tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36748007689150224272024-02-20T15:15:38.637-05:00Runnin' on EmptiesAn often, humorous look at how running keeps me sober.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-32589499253197980242017-01-14T17:33:00.000-05:002017-01-14T17:33:21.635-05:00Changing My Shoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Changing My Shoes</i></span><br />
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<b>Backstory</b><br />
<b><br /></b>The saying, 'running gives back what you put in' is absolutely true. Over a 5 year period I ran countless hours and kilometres to distract myself from the relentless pull of addiction. Running was the only thing that spoke loudly enough to my soul to dull the noises in my head that said 'you need a drink'. I credit those voices that worked hard to lure me back and celebrate my failure, for making me a better runner. The harder they tried to get me to pour that first drink that would be the beginning of the end, the harder I ran. When I found myself particularly vulnerable to relapse, I focused even more on becoming a better runner. It seemed that the farther I ran the quieter the voices became and the faster I pushed the more control I had over their influence.<br />
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Today I celebrate six years sobriety. Six years without a drink. Six years of avoiding or leaving social situations where it seems everyone has a drink in their hand. The tendency to avoid being in the same room as a bottle of wine or case of beer was not necessarily because I felt weak to the alcohol but because the life I left behind was fun and a good and increasing buzz was part of that. I am a natural socializer. I like people and I most definitely liked them more when I was drunk, and at times I just plain missed the whole dynamic, the rituals and routines of going to a party. Six years...six years older...six years better and definitely six years wiser. I also truly believe that I am six years younger rather than older.<br />
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Over the past six years so many things have changed and continue to evolve to support my sobriety. I changed my job, my diet, my hair colour, and most recently my address. I had a therapist tell me that we spend the first five years of our sobriety finding out who we are and learning about ourselves. This seems true to me. As I reflect upon the past five years of running and the community of runners who supported me, (some who have become people I will always stay in touch with), I can see that I was definitely in the right place at the right time. I will always credit running and the community for my sobriety and for helping me to get to know my sober self. Through running, I found passion. The passion for the sport inspired me to become a goal setter and a goal achiever.<br />
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I have learned to persevere, to not give up, to keep moving, to keep looking forward, to make it to the next marker, to slow if I must but never give up, to control my thoughts, to do the work, to not complain, to be grateful for my physical ability, to compete with myself, to avoid comparisons. The things I have gained from being a committed runner, who at one point was coached by two different Canadian Men's Marathon Champions, are endless. I have learned so much from so many people and from myself. I learned that the will and strength to keep moving forward was already in me, it had just been doused in alcohol for most of my adult life and part of my teenage years. The words tattooed on my inner forearm weren't put there haphazardly. The words '<i>Just Don't Stop' </i>are my version of Dory's 'Just keep swimming' and these 3 words have a deeper meaning to me than the ink they are set in. Running has reminded me that I will get there if I just don't stop.<br />
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<b>2016...Where Did You Go?</b><br />
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This past year I took a break from training. A running injury in late 2015 gave me reason and time to defer goal setting in 2016. I spent time the first couple months of 2016 doing very little running and spending more time in the gym. It was my thinking, that when I was ready to set and pursue new running goals, I would do it from a place of physical strength, and truthfully my coach, physiotherapist and chiropractor had been encouraging this for years. I always intended to be committed to strength training but I just never made it fit into my running/work/family/life schedule.<br />
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In April 2016, a shift happened. I don't know what changed or why it changed but all I wanted to do was be in the gym and grow. I ran less knowing that the kind of running I was used to doing would make it hard to gain real muscle mass and I was completely ok with scaling back on the road work. While I had never devoted the time I should have to strengthening my runners body, I was no stranger to the gym. When I was a kid, both my parents lifted heavy and my Mom competed in bodybuilding. As a teenager and young adult, I spent time in the gym lifting but my first love was drinking and as such I didn't really stick with anything I did. The new passion and fire burning in me to lift was not, historically speaking, an entirely new undertaking.<br />
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As 2016 progressed, I was in the gym 5-6 days per week and I saw changes. I loved what I saw and how strong I felt. Then something else happened. The competitive drive that I have always had started to fire up. I became curious and interested in what competing in the sport would look like for me. I watched hours of YouTube videos of women competing in bikini and figure divisions of bodybuilding shows. At first the feminist in me was mortified at the concept of putting on a rhinestone encrusted bikini, clear resin stripper heels, drag queen makeup, a fake tan and parading myself around a stage to be judged. I thought, I cannot do that, my beliefs wouldn't allow it...but I kept watching. I kept watching because leading up to judgement day for these women, were countless hours of preparation in the gym and the kitchen. I saw beyond show day to the commitment, dedication, hard work, and passion that the show was meant to highlight. The show, the judgment and the rhinestones were seeming less ridiculous to me as I saw it for the celebration it was. It was race day for the athletes, the tools to highlight their hard work were just different than the accessories a runner uses. It was when I saw beyond the obvious that I knew I wanted it.<br />
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<b>2017...</b><br />
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The goals for 2017 are on paper. I am a bikini competitor in the making. The gym is my playground, sugar is my enemy. I have coaches who have me covered with workout and diet plans. I also have the invaluable lessons I learned as a runner which are transferable to anything I decide to do. Running was a very special sport for a time in my life that I needed it but there are other things I can pursue with passion that will support my continued pursuit to be better than I was 6 years ago. I still run but nothing like the 15, 20, 30k or farther that I used to tackle. My footfalls on the pavement are much fewer and sweeter these days to make room for my new gym passion.<br />
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...and so, at least for this year, I am...<b><i>Changing My Shoes</i></b>.</div>
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Watch me work and see me grow at my new blog spot</div>
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<a href="http://www.changingmyshoes.blogspot.ca/">www.changingmyshoes.blogspot.ca</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-22318482836459189162016-02-14T11:24:00.000-05:002016-02-14T12:11:42.689-05:00Loving 'Mil-dread'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tamara and I after last Sunday's run</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>*disclaimer: I realize not everyone houses a TM in their dining room or basement, as is more common amongst fitness enthusiasts. This post, as with all of my other </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>natter-ings in no way judges you and your choices and habits, it simply tells the story of my life and the way I live it. Run on friends whether it be on the roads or the TM.</i></span><i style="font-size: small;"> </i><br />
<i style="font-size: small;">~Christa</i><br />
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<i>Rebuild 2016 </i>is going well. My hip and back pain are under control which has made running less of a chore than it had become. I am keeping the kilometres low, cross training and doing strength work. I would like to brag about how sensible, patient and reserved I am being, but the reality is, just this week I graduated to running the entire 5k without walk breaks so at this point, I couldn't be wild and dangerous with my running if the devil himself was chasing me. My fitness has taken a blow over the past 6 months, so this really is a rebuilding period. At one time, this would have shamed me but today, all I see when I fix my gaze and all I hear playing over and over in my head is '<i>strength</i>'.<br />
I don't care if right now my 'long' run is only 10k. That 10k isn't flipping to 11 until I feel good about each and every kilometre I run. When my watch reads 11k it will be because I am strong enough to do it. It won't take long, things are feeling better each week.<br />
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Running without a coach and without a big goal race has me feeling a little bit lost but each Sunday I make my plan for the upcoming week with my friend Tamara and right now, that is all the looking ahead I need. The most difficult part of 'no coach/no plan' is that it's February in Ontario which means winter. We have been fortunate to have enjoyed unseasonably warm weather for this time of year, until this weekend when ridiculously low temperatures have hit. I see your posts on social media with your eyelash frozen and icicles hanging from your beards and I say 'good for you' but not for me. There is nothing that will get me out there to run in -30C and fortunately for me, I have 'no coach/no plan' to make me feel like I have to put on my arctic running suit which includes ski goggles and a balaclava, to tolerate the conditions to get it done. I don't know if it's age or injury that has me seeing things so clearly and causing me to say 'WTF, why?'.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last winter in -20something...WTF? Why?</td></tr>
