The Joy of Running Together- Partie Deux

A couple of weeks ago, I made a post about a beautiful sculpture called The Joy of Running Together which I had seen while traveling to Spokane, Washington in the immediate aftermath of the Boston Marathon Bombing. At the time of seeing this gorgeous sculpture, I was struggling with the intersection of various aspects of my life. You see, I like to compartmentalize. As a doctoral candidate doing research on some really heavy stuff, I have used running to help cope with some of the difficult topics that I study (including prejudice, discrimination, terrorism, Islamophobia, and hate studies). As someone born and raised in New England... Boston is near and dear to my heart.

The Boston Marathon bombing wound up being this weird intersection of the various aspects of my life... I struggled with how to process everything that was happening. I struggled with what this bombing would mean for my research (particularly as I entered into the proposal stage for my dissertation), I felt derailed. I felt scared. I felt sad. And I felt angry. Really, really angry.

And so, on that trip to Spokane Washington (where I was on a panel presenting about the social aspects of why terrorism works, and how terrorists successfully recruit and indoctrinate), when I saw this gorgeous sculpture by David Govedare, I was able to have a real moment. At this sculpture, I was afforded the opportunity to grieve and mourn, in ways I hadn't been able to prior.

And of course, when I got home, I wrote. Over the years, I've had a succession of blogs... but for a lot of my friends, this is the first time they have had access to my writings. They frequently tell me that I write too much, that I am long-winded, or that what I write is just boring. But I don't write for them. I write for myself. 

I write hoping that I will create a record to remind me of things when my own memory is fading. I write in hopes that people might know who I am should I not wake up tomorrow morning. I write in hopes that I will be my own inspiration. I sometimes write hoping I can be an inspiration to others. And a lot of the time, I write to provide healing and closure.

And sometimes, when I have written about specific people and the impact they have had on me, I will put my heart on my sleeve and send them a message to let them know that they inspired me in some way.

Which was what happened when I wrote the blog post about Mr. Govedare's Joy of Running Together.

But then something crazy happened. He emailed me back. And he wanted me to call him.

And what was crazier, was that I did.

It was an awkward conversation at first. He told me a little about the way that this sculpture was made, he talked about the meaning behind it. Then he told me that he was a spiritual man and that (as weird as it sounds) he had a feeling that someone from the Boston area would see this sculpture in the aftermath of the bombing and be moved by it. He asked a little about me.

And I don't know why, but I started rambling about my research, about why I was in Spokane to have seen his sculpture, about what running means to me, and then about my friend Thomas Mills who is working hard to get the funding together to take the Superman Walks Project to Boston to work with the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.


Then he asked if he could send some prints of his Joy of Running Together. He wanted to send me one, but he wanted to send a stack out specifically for Tom to take with him on his Boston trip. Perhaps Tom would want to give them to the victims of the bombing. Perhaps he would just want to put them up on the street. Whatever Tom felt that he wanted to do with these prints was up to him...

It certainly is a neat idea... that maybe this sculpture that impacted me so deeply may be able to impact others who haven't had the opportunity to visit Spokane, Washington.

The prints arrived the other day. They are spectacular. Each and every one of them is signed.  Now I just have to get them to Tom!

But to be honest, I am just really excited to see what happens next.

Singer Island Half Marathon - April 27, 2013

I have been avoiding writing about the Singer Island Half Marathon on April 27th for a number of reasons.

1) it was an awful experience.
2) it was a personal worst for me, and almost led to a DNF (did not finish), and probably should have been a DNS (did not start), if I am honest with myself looking back.
3) I was so messed up during this race, I don't remember great big portions of it (like the fact that my running partners had to remind me multiple times how gorgeous the course and the weather was).
4) I was so messed up after the race that I was sad, self-depreciating, and really would have rather forgotten.

But in the end, I write today because there are some take-aways from this experience that I could put to use next time to ensure that I never had to relive another experience quite so bad again.

