Will Run for Travel

Water Marathons, Trifles, and Track Marks

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sat, 10 May 2014 23:32:00 +0000

It's been a month for the record books. Since the moment I got off the plane from the Galapagos on March 28th it's been pretty much the most jam-packed, craziest month ever. Emotionally, physically, mentally. All of it. It's been crazy in the best of ways, most unexpected ways, toughest of ways, and the ways in which you wish you could prevent but just can't sometimes. For all the craziness (and a few moments of sadness peppered in there to keep it real), there has been a lot of amazing stuff that has happened and I don't want to forgot that. Life shouldn't be about focusing on the easy stuff. It should be about taking it as it comes...all of it.

So, let me show you my month moment by moment. Grouse, Trifle, Running, Beer, New and Old Friends, Sweatpants, Hip Belts, track marks that make people stare and Marathons.

Early April- I came up with the crazy idea of "running" a 5 Hour Water Marathon. In less than a week, I managed to recruit 7 amazing friends to help me (including one who came in from NYC) and I just straight up did it. Without a flotation belt. Without stopping. I just water ran for 5 hours straight. Why? Because after 800+ days of being forced to Water Run I wanted to pay respect to the experience. Because I wanted to prove that I could. Because it scared me. Because I needed to get my mind off stuff.

There are very few people in the world that would poise with that belt on.
But, Emily is the best.
7am. MIT.
Water Marathon 2014

Next up, there was a Grouse invasion in my kitchen. Yes, a Grouse. As in the game. As in kind of like a chicken but not really. It's a really long story, but some good friends who I met while in the Galapagos came up for a reunion of sorts in NH. One of them took a red eye in. So, I picked him up from the airport at 6am. I went running (!!!!!!!!!!) and I came home to find a feathered Grouse in my kitchen. After some plucking and a cast iron skillet, we had Grouse for breakfast. My apartment still smells like Grouse. I think it has invaded my walls for good.

Grouse Invasion 2014.
I was so confused and so was everyone else I told the story to

Easter soon came. And that meant only 1 thing. Trifle. And we ate it all.

Trifle Eating should be a sport. If so, we'd be Olympic Champs.

Boston Marathon was the day after Easter. I went to the Expo with my friend Kristen who was running and got this shirt. I hadn't allowed myself to buy anything running-related since my injury. I don't know why. It just didn't seem right. But, this time I knew my time was coming again. And I felt such a relief. Marathon Monday was emotional, relieving, and just so different than last year. Thank goodness for everyone.

My 1st Running purchase!

After watching the Marathon and supporting my friend Kristen, I went for a run. A real run. Smiling, hyper-venting from happiness, and just being grateful.

Just a block from the Marathon madness, Columbus Ave seemed like my own private running paradise.
And yes, I'm running in a bike lane which is only semi-safe.

And then my Birthday happened. All I wanted for the past 2 birthdays was to be able to move...as I wanted to. However and wherever I wanted. So, I took off of work and did a triple workout (yes, I probably shouldn't have but I wanted to. It's what I wanted. So after listening to everyone's opinions on what I should or should not do, I did what I wanted to do). Flywheel, Core Fusion, Running, Massage, Acupuncture, Shopping, and Myers and Chang. Surrounded by things I love and people I love.

A personalized Birthday Menu

And then just as if I couldn't imagine the month getting better (Running, Birthdays, Marathons, Friends), my favorite bar on the planet reopened. Delux reopened and I was there 2x in 2 days on opening weekend. It's everything I love in a bar-- dark, laid back, seats, good food, and funky ambiance. But, now, they had an extended beer menu (Delux used to be known for having like 4 bars on the menu and you just sucked it up because you loved Delux so much). Now, there was Milk Stout, Allagash, Ciders, etc. It was Delux, but better and I couldn't have been happier.

Dark, Chairs, Drinks, Tacos, and general understated awesomeness. Delux.

The NEW Delux Beer Menu!

I had been waiting to run with this girl for months, and finally our time came. We worked out, lifted, ran and smiled. She is my exercise equal. I never thought I'd find her on the planet, but I did. She is amazingly kind, patient, loves cupcakes and rice krispie treats as much as me, loves pink way more than me, and runs like a bad-ass. She is amazing and I'm so lucky I got to run with her before she moves back to DC in a few weeks. Kristen- thanks for being my bad-ass equal.

What a bad-ass.
If you could have a running doppelganger, she would be it.

And then, just like that...the pause button was hit. I woke up the next day barely able to move, knowing I had pushed too hard. There was nobody to blame but myself, but I was sick of blaming myself. It's shitty when what you love hurts you. It's just shitty. I felt bad for myself for about 3 hours and then just stopped. Vera, this is a journey and you are almost over with this, I told myself. A little setback isn't anything. You can do this. I repeated that all day on Monday as I winced in pain. As I couldn't sit in my chair at work. As I had to sit down in the shower because it hurt so bad. Luckily, the next day was my "final" round of PRP. Despite the reemergence of pain, I went in positive. My Drs and I hugged and smiled. They told me the progress I have made was amazing. They told me this round of PRP will help seal the deal. They told me they were proud of me. The same Dr who told me she didn't know if I'd be able to run again just hugged me for what seemed like forever. She took pictures. I took pictures. It was bittersweet. Progress, but setback. Progress, but pain. Progress.

Bedrest includes lots of sweatpants, apparently orange shirts (tucked in?), and a new pedicure.

Loaded up on drugs, strapped together with a hip belt to keep my pelvis in place, and my sofa. I spent the next 2 days straight like this. For the 15th time. Good news? I'm sporting my new vintage Bears T that a friend got me for my bday. Looking sharp.

After a few days of being set up on the sofa, I finally sat up and started to move again. But, I had forgotten that there were a few scars visible to others. Track marks from the PRP. It's not glamorous, but they are my war wounds. And hopefully my last round of them.

Track Marks

What a month. Highs, Lows, Pauses. It has had it all. But, time is moving forward and progress is all around. I can feel it.

Rainy runs

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sat, 26 Apr 2014 22:37:00 +0000

When you haven't done something in so long and you are finally reunited, every sensation and every moment is so much more intense. Separation makes you notice things you took for granted or didn't even notice before. Separation gives you an appreciation for the formerly unappreciated.

Running in the rain is something I adore. I've always adored it-- the bigger the puddles, the more torrential the downpour, the lighting. All of it I love. There is something so freeing and so raw about getting outside and letting Mother Nature have her way a bit. Not fighting it, but just going with it. The feeling during a rainy run when you ask yourself why you even wore a rain running jacket because it doesn't ever really work. Or when you finally stop avoiding the puddles and instead just run right through them soaking your socks and shoes that were already 90% soaked anyway. Or the feeling of rain pouring down the front of your hat and your face being a weird mix of rain and salty sweat. And then when you get home only to realize you are dripping like you just got out of the shower and start to immediately undress in your hallway, ringing out your running clothes before they are even acceptable to wash. Those were the parts of rain runs I remember. And they were so damn satisfying.

So, when I woke up today knowing I was going to set out on my 2nd outdoor run, I couldn't have been happier that it was raining. Bring. It. On. I set out without a watch or expectation. I just ran one of my favorite old running routes. It's a completely unspectacular route, nothing particularly special about it other than it weaves through my neighborhood in a very particular fashion up 1 way streets so I avoid the brick sidewalks, runs directly through South Boston and all its eclectic nature, and was often the scene of demanding weeknight 10+ milers in the dead, dark of winter in Boston. This was the route I ran when I wasn't running for glamour. I was running because running didn't need to be entertaining or have beautiful sights. The most unspectacular can be spectacular on foot.

I headed out pain-free and, unlike my first run a few days ago where I couldn't stop smiling, this run felt more natural. Focused or stoic likely would have been the words a stranger would have described me had they been asked. Internally screaming with joy, but outwardly just focusing on enjoying and noticing every single detail. And that is what I tried to do this 2nd run outside-- notice everything I had forgotten about. Notice things I never bothered noticing when I was healthy. Have a reunion with the rain and my run. Here are the top things I noticed:

1- Running the wrong way up a one-way street that is often never driven is one of the simplest, yet most powerful moves you can make. You literally feel like a force of nature and so powerfully connected with the road.

2- Running jackets are tricky. You often never get them quite right- you either have too many layers or not enough. It doesn't really protect you from anything, but maybe wind.

3- The feeling of rain dripping from the tip of your running hat is just one of my favorite feelings

4- Saying 'thank you" to your body is something I never did when I ran. I said thank you about 10x in the course of 30 minutes...thanking it for getting me here. Thanking it for letting me get back here. Thanking me for reuniting me.

5- There is a quite rhythm of your breathing when you run (especially me, who can't breath through her nose). It's not necessarily panting or wheezing. it's sounds like a calming noise machine or something. This is why I hate running with music, you tone out your own music.

6- There is a moment in a cold or rainy run when your nose ever so slightly starts to drip in a non-sick way...but in a way that signals something is going on with your breathing. I never bothered to notice it before.

7- There is a always a moment when you stop avoiding puddles and it is always about the moment where you realize your feet are already soaked so it doesn't matter. And then you ask yourself why you wasted so much energy running and jumping over them the first few miles.

8- Catching a glimpse of yourself running in a store window is one of the most powerful images I never bothered to look at before.

9- The sensation when heat builds up under your running jacket and you finally either open the zipper or lower the zipper is like letting hot air out of a balloon. It's such a rush of climate change.

10- There is a special appreciation for fellow runners out there on a rainy day. A relationship that never has to be formalized, but that is understood.

What a day. What a reunion and it just continues.

Reunion

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 25 Apr 2014 04:03:00 +0000

I'ts April 24, 2014 and it's exactly 834 days ago that this all began. 834 days. That is a long ass time (excuse my French, but I feel like a swear word is necessary). 834 days ago I ran and my body literally made the decision for me. No more running. No more walking. No more anything. Slow down. Recoup. I limped home 834 days ago and I limped for another 400+ days after that. Dr's and Injections and more $$s than I want to count. 14 rounds of Bed Rest and hours of Arm Bike. Being thankful just to be on an Arm Bike-- my haven as the only exercise I had. Days full of hope and expectations of a quicker recovery and then there were days very dark. Very deeply dark. My soul and heart feeling overcome with not seeing the light. Not seeing how I could smile through a world without movement. Without running. Without walking. With deep scars from my hip belt that bled nightly. Feeling outwardly hopeful and inwardly hopeless. Seeking to find my lemonade out of lemons. Smiling because it was the only thing I could control.