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In my heart I know why...at least I know why I was out there. For me it was a refusal to do those runs on a treadmill...and for the badass Instagram post...but mostly because of the treadmill dread...ok, ya, it was the ensuant winter warrior photo. There was a time when I said some pretty mean things about the assistive running device in my dining room-which long ago was cleverly converted into a home gym. I say cleverly because, a) it really was an unused space because we don't dine and we don't entertain and b) now I have no formal space to dine and entertain, so crafty of me, don't you think.<br />
I was a treadmill hater. When I became a committed runner (and not in the sense of 'committed' to an institution, although some non-running shoe wearing folks may say all runners should be 'committed'), it seemed like treadmill bashing was the thing to do. It seemed un-organic, almost blasphemous to say you ran on the TM, in which case, you just wouldn't say and instead post a cute pic of your running shoes...or your cat or better still, your cat with your shoes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What cats think TMs are for <br />
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The longer you run and the wiser you get, whether that wisdom is brought about by age or by injury, you become your own runner. Once you transcend to this sought after level of being, you don't give a damn about what the others find acceptable and you just do you. This is the same place where you can honestly embrace the idea that <b>you</b> are your only competition. Words, not only to run by, but to live by.<br />
When I was in my 'committed runner' infancy, I bought a TM because contrary to the TM snubbing that I saw around me, the reality was I worked 12 hour shifts, days and nights and I live in a rural area, which translates into a lot of darkness in the winter months. If I was going to get my runs done, they needed to be done in my dining room...on the TM. When I found her on sale in Canadian Tire, it wasn't love at first sight because I was not attracted to TMs at all, I was attracted to the long and winding road, or at least that's what popular running culture told me I was attracted to, so I brought her home with ambivalence, which looking back was the wrong way to start a relationship. I set her up, converting her imperial miles to kilometres because I can't do the math at the best of times let alone when I am using all my brain power on leg turnover. I sneered at her as I climbed aboard for the maiden voyage and before I settled the emergency stop magnet into place on the console, I christened her with splashes of Gatorade and dubbed her, 'Mil-dread'.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Mil-dread' and I making peace</td></tr>
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Over time I uttered and publicly posted many unflattering things about 'Mil-dread' for which I am sorry for today...today, a day when I have no reason and 'no coach/no plan' for which I need to step one foot outside, never mind one foot in a light flimsy sneaker and my arctic running suit, in the sub, sub-zero temperature to walk/run 10k. No way, not for all the likes and comments in all of social media. I am not bad ass and I don't want to be 'committed'. What I am is content and grateful to have 'Mil-dread' in my life. Age and injury have changed me and on this cold, long run Sunday, which also happens to be Valentine's day, I publicly and without runner's shame profess my love and appreciation to the one who has always been there in the background waiting for me in the dimly lit dining room, without judgement...'Mil-dread'.<br />
'Mil-dread', I am sorry. Will you be my Valentine?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in honour of Skechers athletes Kara and Meb </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-50176042517534691502016-01-19T06:00:00.000-05:002016-01-19T07:25:02.257-05:00The Hip Bone's Connected to the...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Early last week my back started bothering me. By Thursday it was really bothering me. I couldn't get comfortable sitting, standing or laying for any length of time. On Friday it was bloody worse. I couldn't move too quickly in any direction without it spasming. At best the discomfort was 4/10, which is tolerable but at worst it was 8/10, which was not ok and let me tell you I can take pain. I have grit my teeth, bit my lip and white knuckled through birthing two babies out my vagina (at separate times) without epidurals... Here I should add that even though I did this in no way am I a hero. I arrived at the hospital too late into the labor process to get an epidural before I shot the kids out (again, separate experiences). I know I am trying to prove how tough I am here but for full disclosure sake I should admit that while I was pregnant, had anyone told me that I would be pushing a watermelon sized kid out of my lady region without the assistance of being fully frozen in this same region, I would have said 'Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back this bus up! I am tapping out.' The plan was always to say 'yes" to the epidural but it didn't work out that way so truthfully since then, I fancy myself a bit of a bad ass in the pain tolerance department...now back to our original drama of back pain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sidelined with Back Pain</td></tr>
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I coud no longer tolerate the blasted pain in the back so I mercifully and with some shame, washed up on my Chiropractor's doorstep. With shame? Yes with shame because I am a shoddy, inconsistent patient and over the years have fallen off routine visits and instead only show my face when something is wrong (my words, not his). This causes me shame because I know better. I know that by the time something is a problem and by the time there is pain, the problem is so much bigger...a problem that may have been avoided by routine maintenance. </div>
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As I slumped my way into his treatment room I was greeted not with a lecture but with a warm, genuine hug and a 'What's up?', hardly the treatment I deserved but he is not the the type to cross his arms and say 'I told you so', lucky for me.<br />
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After a head to toe assessment (because it had been so long since my last visit), <a href="http://www.wfcorillia.com/" target="_blank">Dr. Whilidal</a> was concerned. His concern was not as much for my back nor for the right hip pain that has plagued me but for my <a href="http://www.spine-health.com/conditions/spine-anatomy/cervical-spine-anatomy-and-neck-pain" target="_blank">cervical spine</a>. He opted not to make any adjustments at that visit, instead sending me for x-rays. When your healthcare practitioner looks at you with concern and backs away grimacing, you take notice. I didn't even want to ask him what he was thinking because I thought it was unfair to ask him to speculate. After agreeing to return on Monday, I took the requisition and headed to the clinic.</div>
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I spent most of the weekend in pain. The pain had me conjuring ideas of a tumour growing at the base of my skull placing pressure on my precious spinal nerves. I imagined going through radiation treatments to shrink the imagined tumour. You would think because I am a nurse I should know better than to develop such a story line spun from next to nothing but it's actually kind of the opposite. As a nurse, I know too much and have seen people's lives changed in an instant because they had some insignificant, seemingly unrelated complaint investigated that turned out to be serious. So you know, there's that kind of thing that gets the imagination going.</div>
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At the follow up visit yesterday I was relieved to learn that I was going to make it. There was no suspicious area found at the base of my skull that required further diagnostic imaging. There were no 'spots' or lesions that needed identifying. It seems though that the hip bone is in fact (indirectly) connected to the shoulder bone which is connected to a sore back. It's all connected and when one area is not functioning healthily, other areas pay the price.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No tumour but there is 'Trouble with the Curve' </td></tr>
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At this time, I am not sure which part of me is the original or primary fouled up area, I'm not a great listener at these appointments. My mind wanders away from what's being said as I am distracted by thoughts of 'I wonder how I did that, or how long has this felt like this, or when can I run again, or is this why I have gained 25 pounds, or do I need to pick up coffee on the way home, to finally, is that cat hair all over my pants.' What I think has happened, if I paid attention, is that my chronically tight hip flexor (left to be precise) has put enough tension over time on my pelvis that it has shifted causing a drop in my right hip (the bad, bloody painful hip) which has created a twist in my spine which has buggered my posture which has altered the way the cervical vertebrae sit which makes me a big lousy mess <takes deep breath>. It's a wonder I even get around, never mind run marathons and the like.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK4-WUAE0fJEEs7_LxdnHFvR1_k8Ax7p41bomYFfbF_KJRDqMnHOr0hyphenhypheny59hjqRqlDJNNbY9uywLIVq0Dial0Uua2YiiuSt6TU5iKeC61BWRtK4AUAHRS5-D3Q77st6t5BLJohkMWMrbM/s1600/FullSizeRender+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYK4-WUAE0fJEEs7_LxdnHFvR1_k8Ax7p41bomYFfbF_KJRDqMnHOr0hyphenhypheny59hjqRqlDJNNbY9uywLIVq0Dial0Uua2YiiuSt6TU5iKeC61BWRtK4AUAHRS5-D3Q77st6t5BLJohkMWMrbM/s320/FullSizeRender+6.jpg" width="189" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sinking Starboard with No Lifeboat</td></tr>
