When The Troops Come Marching In: Part I

“The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, not the kindly smile, nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when you discover that someone else believes in you and is willing to trust you with a friendship." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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This is for them...

After a winter of hard training, challenging weather, nipping burgeoning injuries and illnesses in the bud, succumbing to other injuries - We all converge on Colorado: Me, Cecilia, Sandra, Esther, Jeni. All of us have trained through a hard winter cycle, all preparing for the Colorado Marathon or Half Marathon.

And now the time is here.

My original plan was to run the Marathon, but as many already know, I did a butthead, and hurt myself. After missing Boston, my goal race, I am unwilling to mess myself up for any of my other planned races. Over the past few weeks, weeks where I have been (conspicuously?) silent here, I've been trying to allowing things to sink in, gel, ferment, sort out - because I try to learn from the bad and the good - I have become aware of a fair amount of judgement thrown my way - either to my face, passive-aggressively, or behind my back - "How can she be a good coach when she injured herself?" It's a natural, and ummmm, stupid question for anyone who knows that there are ALWAYS risks when one pushes their limits. I'm no more immune to this human frailty than anyone else - and so I got hurt because I wanted to see where I could go. This was not a case of hubris, but simply seeking my best...and I'll be back, and I'll probably (most certainly) hurt myself again. Them's the risks. Learn, move on...learn some more... I hope I'm smarter now or that really would be a stupid shame. But it's easy to just ignore the lessons and foist abuse and blame on one's self and others.

I mention all of this because, due to my injury, my role this past weekend shifted from being primarily a fellow runner in the race to, first and foremost, a coach and friend supporting the other runners.

This is gonna be interesting.

And so they arrive - from Wisconsin, Illinois, New Jersey...And the fun begins.

We've all been training together, all winter long, virtually - following each others ups and downs, successes, fits of angst, PRs, weather challenges, schedule upsets, injury and illness scares - and now we are all here - Friends bound together through running first, and now through much, much more. We all 'met' each other on Facebook through  Women Who Run The World, a group I started back in January 2012 (Cecilia and I actually met the old-fashioned way).  And While I've had the chance to run and hangout with most of these women, this is the first time we are all together in one place. 

And it works. We work - like beer and pizza :) We all just go well together. It's almost magic...

So, after a relaxing first afternoon/evening of good food (thanks to Cecilia's Culinary brilliance!) and a little beer, and a nice easy jaunt on the trails behind my house Saturday morning, we pack ourselves up and head to Fort Collins. The car is bubbling with pre-race anticipation - and a healthy touch of nervous energy.  

It's at this point that I first realize that this is a very different sort of experience for me. I'm nervous - very nervous - not in a bad way, but in an "energy jumping under the surface of my skin" way - and it isn't about ME this time. It's all about THEM.  The control freak in me is having issues...

We walk into the expo and the place is just vibrating with energy. And now I'm feeling envious, jealous, out of sorts...I just want to run (and I am running, it's just not what I had originally planned)! God, I just want to run. But my purpose here is different. I'm not okay with that yet. I'm trying to get comfortable with it all, but I'm not there yet.

We then have a fabulous dinner at the Rainbow Restaurant (Thank you, Lisa Roehm-Gensel, for setting that all up!). And, bonus, I get to have a beer because I'm not actually racing in the morning. Okay, that is a plus. Of course everyone else has a beer too, but I'm usually too uptight the night before a marathon to actually allow myself one. Oh, and then I have another. What the hell anyway.

Then back to the hotel, splits are written on arms, teeth brushed...and...Zzzzzzz. And I did actually sleep a little, another bonus since I never do much of that before a marathon.

3 a.m. and Sandra's alarm starts singing "Wake up, wake up, wake up, it's a brand new day..." loud and clear along with Jeni's 'nuclear accident warning siren' sound alarm! Ahhheeee. And, I'm trying to keep it on the down-low, but I'm hacking, just a bit...Shhhhhhh. Don't tell anyone.

We eat a bit, drink copious amounts of coffee and pile into the car. I drop Cecilia, Esther and Jeni off outside the parking garage so they can catch one of the last marathon buses. I wish them strong legs and lungs and say for the umpteenth time, "Please, do not go out too fast". Then hugs and they shut the doors, disappearing into the anonymous darkness. I take a deep breath, look at Sandra, "I feel like I just dropped my kids off at college. It's out of my hands now."  It's about 4:30 a.m. We park the car and catch our bus to the half marathon start.

It is freaking cold and dark at the starting area - and we have an hour to kill - and some dill-weed stole all the toilet paper from the port-o-potties! Seriously bad GI karma raining down on those poor souls for some time I pray.