It was so hard. Every single day of those 834 were hard.

But, it feels like the universe knows when it's all been enough. When you can't take any more. When the lesson has been learned and you have been changed...kicking and screaming...for the better.

It wasn't like it all of a sudden happened. There were minutes of walking and minutes of jogging. There were 9 minutes of planks a day to strengthen my abs and so many of those sitting hip raises that I think I could generally sleep doing them. I didn't just get better. I worked at it. A lot. Over a lot of months. The last year has been a series of "almost reunions" with running. So close, but not quite enough. Then there were the months of fear. Fear of starting back 834 days ago. Unfairly going to day 1 again if I made a mistake. Being afraid of running...of trying.

And then the Galapagos Islands happened. I went for 2 weeks exploring one of the most (if not THE most beautiful places in the world) that I have ever been lucky enough to see. I didn't think about running because I couldn't. I didn't work out. I just reflected and rested. And I realized that I am no longer in pain. That I can run again. That I want to run again. And to do that...I must try fearlessly.

The Galapagos. A restart.

So, I built back up on the treadmill running 1 minute at a time when I returned. I went from 1 minute to 7 minutes continuously. And then 2 days ago happened-- I went running outside painfree. 3.5 miles nonstop. On my favorite running routes. Smiling like a fool.

And I think I'm back this time. For real.

Recovery

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sun, 02 Feb 2014 20:11:00 +0000

Time really does fly... I look back at the last 2 years and some part of me wonders what has happened-- how is it really 2 years that have last since I ran injury-free? How has this lasted so long and why has it lasted so long? I look at friends and family-- a lot has happened to the people closest to me. I've been able to experience with my friends/family the joy of weddings, engagements, babies (sometimes more than one), moves, and travels (some of which have been mine). I've been thoroughily happy for every single one of them. Joyful of their life changing moments. Smiling and celebrating along with them freely!

Yet, despite these genuine smiles and celebrations, I have been fighting my own battle. To go from tip-top athletic shape to not being able to walk/move/roll in bed to today's current road of recovery couldn't have been predicted. But, its been as equally life changing as all those amazing events I've witnessed over the last 2 years. This has been my life-changer.

If I look back at the last 2 years, I can distinctly split the time into 4 periods- each with their own emotional element. Here we go with the run down.

January 2012-August 2012- Dark Days
I wouldn't wish these months and what came along with them on anyone I know. In a matter of 24 hours, I went from planning my next big adventure in South Africa and training for yet another incredible Ultra, to crying from the pain of getting up from a chair. Early in January I stopped running (self-imposed, knowing this was serious). From that time on, I was tiredlessly moving from one Dr to another trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Claustophobic moments in a full body MRI for 2 hours without any wisdom coming from it, 3x/week PT where I had PTs incorrectly pressing of my pubic bone to "get it back in line" (which was completely ridiculous and was an incorrect procedure for my true issue), to 2 male doctors convincing me to get a Cortisone shot directly in my pubic symphasis without any pain meds (I'm rather certain this has prepared me for giving birth to some degree), to not being able to do anything but arm bike. It was tiring. It was painful. I was starting a new job which had its own trials and I wanted to so badly to not be a victim. I never really let many people in to how hard this time period was. But, it was horrible. There was absolutely zero improvement in these 8 months...the exact same pain was present in January as it was in August. And that wore on me deeply. My friends rallied around me to the best they could, but nobody knew anything and everyone just assumed this would be like any other running injury anyone had seen-- out for a matter of weeks, not months. And nobody ever thought years.

August 2012- Figuring it out, but still not knowing
By July my PT and Doctor was getting frustrated. Nothing was working and I found myself having grown 2 bra sizes and lost control of my body in every way I knew in the past. My Doctor called me and told me about this woman named Dr. Borg-Stein-- a specialist in women's running injury (specifically pelvic injuries). She had some techniques that were cutting-edge and he thought she may have some new answers. He emailed her and she took my case on despite a 9 months waiting list. Also, my PT switched me to a Women's PT, who specialized in pelvic floor injuries. After 8 months of working with this Dr and PT, I said goodbye and headed to a hopeful path forward.

I met with Dr. Borg-Stein in July of that year, which has been well documented in this blog. She had sent me to get a new MRI...for a better magnetic MRI...and from an expert Radiologist. I felt for the first time I had the best of the best on the case. The day when she explained what was really happening and had happened to me, was painful but liberating. To know is a powerful thing...no matter how painful that knowledge is. It's so much better than ignorance.

After feeling bad for myself for a few weeks, I picked myself up and took Dr. Borg Stein's advice and signed up for my first round of Prolo therapy. We didn't know if it would work or how long it would take, but we were going to try. And in that, there was some freedom.

August 2012 to March 2013- A painful plan forward

In August 2012 I had my first Pelvic Prolotherapy Injection. My friend Emily was at my side and my dear friends Kristin/Jenny/Laura/Kelly were all there to help me afterwards with my bed-rest state. Prolotherapy was painful and shocking, making the Cortisone I had received earlier seem like child's play.

I ended up having a total of 7 round of these. Every 4 weeks the cycle would be Prolotherapy and then bedrest. I would usually only have 2 weeks of "good" time before my next round. I felt a bit of improvement after each therapy, nothing sustained and nothing that allowed me to run again. But, I was growing strength with Planks and getting back to lifting and push ups. So, movement was coming back.

Around Feb 2013, Dr. Borg-Stein suggested we elevate our aggressiveness to the next level. The next level was PRP (Platelet Rich Plasma) injections. It was more expensive, more painful, and required even more recovery. But, using your own blood to help cure you sounded like it made sense and had been proven to work in countless studies. So, we progressed to PRP in March.

March 2013 to Feb 2014- PRP and Starting Over

The start of PRP was the start of my real recovery. No more faux come backs, this was legit. Since March I have had 4 rounds of PRP (March, July, October, January). The process is painful and scaring (due to the blood drawing my arms make me look like some sort of junkie by the end of the treatment). But, afterwards I have felt incrementally better. Running has started, only 1 minute at a time. But, pain-free. I feel in control and like we are moving forward- finally.

But, as if fate has committed some funny (or not so funny joke on me), my latest challenge isn't about running at all. It's about the Fear of Running.

After months and years of pain, I'm currently struggling with getting over the fear of running. My PT says I should be running every 2 days, but I often find myself getting only 2 days in a week. Not because I can't. But, of the fear of Can't. The Fear of Pain. The Fear of starting all this again. It's an agonizing feeling and likely my next big challenge. My own head. My own heart. And getting over this.

I can't wait to share more...

Do we dare call this a trend?

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Thu, 15 Aug 2013 02:34:00 +0000

A light. A real one.

I've learned a lot about not getting too excited about supposed progress over the last 19 months. So, I asked myself if I even dare to call today a new trend. But, hey-- why not?

Today I ran 10 minutes and yet again was completely pain-free. I was even told by the other PTs (who were all naturally watching me since they all know about my case) that I had the most "natural running form they had ever have seen". It may be niceties but lets just assume they were telling the trueth. I still got it, people. Still got it...

10 minutes and there were cheers at PT.

I can finally see the light. And that isn't just positive thinking. It's a really bright light ahead.

Another 10 minutes forward

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Tue, 06 Aug 2013 21:56:00 +0000

We'll keep this short and sweet. After yet another round of PRP, my PT and I tried running again. 10 minutes on the treadmill. Felt great and pain-free.

I think we may be on to something here.

A Comeback and a Setback

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sun, 02 Jun 2013 23:49:00 +0000

After 18 months, I was so looking forward to sharing some excellent news with you. You have no idea.

Lately, my constant fear of being defined or owned by this injury has forced me to just stop writing about it all together. I simply haven't been unable to bring myself to write any more posts about disppointment, that I simply haven't written anything. A trend I have patiently been waiting to end.

But, after 3 weeks of feeling the incredible feeling of no pain, I thought we had finally made a breakthrough. I had traveled to Amsterdam and the French Alps and felt like a normal person again. I felt this immense freedom. This deep feeling of joy and normalcy. And what an intense feeling the absense of pain is- it's visceral happiness that no words do justice to describe.

This release from pain, allowed me to experience my trip to Amsterdam/France in a familiar blast from the past- on foot without any guilt or restraint. I cycled through the beautiful canels of Amsterdam effortlessly. I ate the best Dutch Apple Pie I likely will ever be lucky enough to eat again. I stopped my bike whereever I wanted and just enjoyed the art of being silent in a not silent place. I was the first person in the Van Gogh Museum and ran (kind of) up to the gallery stairs to floors 3 and 4 before everyone else caught on just so I could enjoy the art alone (a rare moment in museums). By the time I got to France, I was still feeling great, so the trend continued. I woke up early in the Alps (at this incredible Chalet with a gourmet chef) and walked up the mountains with just me, the babbling alpine brook, and the local horses. I completed an Orienteering Course, which reminded me of the adventures of trail running. I even took a Segway up a mountain path, fell brutally, and got back up...feeling resislency again for the first time. Every morning I was so hungry from my combined adventures, that I ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted- knowing my body was burning it as fast as it came in (an awesome feeling- You runners know exactly what I'm talking about).

I think I smiled from ear to ear every day of that trip.

I came back last Friday and immediate wrote my PT, Meghan. She was thrilled and so, at my next appointment she said - "Vera, let's try it. Lets get you on the treadmill!" I had thought about that moment for so long that when she said it was actually going to happen, it didn't seem real. I wasn't nearly as outwardly excited as I envisioned myself being. Perhaps I had prepared myself for the worst.

The run was incredible, though. 5 minute walk, 1 minute run X 5. I was slow, but my gait felt natural. My feet struck the ground without the lighting bolt I pain I had become accustomed to during my last few runs. I felt like a Runner again. It felt like a friend I hadn't seen in a really long time. It felt better than literally any other sensation I had ever or will ever experience. It may sound dramatic, but it's true.

The whole rest of that day, I was scared. Waiting for the ceiling to fall in and crumble. But, it didn't. Nor did it the next day. I felt AMAZING. But, then Friday came...It was as if my body gave me those 2 days as a cruel sort of gift. Reminding me what it felt like to be unrestained.