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With adjustment and rehabilitation (it sounds like prison) I will hopefully return to full, unimpeded functioning as there was little to no degeneration of bone noted on the films. Here is the lesson...When I began running again in 2011, I was a better patient than I have become. In the beginning, the strain on my body from running was new and I wanted to keep running so I made sure I did the maintenance. I went for routine chiropractic care and while I did have a couple hiccups as my body adapted to the stresses of running, as a whole I had less problems than I do now. What changed is I got stronger, my body adapted and for a period of time, not much bothered me physically and so I stopped going. I thought I was beyond needing chiropractic care. I was a fool. Over time little by little the small things weren't being taken care of at routine visits which would have kept them from becoming big things and so here I sit, lay and stand with a buggered back, a troublesome hip and curves in the wrong places which all have finally made me come crawling back.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FC1IquNct1YmjZ8jlkpABy4-bUBtMQgdqPM8Gt5n_wpKKzFPmMGXB4x7mTFm31Lj2d59xKXCJSbdziZjy2jmqXIFFwQIIpt0ujOGZRtFJHwTwtDTvAlfFh-d-cWygldc65ui0OYQnFEh/s1600/IMG_7459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FC1IquNct1YmjZ8jlkpABy4-bUBtMQgdqPM8Gt5n_wpKKzFPmMGXB4x7mTFm31Lj2d59xKXCJSbdziZjy2jmqXIFFwQIIpt0ujOGZRtFJHwTwtDTvAlfFh-d-cWygldc65ui0OYQnFEh/s320/IMG_7459.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow the Centre Line and You Will See</td></tr>
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My body felt so 'off', so out of whack this year and now I am seeing why. After the ScotiaBank Toronto Waterfront Marathon in October I knew I would have to do things differently with my running. I withdrew from coaching and left Pace & Mind. I knew I couldn't continue to train like I had been with the way I felt. I decided that I would take it easy and keep my kilometres low and see if that helped to heal me. It didn't so I saw my Family Dr and we made a few changes, did some blood work and he wanted hip/pelvis X-rays. These were all good first steps and the results are pending. The fact that my back became an issue last week was just another piece of the puzzle. It's all connected.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's as high as the left leg goes</td></tr>
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Because of all this and in light of the fact that I don't have a life threatening lesion at the base of my brain I am starting today with a new focus and direction. I am stripping things right down. 2016 is going to be the year of the 're-build' and I am hoping that by October the product that comes out of the re-vamp is stronger and fitter. At this point, I don't even care about faster although I know that if I build it right, that will come. I am going to spend until June focussing on building strength and running lower kilometres, at which point I will begin to prepare for STWM in October by focussing on running more. I observe a (mostly) plant based diet but I am so addicted to sugar that I honestly would melt if I got rained on. I am going to break the chains and get rid of the poison in hopes to help reduce inflammation in my body. I feel torn down now, so why not look at this in a positive way by seeing it as a way to build up and be a better me and a better runner. Follow along and see what happens. I will also be sharing stories of other people who are re-building in 2016. At one time this would have had me in tears, not now though. I will continue to run and I will run strong again, it will just take a bit of work to get there. For now, the first step to the re-build is stretching the affected areas...so easy in principal.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-8816990648980884382015-12-31T13:15:00.000-05:002015-12-31T13:15:05.009-05:00Don't be Pressured by a Date Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Watching the 2015 retrospection of blog posts, picture collages and status updates made me question:<br />
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<i>What do I have to say that isn't just noise?</i><br />
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This is what I came up with...<br />
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The calendar will change to a new day, month and year or maybe already has as you read this. Traditionally this is a time of reflection and resolution. It's the end of one year and the beginning of another. Naturally people feel hopeful about what lies ahead and may even resolve to be different, to do differently. The world celebrates a new calendar year with parties, tributes and fireworks. It's a big deal.<br />
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The noise I am adding to the atmosphere goes against the grain because it's where I am at. I post when I have something to say, so today, this is what I have to say even though it will be wildly unpopular.<br />
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F*ck the calendar! Do not be pressured into changing your life overnight because the date changes.<br />
Your changes will not stick! You are essentially making them under duress, with a gun to your head- 'Figure it out quick, the date is about to change!'<br />
Tradition dictates that the new year is the time to quickly get it all sorted out and begin again. Look at what went wrong or right and be prepared to act accordingly by midnight on December 31. You don't have to do this in a panic. If you haven't got it figured out yet, so what. The clock will strike 12 as it does every other night of your life and nothing will be any different as the sun rises and sets on January 1st.<br />
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This is not to make light of those who embrace change with the new year, it is to say that really, it's just a date change. Those of you who are struggling to find your why; to find the inspiration to start anew, I want you to know that it's ok to <i>not</i> find it on New Year's day. Maybe you will be renewed and resolute on Groundhog day or Canada day or maybe for you it will be April 23. It does not have to be January 1st just because the symbolism of the new year leads you to feel that way.<br />
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The symbolism of a new year is undeniable, rip the last page of the calendar off and put up the new one, fresh and uncluttered without dates and appointments, you can't help but feel unburdened. That is about as clean as it gets, as the year and its demands begin to roll. Ever wonder why most new year's resolutions fail to become permanent parts of a person's life? My theory is because people get caught up in the noise and expectations of January 1st. It's all good when the fanfare that accompanies the 5-4-3-2-1 is loudest and the holiday weight gain is at its highest but once the pomp and circumstance wares off (around January 30), most people feel like failures, for the 30th or so year in a row.<br />
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I am not ready yet. I don't know what my 2016 plans or goals are, so I am not going to be pressured into figuring it out because of a date change. I am adding this noise to the atmosphere because I know if I am thinking it, there are others who are feeling the same way. If no one else will declare it, I will. It's all good in the hood. There is no reason to go to bed tonight and feel like you need to be a superstar in the morning...which will be good news to those of you who will spend the first day of the gloriously revered new year, hungover. I repeat you do not have to find a phone booth at midnight (do they still exist) and make a superhero costume change to be ready for the new day, month and year.<br />
Enjoy the celebrations that welcome the new year and know that the day you are ready to make any kind of changes in your life will be as good a day as any other new year's day.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-27041379195673835062015-12-14T11:47:00.001-05:002015-12-14T11:47:14.806-05:00Fighting to Stay at ' 5 '<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This time of year sees many of us looking back over the last 12 months and celebrating and/or lamenting our gains and losses. Most of my year was a struggle physically and emotionally. I have been low and I have been high. There have been many things that I am grateful for but somehow these things managed to be book-ended by injury and depression. Most of this year has felt like a balancing act. Slowly I have made my way, one foot in front of the other with arms lifted straight out at my sides to keep from falling over the edge. The motto this year has been 'no sudden movements'. I knew if I didn't make any abrupt or spontaneous decisions that I could avoid causing too much damage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMXqtwG-Co8SClpxILgCD2xAh_QDbrTHrA8x1OoXI-PeB0RTAYJ8jtGPHwC0ExtCHaHM2LtuAfwoWDOxArSSffbS3KEdASHew8OcYLta7wF4RxPrMJkFYrVD9orgBN7VNhF5fMZstjX4Z/s1600/shadow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAMXqtwG-Co8SClpxILgCD2xAh_QDbrTHrA8x1OoXI-PeB0RTAYJ8jtGPHwC0ExtCHaHM2LtuAfwoWDOxArSSffbS3KEdASHew8OcYLta7wF4RxPrMJkFYrVD9orgBN7VNhF5fMZstjX4Z/s320/shadow.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At STWM 2015 photo Edison Yao</td></tr>
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<br />
If I seemed different or unlike myself this year, I was...I am. I have felt like a shadow of myself, dark and hollow. I tried to go through the motions, to 'act' like myself and some days it worked and others it didn't. I am inside myself and I find it hard to get out of me. It takes a lot of effort to stay right where I am and not get any lower. If the best version of me is a '10' then most of this year I have been a '5' at best and a '3' at worst. I am fighting to be a '5'.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