The night before this race, I felt significantly under-prepared for my final half of the spring season. I posted to facebook that I felt under-trained, and I suppose I should have. I had just come off of a 5 day trip to Spokane, Washington and had only managed 2 training runs and a 5K race between my prior half marathon (which was a PR), and this one. What's more, I had just decided to start eating differently than I had been in recently (I will be posting a separate entry about this later, just note that while I felt like I had a ton of energy on a day-to-day basis, I wasn't sure how to properly fuel for this race). Lastly, the Singer Island half was fairly far from home and required an overnight trip. Brina graciously offered me her spare bedroom, but I have been known to under-hydrate when I am not at home... something that I am sure contributed to the problems I had during the race.

I woke up early the morning of the race, and donned the great "we are Boston" tribute shirt that Brina, Juanita and I had made up to run this race in tribute to the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. I wasn't hungry (as I hadn't been since starting to eat differently), I choked down a banana but couldn't stomach even the thought of my usual pre-race bagel. Instead Brina made me a piece of whole grain toast with peanut butter. Mistake number 1.

Before leaving the house, I heard the sprinklers outside, and thought it was raining. I was half hoping, that it was raining so we could back out of this race. My heart just wasn't into it, and I recognized that... but I also knew I was running for Boston. So I sucked it up, and we were out the door.

The race had a later start time than I am used to, so the sun was already on its way up when we started. As this was the last run for us for the season, Juanita chose to run at my pace (along with Brina), with the goal that they might be able to push me to a new PR (hoping to break the 3:15 mark so I could prove my time for Disney and move up a corral in my Marathon in January). It definitely didn't happen that way, but that was the plan.

The course was straightforward (so it seemed) with the first mile and a half being an out and back over the Singer Island Bridge that crosses the intracoastal, then north until we hit approximately 6 miles, then return to the bridge, over and back again, then an additional couple of miles through a cute neighborhood at the end. But seeming fairly straightforward and being fairly straightforward are two totally different things. And something was really off for me.

Our game plan was to run intervals to the base of the bridge, walk up the bridge, run down (letting gravity do the work, repeat on the return trip, then run intervals until we hit the bridge for our second out and back. By the time we hit the top of the bridge the first time, I was having trouble catching my breath. I took double doses of my inhaler, but it wasn't seeming to work. My heart was beating out of my chest and I was worried. We ran down the reverse side, then began the ascent again. Once again, I was winded, light-headed and my chest hurt. We tried to let gravity work coming off the bridge on the return trip, but I couldn't catch my breath.

We started to walk. I hadn't even hit mile 2 and I had to give up entirely on running, meaning we walked the next 11 miles. During that time, I never caught my breath. I never stopped being dizzy. My heart never stopped beating out of my chest. I was sweating profusely. And I was getting angry. My running partners were talking about how beautiful a day it was and how they wanted to go faster because they weren't even breaking a sweat and I was drenched.

I was really gassy and my stomach also really hurt. By mile 6, I was nauseous. Whereas normally I am chatty when I am on walking (either on intervals or in general), I found myself getting very quiet and closed off. And I felt the ailments mounting.

By mile 7, I was throwing up... although instead of dry heaves, it was purely liquid coming up. Waves and waves and waves of liquid. Yuck. So I tried to push more fluids and more electrolytes (in the form of nuun tabs in the water).

By mile 8, I was beginning to have severe cramping in my calves. Every step was excruciating. We were exponentially losing speed, and I was afraid we wouldn't finish in the 4 hour time limit. I've never taken over 3:36 to finish a half, but I was beginning to worry. And I worried that I was irritating my partners. I begged them to go along and leave me behind. At least they should still get good times...

But they wouldn't leave me. And at mile 9, while passing some park benches, I don't know what came over me. I just sat my sorry butt down. I called Brina and Juanita back to me and told them to go along without me, that I was ok with taking a DNF.

Seriously I said that. I said I was ok with not finishing and having someone just come and get me. Who does that?

And what was worse was that (and I had to be told about this later because I didn't actually remember it), while I was sitting there, I told Brina that I had been hoping it would rain so that we could stay at her house and hang out on the couch eating ice-cream all day. OK, what kind of alien life form was invading my body???