Friday was tough. I woke up in extreme pain. No sitting, standing, walking, laying released it. I knew this pain. It was the kind of pain I felt after I tried to run, those last few weeks before I stopped over 18 months ago. It was not the low-level constant pain I felt more recently. It was acute. It was serious. It felt exactly like it did 18 months before. Exactly. Saturday was no better, nor is today. What a cruel scenario this all is.

I'm hopeful something will change. That one day it really will get better and that I'll feel what I felt in Amsterdam again. I would never take advantage of it again. I promise.

This is me- in completely inappropiate running attire- taking my 1st running steps in 18 months. Just 1 week ago

Fading memories

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 00:52:00 +0000

The mind is a beautiful thing and something I cherish every day. But, it also can be decisively cruel and healing at the same time. Painful memories eventually fade, but so do incredible ones. I wish I could have a pause button on those memories I wish could never fade, while a fast forward button for those I wish to move along quicker. Unfortuately, we do not. And time moves on, creating new memories, forgetting those that are behind us, and some how moving us all forward.

I woke up this morning with a painful realization. I simply cannot remember what it feels like to run. I cannot imagine how it feels or what it feels like. I never thought this moment would come and I'm shocked, saddened, and lonely by the thought. Running is the one thing I wanted to be integrated with forever...never at fear for its loss. But, alas, its happened and I am a different person than I was only a year ago. Saddened by a loss. Even saddened by the loss of the memory.

I often have taken time to wish/hope/pray that something will change. That all my hard work in PT, water running, 1000s of dollars, months and months of Prolo injections and bed rest would some how pay off. It sucks when hard work doesn't. It sucks when things just aren't fair. My Dr says I've made progress. But, I can tell that if someone asked me to run, it would hurt bad. Really bad. That isn't progress.

Next month I am headed to Platelet Rich Plasma as my next form of treatment. A more painful, more expensive, and more intense treatment. I mean it's about walking at this point-- money is no object any more. But, what would you do? Just give up? Stop? I don't know. I just can't.

But, I have to ask myself. When your memory of what you are fighting for fades, is that your mind's way of easing the pain? It is the mind's way of telling you to just give up the fight?

I really hope not.

Perhaps this is why I filmed this video. To try to always remember.

365 Days without Running

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 22:53:00 +0000

I really didn't want to write this post. I was secretly hoping as the months ticked by that somehow New Years Day 2013 would not come without a Run. But, alas, it is December 31st and tomorrow WILL come and I will not be tying on my shoes and all my winter running gear to go Running on the 1st day of the New Year. Instead, I'll be packing my bags and going to try to get sweaty on the Arm Bike...with still no sight of when or how I'll run again. I have at least 2 more painful Prolotherapy injections in my future and potentially an even more painful Platlet Rich Plasma injection. Hope is within me, but it has tested every inch of my being to stay positive. Every single inch.

I wish I had some insightful thing to say (like, it was "incredible" that I didn't run...that I learned all these great things, etc). But, no. I'm not going to lie. When you love something you cannot do, it's burns a deep hole that is only partially filled by other things. For me, it hasn't just been about running, it's been about not being able to move without pain. Movement is life and to have a life of pain with movement, is just a hard thing to describe to others. I'm not sure how many people really get it. I'm not sure how many people ever will.

So, as I look to 2013, I stay hopeful that something will change. That the universe will somehow change this course. I stay reminded that unfair things happen all the time to people. I am reminded that it could always be worse. Always. But, I have one very simple wish for 2013. Just 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes of running pain-free. I promise to never take it for granted again. I promise to appreciate every second I run. I promise to spread love and joy when I run. Here is to a 2013 that simply must be better than 2012.

My trail running shoes. They are clean and waiting for me.

Thankfulness minus Facebook and Facial Hair

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 23 Nov 2012 05:49:00 +0000

I'm on Facebook. I get it. For the entire month of November all my female friends have been doing this "1 thing to be Thankful for everyday" thing (I don't mean to be gender profiling, but I did an assessment: It's all women). My guy friends, on the other hand, have just been growing Mustaches (you know that whole "Movember" thing). Perhaps I'm missing some cool social cues here, but I still don't get how Mustache could = Movember. But, I'll just pass that off as my inability to spell. Anyway, it seems like everyone is doing something this month to acknowledge the good things in life, including facial hair (which, by the way, I completely agree is one of life's greatest joys).

I'm not into the over sharing on Facebook and don't have the ability to grow a stash. So, I thought in the midst of my servings of Brussel Sprouts, I'd write a few reasons why I'm Thankful, no matter how imperfect my year has ended up:

1) I'm really thankful to have grown up in Chicago. Every time I land in Chicago for a holiday, I am so proud to be from a big, cultural city that still has genuinely nice people. I think some East Coasters could learn a little something from the Midwest.

2) I'm really thankful for my 2 best friends: Maggie and Scott. No matter how many months pass without seeing each other, no matter how many years I continue to not move back to Chicago (it's 12 years...but who's counting), and no matter how great/shitty/confusing/crazy/wonderful things happen to us it is just always great and low maintenance. I think once you hit your 30s friendships must be low maintenance. Save the drama for your mama.

3) I'm really thankful that I learned to drive in Chicago and that my Mom schooled me in how to drive like a bad ass early on (there was no chance in hell she was going to have a wimpy driver as a daughter). I don't mean to brag, but I'm a really good driver. Thank you, Chicago.

4) I'm so thankful to have just come home from Thailand and to have had the opportunity to travel there. What an incredible planet we live on! So many incredible things to see and eat and I hope to continue to do all of them next year.

5) I'm thankful that I woke up the last 2 days in no pain and that I didn't wear my hip belt. I'm thankful that hope is always within us. Always.

Having cooked and eaten in Thailand makes me want Curry on Thanksgiving. Sorry, Stuffing.

11 months in

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 02:59:00 +0000

I still remember waking up on New Year's morning 2012, putting on my running tights and all my gear and driving to the Blue Hills Reservation to run a long, amazing trail run. It was my New Year's tradition. Running with a slight hangover and much less sleep than you should be allowed to run on. I remember thinking that I didn't feel myself the days prior and thinking that my pelvis kind of hurt. I just figured it was left over from being sick over Christmas. I didn't really worry about.

I remember getting out and meeting this great trail runner named Mike, whom I had never met in person before. Trail runners are just nice that way. It's so much more social than road running. We went out running and I had this amazing run (including a near encounter with a Coyote...yes, a Coyote... not a Dog that looked like a Coyote). Although amazing, I remember grimacing in pain in a way that I hoped he didn't notice. It was like a shooting lighting bolt of pain was running up and through my pelvis. Every step hurt by 30 minutes in. I kept going because we all keep going. That is just what we do. We ran up and down hills that only 3 months before would have seemed like nothing. But by the end I was running with a limp, dragging myself behind him. I remember having to forcibly get off the trail and run on the road because I couldn't maneuver the rocks. I got done with that run with a feeling I had never, ever felt before. It wasn't that feeling of wishing I had done better or that delicious feeling of exhaustion. It was a feeling of doom. This was serious and I could just tell. I didn't need to see a broken bone or blood to know that. I limped from my car to my apartment. I limped to the shower. I put my brand new running shoes in their box.
That was my last run. It was almost 11 months ago.

When I first went to the Doctor a few weeks after that New Year's Day run, I never ever thought I'd be sitting here still unable to run almost months later (with very little short term hope of doing so). In fact, I was so resolute that I'd be running by October that I signed up for the Chicago Marathon just a few weeks after my injury. 11 months seemed so far away. I had never met a runner who had been injured that long. That just doesn't happen. It just doesn't happen to people who are fit and train smartly. It surely wouldn't happen to me. My Doctors were even telling me I'd be running by March. That Boston Marathon was completely do-able. My hope was not falsely grounded.

But, alas, here we are and it is almost November. I wake up most days still full of that hope as I put on my hip belt that I wear 24/7 and smells like Chorine no matter how much I wash it. I think I smell permanently like Chorine. I wonder if that will ever go away? Other days it's tougher. Not impossible. Just tougher. I try not to be resentful. I remind myself that resent is a nasty thought that won't help this cause.

So, it's been a journey. I don't want to forget all the things I've learned. So, here it is:

January: I learned that the body always has the final say. No matter how strong the mind is.
February: I learned that Doctors do not have all the answers. I learned that not knowing is definitely worse than knowing.
March: I learned commitment on an entirely different level than before. Commitment to getting well takes something more than commitment to race.
April: I learned that Cortisone shots into your pubic bone are awful. Going to work afterwards is even worse. Watching the Boston Marathon the week after your Cortisone shots and knowing they didn't work is the absolute worst.
May: I learned about losing hope deep within you while keeping your head up.
June: I learned about Doctor's telling you that they can't help you anymore.
July: I learned about a Doctor that would help me.
August: I learned that Prolotherapy is way worse than Cortisone Shots and Ultra marathons combined. I learned about friends who are willing to hold your hand as you cry on an operating table.
September: I learned about friends who would do anything to help.
October: I learned to stop waiting to get better.
November: THAILAND (I'm leaving in 1 week)

THAILAND. This is my November.

Choices

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Mon, 03 Sep 2012 23:43:00 +0000

Life is a series of choices. People try to find a lot of excuses out there to rationalize the choices they make, as if they need to. Often times they try to pass choices onto someone or something else, removing themselves from the potential repercussions of that choice. To me, it's rather easy. We are in control of our choices-- whether they be things we do or the way we respond to things in our lives. We have the ability choose a path or a reaction. It doesn't choose us.

There is no need to repeat myself. We all know what is going on with me physically. The one question I have gotten repeatedly over the last month is "How are you doing?" First, I feel grateful that I surround myself by people who care enough to ask without assuming they know. But, as the receiver of such a question it can be a tad daunting. At first I didn't know what I felt or how was I doing. It was simply too much to process. I needed time to find me in whatever my reaction was going to be.

Then, a week or so later I realized something. I had a choice. A rather big one. I could choose to let this...this injury, this truly unfortunate injury...define me. To bring me to the brink of sadness and anger. To erase all the sunny sense of self that I have built and defined myself by all these years. Nobody would say my situation didn't warrant such a response.

Or, I could simply not.

