Struggles of seriousness and self-identity

I started training for my first half marathon a little over two years ago. By the time I crossed the finish line of the Horsetooth Half with a New Belgium beer waiting for me, I had already caught the running bug. I shopped at Fleet Feet. I wore running clothes when I wasn’t running. I subscribed to Runner’s World, learned about Plantar Fasciitis and how to pronounce it, and gleefully discovered a whole big world of sweaty, carb-scarfing people who loved running as much as I did. I began to identify as a runner, and quickly many who knew me did too, and I was really proud of it; I wore it like a badge of honor. Heck, I created this blog because of it, essentially.

Fast forward, and sparing you details, I injured my foot during marathon training with 7  weeks to go before my third marathon this spring. I took 11 days off of running and jumped into cross training: cycling, swimming, yoga and strength training. What shocked me was I didn’t miss running. My familiar, neurotic don’t-miss-a-training-run self was out to lunch in China.

I missed out on a few weeks of crucial mile-building for the marathon while waiting for my foot to get back to normal. As it stands, about a week out, I have decided the smartest thing to do would be the half marathon instead. I know better than to fight through 26.2 miles, even if my foot feels fine-ish now, without having built up the mileage the right way. Plus, to keep running healthy for the rest of my life without a prolonged injury is ideal.

The struggle doesn’t lie in the fact that, for the second time now, I’m switching from the full to the half marathon. I’m secretly (or not so, now that it’s on the record) relieved. The struggle is in how I self-identify.

The more I’ve cross-trained, the less I’ve wanted to run. The more I’ve explored cycling HITT workouts and shakti kicks and chin-ups, the more interested I’ve become in pursuing fitness goals outside of running. As a result, I feel like less of a runner, like I’m betraying my sport.

If I don’t self-identify as a runner because of my own subjective definition, then who am I? (Okay, anyone else picture Zoolander looking up at the stars and asking the same question before his matchbook-size cell phone rings?) I know there is more to me than my PRs and mile splits, but everyone is proud to self-identify somehow; it’s personal, and it can mean a great deal.

Recently I had a wake-up call through a conversation with my mother. She was giving me a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t be so hard on myself and I was coming up with a thousand and one reasons why I should. She finally said it, casually, but it was like a light switched on: “I think you take things too seriously. Your dad and I have talked about it,” she said. Instead of getting butt hurt, I laughed because I knew it was true. And not only true, but something so easy and relieving to change. I gauged the notion of taking things too seriously with my boyfriend too, demanding he not spare my feelings, and tell me honestly. He agreed with my parents. Confirmation received.

As a result, I’ve been (trying) not taking this whole not-feeling-like-running thing too seriously, but there is a little part of my brain that is knocking: “Whooooo are you?!” I know it’s silly to structure my self-identity around a certain number of weekly miles on my calendar, but I have for the past few years, and breaking away from that, like any habit, isn’t easy.

Next week, I will be thrilled and excited to run the Country Music Half Marathon. I will miss running with those I’ve trained with, and not being able to say I have three marathons under my belt. I’ll be excited about the carbo-loading, the celebrations afterward.

I may just do a cartwheel over the finish line or something fun and weird. That wouldn’t be taking things too seriously now, would it? Maybe I could find a new identity in just that.

Race recap: Tom King Half Marathon

When you’re a runner, there are good days and there are great days (runners know that bad days are eradicated by simply lacing up), and Saturday was a great day.

After many races big and small in the past two years, I know how to prepare myself for a race: physically, mentally, and emotionally. It takes practice to get it right for y-o-u. Me, I need: coffee, some carb action, and feel good tunes. Sunshine helps. In preparation Friday night, I thoughtfully laid out my race wear: Oiselle on top, Nike (skirt!) on bottom, Pearl Izumi & Swiftwicks on the feet, and yes, that was an overall endorsement (sponsor me?!). I set my alarm with an Allman Brothers song to wake me up. No end-of-the-week beer, and a 9:30pm bedtime kept me in line. Delayed gratification.