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There is good news though...<br />
I am still sober.<br />
I know that if I soothed any of this with alcohol it would be worse than bad. It's not my answer anymore.<br />
<br />
One month from now I will celebrate 5 sober years and I know I will get there.<br />
I thought I would post and re-post some writing I have done over the years to remind myself about where I have been over the past 5 years.<br />
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<i><br /></i>
<i>April 13, 2013</i><br />
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<b>Finding Myself at the
Bottom of an Empty Bottle</b></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Two and a half years ago I was an overweight, out of shape
alcoholic. I had an emotionally demanding job and home was not a place of
respite. My daughter had social and behavioral issues that took a lot of energy
and my son had anger issues related to all the attention she required. My
husband was unhappy because he carried the family load while I was busy
drinking. I missed practices, games, music lessons and even a parent-teacher
interview because I had been into the sauce. This being the catalyst for my
husband to suggest I might have an unhealthy relationship with alcohol.</div>
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With support from my husband and concern from my Doctor I
agreed to quit drinking and went to an in-patient rehab facility. I dropped out
of rehab on day three because I was homesick. As I was leaving, the Doctor told
me that the likelihood of remaining sober without their program was low. I
accepted that challenge as I walked away.</div>
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My own Doctor was disappointed, perhaps even annoyed that I
had left rehab. I assured him that my commitment to sobriety was unchanged, but
I was going to do it my way. The threatening words of failure offered by the rehab
Physician, rang loudly in my head but I would be damned if they came true.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was up to me to find out who I was without a wineglass in
my hand. I was lost and felt like I had no identity without alcohol. My circle
of friends shrank and my social calendar was empty. I had been the “life of the
party” and was left feeling like I had no life at all. I didn’t believe it
would get easier. I was so attached to the person I was, I found it hard to
embrace the possibility of a new life with new interests.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After 6-8 weeks off the booze, I started to run. As days
turned to weeks I began to find myself. I replaced drinking with running, and
just as a true addict does, I substituted one fixation for another. I became
dependent on running as therapy. Emotionally, I could work out my problems
while pounding the pavement. Physically, I was feeling great. I was losing
weight and my love affair with Alexander Keith was taking a back seat. What was
developing was hope and even a little bit of faith that I could be part of the
world without a blood alcohol level. </div>
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I built new habits linked to running; like-minded friends,
plant based nutrition and physical activity helped me forge a new way of being.
Finding my legs gave me confidence, so I committed to training for the Goodlife
Fitness Toronto half marathon. The day I ran that race, I celebrated four
months of sobriety, which was everything and nothing all at the same time. The
enormity of staying ‘dry’ for the rest of my life and the potential for failure
was not lost on me. This reality weighed heavier on me as I crossed the finish
line and was directed to where I could claim my free 6 pack of Molson 67 beer. I
glanced in the direction of the FREE beer and then carried on. If I was going
to blow it, it wouldn’t be on calorie reduced beer.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I am happy those early days are behind me. I am still
running and I am still sober. I am building a new life, with running community
connections. Being a finalist in a running magazine blog contest has been a
highlight. I have been doing some blogging and tweeting as a “digital champion”
for Canada Running Series. Each day I am excited to see what happens. </div>
<br />
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I am a healthier person, which translates into being a
better wife and mother and for that, I thank my addiction to running. I wish
that rehab doctor could see me now. </div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-39139889189401755592015-10-16T11:41:00.000-04:002015-10-16T11:41:24.456-04:00I Shouldn't Even...But I Will<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Well here it is, marathon weekend in Toronto.<br />
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<br />
Most of this year has been a running struggle. My body has felt tired and weak. I haven't been able to stay clear of aches, pains and strains. It felt like each time I began to feel strong again, something would resurface or something new would present.<br />
The acute Achilles tendon injury I experienced in the Spring has gotten better but left over is bilateral Achilles tendinitis that bothers me all of the time and I just live with it and run with it as I haven't taken the down time to let it heal.<br />
My hips, the right side especially, are achy and sore and stiff much of the time. The odd day, after physio they feel better but after a day or two the pain creeps back.<br />
My left calf bugs me off and on. There's a strain in there but it, like my other complaints, irritates me enough to be uncomfortable but doesn't worsen with running, so I have carried on.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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When I get out of bed in the morning, I walk like an old woman and it takes stretching and about an hour on my feet before I start to loosen up and walk right. Through out the day if I spend any length of time sitting, which I do, I will cease up again and require a 'getting going' time frame before my lower half softens and relaxes. I find myself starting to play the age card. This is the first time in my life that I have ever considered age to be a possible factor. This season I have cross trained and strength trained more than in the past because I understand the benefits of strengthening weakness to avoid injuries but to this point it hasn't been a buffer.<br />
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No doubt, many of you reading this are thinking , "cry me a river' and I get it. I know that lots of us have complaints that we are able to run through, that aren't acute and that we manage. Running isn't kind to most bodies. My fear is that this is my new normal. That I have flirted with my training threshold and that it will never be enough for Boston. Right...there is that, the previously proclaimed purposeful intention to someday qualify. Well, that is someday and for the moment there is no pressure to BQ. The more immediate pressure looms on Sunday at STWM, only there isn't really any pressure. I am in no condition to perform near any level that would be considered pressure filled. There will be no BQ or PB and hopefully, there will be no DNF.<br />
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<br />
It is true, I shouldn't even...but I will because I love this race, the people and that finish line moment. I will because there has to be some reward and bright spot in a year filled with more downs than ups and for me the bright spot will be to add '<i>2015</i>' to my STWM shoe print tattoo. This year has been physically challenging but with those struggles something worse has set in...psychological doubt and fear. I have lost confidence in my ability and I am afraid to suffer. When the caution flag gets raised in my mind I pull up instead of pushing through. I tell myself that it is my sub conscience telling me that if I push harder there will be serious physical consequences. I tell myself 'this shouldn't feel so bad' or 'you are going to be sorry if that Achilles ruptures'. These are sensible thoughts but they creep in too easily now and it has impacted my focus. as soon as your focus is diluted then your confidence follows.<br />
<br />
With physical and psychological weakness comes performance anxiety and finally I am left with no desire to run, at all. This is a frightening place for me to be because this is the modality that I rely on for the strength to stay sober. It is a dark place to be. I no longer love to run...there I admitted it.<br />
<br />
Sunday is going to hurt. The marathon hurts when a person is healthy and prepared let alone being neither of those things and toeing the line. I have let go off any expectation other than enjoying some time with a few friends while running and crossing the finish line. I think once I do that, it will be time to reassess at least my short term goals to see if I can find a way to feel better and love running again.<br />
<br />
If you see me on Sunday I sure would appreciate some run love. I will proudly be wearing my Pace & Mind singlet even though I am not racing. Please wave or shout your encouragement.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-78777388644182598822015-09-18T16:19:00.001-04:002015-09-18T16:40:07.942-04:00Magic Mike<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div>
<i>This post was originally published on the <a href="http://www.irun.ca/blog/index.php/magic-mike/" target="_blank">iRun </a>website November 2012.</i></div>
<div>
<i>I thought it deserved another look today, as Mike and I celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary.</i></div>
<div>
<i>Because I am a strong, empowered woman, I could live without him, but I wouldn't want to have to.</i></div>
<div>
<i>Love is not measured in affirmations of not being able to live without someone, it's about who you are with someone. I might be fine in the world without Mike but I wouldn't be the same person I am now. I like who I am with Mike by my side.</i><br />
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My husband, Mike has tolerated my shenanigans for 18 years.