I iimagined actually choosing to not let this define me. I imagined choosing to not let this completely reverse how far I had come and how naturally optimistic I still was. I imagined just saying this won't define me. Period. I imagined me just allowing this to be a chapter in a long, multi-volume book. A chapter that I will always remember and most likely changed the course of the book, but doesn't take away from who I am and who I was.

I have chosen to not let this injury bring my life to sad and dark halt. I've chosen to just keep moving forward. I did my first round of Prolo last month (I'll write a real post about it, because it deserves one). I actually asked friends for help, something I just don't know how to do (It isn't my natural style to ask for help...I'd rather be the one helping). I scheduled my next round of Prolo on September 11th. I looked into buying an Arm Bike at my house...because, that is bad ass. I called the Chicago Marathon and told them I wasn't running it this year and I did not want to delay my entry until next year. I do not want to hold on to what might be. I want to live right now...I want to feel better physically, but I also want to start to build a life around the potential of whatever "better" is, it likely will not be what it used to be. I do not want to sit around stagnant saying I can't commit to anything until this all is over. This is life...I'm not going to just "wait it out". I booked a trip to Paris and Thailand. If I can't run, I better keep traveling. Because, my passion for both haven't diminished an ounce.

Me at a fabulous Wedding just a few days after my first Prolo Therapy...Smiling

When it's just not fair

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 23:44:00 +0000

I never liked the word "fair". I really never liked when people said things weren't "fair". It just seemed like people trying to push blame off onto something else...anything but themselves. In fact, this hard stance on fairness started with my Mom. My Mom never allowed the word fair to be in the vocabulary. She'd say, "Life isn't fair, Vera. No point in dwelling over it. Focus on what you can change". I lived that motto every day...trying to focus on the positive. Trying to focus on what I COULD do to affect change in my life vs. dwelling when things just didn't stack up in the "fairness" camp. This is a great motto, but it puts the burden on you...and frankly, that can get tiring.

Life has handed me a very unfair situation lately and I'm actually not going to try to rationalize it otherwise. It is unfair and I do not deserve it, nor does anyone. After months of therapy, months of agony, and months of waiting, my medical case was handed to a fabulous and extremely renowned Sport Doctor in Boston. I was grateful for her to even see my case, let alone make myself a patient. She graciously helped me...starting from scratch on trying to understand what has happened, sending for new (more specific) MRIs, and lastly thinking outside the box. All that knowledge and expertise comes with a double edged sword-- Answers...finally. But, Answers can sometimes be not what you want to hear.

After my new MRIs came in, the new Dr. brought me into her office and told me the truth. She didn't sugar coat it. She didn't even try to rationalize it. She just said it and she said it quickly. She said, "Vera, I'm really sorry to say this. Really I am. But, you have the worst...and I am not overreacting...the worst pelvic injury I have ever seen." She continued to list out all the things wrong with my pelvis...Laxity, Fluid, Capsular tears, Bone Marrow Edema, softening of the bones, etc etc. She said she was shocked I could walk let alone run for as long as I did. She said my pelvis is in a degenerative state. She said that I'll never be 100%...ever. She said I'd run my last marathon...and ultra marathon. She said that I had years of recovery ahead...just to walk without pain. She said this will be expensive and time intensive and painful. She said my body just took more pounding than it could handle. She said I probably was so "drugged" by my endorphins while running that I likely couldn't feel pain. She said she was sorry.

I remember staring at her not sure what to do. I felt like I was viewing the scene from above, outside my body and unable to really talk or respond. I remember thinking I wish I was there with someone else...so they could ask the questions I couldn't verbalize. I remember feeling a deep understanding of what loss really felt like. I remember wishing I had someone to drive me home.

I walked out of the office with 3 options-- Rest, Prolotherapy, or Platelet Rich Plasma Injections. The last two are not covered by insurance, but are Cutting Edge therapies...both of which this Dr. does regularly. The lady at the front reception gave me a paper about the costs of each injection and then said bluntly "If you don't decide to get the injections, the Dr said for you to come back in 12 months...just to check in". I'm not sure what I was expecting her to say, but the reality hit in. This was it...no more Dr visits. No more trying to find Answers. You had your Answer. Now, you either take the 2 options given to you or you just accept what your Answer is.

I walked to my car and tears flooded my eye sockets. It was if I didn't even need to contract a facial muscle for them to fall onto my face. My body was just letting it out. There was no more pretending it was OK...or that I was strong enough to deal with it. This was big, this was painful, and my body wasn't let me hide it anymore. I called a friend who confirmed what I knew. "Vera, this isn't your fault. This just isn't fair." It was the only thing I heard that day that made me feel better.

I drove home, blaring loud early 90s alternative rock (my favorite). I gave myself the entire rest of the day to be miserable. Even walking in the rain without an umbrella (because if my life was a movie, that is totally what my character would have done). It was as if the weather in Boston was cooperating in allowing this day to suck. I got ice cream for dinner and I watched the Olympics. Then the next day I went to work...trying to figure out how to respond when people asked how my appointment was. I didn't. I just said it was OK. Because, really...nobody wants to hear about your pubic bone or pelvis in the middle of work.

I went home that next day from work and didn't cry or feel bad for myself. I went swimming, because that is what I could do. And, I made my appointment for Prolotherapy. But, I also didn't try to overcome my feelings. I just said to myself that night after Swimming...."It's just not fair." And, I felt better. A little bit.

A Good Sweat

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 02:23:00 +0000

Sweating Inside

There are a lot of things I miss about not running, but the one I miss the most…when I really dig deep…is a Good Sweat. A Sweat when you are so soaked, your shirt is sticking to you, you need a towel under you in the car on the way home, you are not thinking about whether people will notice how wet you are, but more focused on your potentially offensive odor, and, lastly, you legitimately feel like your body just did some serious work. Running does that…especially in the Summer…and I miss it.

So, I’ve been on the search for a copy cat to the stinky, summer running sweat. I’ve tried it all…Hip Hop Yoga, Wearing thermal compression legging in the pool while water running (a fashion statement, if I should say so myself), the reclining bike, and other random exercise machines that most people just try to pass up at the gym (You know that Arm Bike they have in the back corner with dust on it…oh yes, I’ve tried it). All attempts failed miserably at even giving me a hint of the sweat that a good, sunny, midday Summer run does. Not even close.

But, this weekend I was headed to Scottsdale, AZ for some R&R with my girlfriends. Normally, this would be an ideal moment for a 4am sunrise run to explore the Cactus landscape. Although running wasn’t in the cards for me this trip, I figured I had a serious shot at some sweating. Especially, given the 112 degree temps. “Stinky sweat, here I come”… was my mantra all the way down to AZ. One thing I knew I wanted was not to just stay in the hotel the entire trip. I personally can’t think of anything worse in life than not seeing ANYTHING outside a resort. So, I took it upon myself to get a rental car and scope out the options for Sweat-potential.

Option #1: Hike Camelback Mountain (about a 2 hour roundtrip hike). I liked this option because a) I would get to see the local landscape and b) it would definitely provoke some type of sweat. But, the thought of 2 hours in direct sunlight in Arizona ended that dream pretty quickly. I never like when you have to choose between death (aka Skin Cancer) and Sweating. The anti-death option always wins. Every. Single. Time.

Option #2: Swimming outdoors in the Resort Lap Pool. This was a relatively safe option. I’d get to be outside (extra Sweat potential) and I’d get to Swim (which, is something I’m working on each day). But, at the end of the day the idea of looking up at the sunlight in untinted goggles gave me visions of eye wrinkles and sun-induced migraines. So, it was knocked off the list rather quickly.

Option #3: Random exercise equipment at the gym (minus the treadmill). This option just straight up sucked. No way was I going to fly to Arizona and workout at the hotel gym. There is literally no place less inspiring than a hotel gym. Awful. Awful. Avoid at all costs, people. Avoid.

Option #4: Sumits Hot Yoga. I did some serious Googling before I left and this place kept coming up in all sorts of fitness searches as one of the best workouts in Scottsdale. It is a HOT yoga studio (100 Degrees + 40% Humidity) that combines some of the “best” elements of Bikram (“best” equals none of the practice when you feel like you are going to pop something out of its joint) + Power Vinyasa Yoga (fast paced, aerobics-like yoga) + Music that is actually good. This place quickly jumped to lead option and there was no going back.

So, now that I had my place, I needed a plan. Like most of my trips, I’m a believer in the early morning vacation workouts. You get to see a place before the tourists wake up and you get some much needed quiet time. Plus, you get to enjoy your travel buddies and activities without feeling guilty that you haven’t gotten your workout in. So, the 6:30am class it was.

Now, the hardest part of doing early morning vacation workouts is not that you have to get up, but that you have to explain to your other sane travel partners that a 6:30am Hot Yoga workout in Arizona is a normal idea. For me, though, the good thing is that my friends know me. They know I do these “normal” things all the time on vacation and a 5am wake up call is standard. They have stopped asking “Why”, and I’ve stopped trying to convince them to come with. A mutual understanding is what I call it. Although, even for my seasoned friends, Hot Yoga in Arizona sounded extreme. But, at the end of the day they just smiled, nodded, and said “Whatever floats your boat”. A sign of good friends.

The alarm went off at 5:30 and I was pumped. I quickly chugged a Liter of water and got on all my wicking fabric clothing I could find. My first observation as soon as I got outside the hotel was, Arizona is hot. Even at 5:30am. Arizona is also sunny, even at 5:30am. Lastly, Arizona has a lot of traffic lights that do not change their timing regardless of what time of day it is (I sat at a traffic light for what felt like 5 minutes). But, I did get to see the beauty of the Phoenix Valley and my fair share of Cacti. Success, indeed.

When I arrived at Sumits I was prepared for some stink. Hot Yoga studios typically stink…bad. So bad, in fact, that they make you question your decision time and time again. But, I was pleasantly surprised. It smelled great, the people were nice, and the studio was clean. Win win win so far. The class sealed the deal, though. It was fabulous. The instructor played around with changing up the lighting in the room to invigorate vs. relax, music vs. silence, and stationary compression poses typical in a Bikram-style with fast paced Vinyasa. It was great. Really great, actually.