SATURDAY – The Tom King Half Marathon, Nashville

I woke up refreshed and maybe a little too excited to toe the line at 6:30am. I mean, I know I’m not the only one who gets psyched to race 13.1 miles, but I know it’s not a widespread, uh, sentiment. For fuel, I ate a peanut butter, honey, cinnamon tortilla and a HoneyStinger vanilla waffle (Psst: Endorsement. Sponsor me?!), drank some coffee and water and thanked the good Lord for such a beautiful race day.

Parking was a breeze and without the wonder of technology or pre-planning, I happened to find my running buddies so we could wish exchange high fives and talk some smack before the gun went off.

Although there were over 1,200 runners for the race, there weren’t waves, so being in the middle of the pack took around 50 seconds to actually cross the starting line. Once past it, though, I zigged and zagged and found my sweet spot. I’ve resolved not to listen to music during races because it blocks out the community that the race itself inspires. I was hesitant to go in without music but I did. I realized  one of my favorite parts to a race is at the beginning when other runners are nervously chatting to each other about pace, early morning mishaps, or just an audible expression of gratitude.

After the first mile, I ran 7:52. Visions of stardom and sponsorships ran though my mind, but then remembered my goal race pace should have been around 8:15-8:20. Woops. I chalked up my fast feet to being anxious and resolved to keep my pace in check, because bonking sucks and is a rookie move. I am no rookie, and I will not bonk. Well, it turns out I never ended up slowing down and kept a sub-8 minute mile pace throughout the race because I just felt that good. Throughout the race I was encouraged by others, namely a guy in a wheelchair with a partner running by his side. Also, a girl had some tunes blasting from her iPhone locked in an armband, and I appreciated that, too. I tried not to worry too much that I neglected to swipe on some Bodyglide…

As we came down to the last mile coming into LP Field, I went all out. After running down into the tunnel and out onto the field, I had enough left in my tank to sprint to the finish. I heard cheers and “Go Taylor!”, and I saw the time on the screen (below) and my watch: 1:41:22. (Official chip time: 1:41:57). Boom.

Photo credit: Boyfriend.

I was elated, and somewhat alarmed myself with how good I felt. I kept thinking: Shouldn’t something ache? Am I gonna fall down soon? Should I go run some more? Where was Ryan Gosling to give me my medal? My Runner’s High should’ve gotten its own dang medal. Mine was pretty cool, though.

Thanks, Jacob, Devyn, and Erika for coming out! Y’all are the best. Support means everything, people!

Here’s the takeaway: Being prideful in a race can hurt you. Ignoring what your body needs is stupid and shouldn’t come at the cost of shaving seconds off your finish time for PR. I’ve learned this. BUT NOT THIS TIME. With appropriate pride, I tuned into myself and truly didn’t need to slow down, catch a water break or down any energy gel. I surprisingly did awesome for not having music to dictate my quicker cadence. Because of all that, this race felt perfect. It proved my training has been paying off more than I was ready to give myself credit for. I underestimated myself, and that’s a pretty gratifying feeling to have once its realized.

And, as it turns out, I won 3rd place for my age group! I was second behind a girl who finished in 1:27:something, so no qualms here!

After this amazing race, I have to negotiate my goals for the Country Music Marathon in a little over six weeks. After this week of training, I’ll make some adjustments.

Thanks to The Nashville Striders, Nashville Running Company, and all who volunteered, making this race such FUN and a great PR.

Remember Two Things

I’d like this post to be void of mention that I haven’t written in a while. But cat’s already out of the bag.

I’ve not written in some time. I’m sorry about it, moreso for myself since writing is like therapy. Whether or not other people read my writing has little effect on why I have a blog in the first place. But I do, so here I am, and now that we’ve addressed this, I’d like to move on by saying:

Happy March!

Instead of slogging you through the last 8 weeks of marathon #3 training, I’ll just update you with the biggest stuff:

1. I ran 119.65 miles in February, teaching myself to count the extra mileage every time! By the time I calculated it, I was already dressed up to go out to dinner with my boyfriend on the last day of February. I lost Dedicated Runner points (those are real things.) when I decided not to finish the last .35 and instead go eat a bison burger. I’ll keep in mind that every little bit adds up this month.