Someone, somewhere should give him an award because even sober, I am a handful.
He has endured much over the years, and in the moment, it would seem as though
he is irritated, annoyed or unimpressed with my latest scheme, but I think in
general, he likes my creative approach to life.<br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mike met me drunk, in a bar... <shrugs shoulders> what
can I say; it was the beginning of a theme.<br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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As I look back, I am grateful he stuck around once his beer
goggles wore off. I knew early on that he was a keeper. He looked out for me
and that was a full-time job. He also looked out for our friends. My dad
actually went on to nickname him "mother hen". He's just that person
who is willing to give up a bit of his own fun to make sure nobody loses an
eye. He would co-ordinate cab rides to bars for everyone. He would make sure
everyone had a drinking buddy to stay safe with and then at the end of the
night, he would see to it that everybody headed home safely (with the exception
of his bachelor party when the bar staff did their closing time bathroom check
and found him passed out, sitting on the toilet; that time doesn't count, most
of the time he was on duty)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mike is a non-runner. He will hustle the 60 feet it takes to
get to home plate to first base, but that's it. He is such a non-runner, that I
suspect he actually avoids hitting anything other than singles in order to
avoid running farther than he has to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Being a non-runner and having no idea what it's like to
train for a goal race, Mike is strangely, unwavering-ly supportive of my
dedication to running. Most people that don't run, don't get it, somehow,
because it's good for my recovery, Mike is all in. He gets it. He never asks
"why?". He is my number one fan (he even has a shirt that says
"go Christa go", I hate it when he wears that shirt to Wal-Mart).</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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My husband wears many hats when I run. During training, his
job is part-time. His responsibilities are limited, but very important. His
duties include knowing my weekly training schedule and not doing anything to
screw it up! As soon as you start messing with the plan, you risk missing
workouts. It's hard enough to plan them around work, family and life, let alone
altering it once it's in writing; Job #1 - don't mess me up!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The full time responsibilities start the night before a
race. He is in charge of travel details. He organizes the departure time,
travel route, pit stops (nervous bladder pee breaks) and parking. There have
been moments where he attempts to share details with me, to which I respond
unfavorably. I don't want to know that sh*t. I just want to run. I am a bit
like a running diva, I just want to perform. The deets are not my specialty;
Job #2 - travel director<o:p></o:p></div>
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On race day, Mike's portfolio expands (without a pay
increase). He becomes my organizer and odd job guy, tending to things like
ensuring our dogs are taken care of before departure, making sure I am up on
time and out the door on schedule; Job #3 - personal assistant. He will load
the car with my shoes and clothes and race bib. He will recheck for a change of
clothes and shoes for after the race. He checks my iPod and my Blackberry for
charge; Job #4 - equipment manager. Mike checks if I have my food, reminding me
not to forget a spoon. He will make sure a small cooler is packed with my
pre-race drink and my post-race recovery fluids. Do I have enough gels? He
makes sure my Fuel Belt is full; Job #5 - nutrition specialist. Mike works very
hard on race day to see to it that I am allowed to keep my mind on the run. He
is excellent at minimizing the pressures of getting to the race. If I start to
exhibit some anxiety or doubt, he is quick to talk me down; Job #6 - sports
psychologist.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Delivering me on time, in proper dress, adequately hydrated,
and without undue psychological trauma, is Mike's light at the end of the
tunnel. Most of his work is done and the rest is up to me. At the start line,
he releases me from is care to look on with pride, as I do what I love; Job #7
- spectator (the worst job of all).<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sport of running must be the worst sport to watch...
really, what's to see? The runners leave, the runners come back. There's no
ongoing play by play, no line changes or substitutions. There are no glove
dropping, bench clearing brawls. Fans and admirers like my husband stand out in
the rain, the cold, the snow, before 8 am on a prime Saturday or Sunday, just
so we know they are there. Beyond the anticipation of the horn blowing and the
clock starting, hours pass until the next climatic incident, which is the
finish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The finish... Mike's near to last job; Job #8 - Cheerleader.
When all things are considered, Mike deserves a raise and a promotion, except
in job #8. In the last 100 meters of every big race I have done, I look for
Mike's face in the crowd; I look for his kind eyes and encouraging smile to get
me over the line and to know that I have done it! Poor mike, he misses my run
up to the shoot every time. He is never in the right place at the right time
and has repeatedly been distracted by other dramatic finishers. This fall, some
guy was setting a record for running the farthest and the fastest in a
superhero costume and he was doing that just as I was arriving at the finish.
Mike's first indication of my finish is always a text from me saying
"done", He is always disappointed.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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His final function is getting me out of there, getting me
dry, warm, and re-hydrated; Job #9 - recovery specialist. All the way back to
the car he mumbles to himself "I can't believe I missed it again".<o:p></o:p></div>
Thank you for always looking out for me, Michael... in
sickness and in health... in drunkenness and in sobriety.<i> </i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-49643650150174559662015-09-13T11:11:00.001-04:002015-09-13T11:12:24.288-04:00At the Zoo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://www.canadarunningseries.com/" target="_blank">Canada Running Series</a>, as an organization has been a friend to me and from that relationship I have been blessed with several other individual friendships. It is true and not just lip service when I say, as the years have passed I have been made to feel like family.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJHbL5rZ-J-Cni1d3i9yApzOTePlRh-RoXRgG7fsNkoHeFAuWTQK4i6Cc3Rc53mivSAbbCh3KBcZtV0Pg7mAzvyr9hZ5rBI8barbkZEfyYbStqGE51ec4P3kuCTHcxaZxv-AKfhNr_bvV/s1600/zoo7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJHbL5rZ-J-Cni1d3i9yApzOTePlRh-RoXRgG7fsNkoHeFAuWTQK4i6Cc3Rc53mivSAbbCh3KBcZtV0Pg7mAzvyr9hZ5rBI8barbkZEfyYbStqGE51ec4P3kuCTHcxaZxv-AKfhNr_bvV/s320/zoo7.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenna of CRS and I at Party Site</td></tr>
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I have the best imaginable relationship with CRS. It's like being a second cousin who lives far away. Second cousins (especially ones who live out of town) are removed from the day to day activities and stresses that the nuclear family navigates. The core of the family collaborates, negotiates, plans and hosts events. The extended family (if kept in good graces), gets invited to the celebrations and delights in the execution of all the planning.<br />
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As a second cousin to the CRS family, I am invited to community runs, expos and races; all celebrations of our ability to run. When I arrive at an event, I am received with a warm embrace and words of welcome and sometimes a kiss on the cheek but happily no cheek pinching. I get to enjoy all of the hard work and planning as an insider, but without the stress of being responsible for the details. When I bring a 'date' with me to any of the functions, my CRS family welcomes them with as much warmth and hospitality. The events are wonderful because I get a chance to see all my other second cousins who are as equally regarded by our nuclear family, as I am.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQ5PAaDl_zOAzvXN7nGFrLJ8yMRWNWdtk7wDbzm680jOjgOY0YMpEMxQKQRCHsFhTPxd6koMkseVN9ZUcw9p84NwqO5ggxLL_SQ96F8_0drHr18Dhdoc1KaZ3KNG-8JHGxHX6uVI4QJyK/s1600/zoo6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQ5PAaDl_zOAzvXN7nGFrLJ8yMRWNWdtk7wDbzm680jOjgOY0YMpEMxQKQRCHsFhTPxd6koMkseVN9ZUcw9p84NwqO5ggxLL_SQ96F8_0drHr18Dhdoc1KaZ3KNG-8JHGxHX6uVI4QJyK/s320/zoo6.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Ian of CRS and my date Laurie</td></tr>