Now on to the important details. Did I sweat? Oh boy did I sweat. But, the best part of it was not that I sweated, but that I felt like I truly worked for my sweat. The issue with most hot yoga classes is that I feel like the sweat is undeserved. You sweat because it is a billion degrees in there, but not because you were really pushing your heart rate. At Sumits, though, you worked hard. Your heart rate was up, you were moving, and sweating. You couldn’t tell if it was the temperature or how much you were pushing yourself. Just like a Summer Run.

So, there may be nothing quite like a summer run for a stinky sweat, but Hot Yoga comes close.

When you just can't Run

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sun, 10 Jun 2012 22:17:00 +0000

I'm straight up embarrassed to admit that it has been almost a full 5 months since my last post. I could try to come up with some clever way to tell you how busy I was (I was, but aren't we all?...not a good excuse) or how I had nothing interesting to write about (I can't tell you how many half written posts I have). But, in reality, I just couldn't bring myself to write anything fully. Call it Writers Block. Call it losing touch with your inspiration. I call it just not running.

I haven't run a step since Mid January. Yep, you read that right. It's been over 5 months and there is little of progress. I've been to 5 Doctors, PT 2x a week for 5 months, gotten a Cortisone shot in a place that makes people cringe when I tell them. I've done 1 hours of PT exercises a day for 5 months, not run a step, and did everything every well-intended professional told me to do. Including not working out at all and no Core Fusion. I've gone to Acupuncturist, Herbalist, and subjected myself to all sorts of painful types of "alignment" and deep massage. The issue is that what I have is so rare most professionals have never heard of it before, let alone treated it. It just straight up sucks and I'm not going to try to sugar coat it otherwise. I've cried, I've bitched, I've said it isn't fair, I've said how much it hurts. I've been dealing with being a Runner who can't run. And that person seem like me, but someone who is missing something. Because, I am. I'm missing something I love. It's made me look at the world differently and appreciate things more fully. But, deep down...even with a Half Glass Full mentality, it just makes me sad. Because I love running more than most people I know.

I'm not going to try to teach some profound insight in this post. I'm just going to tell you how it is. Straight up. What I've learned, What I miss, and What I can't wait to do again.

I've learned that the body is an amazing machine. But, even machines break down sometimes.
I've learned that machines can break down even if the driver did nothing wrong...and tried to do everything right (like cross-train, stretch, eat well, and listen to the body)
I've learned that movement is something we should never take for granted. After 5 months of walking in pain, I'd take just a simple walk to the kitchen without "feeling it".
I've learned that running 400 meters around a track 1x is a gift that I would joyfully embrace if I get the chance to again.
I've learned that sometimes there is no explanation why.
I've learned that even the most balanced life, with lots of joys and friends, can still be sad with an absence of something you truly love
I've learned that what I did last year at Comrades was superhuman and amazing. My body gave me the opportunity to do that and I'll be forever grateful.
I've learned that Pool Running requires a lot of perseverance and patience...especially when being kicked and splashed by old men swimming badly near you.
I've learned to share with others what I know about running and that brings me joy
I've learned that I am a pretty good coach...and can help people train for amazing accomplishments and that kind of is the same as doing it yourself.

A lot of people have started to ask me what I'd do if I "can't run again". I think that is a ridiculous thing to tell me. Yes, of course I will run again. I have 2 legs, 2 feet, and a perfectly healthy body. People run on a lot less than that. So, I'll be back. No doubt. And it will be glorious-- I can see it in my mind and it may just be the best day ever.

20 seconds after I finished Comrades and the joy was uncontrollable. That feeling is what forces me through PT and Water Running. I will feel that feeling again.

The Race

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 22:01:00 +0000

Running Comrades

9 hours and 21 minutes. That is how long it took me to run 56 miles. That is how long it took me to change my life. Here is my story, my experience. Unfiltered, unapologetic in its honesty. Here we go.

The day before Comrades was surreal. I woke up not really knowing what to do with myself. Should I be sitting in bed? Should I be running? I remember thinking that everything I put in my mouth that day could be potentially game changing. One bad thing that did not agree with me and 6 months of training was over. My nerves were high, but my confidence was higher. I just kept repeating that I had done all that I could to prepare myself. "The hay was in the barn" as us runners say. I was as well trained as I ever had been. I had seemingly unimportant, but in the realm of an Ultramarathon running the MOST important decisions, to make. Which pair of the 6 pair of running socks that I brought should I wear? How should I bandage my left big toe, which had lost its entire toenail in a Trail Race in April? Which sports bra will make me bleed the least? How many Gus do I fit in my fanny pack? Do I put my Garmin on GPS mode and monitor my pace and mileage, knowing that the battery would die at hour 6 or do I go "GPS-less" and just read time and heart rate? The most time on my feet before the race was 6 hours at one time. 9 hours was a big milestone and at that point I was planning for 10+ hours on my feet. I remember reading "The Help" as a distraction. That night I ate the most uninspired meal ever...plain pasta, water, a bit of red sauce and bread/butter. We agonized as to where to eat for a couple hours, but ended up at some generic hotel restaurant. That night I took a shower and laid everything I needed out. I didn't sleep more than 20 minutes that night. I was scared. Really scared. More scared than anytime ever before. It was like walking into a horror movie (or at least that is what I felt like) and knowing that there would be some frightening moments ahead and just hoping you had enough MacGyver tools in your fanny pack to help you out when needed. It still scares me thinking about it, honestly.

I woke up at 4am and remember thinking "keep calm and don't snap at your mother". I didn't, gladly. I went downstairs to toast the Whole Wheat bagel I had brought all the way from the US. I noticed it had a moldy spot on it. For a second I thought, "Should I eat something else?" Rule #1- Never change your nutrition plan. I didn't. I ripped the moldy spot off and toasted the sucker. A little mold wasn't going to kill me now.

Holding up my Justin's Honey Almond butter that I had brought from the US. And looking freaked out at 5am.

I got dressed like I did before any marathon...with some throw away clothes on top because I was expecting it to be cold. Boy, did I look like a gem! A pair of 1980s red Hanes sweat pants complete with a hole in the knee and a long sleeved red Jingle Bell run cotton shirt. I looked like a crazy elf...in Africa. I walked outside and it was hot-ish and humid. I silently said, "Fuck, if it is like this at 6am, I am screwed at 1pm". But, I didn't say that out loud. What I did say out loud to my Mom came out unfiltered, "Mom, this is scariest thing I have ever done. I don't ever want to do anything this scary again." My Mom said, "No shit it's scary Vera. You don't run Ultra marathons for them to easy." My mom, the forever "suck it up" sort of lady. Telling me to suck it up at 6am.We walked about a mile to the entrance to the Runner's Area. At that point, my Mom had to wave goodbye to me and hope for the best. Right before I entered I saw a group of 5 men dressed as Cows. Full on Cow suits. I thought, "Really? It's 56 miles, dude. You REALLY want to run in that thing?" My Mom gave me a hug and said, "Go get it, Vera" With tears in my eyes I walked through the gate, scared shitless. Literally.

"Shosholoza", a traditional song in South Africa (check out the link to watch it on Youtube). It was very moving and surreal. Then without any pomp and circumstance nor American National Anthem as I am used to, it started and we were off.

I remember the first 5 miles being very dark and very crowded. All the African runners had garage bags on them and were running in there to stay warm, while I was sweating profusely due to the humidity. I saw the South Carolina couple whiz off way in front of me. The first few miles were in the city, lots of turns. Finally, we got onto the highway and there were a TON of Zulu women and children picking up clothing. I threw them my sweat pants and Jingle Bell shirt. I just imagine some Zulu women making it into a blanket or something. It made me smile that that funny outfit of mine was living on in South Africa. Within the first 5 miles I realized how "no joke" were the hills of this race. We started climbing early (mile 4) and it didn't end for many hours. My heart rate stayed low and I felt totally in control and feeling good. I don't remember much before mile 10. It was a blur of darkness and annoying signs that counted down each and every Kilometer, like Chinese Water Torture. I really didn't need to know I had 91Ks left. Not helpful.

At Mile 10 (or 16K), we started climbing the 1st of the major hills: Cowie's Hill. I remember it being hard, but not awful. Definitely bigger than any I had run before, though. I saw a lot of people dropping out already. I had a promise that I would never look at anyone who was dropping out. Dropping out wasn't an option and if I acknowledged it, it could become one. We also were in the "rich" area of town now. I remember seeing only White South Africans and there huge houses. It was the first time I saw the racial divide in South Africa that is still voluntarily still there. All the homes had huge electronic fences around them. They also were BBQ'ing...which was a smell that I wanted nothing to do with. We had a minor downhill and then Field's Hill started around the 20K mark. This is the first moment, of "this is REALLY no joke, Vera".

Field's Hill was really tough. A big, intimating hill about 10 miles in length. Yes, that is 10 miles of straight uphill. I watched my heart rate obsessively during these miles and walked in 10 second increments if it got too high. My Hip Flexors started to ache, but I was prepared for pain and didn't acknowledge them. They were NOT taking me down. Oddly enough, after I got up Field's the Hip Flexor pain went away and never felt it again the entire race. I remember thinking, "Wow, they were right when they said that in an Ultra you will feel pain and then it will go away."

Hills are not for the faint of heart at Comrades

After Field's Hill I remember not really remembering much. I liked it that way. I forced myself not to look at my watch for about 1.5-2 hours straight...just focusing on my nutrition and staying calm. I remember being in some very high end neighborhoods and cresting another hill called Botha's Hill (I know it was steep, but I don't really remember it). Our bodies are pretty amazing for allowing us to get lost in running and turn the mind off. If not, there really is no way to think about 9 hours+ of running. I was so grateful for these 2 hours of mindless running because the storm was coming and it was in the form of what I thought was the hardest part of the race-- Inchanga.

After my 2 hours of mindless running, we were now deep in the country. Lots of villages and rural farms, but still lots of excited fans. Even more children who looked underfed and under clothed. I always gave them a high five and a smile...that was all I could really do. Yet, I hit the halfway point in a bit of a lull. My body was getting stiff and I was getting tired. We were over 4 hours in and we were only halfway at best. I remember taking a brief 2 min walk break to collect myself, give myself a mental pep talk, and take some nutrition. This was the time you either keep going or quit. I wasn't quitting. I had been warned about Inchanga-- the biggest and by far the hardest hill yet and it was right ahead. It lived up to the stories and then some. It was long, winding, with little to no supporting fans. It was you, the hill, and the heat. It was also nearing lunch time at this point. No trees, no protection. This is when your training either showed or your lack of training gave you away. I saw a lot of people's lack of training give them up at this point. People were walking, limping, swearing, and just generally disheartened. I ran the entire hill...staying calm and passed people with a friendly word. I just said..."I can do this. This is it Vera. Just run". I felt in control and that was such a comforting thought amidst the crazy. I remember thinking this was it. This was what Comrades was about and I was doing it.