After going around and around about how I was giving up, Brina and Juanita got fierce with me and reminded me that I was wearing a Boston shirt, and the pain I was dealing with was nothing compared to what the bombing victims were dealing with in the hospitals. Well, when you put it that way... even I saw the hypocrisy in my giving up at that point.

So I got up and forced my body to keep going. By the time we hit the bridge the second time, I didn't think my calf cramping could get worse. But by then we were already at mile 10, and I had rationalized almost being done with the race. There was still one man behind us on the course, and as long as we kept moving, we could keep it that way.

On the return trip across the bridge, I was so dizzy, I frequently had to grab the railings to keep from falling over. The last place runner passed us on the down hill, and Brina (frustrated to find that we were the last 3 finishers) started to pick up her pace. I love Brina and do not resent her one bit for doing this, but I was freaked out to see her speeding up while I just kept slowing down and having more and more problems.

In the last mile, We had a police officer fall in behind us with his cruiser and give us an escort. Brina waited for us at the 13 mile mark so that we could do the final tenth of a mile together. The home stretch of the race was through a side street lined with bars and restaurants. The plan was for us to jog that home stretch and finish as strong as possible, but my body had a different idea. People in the bars were cheering for us, jumping up and down because we were the final finishers and I think that Brina and Juanita were somewhat embarrassed. I was embarrassed for them too. But I wanted to finish as strong as possible.

And I did. At least until I was about 5 feet from the finish line when my cramping calves finally called it quits. And just like this girl who hit a wall at her high school track championships (go to 1:31), I felt my calf muscles give out. I was so close that if I could have gotten just a little spring in my step I might have been able to throw myself over the finish line, but I didn't have the energy. Thankfully Juanita and Brina were there to catch me as I went down. It was like slow motion, and I saw finish line officials stepping over the finish line to help grab me, and medics reaching for me. The crowd was cheering loudly. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide... then pass out.

As soon as I was over the finish line, I was whisked into a tent and given some fruit and water and shade. I was embarrassed and exhausted and out of breath and cramping and nauseous and dizzy and a hot ball of mess.

I was ok with being the last finisher in this race and had joked with Juanita about who would take it, but in the end, I didn't have much of a choice. She was behind me holding me up as she handed me off to medical, causing her to finish last in the race. I didn't want that for her. She deserved better than that.

In the end though, last or second to last doesn't much matter.

We finished. And for me, that was all that mattered (particularly when I had been so sure we wouldn't finish in the first place).

Looking back, I realize that sometimes finishing strong means only comparing yourself to what you yourself are capable of. Did I finish strong by my normal standards? Absolutely not. Did I do the best I could with what I had to finish as strong as possible? I can answer that with a resounding yes.

HFs Brina, Me, Juanita and Seth at the finish

As a side note, I continued to suffer from the shortness or breath, cramping, nausea, heart palpitations, and dizziness for an additional 36 hours and I *did* go to the doctor the following Monday. I am fine now but now know the importance of eating right and properly hydrating as an ongoing issue, particularly when being a distance runner.

My stats on this race were awful, but for the sake of documenting, here they are:

Gun: 3:51:39
Chip: 3:51:12
Pace: 17:38
Sex: 228/229
OA: 382/383
Cat: 35/35

Superman Walks

I want to take a quick minute to talk to you all about one of the most inspirational men that I have yet to meet. I officially met Thomas Mills at the Beach Beast in Ft. Lauderdale where he was dressed as Superman, but I immediately recognized him as a man dressed in a gold stretchy body suit and competing with Karma Athletes and who deeply inspired me when we participated in the Warrior Dash last November.

Me with Thomas at Beach Beast

According to their website, Karma Athletes is a group of hard working athletes committed to creating positive change in their local community. Karma has a great presence in the local obstacle racing scene, and though I do find them to be somewhat intimidating (because they all appear to be WAY more physically fit than me, way more attractive than me, way more capable than me, and because they all seem to know previously established relationships with one another), they are an incredibly inspirational group.

But then, there is Thomas. Thomas still participated in obstacle races as a member of their team, but it has become clear that members of Karma Athletes are also now members of his team as well. 