As the sun begins to come up we start getting ready to run. My toes are completely numb but I know that won't last, so I strip down to as little as possible, teeth frantically chattering. I add on one toss-away t-shirt. And then we're off and all is well with the world again because I'm running at last, checking in with Sandra...in my element. This is not my race, this is Sandra's race, and I actually really enjoy that thought.

Supporting someone else is difficult business - My usual approach in this situation is to sit back and let the other person do the directing. I usually spend that first miles saying "Slow down a bit" or "Do you know you're going x:xx?" etc. Then it's really the last miles that get testy. And these do. Sandra is feeling nauseous probably from dehydration (these mid-west folks do not understand that when I say drink I mean DRINK!! Colorado is VERY dry) and so I covertly keep a sharp eye on my Garmin. We are a bit ahead of pace and I don't want to lose that, but I also don't want to precipitate a meltdown, so I back off for a mile. Then we pick it up again. Two miles and change to go. "You're pushing it" is all Sandra says. "uh huh" is all I say, and she stays with me. At the last water stop, less than a mile from the finish I ask, "Do you want anything?". "No" she responds. "Good", as we continue to press on. 

And as we turn onto the road to the finish, the last .3 mile of the race, I know she feels sick, she says she thinks she's gonna pass out, I say, "You're almost there." and she pushes it toward the finish. I look at my watch as we cross the mats...she grabs onto my arm for a moment of stability. And she has a new PR, at altitude no less. 

Medals...hugs...congratulations. A silent sigh of relief and satisfaction from me. A smile of deep satisfaction shows through her fatigue. THIS is it for me. THIS is why I do what I do and it matters as much to me as my own hard fought for successes.

Now comes the waiting game. We have an hour and a half before anyone else will be rounding that corner heading toward the finish - and I feel more anxious than I ever could have imagined. I am not the praying sort, but I'm praying now. Just in case...

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” ~ Anais Nin

The Boston That Wasn't...Regrets and Revelations

I need to write this for me, and it is in a sense, my way of sorting things out and putting things in proper order. I know everyone's out there writing comforting, empowering, deep and meaningful stuff...I'm not there yet. Please forgive my ongoing Boston obsession and related issues. It will end soon. Or not...

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I'm lying on the table at In Motion Rehab connected to the e-stim machine. This is where I've been everyday since injuring myself 10 days ago. My hope had been to get to the start of the 117th Boston Marathon, but my body had other plans. And so instead of running from Hopkinton to Boston on that pitch-perfect New England spring day, I 'run' 7.5 miles on an indoor track in the midst of a spring blizzard in Boulder - 13 laps to a mile - and I'm feeling pretty damn sorry for myself.

All I think that whole day is: "Dammit. I shouldn't be here!"

And as electricity pulses through my posterior, I hear about it. I hear Gene and Luz and Heather talking in the other room - there's a tone of disbelief, as I piece together what they're saying. Henry Guzman calls the office. His Lennox Hotel window overlooks one blast site.

Two bombs have just gone off near the finish of the Boston Marathon.

Instantly pictures of blood covered sidewalks, disembodied limbs and chaos begin circulating through the internet. I drive home through heavy snow, sobbing and shaking with grief and disbelief...

And that's been my general state all week. I have been unable really to deal with much this week. After the injury, then the loss of my 16 year old dog, the difficult days before Boston when I felt I should be there - and feeling that life is supposed to be good right now - and it isn't...and now this??? Enough already.

And for the rest of Monday I am inundated with calls, emails, messages, texts...neighbors knock on the front door - Some are friends who think I'm in Boston and check to see that I'm okay. Others send well meaning and heartfelt messages - "I'm so glad you aren't in Boston."..."You weren't meant to be there. You are where you should be."...

And all I can think, ALL I can think is, MY god. I wish I was there.

So for the past several days I've been trying to sort through what I've been feeling - and why I've been feeling it. I haven't slept more than 3 hours a night since first injuring myself back on April 3rd. My brain won't ever turn off. I wake at 2 a.m. and lie in bed until 6 a.m. thinking - pointless thoughts, regrets, churning and churning, chaotically, over and over and over. Nothing sorted. Nothing resolved. Just gunk. Gunk.

And then yesterday I get out of bed after another sleepless night and find myself, at last, completely unable to deal. For the first time in 16 years of teaching I realize that I need to take a "mental health day".  Lecturing all day just is NOT going to happen. I can't even imagine trying to discuss philosophy today. No way. All I can muster is slumping on the couch wondering what the hell is going on?