After I got up Inchanga, we had to go down and, in typical fashion, the reality hit in again. I had already run 31 miles and I still had a marathon to run. This was a really mental part of the race. The only good aspect was that it kind of flattened out. We were running along the highway in parts and it was all about just hanging on at this point. I also started to realize how much better I was doing than most other people. I was passing people in record speed now and actually picking up speed, which at the time I didn't know I was doing. I felt tired and sunburned, but I never considered quitting. We hit the highest point at about 70K and I remember running up the hill and passing the overly confident 50 year old guy from S. Carolina at this point. He was struggling, but still managed to say something rude to me as I passed by. He said, gasping for air, "Wow, I didn't expect you to be so fast." I remember saying "Just keep going, you can do it"...the running version of killing him with kindness. Under my breath I said "F you" and kept running. What a jerk and how amazing did it feel to breeze past him?! I knew it was happening and I knew I was doing it. Comrades was really happening and I was getting closer.

The next 2 major hills were Little Polly Shortts and Big Polly Shortts. Little Polly was at about 15K to do...only 9 miles left and Big Polly was at 6 miles left. They were steep and no joke and everyone around me was walking...except me. I was literally sprinting past people at this point and it was like a dream. Like what every runner wants in a race. The road literally was coming up to meet me and I was just moving with it. It was perfection. As I was cresting Big Polly Shortts, I came up to another American woman...Sharon. She is a very accomplished Ultra runner and not until that point did I realize how well I was doing. I was running with Sharon-- someone I never thought I'd come close to running near! We were the only people---let alone women--- who were running up Polly Shortts. She said "Vera, you are doing amazing. Just keep going". Once I crested Polly Shortts I knew Comrades was mine. I just needed to work 6 more miles. Those 6 miles felt like a lifetime. We were nearing Pietermartizburg now and the crowds were back. When they saw me (a woman), they cheered "Go pink lady!!!" ...I was wearing pink.

Sharon and I after the race. This woman is amazing.

As I neared the Cricket Stadium, I felt strong and as soon as I entered the stadium I saw my Mom, who was waiting to give me a video camera to record the last 45 seconds. She was screaming, "oh my Vera, go go go!" I think she was as shocked as I was to how well I was. I ran the last 45 seconds and for the first time said "Oh my- I am doing this. I'm going to finish!" I turned the final turn and saw the finish line. It was pure perfection. A feeling like no other. I had to done it. I had to done it in 9 hours and some change. It was the best feeling of my life. It was the ultimate Will Run for Travel.


Immediately after finishing. A dream. Perfection

What you do after Comrades. You lay down.


Mom and I in the Finisher's Area. Joy.

The last runners trying to finish before the 12 hour cut off.

Grit

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 20:22:00 +0000

As we go through life...school, work, friendships, activities...there are always a certain few adjectives that just keep coming up when others are asked to describe us. "Wow, she is just so FUNNY...she is totally ORGANIZED...she is FEISTY." Generally, these descriptions tends to be things that are flattering (for the most part), but ones that just aren't that original. In fact, they are probably the same words we'd use to describe ourselves, if asked. They don't really tell us something new about ourselves. They definitely do not let us see ourselves from another point of view. They are just nice confirmations that everyone is on the same page.

But, every once in awhile, someone says something to describe you that totally changes the game. It makes you stop and realize something about yourself that you could never have articulated as well before. It makes you stop and say, "Yeah, you are totally right. Thanks". It opens you up to understanding something about yourself that you didn't even know others would notice.

During my time training for Comrades I had a lot of people use a lot of adjectives to describe me and what I was doing. Typically, it would start with a general comment like "Wow, you are amazing/crazy." Sometimes "amazing" and "crazy" would be used together...sometimes separately. But, crazy and amazing tended to be twin descriptors. You couldn't have one without the other. Frankly, I think that is okay because everything amazing in life is somewhat crazy. The only issue I ever saw with these descriptors were that they didn't really help me learn something about myself that I didn't already know. I knew what I was doing was amazing. I knew that I was somewhat crazy. Done and Done. Next... Another one was, "Wow, you are dedicated." Another complementary description. Another thing I already knew.

So, as I was sitting 2 days before Comrades I was repeating everything I had heard other people say to me to give me some sort of last minute confidence. Unfortunately, though, to say you are "amazing" to yourself over and over again right before you do something like Comrades doesn't really help you out. It feels uninspired and, frankly, a bit generic. Finally, my Mom turned to me (who was traveling with me) and changed the game. She told me she had spoken to my sister, Sarah, a few hours before she left the States and she had said something about me. She said "Vera can do Comrades. She is gritty. The grittiest person I know." Woah, stop a second. "Gritty?" What does that mean anyway? Immediately, when you hear a word like gritty, you think of some big, hard working, construction worker guy (or at least that is what I think of). Not me, not someone who is about to run a 56 mile Ultra marathon. Gritty was never a word I used to describe myself before, nor had I ever really even used it. But, then I stopped and realized it ended up describing me perfectly.

After my Mom said that to me, I didn't really respond. I just kind of smiled and nodded. Not really giving away that that one little word had kind of changed my whole perspective on the race and what I was about to do. Like most things in life, I just had to process it a bit internally. For the next 2 days, I just ran over and over in my head the word "Gritty" and what she had told me. What does it really mean? What did I ever do to get such a description attached to me? How can being "gritty" actually help me deal with 56 miles? After internally agonizing over a little word for more time that I can remember (those days before a big race seem to last 50 hours each...time just drags!), it all just made sense and I started to write down all the reasons why I KNEW I was gritty. Here is my translated notes (that were written on the back of a Durban, South Africa Map. I wrote those things down and repeated them to myself throughout the whole race. Now, that's some motivation.

My list of Grit:

Grit is having the guts enough to sign up for Comrades and think that you can actually do 56 miles
Grit is actually training for it...for real.
Grit is powering through the worst weather, ever.
Grit is looking at your watch when it says 6 hours and knowing you have minimum 3 more to go
Grit is getting up at 6am on New Years Day (after you went out the night before) and meeting some 100 mile Ultra marathon veterans (whom you have never met before) for a grueling 2.5 hour initiation into advanced Ultra running...in 6 feet of snow with no clips on your running shoes
Grit is not quiting when you wanted to just go home and sleep
Grit is smiling at the cameras when it hurts
Grit is eating more Gus, Gels, Power bars, and Powered "nutrition" than real food for 6 months
Grit is running in the dark during a blizzard because South Africa won't care that there was a Blizzard in Boston during training and won't have much sympathy for you on race day.
Grit is being able to tell everyone that it is going "great", when you really are tired
Grit is running hill repeats all winter...then running 9 miles after that.
Grit is doing speed workouts...alone, because you couldn't get home in time from work to meet the group
Grit is resisting the urge to just yell "give me a break people, I'm on my 29th mile here" when yet another Boston car honks at you
Grit is resisting the urge to trip the egomaniac 2-mile causal male runner who likes to think he is so "tough" for sprinting past me on the sidewalk during training runs
Grit is bearing through scars and blood from my sports bra after every run...and then figuring out how to take a shower without crying (you runners know what I mean...)
Grit is sprinting to the finish line, after 9 hours because it is almost done and you have nothing to lose
Grit is signing up again.

Grit up a really big hill

Comrades Part 1: Training for the unthinkable

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 01:37:00 +0000

The Aftermath of a 50K

Sometimes an experience is so full of describable moments that you actually find yourself unable to find the words to begin. Perhaps you are unsure what pieces of information are important enough to share or maybe you just are not ready to share them at all. This is what has happened to me since my last actual post in April 2011. So much has happened this year—so much running, so much amazing travel, and so much that most people will never really be unable to understand. But, I’ll start now to finally let more people in to what training for Comrades, running Comrades, and then the predictable reality that comes when it is done is actually like. So, here we go on the training part first…

As many of you that have been following my blog know, I signed up for Comrades in Sept 2010 after running marathons and such for several years (I had about 17 marathons under my belt). The first question I get asked is: “Why in the world would you sign up for something like that?” To me, that is the craziest question to answer because if someone is asking that question they probably will never run an ultra themselves, or more importantly, do not really want to understand what one is like. They have already made the decision up that 56 miles is crazy, traveling Africa is crazy, and I’m the craziest of them all. Period. But, for all those that are curious as to why I signed up, my answer is quite simple. We have amazing bodies and we are meant to run. Humans can do incredible things. I wanted the ability to see what incredible things I was able to do…while I was young, with the opportunity. This way, when I’m 80 or so years old and my body is failing like everyone else’s, I can say I did something incredible with my Body at its peak. Plus, let’s get real…it’s South Africa and that is just plain amazing! It was the ultimate Will Run for Travel moment and I knew there was no reason to be scared. Just do it and don’t think too hard about all the reasons that it could potentially be a bad idea. Because, frankly, if you think too hard about anything you could likely come up a handful of reasons why not to do it.

Run you 1st 50K and win it? Sure, why not?

The Training

I’m a firm believer to do something as challenging as an Ultra, you have to have this burning drive to do it. It has to be deep within you and something you can literally feel, but most likely couldn’t describe to others. You have to want it…bad. Because, training for an Ultra (and one on the Road vs. Trail) is no joke. It’s hard, it’s excruciating at times, and it requires you to really like yourself and your alone time. Because, you will have a lot of time with yourself and your thoughts. Add the winter weather in Boston to the mix and it was literally the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and likely ever will (Unless, I do it again, of course….) I really don’t want to sugarcoat this part of it (something so many runners so often do), because it’s an important part of the process. I frankly found the training to be one of the most rewarding parts.

So, how did I train? First off, I had an amazing coach…my friend Erika. A very accomplished runner and Triathlete in her own right, she helped me every step of the way with a plan and advise. It was as if I had another person invested in this with me. Someone I was accountable to. It was that accountability that got me out there when it was literally 0 degrees BEFORE wind chill and my face bleed from cracked wind-burned skin (true story). I think a coach revolutionizes your running and it is the best investment I ever made. First pieces of advice—don’t go at it alone. Get a coach or a group. 56 miles is too much to manage alone.