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To thank my CRS family, last year I volunteered at one of the races they organize, the Zoo Run, and this year I did the same. The Toronto Zoo is the site of this 5 and 10k race, which also boasts a 1k 'Cub Run' which, incidentally is only for the kids and is not meant as a 1k time trial for adults wishing to test their legs...and no, the ankle biters can not be considered as hurdles for cross training purposes...I asked. Volunteering at this race is my way of leaving a hostess gift for my benefactors. This is how I can contribute to the party. Imagine me as the relative offering to refill your drink on behalf of the hostess...in this case, the drink would be in the form of Oasis Juice <shameless plug>. I have no big responsibility to the success of the celebration, yet pitching in is always a great way to say <i>'I care about you and your success and your guests' comfort.'</i><br />
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRv86eB05jpQSD2FN-Ac2Thvg_kmkAAvzroqcjPyipA6jFhbVJpz8L8in9bJYQt9IkZyFk_69NzNene9kdst3MGyR3g2jdhzGrR4tDLOIA2_q_fNNBZZpmJi08_nh_zpSichTCPFBv0Uj/s1600/zoo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRv86eB05jpQSD2FN-Ac2Thvg_kmkAAvzroqcjPyipA6jFhbVJpz8L8in9bJYQt9IkZyFk_69NzNene9kdst3MGyR3g2jdhzGrR4tDLOIA2_q_fNNBZZpmJi08_nh_zpSichTCPFBv0Uj/s320/zoo1.jpg" width="240" /></a></i></div>
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I have always been vocal about the fondness and gratitude I have for Jenna and Alan, in particular, as they gave me a life preserver when I needed it most. They threw me a lifeline and pulled me in and invited me to belong. They gave me something to do that felt meaningful while I worked to add sober days to my life. None of us exists in isolation. Our <i>being</i> is made up of many puzzle pieces. Who we are is impacted by those with whom we keep company. I am better because I surround myself with people who want me to succeed, who want me to continue to enjoy the benefits a sober life has brought me. I have been tempted to drink at times and what kills the desire for me, is taking a moment to reflect on everyone around me who would be impacted if I put that bottle to my lips. I think about my husband and kids. I think about my Dad, my in-laws, my Grandma, my Aunt...and I think about my extended family at CRS. This is all the time I seem to need to remind myself that I am trying really hard to keep from being the outcast of family.<br />
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Thank you to everyone at CRS for supporting me, whether you realize you have done it or not.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbteQQdFNNrdUxtDbojlOypokBXVRz7rriJ1AOxZlNIrXZOUtUx63b_oW0twyb4OFI4C9RrG-vu672y-eVX6k3KtGk61x5m6XaQfyL9BYb85gFQTUMzePDZbAV96BYt_ZVJUD2nxHQEFB/s1600/zoo8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbteQQdFNNrdUxtDbojlOypokBXVRz7rriJ1AOxZlNIrXZOUtUx63b_oW0twyb4OFI4C9RrG-vu672y-eVX6k3KtGk61x5m6XaQfyL9BYb85gFQTUMzePDZbAV96BYt_ZVJUD2nxHQEFB/s320/zoo8.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With April and Melanie of CRS</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52rfaTiBjYytdy_s2hcT-01Pkw6GjkLA8W0WaNkgrFT_b1AiciNT_2lZoqtBZ0RnL0GZXOTfjrHtxObHKQkRLtaSuxWGSrmVcvLy7hOhAc-h0wWwZbZQL0nJ0g6dQTOdy-STbs0xX-QR1/s1600/zoo2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52rfaTiBjYytdy_s2hcT-01Pkw6GjkLA8W0WaNkgrFT_b1AiciNT_2lZoqtBZ0RnL0GZXOTfjrHtxObHKQkRLtaSuxWGSrmVcvLy7hOhAc-h0wWwZbZQL0nJ0g6dQTOdy-STbs0xX-QR1/s320/zoo2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurie and I at our volunteer station<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSNeWSEJ-NLuBpNstxHGulNrGsaTWrMu5xcbeTqTa0HmkqB4idsiOrmXzfvbiCsDrwlrfU01nJT-h2NOHrSTGI1T3PjfO9thkQX92e1HcWVaqjqymGsAfJ4CQJ1y_onubYHKs6kMx6cxG/s1600/zoo4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRSNeWSEJ-NLuBpNstxHGulNrGsaTWrMu5xcbeTqTa0HmkqB4idsiOrmXzfvbiCsDrwlrfU01nJT-h2NOHrSTGI1T3PjfO9thkQX92e1HcWVaqjqymGsAfJ4CQJ1y_onubYHKs6kMx6cxG/s320/zoo4.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-90284754353258155122015-09-11T13:14:00.003-04:002017-01-08T08:42:48.464-05:00For Whom The Bell Tolls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6EXlcg4wL7bmFm8ZMZ34qzTSW17xw_b9lHwFMMM-jUMIilon8sxp47k9djcf0_eza5q4nBcVbi-nQDl_HqAd5dgPDN9oGZ9yTaWj0KNa2AAHrLlMVe_8NarUATDMVZGMTgQUFn7OlnzA/s1600/jdsb%2526W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6EXlcg4wL7bmFm8ZMZ34qzTSW17xw_b9lHwFMMM-jUMIilon8sxp47k9djcf0_eza5q4nBcVbi-nQDl_HqAd5dgPDN9oGZ9yTaWj0KNa2AAHrLlMVe_8NarUATDMVZGMTgQUFn7OlnzA/s320/jdsb%2526W.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i>It keeps time with my foot falls, never silent, never still, as long as I just don't stop.</i></div>
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<i>It mirrors my cadence; keeps measure with my steps, never faster, never slower. </i></div>
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<i>It sounds steady, consistent and true, like a heartbeat of sorts.</i></div>
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<i>When I begin to hurt and unravel and the cracks of doubt begin to widen, its persistence reels me back.</i></div>
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<i>If I just don't stop, its measure is with me, softly comforting me, refocusing me, distracting me, encouraging me, like it's her voice.</i></div>
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At times I don't hear it. If I am not hearing it, then I am not listening. If I am not listening it's because things are coming easily and feeling good. When things are going well, my thoughts are elsewhere. When running feels effortless, its rhythm and bounce aggravate me and I will tuck it away into my shirt to mute its insistence. Somehow it always works itself free to ring on; as long as I am in motion it searches to sing. It's as though its job is to remind me to keep going so it can keep going.<br />
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For as long as I can remember, my Mom wore a tiny silver bell on a chain around her neck. She loved bells and was a collector. Her collection housed different sized bells, ones made of brass and porcelain, old and new. We didn't have a traditional doorbell, we had a big brass bell hung beside the door for people to ring like an olden day supper bell. We had wind chimes all around the yard that rang out as the breeze touched them. Something about the sound of bells and chimes resonated with her. I never asked what it was or why it was that she loved them. I never questioned what inspired her attraction. It was one of those things that was woven into the fabric of our home. When things are taken for granted, they exist without question. We never ask why, there is no reason to question normalcy.<br />
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When she died, over 14 years ago at the age of 47, I removed her diamond earrings from her ears, her wide, silver wedding band from her finger and her necklace from which the tiny, beloved silver bell dangled from around her neck.; all things my Dad had lovingly given her. Through streaming tears of grief and without hesitation I put the necklace around my neck so it wouldn't be silenced along with her life, so its life could continue even though hers couldn't; as long as there was motion, it wouldn't die with her.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXinhLbFGDiJ7rpK0DzMDtR3hbE9obNqlRKFftnroMn-8uHHZv6ILx9Gm3PcPej5s4cee9xTJ2J5J3ZdBRFREbJCuLr0zaRfN86Cei9RBLT0o4YNhjjgBnjnHBMnhHCfjxJgGKb-lHtmnB/s1600/bell.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXinhLbFGDiJ7rpK0DzMDtR3hbE9obNqlRKFftnroMn-8uHHZv6ILx9Gm3PcPej5s4cee9xTJ2J5J3ZdBRFREbJCuLr0zaRfN86Cei9RBLT0o4YNhjjgBnjnHBMnhHCfjxJgGKb-lHtmnB/s320/bell.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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To me, there is nothing that defines my Mom more than the tiny bell she wore, with its filigree pattern. She was an early riser my whole life, a habit passed on to me that has served me well. As a child, I remember the first sound I would listen for upon waking was the tiny ringing sound of that bell swinging from her neck. I could identify the urgency of her movements from the breath of that bell. I could zero in on her location in the house even if she wasn't making any noise, as long as she moved I could find her with my ears. It was always present, like her love, steady and true.<br />