2. I am a “wimp” and I’m okay with it. January sucked, okay? It just took one big blow to my tough runner ego when it decided to be ugly and freezing and utterly merciless. I bundled up a few times but mostly gained mileage on the treadmill. The thing I’ve found hard to deal with is the lack of snow; I would gladly bundle up for snowy runs more often. Like this:

February was a little better, and I enjoyed the outdoors a little more. But yesterday we were iced in, so I took my run to the treadmill again. What I’ve learned is that adjusting to what fits for you (and not comparing yourself to others in the process) is a success in itself. At the end of the day, I ran, the miles counted, and I still got better.

Overall, I have felt the best this training season than I ever have. I feel myself getting faster each week and my endurance is elongating (is that right? I say so). Although my training diet derailed around NFL Playoff Time/Super Bowl/Post-Super Bowl depression/cruise vacation, I got back into fighting shape.

I’m running my first race of the year this Saturday, the Tom King Half. I’m shooting to PR by hitting a 1:45:59. It’s a flat course, and I’ve heard very PR-Friendly.

How have YOU endured this season running in the Polar Vortex?

Do you laugh in the face of -3 windchill?

When’s your next race?

Activation Confirmed: Training Beast Mode In Progress

Shelby Pedestrian Bridge, 6:15pm, 18 degrees and windy. So?

It took 18 degree windy weather, 10 hill repeats over the Shelby Pedestrian Bridge in downtown Nashville, and a bum numb enough to eliminate all certainty that my running tights were still up to light a fire.

I’m nearly three weeks into training for the Country Music Marathon. Blame it on the “Polar Vortex,” too much “pop star in jail” media attention, less frequent sunny days or whatever, but I haven’t had the same fire I’ve felt for training that I had 12 months ago. It has left me cynical, unmotivated, and confused (because my Broncos are in the Super Bowl and shouldn’t that be motivation enough? Wes Welker! Eric Decker! OMAHA!) But I digress.

Unlike my purist runner self, I’ve taken 80% of my runs indoors when my iPhone tells me it’s colder than 35 degrees outside. I’ve ignored Training Beast Mode Angel on my right shoulder who says, “tough it out, Taylor. You’ve done this before. You’re a RUNNER.” Training Autopilot Angel on the left is louder, though: “yeah, but…” and I pop myself in the car and head to The Y.

I’ve found comfort in the temperature-regulated gym, predictable treadmill settings, and getting lost in the album Clarity by Zedd. I’ve chosen comfort over discomfort. I’ve settled for good enough over just plain good. Although I’ve completed my workouts, I’ve felt mentally weak and overall defeated.

I was dreading last night’s East Nasty prescribed workout: 10 hill repeats (total around 7 miles) with cold weather and wind. I waivered: I could always take it to the Y (again), leave my warm car and run inside to the warm gym, get on the treadmill, zone out and complete the work, and go home. But my East Nasty training group comes with an elemental dose of accountability. That group is always there, always showing up, and always putting in the work. When I miss a workout, they give me crap because they care. When I show up, they push me harder. This is something the gym doesn’t have. This is something that inspires courage, pushing limits, and getting out of my Y Comfort Zone.

Although my fingers and bum were numb from the beginning, about 15 of us showed each other (and ourselves) what we were truly made of. In comparison, there were about 50 people who showed up for the workout last week when it was a balmy 45 degrees. Each incline presented a new opportunity to shed any annoyance, any fear, any stress or frustration. Each decline offered reward, encouragement, satisfaction. The breath we saw pushed out from our own working lungs was gratifying.

We showed up. We started. We finished. And we crushed even more hills than we did the week before. Beast mode? Beast mode.

Digging deep (with help from accountability) I found some courage, picked it up, dusted it off and used it. That friction started a fire, and I can’t wait to run outside today. Forecast says a high of 28; Training Beast Mode Angel on my right shoulder winks and says, “You got this,” and Training Autopilot Angel on the left shoulder has nothing witty to retort.