Thomas is the founder of a project called Superman Walks/ RAAN, where "RAAN" stands for "raising awareness of amputees needs." As a man who lost his lower leg 9 years ago after a horrible road accident, Thomas knows the special needs of amputees all too well. In the short time that I have known and talked with this amazing man, I have learned a lot about the physical needs of amputees, such as funding and obtaining appropriately fitting prostheses, and the reasons that many amputees wind up with ill-fitting or poor quality devices.

But what I have also learned first hand is the importance of the emotional and mental needs of amputees.

And I think that is probably what makes Thomas the most inspirational. Having lost his leg through traumatic circumstances, the grieving process was not easy for him. He struggled with a deep depression, began to lose so much weight he was wasting away, and contemplating ending his life. From the basic research I've done, this is not an uncommon scenario. He felt as if, by losing his leg, he life was over. He struggled with regaining some sense of normalcy, and a return of control over his own body and his own life.I don't know how he came to participating in obstacle races, or how the Superman Walks project came to fruition, but what I do know is that to hear of how desperate he was in the beginning to find meaning (ANY meaning) in his life, and to see how desperate he now is to encourage and inspire others to overcome obstacles and challenges so they can CREATE meaning, THAT is breath-taking.

Sometimes, in this crazy hectic life, it is easy to classify humanity as deteriorating and people becoming more and more hardened and mean. This has been true for me lately in the wake of the Boston Marathon Bombings. And yet, here is this guy who has done something that really just feels like warm rays of sun shining down in the eye of a hurricane.

Recently, Thomas did 2 amazing things that should have never surprised me, but did.

1) Thomas decided that in the wake of the Boston Bombings that he could help the young men and women who were injured in the attacks. Knowing that sometimes amputees have difficulty opening up to non-amputees about their emotional well-being and their fears and concerns... Thomas recognized that he could help some of these people to process their new circumstances. Thomas is still in the early planning stages of this trip, has secured some housing and transport while in Boston, but is still trying to secure the funding needed for this kind of time away. I wish him nothing but success. For more info please visit the Superman Walks/RAAN facebook page, or visit the donations section of his website.

2) This past weekend Superman Thomas attended the Superhero Scramble in Georgia and invited along a team of superhero sidekicks to assist recent amputee Matthew Pizzuto with participating in his first obstacle race/mud run. Matthew, a young man who lost his lower leg less than a year ago had yet to receive his first prosthetic, and was forced to travel much of this course in wheelchair and with crutches. Unbeknownst to Matthew, his family was able to witness the birth of a much stronger, much more empowered Matthew, and was awaiting his arrival at the finish line. I don't want to share too much of this story, because it is not mine to share, however I have to say that hearing about how strong, and how fearless Matthew was during this race... I'm impressed.

Thomas and one of his superhero sidekicks with Matthew Pizzuto

As someone who knows first hand what it like to be limited by disability and medical issues, to hear of someone else overcoming obstacles and helping others to overcome obstacles is spiritually uplifting.

Ray and I are joining Thomas's badass superhero sidekicks team for a mud run in a couple weeks, and I can't be more excited. I really look forward to being something so big and something so great.

Matthew, if you are reading this... you are awesome! And totally badass. I can't wait to finally meet you!


Edited to add... Thomas just sent me a video of Matthew's amazing transformation. you need to watch this.

The Joy of Running Together

When I heard about the Boston Marathon Bombing, I was preparing to travel to Spokane Washington for a conference. If you remember, I was struggling with the intersection of being a New Englander, my professional development, and being a runner. Obviously, I felt lost and confused. I struggled over how to process the various feelings I was having. And I was glued to the news.

Some of it was good, but the majority of the news reports that were coming through were partial, or just really off base. And social media websites like facebook were spinning into a frenzy about what kind of retribution would be acceptable in the fact of such an atrocious crime. People were spewing hatred and vitriol left and right. It was overwhelming. And absolutely heartbreaking. What made it worse was that I was in Washington state, while my husband and the rest of my support system was in South Florida.

I even developed an honest-to-goodness eye twitch that wouldn't seem to go away. That was stuff straight out of Lifetime Movies. Yet it was happening. I felt alone, like I was drowning in frigid waters.