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She died when I was five months pregnant with Tucker, who would have been her first grandchild. That bell was around my neck, singing its song of love and support when he came into the world. It was like having her voice with me saying:<br />
<i> "Don't stop. You can do this. I am here, all you have to do is listen for me.'</i><br />
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I rarely have cause to take it off but in one instance I did, for what reason I can't recall. During a move that our family made a few years ago, the necklace and I got separated somehow. I knew in my heart that I hadn't lost it, I rarely lose anything but I do misplace things. Of all the qualities that define me, organization is not one of them. Because of this, I can become separated from things, until they reappear, at which time I am usually heard saying 'Oh ya, that's where I put that!'.<br />
In the case of my missing bell, my mom-in-law found it at the cottage, where Mike, the kids and I had lived while our house was being built. It was tucked away with a few other small trinkets, for safe keeping, no doubt.<br />
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The necklace has been part of my running journey, completing three marathons and a fourth on the horizon. It's not a good luck charm. It is much more than that, after all, neither life nor running is about luck. They are about preparation and optimism. In life and in running my Mom's bell is tireless in its mission to have me hear its message, <i>her</i> message that sounds like a steady heartbeat, as long as I keep moving forward:<br />
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<i>'Don't stop. You can do this. I am here, all you have to do is listen for me.'</i><br />
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If you ever run with me or run past me, listen for my Mom's bell and you too will hear her message.<br />
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What helps you keep going when it gets tough out there?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLiE0-IEvpZg_AipDGZKIXn-ypOIde3h_1fW8Zs50cScjFyGvYs9yEzIX1zOJcHqSc4fcDq-YHt435ZHARIUsasNeJxmoDelEpphsW7yxkcXY-DJxteVwxzI4YZ82afLOotGqe1YBTaNX/s1600/bellwithMJ.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzLiE0-IEvpZg_AipDGZKIXn-ypOIde3h_1fW8Zs50cScjFyGvYs9yEzIX1zOJcHqSc4fcDq-YHt435ZHARIUsasNeJxmoDelEpphsW7yxkcXY-DJxteVwxzI4YZ82afLOotGqe1YBTaNX/s320/bellwithMJ.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With 400 meter World Record Holder Michael Johnson</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With friends at CRS/STWM speaker series</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-68207755711167646312015-08-26T06:00:00.000-04:002015-08-27T08:53:55.577-04:00How Mary Kay Will Help Me BQ<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Cleanser, moisturizer? Foundation, concealer? Perfume, cologne?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNicfWme2FDS20hUWM9506Syl_hq7QlqHf99WW27waijnHY2KaxjHQoCAbW2hMj5LqRUw9Mb-ekTgr0qxVTrjVnsEe6wO1nPmeUGxrEsgSe4jnlGe55xRBIB-b9VVuj-p-BfC8Y1NdJvk/s1600/makeithappen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNicfWme2FDS20hUWM9506Syl_hq7QlqHf99WW27waijnHY2KaxjHQoCAbW2hMj5LqRUw9Mb-ekTgr0qxVTrjVnsEe6wO1nPmeUGxrEsgSe4jnlGe55xRBIB-b9VVuj-p-BfC8Y1NdJvk/s320/makeithappen.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
I used to be a Mary Kay Consultant...Yes, I was, for realzzz, no joke.<br />
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The bizarre part of being involved in the MK culture was that it was a 'dry' society, as in alcohol free and at the time I was anything but an abstainer. <br />
<a name='more'></a>I was so attracted to the message at MK that the packaging didn't matter, the products didn't even matter, although I did like them. What caught my attention was the community of (mostly) women and their supportive message that anyone could do anything that they didn't give up on. No matter what your thoughts or experiences are about MK, Mary Kay Ash had her sh*t together as a leader and as a woman in the patriarchal business world. She knew how to motivate people, women in particular, to achieve things that they never dreamed possible. I retired from my MK business a long time ago, but the principles of achievement that I learned as a MK beauty consultant underpin every goal I set for myself, to this day. <b style="text-align: center;"></b><br />
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<b>5 Things I learned from MK that will Help me a BQ</b></div>
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<li>Those who are blessed with the most talent don't necessarily out perform everyone else. It's the people with follow-through who excel. ~Mary Kay Ash</li>
<li>People fail forward to success.~ Mary Kay Ash</li>
<li>For every failure, there is an alternate course of action. You just have to find it. When you come to a roadblock, take a detour. ~ Mary Kay Ash</li>
<li>Give yourself something to work toward -constantly. ~ Mary Kay Ash</li>
<li>Aerodynamically, the bumble bee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumble bee doesn't know it, so it goes on flying anyway. ~ Mary Kay Ash</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With my friend Lisa at a 'dry' MK function in 2008</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: left;">A Boston qualifier is a long way off for me but that doesn't matter. Now that I have set my goal I will just do the work day by day. One day all the work, all of the obstacles and all of the sweat will get me there. I will keep my mind right and my thoughts positive. I will not give up; I will fly like the bumble bee. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Staying focused: What I am Reading Now</td></tr>
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I read as much as I can. I always seem to have 3 or 4 books on the go because there are so many books and so little time. What are you reading now?</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-45506208340967410442015-08-19T07:16:00.000-04:002015-08-25T16:50:25.940-04:00I Don't Need Easy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How do I know it's real?<br />
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I know it is in my blood, my bones and my breath because I can't sleep and when I finally do drift off, the moment I wake, it is my first thought. I am afflicted with it; infected by it.</div>
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This is how I know it <i>will</i> happen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Yuj1Vo1Hh4dZQym_O3IuU8mZ-EoUdvA3fZe8LR63XF2MbNtrtbqoef64Iii41GI1qLqogO3nxixxfkARK5Wc1NaNeveY5TGCUayin0I4_HG_iRNVgkMyy0WjLM0U3FIPafs0eSypL-Wc/s1600/BQpic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Yuj1Vo1Hh4dZQym_O3IuU8mZ-EoUdvA3fZe8LR63XF2MbNtrtbqoef64Iii41GI1qLqogO3nxixxfkARK5Wc1NaNeveY5TGCUayin0I4_HG_iRNVgkMyy0WjLM0U3FIPafs0eSypL-Wc/s200/BQpic.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't need easy; I just need do-able</td></tr>
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It is a fine thing to be a dreamer; to have wistful thoughts of what might happen <i>someday. </i>We have to have dreams, otherwise what's the point of anything we do. We need to believe that there are possibilities for us that speak to our hearts. </div>
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As I said, dreams are fine and for 2 years I have dreamed of qualifying for the Boston Marathon.<br />
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Even non-runners know about Boston only they don't really <i>know </i>about Boston. They don't know what it takes to get there, they just know that they hear about it, so it must be a big deal.</div>
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It seems as though the moment you begin to train for your first marathon, people- and I mean runners and non-runners, start to ask 'Will you run the Boston Marathon?' This question comes up before you even get a chance to complete your first marathon; before you even know the struggles of running 42.2km. It's a bit like the pressure newlyweds get as soon as they are married, 'Have you thought about when you will have kids?'</div>