Running on bluegrass, survivng a mid-run bee sting, and R&R: Colorado style

Right now I am sitting in my parents’ living room in Evergreen, Colorado with my feet up and football on tv (Broncos on soon!). The sun is shining the prettiest light on the golden aspen leaves outside, and any hints that it snowed two days ago are long gone.

One week ago I was eating huevos rancheros with extra hot sauce in a sleepy, bluegrass-hungover Raleigh, NC, jonesing to come home to Nashville.

Life has been a bit of a blur lately. I’ll catch you up as to why.

World of Bluegrass Week

Remember that metaphorical marathon which was the subject in my last blog?

Well, I didn’t get a picture with Steve Martin. Nor did I technically meet him, but that’s okay. We sat by each other offstage during Punch Brothers’ set and I’ll take that memory to the bank. I also sat backstage while Tony Rice accepted his Hall of Fame induction, and miraculously got his 20-years-gone voice back. I met Ricky Skaggs, Rhonda Vincent, Noam Pikelny, Fiddle Player of the Year Jason Carter, and THE Del McCoury. I heard amazing music, and got paid for it. THAT was my metaphorical medal that I took back to Nashville. It looks good in my apartment, trust me.

SO – World of Bluegrass went as well as we hoped, and then some. We blew away everyone’s expectations of the week, even our own. It was a 100% success.

As for the literal marathon training, I got up at 5:45am five out of seven days to run on the hotel’s fitness center’s treadmill, totaling 26 miles the whole week. I was thankful for the clean and open facilities, but would have loved to run outside. It was just too dark to do that. At the end of each day, I was rendered completely spent after running a business conference, award show, seminars, and putting out fires everywhere in between. Even being so social all the time was draining! By the end of the week, I felt increasingly in need of alone time, and for a good long run outdoors.

Back in Nashville

My first full day back in Nashville, I had the opportunity to seize my nature fix. So I did. For the first time in too long, I started off on the Cane Connector trail at Percy Warner. The weather was perfect; a crisp 72 degrees, with no doubt that fall was starting to make itself comfortable. I listened to the Eddie Vedder Pandora Station (highly recommended) and was feeling refreshed, fast, and blissful with every hill. During a Led Zeppelin song (“Back to California” to be exact) I felt an odd, sharp pain on my left index finger. Still running, I looked down and saw a determined little bee, the source of the sting. At first I didn’t know what to do; I was kind of stunned. I was at least three miles from my car and was worried about the effect the bee sting would have on me since I probably wasn’t hydrated well, and was prone to feeling woozy anyway. I put on my Big Girl Pants and kept running, figuring the adrenaline would ease the pain of the sting. It did, mostly, and I survived the run while still meeting my projected pace. Still waiting on my “I’m Brave!” sticker… should be coming in the mail soon, right guys?

I thoroughly enjoyed back-to-back nights of yoga (inversions, ftw!), and a great 6.5 miler with my East Nasties. Being without World of Bluegrass work responsibilities, I felt like a kid on Summer Vacation with extra time and less stress on my hands, filling it with yoga, running, Girls on the Run, and friends. It was spectacular.

Colorado: Surprise!

If you don’t have a best friend with Buddy Pass privileges, I’d suggest you finding one. Thanks to my best friend with Buddy Pass privileges, I was able to make an impromptu trip back to Colorado just four days after getting back from Raleigh. My parents had plans to go to Vail, invited me to join, and suggested I surprise my sister. Surprising my sister made her cry (in a good way), and I also surprised a good friend from college.

Surprises spice things up for the people you care about in life. Pro tip: Do it as much for you as you do for them. It’s awesome.

Whenever I’ve come home, my version of R&R consists of being even more active and playing outside, and this time was no different.

My mom proved that even though I’m a marathon runner, she can still kick my butt. “Let’s go to Tabata class and stay after for Butts and Guts!” she said. “It’ll be fun!” she said.

My hamstrings, butt, quads, calves, toes and eyelashes can attest that it was very fun. They’re still shaking from having so much fun.

