of this time is her solid feet, consistently covering trail, and my struggle to keep watching them and not stop. It hurt. Eventually we came to a remote aid station and I just couldn’t run anymore. I told her to go ahead. I still had a bunch of miles (5? 6? Again, I don’t remember) to go to reach the finish line, and I needed to walk for a while.

So I walked. And felt sorry for myself for walking. One person passed me. Then another. I was still walking. Eventually enough people passed me that I decided that was enough of that, I was going to run again. So I did. It was a shuffle, really. Every little bump in the trail felt like I was climbing a giant mountain. My legs wouldn’t lift, but at least I wasn’t walking anymore.

Eventually I made it and I crossed the finish line of my first ultra. And Dawn was there and she congratulated me. I felt awful. I was cold. I remember leaving there and going to Starbucks to get a huge hot chocolate to drink- I was dehydrated, and hadn’t eaten well, and was a mess.

And that’s my experience of my first ultra, but this is about so much more than that. Every time I run any race, at some point the going gets hard and ALWAYS Dawn’s voice is there: “Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other finishes.” On my “Adventure Runs” (My friend Miguel calls these Amber Adventures) that I pursue in the desert, again, Dawn is always with me. This beautiful woman gave me so much more than she will ever know. These words don’t describe the impact she has had on me. I look up to her.

So why write this? Trail running is about community. We need each other, or at least, I do. Dawn never knew the impact she had on my life, she was just herself and she helped me to become the person I am today because of it. Perhaps this is a reminder to me. I don’t know, and will never know, my impact on the lives of those around me. How does my mere presence affect them? What about my words? My actions? I don’t know. But I love my community- I will choose to be there for them, to pour into them, as I have been poured into, because this is who I am. Perhaps there is someone out there who will always hear my voice on their runs, just as I always hear Dawn’s. Perhaps not. It doesn’t matter. What matters is my choice to love those around me while I am here simply because I can.

Thank you Dawn.

A Ramble

“So how does a 50K work?” I was asked this question the other day and it completely confused me; I didn’t understand what was being asked. “Well, I mean, you don’t run it all at once right?” Oooohhhhh. Me: “Well, yes. You do.” I think there was confusion on their face.

It’s mind-boggling to me that there are people who haven’t heard of ultra-marathons; it is what I breathe. All I seem to be able to talk about is either geeky immunology or microbiology (or some other “ology” entirely), or running ultras and the best trails. Everybody I know is the same… well, at least regarding the latter part. I’m always wanting to hit that next trail, it’s constantly on my brain.

Perhaps this is the beauty of the trail running community here in Phoenix. We actually are a community. There are so many people who love the same dirt baths that I love, who aren’t afraid to push their bodies and indulge their curiosity to see how far that trail goes. Every day I see posts on Facebook asking if anyone is free for a run at this trail or that trail, or at a completely new trail. Any time, day or night (more nights as the temperatures begin to climb) people are usually able to find someone who is willing to hop on the trail with them. There are people here who want to be a part of what I love to do, as much as I want to be a part of what they love to do.

There is something incredibly freeing about running long. I know my body now better than I ever have. I know how to fuel it and hydrate it so I can keep going strong. Running long has given me confidence in my physical abilities, and given me reason to believe I am capable of many other things as well. I am seriously incredible. No really, you are too! Look at how our muscles all work together to propel us up a trail. It’s amazing: the brain is firing, the heart is pumping, feet are carefully placed, muscles strain, and sweat flows, all in perfect harmony that feels like agony that is beautiful. Incredible.

As I pursue my dreams and try to encourage others to pursue theirs, I often hear, “Oh no. I’m much too old for that now.” Wha…?????? How is this a thing? I desperately hope that I never, ever find myself in a place where the only reason I won’t pursue a dream is because I believe I’m too old. Too old to climb a mountain? No. Just… no. There is a difference between age and physical capability. If I am unable to climb a mountain because some part of me doesn’t work anymore, or is otherwise not well enough to do so, well then at least I climbed as many mountains as I could while I was able. But to forgo climbing a mountain only because of my age? This is absolutely not acceptable. The same with any other dream- to skip it only because of a strongly held belief that I am too “old”? Again, no. Something I have learned is that our beliefs shape everything about us. They shape our outlook on life, how we view others, how we view ourselves. All of this is simply a belief. When we change our beliefs (No, I’m not too old) our whole world changes.

So this ramble of a blog begins with consternation at the idea of running a 50K, moseys along into my amazing, local trail running community, and culminates at pursuing dreams. How does all of this tie together? Running long is not everyone’s dream, in fact, it’s not most people’s dream (weird, I know). And yet, we all have dreams. Some we have left behind for whatever reason, some we set on a back burner as life rushes by. Running long is how I grow in strength and confidence. It is my foundation for pursuing life. I fully believe I am meant, we all are meant, to pursue life. Sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s really not, but give me my long run, and I can promise you, I will live this life to its fullest. You should join me.