I am someone who deeply believes that violence and hatred are cyclical. I deeply understand that people are angry and hurting after such an atrocious crime... I'm hurting and angry too. Yet I also realize that at some point we have to stop the cycle. If violence and hatred only snowball to more violence and hatred, a little love and compassion could go a long way.

It is easier said than done. And as I write this, I am sure people are rolling their eyes saying I am an idealist thinking we should respond to the perpetrators of such heinous and cowardly crimes with compassion and love. Crap, I'm not even sure I feel love or compassion in my heart right now.

Amidst all my stress and anger and discomfort and hurt, I decided I will not be part of the ongoing problem that allows anger and hatred to breed. If I can't be compassionate (right now), I can certainly bite my tongue and not feed into the system that becomes an overwhelming avalanche toward violence. I will turn off the TV and withdraw from consuming too much media that may only fuel by hurts and frustrations.

Unplugging definitely helped alleviate some of my tensions. That dreaded eye twitch went away... but I was still sad. I needed to grieve. Properly grieve. Thankfully I found the perfect opportunity.

While driving to lunch with my travel companion through downtown Spokane, I screamed at her to stop the car.

I had seen what looked like a bunch of cardboard cutouts of runners lining the sidewalk, wearing poster-boards and surrounded by running shoes and flowers. I had to get out and investigate this scene a little more closely.

And I realized that they weren't cardboard cutouts at all. The park was actually Riverfront Park, which has partnered with the Spokane Arts Commission to house 21 semi-permanent sculptures.

What I had thought was an entirely impromptu vigil with cardboard cutouts, was actually an impromptu vigil at a sculpture called The Joy of Running Together, which was installed in 1984 by David Govedare. This sculpture, which consists of 40 freestanding iron running figures in all stages of racing, was commissioned to commemorate the Annual Spokane Bloomsday Run and was installed at what would be the finish line when the race is taking place. According to the Historical Spokane website, the installation near what would be the finish-line was not a coincidence... It was a conscientious decision made with the hopes that it would provide encouragement to the runners in the Bloomsday Run.

Looking all the sneakers, and flowers and posters which had been left behind in the wake of the Boston Bombing, I realized that not only was this sculpture providing encouragement, but it was also providing solace to those who were grieving.

And in those few moments, I had the chance to properly grieve.

Thank you to David Govedare for giving me a way to grieve.

The point two will getcha?

It feels strange to go back to my previously scheduled blogging when my heart and mind is still trying to get a wrap around what happened in Boston last week. My mind doesn't want to move on... But I know I need to. Because not moving on will only allow me to become stunted by the pain.

So today, while my heart is still with Boston, I keep going with my life. Because the perpetrators (so far) took 4 lives last week, I cannot allow my heart and soul to be added to the death toll.

Today, I write about something I hadn't intended to write about for another few weeks. And that is the secret I have been keeping close to my chest.

Let me start by saying that I don't like secrets. I think that has to do with my dislike for general anticipation.
 
I don't like it when people keep secrets from me because I feel like I am being left out. And I don't like it when people plan surprises for me (but tease me before hand about having a surprise for me).

I also don't like keeping secrets from other people, and I hate surprising others too.

That doesn't mean that if someone tells me something in confidence that I wont keep that confidence for them, because I tend to be really good at that. I don't know if it is just semantics, but somewhere in my brain I have made a distinction between confidences and secrets, and it is the latter that I have a hard time with.

Needless to say, I've been sitting on a secret for a number of weeks now.

And it. Is. Killing. Me.

KILLING ME!

The secret is...

That in January of 2014, after reaching my goal of 13 half marathons in 2013, I plan to run a full marathon.

I hesitate to say my first marathon because that implies that there will be a second, but it will be the first time that I will run a marathon. But I've hesitated to even say anything about it until now because I'm afraid.

I think when it comes to doing new things like this, I might be a bit of a commitment-phobe.

Because when you publicly announce that you are going to do something outside of your comfort zone (like train to run 26.2 miles in a row), people can then hold you accountable. If you put it out there for the rest of the world, you have to follow through. And yikes, that's scary.