We decided to forego a rest day for a hike in the high country, taking in the awe-inspiring fall colors and taking advantage of the crisp autumnal weather. I’d like to believe I’m much more eloquent through the written word than I am through the spoken one, but even those colors leave me searching for words. It is impossible not to believe, or even entertain the idea, that the leaves changing colors is proof that God exists. If you’re lucky enough to be surrounded by a forest of golden aspen trees with the sun shining through, and snow on the ground, you’re lucky enough.

Today, I took a shake-out run around our neighborhood in the hopes that the lactic acid would get to moving around in my sore lower-half a little more. It felt good, but I noticed the thinner air.

Looking ahead

I head back to Nashville in a few hours and tomorrow resume a normal work week with a normal routine. But I forget what ‘normal’ is.

With less than three weeks to go until 7 Bridges, I’ll start getting into the tapering phase of training, even though ‘training’ has been a relative term this go-around. But I’m not looking behind me in my lost mileage, lost long runs, lost speed workouts. I’m only looking ahead.

Metaphorically speaking

It’s 9:13pm on a Friday.

I’m in my pajamas, glasses, and I’m wearing a green face mask because I’ve been known to live it up on Fridays.

I went to the gym tonight at 7:30, listened to an episode of “This American Life,” and I did the stairmaster. The gym was as empty as you would think at 7:30 on a Friday night, which was nice. More room for lunges.

The socially-conditioned don’t-miss-out-on-anything part of me (that I wish were non-existent) feels like a total loser. But the authentic part of me couldn’t be more relieved to have this kind of night, regardless who may be “TGIF-ing” it up downtown with adult beverages and live music. I need this introverted Friday night in with just my mason jar of ice water, my mint green face mask, and my foam roller. I can’t be bothered. Really…you don’t want to see this face mask. Sometimes you have to get ugly before you can get pretty…

It’s like the night before a marathon for me, except I’ve been training for this marathon since March, and it’s going to last over a week, and I’m getting paid for it, and I might get to meet Steve Martin.

Tomorrow I leave for the World of Bluegrass – part business conference, part artist showcase, part award show, part festival, and wholly a bluegrass mecca. I’m part of a crew of people running the whole shebang. It’s like game time, guys. Starting Line kind of stuff. I’m antsy, waiting for the official to pop the gun.

Only a super dork would compare a work conference to a marathon like this, but I’ve never claimed to be “cool.” The two relate thus: You study and train and lose a little sleep. You re-adjust other aspects of your life to focus in on this one thing that is a little restrictive of your social life and your freedom to get up in the morning without a single task ahead of you. You turn down late nights and late night drinks. You turn into a little bit of a loser (or at least you feel like it). But crossing the finish line, you are overwhelmed with pride and joy, knowing you did your best and feeling like you accomplished something totally monumental and all that turning down and turning in early doesn’t matter anymore. So where I’d usually get a Gatorade and a bagel after crossing the finish line, I’ll probably get something a little less carb-y and hopefully a picture with Steve Martin after this one.

So while there’s that metaphorical marathon, there is another real life marathon I’ve still trained for: Chattanooga 7 Bridges on October 20th.

After lamenting about my fatigue and frustration to anyone who would listen (lookin’ at you, mom and pops!) I was reminded that at the same point in training for my last marathon, I was working from home, not stressed out in the least, and able to really focus on training. Really, I would get to run on my lunch break and take foam roll breaks during the day. It was primo.

This time was a whole different animal that I didn’t wisely take into account before real life marathon training began again (the animal being that metaphorical marathon. confused yet? me too). Hard as it was, I decided to give myself as little of a break as I could get away with. In an attempt to speed up “recovery” or what training I had lost, I kept close track of what I ate, how much, and when in relation to running. I took rest into account as well as the mental fatigue I was feeling from work. It seemed that once I did that, I was starting to run better again. Kick-butt Taylor came back to life, kicking butt again.

It’s not all bagels and Gatorade and pictures with Steve Martin yet, though. The real hurdle next week will be the metaphorical marathon AND training for the real life marathon at the same time. I’ve really adjusted my training expectations and goals to be realistic for my schedule next week and have faith that whatever workouts I do get in will be quality enough. I’m looking forward to finishing the metaphorical marathon, coming back to Nashville with my metaphorical medal (read: picture with Steve Martin, hello you should know that by now) and ready to re-focus on the real life one. Marathon number three in less than eight months.