After the coach, the rest of training came down to 1 main thing. Prioritization and the Prioritization of running YOUR training plan. I often pride myself on my life balance—the ability to go out and have a well rounded life that includes work, friends, culture, family, AND running. I don’t like to make sacrifices…I like to push myself to do it all. Comrades changed that for me. I had to prioritize it, no matter what. That meant running at 4am before a full day of work and an event at night. It meant running no matter what the weather was. It meant no excuses. It also meant having to say “NO, I can’t” to a lot of people I love. This caused me a lot of angst because I wanted to do it all and just physically couldn’t. I think the people closest to me 100% understood, but it was me that sometimes put the guilt on myself. That is one of the biggest lessons that I learned—the people that truly love you will understand. They will understand that your intentions are in the right place and that you just are doing all you can. That also made me realize the same in others and I came out being more understanding and flexible in general. Life is busy and everyone has their priorities, but generally good intentions. Quite a freeing thought, actually. Stop worrying about other people’s priorities. Worry about your own.

I don’t often talk about training on Will Run for Travel. I guess, that is not what Will Run for Travel is about. But, in this case I’ll give you the real info…because, people have asked. The key to my Comrades training was back to back long runs for 6 months. Every Sat and Sunday I ran back to back double digit long runs. This trained me to work through tired legs and it forced me to experience what I’d likely feel during the race itself--- extreme lactic acid build up. It also got me mentally tough. The 2nd element to training was running with a heart rate monitor and teaching myself to not think about pace, but time on my feet. The key to that is to keep your heart rate low enough that you keep your body efficiently working. If your heart rate is low enough, you are trained enough and have the proper nutrition to you can literally run forever. It was truly an incredible strategy. The 3rd element was Nutrition, a concept foreign to me until I got into Ultras. In an Ultra you are running a distance where you body literally cannot do it without water, calories, and salt. In a marathon, you actually could technically run it without any additional caloric intake (you may go slow, but you can do it…) In Ultras, you body will fail you. So, I learned the art of purposeful nutrition. Here was my plan (just in case you were curious):

I ate 1 Whole Wheat Bagel + Almond Butter exactly 2 hours before the start. I also drank water, but not obsessively. Enough to quench my thirst, but I didn’t “over hydrate”. I always craved coffee, but just couldn’t handle it before a race.
I carried a 24oz running water bottle + fanny pack. I started with a Half packet of powdered Perpetum in my water bottle and sipped it continually through the 1st 2 hours of the race.
I took 1 Gu Gel every 47-50 minutes, with 2-3 Endurolyte Tablets 20 minutes after my Gel. I know that seems very intense, but it was that regimen that helped me focus vs. thinking about the sheer number of hours I had to run. It actually distracted me!
Late in the race I refilled my water bottle with more Perpetum. I also took a bit of Gatorade and a couple salted potatoes with about 10K left. I just needed a little something!

As I was training for Comrades I really practiced my Nutrition with ever run, including trying out more flavors that I ever really wanted to of Gu and various powdered substances. So, before I get too much into the boring details, I’ll end by summing up my Top 10 Tips/Things to Know about Training for Comrades. So, here we go:

10) Find a cross-training plan, including strength training, yoga, and Spinning.

9) Don’t think to hard about running. Just run.

8) Get used to being sweaty. As I said before you will likely be sweaty more than you are clean. Embrace it!

7) Put your training runs on your schedule, including your work schedule. This has to be a top priority in your life and you need to figure out how to say “no” to those things that just don’t fit with training.

6) Practice your Nutrition…a lot. Try lots of combos and try to work through an upset stomach during your runs. Your stomach will likely hurt at least once during the race. Might as well practice how you are going to manage that now!

5) Get a Heart Rate Monitor Garmin and stop worrying immediately about your pace. It’s all about heart rate and time on feet. Even distance isn’t as critical. It’s a different game.

4) Don’t overeducate yourself or become obsessed with reading what OTHER people have to say about the race or their plan. Don’t over think it. Just think about YOU, YOUR PLAN, and your running. You are doing this for you, not based on someone else’s opinion of what you should do.

3) Invest in the best gear you can afford. Get multiple pairs of shoes, buy great quality compression tights, base layers, gloves, sports bras, etc. The truth is simple: you’ll be in running clothes more than “real” clothes, so you better like them.

2) Find a support system of friends, fellow runners, coaches, etc that can keep your accountable and motivated. Also, they can remind you of what the “real world” is like. It’s good to remember that world isn’t Ultra Marathoning. There is a lot more to do beyond just run.

1) Truly understand WHY you want to run an Ultra and be sure it’s compelling enough a reason to really push you. It’s just too hard if you don’t have that.

Welcome to the joys of Trail Running

Milestones

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 08 Apr 2011 17:35:00 +0000

You know those moments in life where you actually recognize that once you do something you likely will never be the same person again? Graduations, Marriages, and Babies usually all fit into that category. For me some of my major milestones in the past 5 years have been around travel, work, and running. Running my first marathon, traveling to Asia for the 1st time, finally fullfilling my desire to visit Iceland. Each has changed me. I'm just not the same person I was before I did them.

Tomorrow is another one of those moments: My first 50K. After tomorrow at 2pm, I will always be able to say I've run 31 miles. I'll be more than "just" a marathoner. Not that marathoning is unworthy, it is just that I will be able to say I've done more. Experienced more. Pushed myself to limits that most people really would never dream of. I left my apartment in Boston today and thought, "wow, when I come back on Sunday I just won't be the same". Maybe to some people this is an overdramatization of the situation. For me, it's so not.

I can't wait to see what the next chapter brings. Bring it.

Why running rocks

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 17:57:00 +0000

I received this email from Comrades today. Thought it was awesome and totally what Will Run for Travel is all about. I couldn't have said it better myself.

Former marathon and track runner Jesse Owens once said: "I always loved running. It is something you could do by yourself, and under your own power. You could go in any direction, fast or slow as you wanted, fighting the wind if you felt like it, seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs".

On that note, we at the Comrades Marathon Association would like to add that running has no limits or boundaries. Running is one's natural ability to masterfully control one's body across any finish line. When you are out there, on the track or on the tarmac, you are in complete and utter control - the way nature intended! The 86th Comrades Marathon is fast approaching and we urge everyone who has yet to submit their club and qualifying details to do so before 6th May 2011. We also encourage runners to support the Race 4 Charity initiative and make this year's run even more memorable.

Remembering what the Unknown feels like

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 02:41:00 +0000

The red circle is around me...finishing my 1st Marathon and having no clue what would be next for me and running

Training for this Ultramarthon has been the hardest thing I have done. There has been intense cold, feet and feet of snow, slippery ice, mind-blowing wind, hours and hours of running, dodging rude Boston drivers, and lastly dealing with the constant pounding on my body. There were days when all I wanted to do was NOT run and others where I felt amazing and fast. But regardless of the tough parts, I feel proud and happy I'm doing it. Right now I'm in the midst of it. The hardest weeks are here and the light at the end of the tunnel is still a month away. It could possibly be the hardest April ever... mentally and physically.

I remember back in September when I signed up for Comrades, I said that one of the main reasons I wanted to test myself beyond the Marathon was to remember the feeling of the unknown. To feel "ignorance is bliss" again (I always say to 1st time Marathoners that they should enjoy the element of ignorance of the distance. The fact that you have no idea what it feels like...because you'll never get that innocence back. You will always know how it feels...whether you choose to talk about it or not). I can say with 100% certainly, I'm feeling that ignorance again. The unknown is here and I'm nervous. I think being nervous helps us be better and dig deeper. I'm nervous (even perhaps scared), I'm digging deep, and I'm in it.

This Saturday I am running the longest distance I have ever run at one time (50K or 31 miles). I'm also running my first Trail race. They always say to never to do firsts at once. I guess I'm ignoring that. I'm so scared of the unknown on this one. I have never run over 26.2 miles. What does mile 28 feel like? What does it feel like after dodging limbs and rocks for 5+ hours? Have I trained enough? Have I practiced my nutrition enough? Am I mentally tough enough? I remember when I ran my 1st Marathon I was full of unknowns, but I was 100% confidence I'd finish. I'd be lying to say I'm this confident this time...no matter how many hours of training on the roads I have done. So, here is a laundry list of what is going through my head before I embark on the next chapter of my running life. Just so I always remember what not knowing feels like.

What will it feel like? More painful or less than a Marathon? Will slower, softer trails make it go by easier on the limbs?
Can I run for that long? It's a simple as that.
Will I get sick? Am I going to eat enough or eat the right things?
Will I get lost? Can I follow the trails?
What mental games will I play with myself to get through it?
What will it feel like to finish?

The post may sound like I'm sad or overwhelmed by this challenge. Maybe there is a very small portion of it that is true, but mostly I'm just excited. After Saturday I will say I'm not just a Marathoner but an Ultra marathoner. I'm no longer a wannabe, but the real deal. I can't wait to be the real deal...even if I'm giving up blissful ignorance.

Finding Balance

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 14:18:00 +0000

Balance. There are some days when we feel that we have figured out the secret to how to balance life's challenges. But, unfortunately, most days are those when we fail miserably at balancing our lives. We know we need it. But, for some reason, we can never get quite there.

Over the past 2 months, I have failed miserably at balance. I'll admit it. Frankly, anyone that knows me knows that I have. This blog knows that I have. It makes sense too-- you can't add in training for an Ultramarathon, keep everything else constant, and stay balanced. No one is a Superhero. Not even me. Running, working, personal life, family life, friends, sleep, alone time, cross-training. At the crux of it all was Running. The thing I loved the most was the thing that was throwing the whole wheel off. How do you find balance when you know the culprit is what you love the most? Do you give up everything? Or do you give less to the thing you love?

None the less, in the midst of complete imbalance, I think we can learn the most about ourselves-- what we need, what we don't need, and most importantly our limits. I certainly have. To me, limits have been interesting because the past 3 months have been all about pushing them physically and mentally beyond my wildest dreams. Yet, I've also figured out you can only push yourself so far. Some days your limits are endless and other days they seem far from lofty. Neither is better, but both are fair and should be given the same acknowledgment. So, in the midst of no balance, sore quad muscles, a constantly hungry stomach, and an ongoing internal dialogue about how to run for hours on end, here is what I have learned about my latest journey-- the journey towards 56 miles.