And so I spend the day trying to sort through the flotsam-and-jetsam of my thoughts and emotions. And here's where I arrived...

Not being in Boston was hard at first - I tried to stay away from the internet all weekend because everyone's posts made me burst into tears - and then even harder after the horror struck. I kept thinking "Damn. If I had had plane tickets that I couldn't cancel then I probably would have just gone. Damn you Southwest and your flipping liberal cancellation policies!!"....and a plethora of other nonsensical garbage flows through my mind. If only...if only...if only...

Between the debacle in NYC in November and Boston now - I can't help feeling fairly doomed on the running front. And that's when I realize the connection. The NYC Marathon, as I tried to convey months ago, left me feeling bitter and angry - New Yorkers and runners around the country called me, and all the other runners there, selfish and disrespectful. Even though I knew why I went (to help my family in NJ and to support my NJ friends who planned to run) I deeply regretted going. Flying home from Newark I wished I had never seen what I had seen: the destruction of where I grew-up, and the fierce animosity directed at runners - from both runners and non-runners alike. I saw a mean side of New Yorkers and runners that proved hard to shake. I felt very alone through all of that.

Now, fast forward to Boston - All I wish is that I was there. Now of course the two situations are importantly different, and I'm not trying to equate a natural disaster with human evil - but what suddenly dawned on me was this: I'm now grateful that I went to NYC. Oh, it sucked, and the NYRR handled the race and the 'resolution' horribly - But I did what I could do and that's all I can ever do. And if I hadn't gone, I may have had similar regrets I now have about Boston.

So, now, short of death, I will be back in Boston for 2014, AND I even want to run NYC again.

Running the Risks

"Run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up." ~ Dean Karnazes 

So, on Wednesday, April 10th, I withdrew from the 117th Boston Marathon. I also put my 16 1/2 year old Aussie-Samoyed mix, Willa, and my most loyal and steady running partner ever, to sleep after 6+ months of doggie hospice.

It's been a bad week. It's been a very, very bad week, and I don't see much light at the end of the tunnel right now. I know there's light there, but I just can't see it yet.

Right now I should be getting ready to travel to Boston. Right now I should be feeling excited and nervous. Right now should not be what it is - but that's what it is. This reality is not what I had in mind.

Many people have commented that Boston isn't the big deal. Boston will still be there. It's just running, after all, and there is more to life than running. All true statements.

But losing my best friend??? Now that IS the big deal.  She was my steady running partner for 12 solid years, through all types of weather, day in and day out, 50 miles a week for 12 stinking years (and she still ran with me more sporadically until about a year ago)!  That loss is the real loss.

But here's the thing: I know Willa lived a good, long life. The last year has been rough, for her, for us, and we tried to do everything we could for her. The degenerative, incurable disease that hit her seemed just so unfair - but she maintained an amazing, positive attitude through it all - she rolled with it. She enjoyed what she could still enjoy, and accepted her lot in life in a way that I don't think I ever could. I admire that determined, strong, stubborn, willful beast for her ability to stay positive when she could no longer walk. No longer run. No longer do much of what she enjoyed. And yet, she seemed to still find something worth living for. I saw it in her eyes.

But then, something turned. I don't know what it was. There was a new level of frustration she seemed to show. And at 2 a.m., in the darkness of a restless night, as she and I tossed and turned, and thrashed, and gnashed our teeth at the unfairness of the universe, I realized that the time had come. I really don't know why it hit me at that moment - but my heart began to beat out of my chest, and I sobbed for the next 3 hours, having made the decision.

But here's the thing about all of that - We knew that was coming. We knew that was the inevitable end we were going to reach at some time. That is where that path necessarily led. I miss her terribly, but death is part of life.

But Boston - here the path I THOUGHT I was on was not to be. We all know that there are no guarantees with training and racing - We do what we can, but somethings are out of our control. Weather, sickness, injury...these things happen, for better or worse. By all accounts, I was on the path to a PR at Boston. All my training indicated that if the race came on a good day, I would be ready.

And then I turned onto a different path.

And here's the hard part for me to accept - I made that turn. It didn't happen "to me". I made a choice - a bad choice - and in one moment of thoughtless action, 4 months of training seemed to disappear without a trace. I know, intellectually, that that is not the truth - but that's how it feels right now.

And so today, I am not getting ready to leave for Boston. I am not feeling excited and nervous - I am not feeling alive in that electric way I do before a big race - all of that is not to be. I get that we all run these risks when playing this game, but I don't have to like it when things fall apart.

For now, I am in the pit of despair - but this too will pass - and I will again run the risks of training again, because that's just what we do...