So, please excuse me, I have some mint green face mask to wash off, some foam to roll and some marathons to run.

It’s game time.

Over-trained and overwhelmed

You know when you’re afraid to ask a question because you already know the answer?

In my case, the question is whether or not I’m over training.

After my disaster of a 4-miler this morning: I’ll take yes for 500, Alex.

Insert exasperated exclamation here.

I think it starts with an increased and overwhelming workload. We are planning the biggest bluegrass festival in the world (not an embellishment), and it happens in less than a month, in another state. The list of “to-dos” and “MUST DO NOWs” never leave my mind, even when I sleep (work dreams stink/are lame), and the pressure to get things done and do them well is huge. And then there’s that marathon training schedule with the mileage increasing and almost at its peak.

Longer, more intense work days + longer, more intense marathon training days = non-stop non-stoppingness.

For instance, in the past five days I have: ran a total of 36 miles, practiced power yoga, strength trained with my boyfriend (who knows better than to take it easy on me at the gym), and lost track of my hours in the office. Moreover, I feel like an awful friend because I have had to consistently turn down “hang time” or even just basic “how is your life right now” catch-ups because of work, training, or being exhausted from both. Friends: I’m sorry. I’ll be back to life in October, I swear.

When I laced up for an easy four miles this morning I just. couldn’t. do it. Not even with the sun rising so beautifully on a Friday morning. Not even with the birds chirping. Not even at all.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to diagnose whether I’m feeling lazy/unmotivated or whether I really am over training or am fatigued. Some days I just don’t have the same get-up-and-go as others, but on those days, I push myself out the door and find myself enjoying the run after the first .50 miles anyway. Today, not the case. So I guess I have my diagnosis.

When I have “bad” runs or when I don’t feel on top of my game, I have a tumultuous battle in my brain over my willpower, overcoming myself, and getting over whatever is bothering me. When you’re fatigued, you have to give in and slow down, which can be just as much of a tumultuous battle if you’re stubborn like me, especially when running is one of the few outlets for stress and feeling overwhelmed that works.

For me, “taking it easy” isn’t so easy.

Another question I’m afraid to ask: When can I feel like Ass-Kicking-Name-Taking-Taylor again?

Because I refuse for the answer to be “not until the festival fat lady sings.”

Not all days are treated equal

I ran one of the best races of my running life on Saturday.

It was the Tomato 5k in East Nashville, and I had decided to do it somewhat last minute (if you don’t know me, I’m a planner and “last minute” meant three days before). I had friends I was running with, and I knew the course because it was like my home turf with my beloved running group. I wanted to PR and knew I would unless some dire situation happened like missing the gun because I was peeing, or being tripped by a novice rollerblader. Especially with my new baby Garmin, I would be unstoppable.

For my own abilities, I pretty much was unstoppable. My first mile was the fastest I’ve ever known to run: 6:51. From there I kept it consistently under 7:30 to finish the 5k at 22:18. I got 2nd place for my age group, and was 18th in women over all. My friends called me a beast, and I welcomed it. I drank two Corona Lights with extra lime before 10am to celebrate it.

I was riding pretty high after my PR-breaking day, and nothing but my legs knew it better the next day, Sunday, aka Long Run Day. Hal Higdon said I should have ran 13 for marathon training. My legs said, “Shut it, Hal.” And so I took the day off (with minor bike work, a long walk, and stretching at the gym, because I CAN’T NOT BE ACTIVE EVER).

Even though my body told me I was needing rest, my brain wanted to run. I’m pretty good at listening to my body though, and had to tell my brain to think about being Forrest Gump in my head instead and deal with it for at least 24 hours.

When I got up to run this morning to make up for not running Sunday (Mondays are typically ‘no running’ days), I pushed through sore legs to get my butt out the door for at least four. The sun was rising. The humidity hadn’t quite set in for the day. I thought about how fast I ran the other day, and how a day off and four miles would equal success and a brilliant boost in ego. I started off at a normal 8-minute pace…for like, half a block.