That's 26.2 miles.

I decided, because it was Disney marathon weekend that got me interested in running in the first place, and my first half marathon was at Disney, what better a place to run the longest race I've ever attempted?

Photo courtesy of Karen Orozco*

Now, I know I complained a lot after my Disney half in January about them having too many entrants, and about how less-than-friendly the other runners were, and how I had really expected more from a race being put on by The Happiest Place on Earth, but there are also some benefits to running at Disney, that can make my marathon experience a good one.

For starters, because they don't start the 16 minute per mile requirement until the last person crosses the start line, if I am further up in my corral, I would have a little extra time to finish. Because there are so many corrals  and they wait 7 minutes between corrals to start, this also means an additional time buffer for someone like me, who has a naturally slow pace. Granted, this may change as RunDisney announced some changes on their blog recently about having fewer entrants and the possibility of adding corrals with smaller fields, but for now, I feel fairly confident that I can train hard for this race, then participate without getting swept.

And I'll keep my fingers crossed.

As of right now, the longest distance I've ever run at a time is 14 miles. That means that I will be adding an additional 12.2 miles to that distance. I anticipate that it will take me approximately 6 and a half or 7 hours to finish... but the time isn't really that important.

Of course I say that the time isn't all that important now, but I'm sure that will change in the coming months as the reality sets in that I am actually going to do this.

Thankfully, unlike my experience at the Disney Half this past year, I will not be running this event entirely on my own. My awesome running partner Brina has graciously offered to run the marathon with me, to help keep me on pace and motivated. 6-7 hours on my own might be a little rough. But it seems all the more doable with a friend.




*A special thanks to Karen Orozco at Losing the Glass Slippers for allowing me to use her photo. Karen is currently training for her first half marathon at Disney's Princess Half in February 2014. Keep working hard Karen, you can do it!

Bombs at the Boston Marathon

In less than 36 hours I will be boarding a plane to attend a conference on hate studies. While there, I will be sitting as an "expert" panelist (with four of my amazing colleagues), presenting a paper which we wrote about the ins and outs of why terrorism works.

Right now, I am sitting in my living room, completely unable to pull myself away from the news... clearly I am going into media overload, constantly being bombarded by the images from the explosions that happened less than 5 hours ago at the finish line at the Boston Marathon. These explosions haven't officially been classified as a terrorist act, and my verdict is still out because we don't really have enough evidence yet to determine whether there were ideological or political motives behind the attack. I feel in my heart that it will be classified as terrorism (domestic or international), but that is neither here, nor there.

I guess I just needed an outlet to get my feelings out there, and that is why I am writing tonight.

And those feelings are: that I'm not handling this well. My worlds are colliding.

I look at terrorism day and night. I analyze it from a million different perspectives. And over time, that shit just gets into my brain.

I run as an escape. I run to get away from the terrorism and the pain I look at day in, and day out. I run to process and stay sane when faced with hatred, and bombs, and war, and fighting.

As a New Englander (and we all know that New Englanders are honorary Bostonians), I grew up seeing the coverage of the Boston Marathon. Even as a young child, before I had even put on a pair of running shoes, I knew about Patriot Day, and the importance of the Marathon to the local community.

As an adult, I recognize that I could never run the Boston Marathon. I'm not fast enough to qualify. I'm not strong enough for the hills. I'd love that opportunity, but it is so hard to get in... I'd hate to take the space away from the runners who are fast enough and strong enough.

Besides, I've never run more than 14 miles at a time.

But what I have run is a number of half marathons.

The distance between the second bomb blast and the finish line was just over a tenth of a mile. And having run 13.1 miles, I can tell you that when you enter that final stretch, you are running off of pure adrenaline and endorphins. You are absolutely exhausted and excited at the same time.

So to watch these video clips and hear stories of not only first responders and law enforcement, but ALSO RUNNERS jumping into the fray to break down the barricades and apply tourniquets, it brings tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat.

In the past, I have been really hesitant to call myself a runner.

Today, I know I am a runner. And an event that 27,000 of my friends whom I haven't yet met were attacked, in a city that might as well have been my own.

Today, I have a heavy heart.