1- Running 56 miles is no joke. Training for it is even crazier. Back to back long runs. Cross-training. Core Fusion. Exhaustion. It really is no joke and I'm not going to sugar coat it and say it is easy. It isn't. But, it will make crossing the finish line that much sweeter. There is a quote in a song I've been listening to a lot lately that say "Never said it was going to be this hard". Well, regardless of how true that statement feels, everything I suspected and read told me it was going to be this hard. Living it is a whole other reality, though.

2- Boston winters are no joke. I've lived in Boston over 2 years now and trained for 2 Boston Marathon and 4 other Marathons here. But, winters here in Boston are like a painful memory that you forget each summer only to be reminded in November. This year has been worse than I remember. Frigid temps, crazy winds, snow, ice, sleet, rain, hail. I've learned the art of slowing down, running in knee-deep snow, and just waiting until you turn numb and no longer feel how cold it is. Spring, bring it on. I'm ready.

3- Distance is relative. I ran the Cowtown Marathon in Fort Worth, TX a couple weeks ago and I ran behind a guy that had a shirt that said "Distance is Relative". The Cowtown had 3 races in 1-- a Half Marathon, a Full Marathon, and an Ultra Marathon. So, distance truly was relative. I remember just reading his shirt and thinking, "Wow, that is really true". Somehow 31 miles doesn't seem that much longer than 26.2, but compared to a Half it is an eternity.

4- A good friend of mine once told that her father’s approach to Marathon training was “Sleep to Win”. I always laughed and thought how cute that statement was, but never really took it as fact. For me, I always thought to win you must train and work harder than the rest. When all you do is train and work hard, the importance of rest really comes to play. I haven’t cracked this nut yet, but I’m working on it.

5- Know why you are doing it because nobody is going to get you out there but yourself. I like to think I surround myself with amazing friends and family, but at the end of the day none of them truly understand what is going on. Why am I going out in 5 feet of snowing and running? Why do I have to do that? At the end of the day, they can support and congratulate me for what I am doing, but I must be internally motivated beyond all else. This is what I has gotten be through the 1st 3 months of training and this is what will get me through the last 3.

My new favorite thing of 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 01:38:00 +0000

Out with Runner's World and in with Marathon and Beyond. I am in love. For Christmas my Mom got me a subscription to Marathon and Beyond. It is this incredible magazine (although, it reads like a book) all about running. Unlike Runner's World which is full of the same old bland advice repackaged with pretty new models each month, Marathon and Beyond actually gives you great advice on how to run better. In this month's issue they talk about such critical topics like the "Wall" and go in actual helpful advice based on tons of research. It reads more like a science experiment summary than a watered down article. They also had great advise on running in extreme temperatures. No crazy ads and rarely even any pictures. Just real advice, by real runners.

If you ever have any interest on becoming a better/stronger/happier runner, I strongly suggest you sign up for a subscription. Here is the link

Reflecting on 2010

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 02:27:00 +0000

There is something awesome about street bricks outside the US

(Florence, Italy)

Woah. How is it 2011 already? When did that happen? To all you readers out there, Happy New Year and here's to a year full of travel, running, and lots of joyful moments!

The funny thing about New Years is that we are all so eager to move on and celebrate the new year, that we so quickly abandon the year before. The music, movie, restaurant countdowns end and all we are left with is a new year and a lot of cold, dark winter nights ahead. I figured I would try to break the cycle of forgetfulness by waiting a couple days into the New Year before reflecting on 2010. So, here we go.

2010- A Year of Changes, Adjustments, and Being Okay with just being Okay
I've never been one for Holiday Letters. To me, they have always seemed a bit too forced and a bit too full of the fluffy, fun facts vs. the actual realities of the year. I suppose it is easier to sum up the end result vs. the messy, sometimes ugly facts that got us there. For most people, Holiday Letters are a way to get on paper a cliff notes version of your life in 12 months. I just question whether it really sums up the year at all, or just the things that you are okay with sharing publically. Maybe it is a combination of both, really.

So, here is my 2010 in summary...with some of the fluff and some of the reality built in there for fun.

The Pantheon. That's just smart.

January through June
January through June was a great 6 months because it really introduced me to a new adult life. Here I was, recently single for the first time in a very long time, focusing entirely on me. At 27 years old it was a liberating feeling (I can do whatever I want, whenever I want), but scary at the same time (How do a create a new world for myself when I liked my old one?) In the end, though, I remember the great moments-- running in the dark alone and being okay with that, finally getting over my fear of competitive running groups and joining the BAA and their insanely hard track workouts, discovering my love of Core Fusion and Yoga (even hot Yoga), becoming much closer to some great new friends, and running the best Boston Marathon time ever. One of the other best things I did was started practicing Restorative and Meditative Yoga, which helped me center myself and finally teach me to leave work at work. I remember it being cold and snowy. I remember seeing two amazing bands-- Spoon and Atoms of Peace. I remember realizing that I really wanted to start writing a blog and I actually had something worthwhile to write about (here we are!) Mostly, I remember slowly starting to let go of the past without necesarily realizing I was. I think an unconscious release makes it easier.

Pre-Boston Marathon. Feeling and Looking Strong

The last half mile.

June to September
This summer was a busy one for me. It started with a fabulous trip by my Mom to Boston. It was the first time she hadn't come for a major reason except to see me. In June I started to adjust to my new life without the obsessive focus on running (in which kept me going through the winter). I visited Madison, WI in July and had a reunion with my study abroad friends in Riveria Maya, Mexico in July/August. The summer peaked in September during my 2 week trip to Mainland Italy and Sicily. Also, in September a necessary move happened and I felt an incredible amount of release come with that.

Emily's Wedding. Proving that weddings can be fun, even when you sweat and smell bad

Madison, WI. Of course, they have meat raffles in WI.

Nantucket, MA. Cranberry Bog. Why not?

Fabulous friends in Mexico.

September to December
The Fall/Early Winter was an interesting one and probably the time that I learned the most about life. It was full of Marathons (Clarence De Mar Marathon in Keene, NH and Mt. Desert Island Marathon in Acadia National Park, Maine), an insanely busy work schedule, eating at fabulous restaurants with fabulous people, and officially signing up for the Comrades Marathon in South Africa. It also came with some betrayal and heartbreak. Yet, the lesson I finally learned was that that heartbreak is just life, playing out its random set of good and bad cards. There is something librating about relating what happens in your life to life itself verses blaming yourself/God/Others. Someone told me this month, "Life brings the Good and the Bad no matter how Good you are". It is probably the first thing anyone has told me in a long time that actually makes sense.

I had some amazing supporters out for my races. Here is just one of the Posters of the Year

Yes, I really do like the music of 1994 that much.

2010 wasn't about others, it was about making me the best me I can be in the face of the good, the bad, and the ugly. It was about being ok with being me. It was about discovering my passions and finally writing about them. It was about working on myself, so I can be a better person. In the end, I think it has made me a better person for 2011. Bring it on.

Being Hard Core Enough for the Trails

noreply@blogger.com (Will Run for Travel) — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 23:29:00 +0000

Comfort Zones are funny. Most of the time you don't even realize you are in yours, until you are totally immersed outside of it. The reaction is usually immediate: "Ooh, this doesn't feel normal!" Perhaps this is good thing. because the more you dwell about actually leaving your Comfort Zone, the less likely you will, in fact, leave it.

Today I completely got out of my running comfort zone and hit the trails. As a part of my Comrades training my coach wants me to run trails. First, it makes you run significantly slower (which is one of my biggest challenges) and second, it is a softer surface and gentler on the legs. When you are running the amount of miles I am planning to, anything that is gentler on the legs is a good thing. So, today was Day 1 and really the first time I have ever truly run on trails. I headed out to Blue Hills Reservation in Milton, MA (just a few miles south of Boston) with my trail shoes on, my cell in hand, and a naive perspective on the whole thing. For someone that knows running, I sure was stupid about trails today.

First off, I headed out at about 6:30am. I was trying to beat the rain (it has been terribly rainy all day) and trying to just get it done with early. Mistake #1-- don't go alone trail running without Pepper Spray that early in the morning. I found out after the fact that Blue Hills is notorious for attacks on women. Yeah, stupid me. I was lucky and didn't see anybody, but that still was stupid. I'll know for next time.

Peaceful

The trails were beautiful, but I didn't have a map. Online they said that at the visitor's center there would be Maps, so I didn't bother to print one out. Since I was so early in the morning, there were none. None at all. Instead of re-thinking the whole idea, I just decided to run an out and back (I pride myself on my sense of direction). The start of my run was beautiful...saw wild turkeys, deer, and a couple wild foxes. It was incredibly technical (I thought it was be a "Trail for Dummies", but this was more like rocky boulders). Still, I loved it and it was so liberating

When I turned around everything kind of hit the fan. First off, I fell on a huge tree stump. Luckily it was one of those falls that go in slow motion and you have enough time to brace for it. No injuries, but some dirty war wounds. Heck, it wouldn't be running in trails if I wasn't just a bit dirty. Then I started running backwards...I was good for the 1st 3 miles or so and then I just got confused. Was I going straight or did I turn? Sooner than later I was just frankly lost. It was one of those moments where you realize you have no idea what is north or south. Since my Garmin watch was broken I didn't even have a GPS compass. I started to try to follow these arrows that looked like they were the main trail but soon I was climbing over rocks and I was clearly not where I started. Bad, bad feeling.

It had started to rain at this point so I was feeling really anxious to just get back to my car. I had images in my head of sloppy mud and a lost Vera. This is when I had to result to my least favorite device ever...the cell phone GPS, which I have never used before. I remembered that my phone had Verizon Navigator and figured it could probably help me. So, I pulled it and accepted the $3.00 app fee willingly. Luckily, for me, I was so close to the main road and I managed to get back in the right direction and back to my car.

I think I expected more dirt

By the time I got back to my car, I had run 2.5 hours, fell once, made at least 4 wrong turns, and discovered that sometimes ignorance is bliss. No matter what, the trails were beautiful and the experience amazing. I cannot wait to continue my trail running this winter...but hopefully with a running partner and with a map.

I escaped my fall with only a dirty glove and knee.