After that half block, my legs felt like sacks of flour, and my Garmin was telling me that I was slooooooooow. I didn’t see numbers. I saw SLOW blinking at me instead. I couldn’t believe it! I felt like I was working so hard, and I was running two whole minutes slower than my pace not two days earlier. “WTF. WTF, Monday?! WTF, Garmin?!” I thought.

I got a little pissed at first. But running always helps put things into perspective: Not all days are treated equal. No day is the same when you’re out in the world, making things happen.

Progress happens. Changes take place. Your hair looks different. You smile is a little more awkward than usual. It’s not Saturday morning anymore, it’s Monday, and your soul knows it and it’s spreading rumors to the rest of your body. So your body is not responding, and it’s rendering you slow and feeling weak. You’re not wearing your lucky socks. You’re feeling weak when yesterday, you felt on top of the world.

Like it always does, running helped me look on the bright side.  I decided what counted was the fact that I got my butt out of bed and out the door this morning and pushed through, regardless of the disappointing time on my watch. I may not have given myself an ego boost this morning, but I’ll get another chance tomorrow.

My East Nasty crew, post-race, pre-beers. These guys are awesome.

In the meantime, I’ll just celebrate fact that I am living a life where no two days are the same. I will keep trying for progress and change, and will have no great expectations because life is different each and every day. And whether I’m a planner or not, that is something I am grateful for.

Rewind: July

“And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game.”

-Joni Mitchell, “The Circle Game”

Mercy, it’s August and there are NFL pre-season games kicking off. Speaking of, let’s pause before going head-first into this blog by watching my quarterback in a new, fantastically awful commercial.

So catchy, right? I hope to goodness there’s a game where Pey Pey takes off his helmet after connecting with Decker for an amazing play and reveals that head of hair. I can see it now…

Back to running.

I didn’t run any races in July (but kicked back into Marathon Training Mode with running 85 miles total), therefore breaking my streak of running at least one race each month since March. I have rectified this, however, and have signed up for the Tomato 5k this Saturday in East Nashville. It’s like East Nasty’s homecoming, and although I am stingy and would rather not pay dollar dollar bills to run for (hopefully) less than 25 minutes, I have a fear of missing out on fun things like that. My goal is to PR, which would be under 23:30. Always one to be competitive, I’m racing a buddy and there are beers on the line, so, you know: IT’S ON LIKE DONKY KONG.

In other news from July: I have a new accessory. It’s better than any purse, necklace or scarf I could possibly find, and I’m sure to show it off way more anyway. Yes ineed, I own a Garmin now.

Dang, it would be awesome to run that fast!

It’s pink, not green, because I like to feel a little feminine when I’m beating boys up hills in a sweat-soaked shirt.

In the short time I’ve had it, my Garmin has proved that I can run better than I think, and that I’m faster than I thought. It validates all my time spent at the gym, on the roads, and around the trails – through sweat and sore muscles and nights saying “no” to staying out and partying so I can get up early and get my long run in before it gets too hot.

It makes me feel good about me.

Don’t we all need something like that in our lives?

Getting the Garmin came at a really pertinent time when I needed running as an escape more than usual. Like “The Circle Game” things in life were going up and down, and my only surefire way to deal was through running. When I ran with my watch and saw how fast I was going, and felt the burn in my chest, and the soreness in my legs, I was a little more accepting of The Circle Game than before I started.

So: Don’t we all need something like that in our lives, to help us deal with The Circle Game?

Thankful to have mine.

“On the Run” by Isabella Lauf

In college, my best friend had a foreign exchange student for a roommate for one year. She was German, which was good, because we were learning German. Needless to say, we became great friends and share many fond memories.

Isabella Lauf is a student in Germany, working on her thesis. She recently asked if I would answer some running-related questions for a piece she was writing.

She did me proud, and taught me a few things. I am happy to spread my love of running, and happy it could help a friend in need.

You may find it by clicking here.

Bella and I at the Grand Canyon on our way to Vegas for Spring Break.