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You have to qualify to run the Boston Marathon by running another marathon fast enough to meet or exceed age group time standards. You don't just pay your fee, collect your race bib and show up in Hopkinton Massachusetts ready to run. The qualifying times? For most of us the designated qualifying times are tough to pull off. For most of us the challenge and subsequent achievement lies in actually running a marathon and not in the time it takes us to do it...so, to then be asked to do it fast...[insert grimace].</div>
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As I prepared for my first marathon, Boston definitely became a dream. It's out there, it exists and as a long distance runner, it is dangled in front of you like a carrot, but a dream is all it was.</div>
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The thing about dreams is that there is no commitment to achieving them. They are fanciful wishes or nice things to fantasize about. No pressure lies in procuring a <i>dream</i>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1d11AjYA5Tp7CpaC2YRHnCWDhPiSM0XJ2d5EHO_HMwVwtbxpnNsNgTwun6Rp1tP5bFA2h_yTZKSexeFFNP7MbRRehWgN28WxsKsjOndEiYxZ8fJzNDr2wpRd_VR3pfaXeY4ZbZuaYpE5U/s1600/dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1d11AjYA5Tp7CpaC2YRHnCWDhPiSM0XJ2d5EHO_HMwVwtbxpnNsNgTwun6Rp1tP5bFA2h_yTZKSexeFFNP7MbRRehWgN28WxsKsjOndEiYxZ8fJzNDr2wpRd_VR3pfaXeY4ZbZuaYpE5U/s1600/dream.jpg" /></a></div>
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Last week my dream dissipated and when the ambiguity of it cleared, in its place towered a goal. The transition from one to the other exists in action. No longer will I sit passively and dream about qualifying for the Boston Marathon. I am actively pursuing the qualification standard for my age group. At this point, I should put a stop to your wild thoughts about when this Boston Qualifier (BQ) will happen. My declaration of intention to BQ in no way means that I think this will happen overnight. I should point out here, that if training for your first marathon begets pressure from on lookers to BQ, then the official quest to qualify brings about the pressure to do it ASAP. To those of you who are ready to ask 'When will you do it?', please don't, there is much work to be done before I target a 'when'. Indeed, a timeline is an important piece of goal achievement but at this point, I have committed to doing the work it will take to get there, as the work progresses and yields results, then a more specific plan of execution can be formulated. For now, I am in <i>all out action mode</i>. I am focused on doing the work today with the future in mind. Everything counts and everything matters.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivWxC47xfbw5GMEPJ6tP3vK7PRVoZIl8B-YJWMfUkbKXaaKQgiGNTueVaDZGo-j1WiSu_E0FGSnEWmZr0YhTERo6orY9y-3BR2ivUTOwhZGiTu8xsFLXUZYRS4P5JjL8lEvcozL6RWJt4/s1600/BQ2pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivWxC47xfbw5GMEPJ6tP3vK7PRVoZIl8B-YJWMfUkbKXaaKQgiGNTueVaDZGo-j1WiSu_E0FGSnEWmZr0YhTERo6orY9y-3BR2ivUTOwhZGiTu8xsFLXUZYRS4P5JjL8lEvcozL6RWJt4/s200/BQ2pic.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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People who are successful at reaching their goals tell anyone who will listen what their goals are, so I am telling you that I won't stop until I get that BQ. I am going to blog about my journey for accountability and who knows, maybe to inspire somebody else to take action toward turning their dreams into goals. People who are successful at reaching their goals also have a support network behind them, so please don't be shy about giving me a 'holla now and then. </div>
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Alright...this part is for those of you who love the numbers. I am an anomaly as far as runners go, in that I don't really give a f*#k about the numbers...I don't know how many kilometers I ran last year, last month or last week...numbers mean math and math and I are like oil and water. I just do the work, run the plan and leave the math up to my Coach. Number runners, this is for you...</div>
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<li>Marathon #1: Oct 2013/Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon <b>4:51:58</b> </li>
<li>Marathon #2: May 2014/Ottawa Marathon <b>4:58:28</b></li>
<li>Marathon #3: Oct 2014/Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon <b>4:19:08</b> </li>
<li>Marathon #4 to be run Oct 2015 Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon...</li>
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<b>Current BQ for Age Group: 3:45</b></div>
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I know this is real because I can't stop thinking about it. I can taste it. I can feel it. My eyes are locked and my legs are ready; vision and action.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittmZV_JYJY0SCWp0nVjb9kjC0a-4lbNIUn5ckbriljMgPHZNrQfb8WT-gWOxrG6DER_bsfhaqI9t9ZniEVqo44odvGqkGU1hL86iM0txfyF4KOMh6U2SchJ0zQUyIRsnQwdfTxL19Qcea/s1600/BQ3pic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittmZV_JYJY0SCWp0nVjb9kjC0a-4lbNIUn5ckbriljMgPHZNrQfb8WT-gWOxrG6DER_bsfhaqI9t9ZniEVqo44odvGqkGU1hL86iM0txfyF4KOMh6U2SchJ0zQUyIRsnQwdfTxL19Qcea/s200/BQ3pic.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sign of hard work is the sweaty a$$ print left behind</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-80493534803534161762015-06-12T20:36:00.004-04:002015-06-12T20:37:32.491-04:00Goodbye My Friend<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>"Can I put you on hold for a minute?" </i>the receptionist asked.<br />
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What came out of my mouth was,<br />
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<i>"Sure"</i><br />
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but what my mind screamed was,<br />
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<i>"NO! No, you can't put me on hold! It has taken me months to make this phone call and if you put me on hold now, I might hang up. Please just talk to me now. Please don't give me time to reconsider, please!"</i><br />
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<i>"Hi? Christa? Sorry to keep you waiting. Yes, we have an appointment available on Friday at 4:20pm with Dr.______. Would that work for you and your family? We were also wondering if you had thought about aftercare? Would you like to take Ollie home with you after or have his body cremated?"</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>This post is different from all the rest; it's not about running or sobriety. It's about my beloved cat, Ollie.<br />
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Two days ago I made the decision that it was time to let my friend go. Ollie had been declining for the last year and I knew at nearly 18 years old, a dramatic recovery was not going to happen. He was simply aging and as such had fallen victim to its' afflictions. I reasoned that we don't just euthanize people because they grow frail and weary, why would I dismiss my pet's life in that way?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqYo7o-5IlPboai_X4TJyZRdAtyjPnnvqbqkznpYgdMv-9mRe7s_2VXnXMuaqJAMoTN3KSL0G0Libg6CznfVglvFdNd2XcD6VeaAuw099ukGCLAJnrH7vgQ-y8MPZx0cb2IhErhq-hDfQ/s1600/IMG_20150610_0017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqYo7o-5IlPboai_X4TJyZRdAtyjPnnvqbqkznpYgdMv-9mRe7s_2VXnXMuaqJAMoTN3KSL0G0Libg6CznfVglvFdNd2XcD6VeaAuw099ukGCLAJnrH7vgQ-y8MPZx0cb2IhErhq-hDfQ/s320/IMG_20150610_0017.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ollie 4 weeks old</td></tr>
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As we age we become less active, eat less, lose weight and have less interest in the things we once enjoyed. I saw the same things in my cat. It's natural.<br />
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The past couple months have been difficult. My rationale was losing ground to the compassion I hold in my heart against suffering. The natural aging process seemed to be gaining ground on him. He ate less and less, he slept even more than the usual 18 hours a day that cats sleep. He favored one spot in the living room and barely left it. He used to sleep on my pillow but it had been a long time since he found the stamina to make the journey to the second floor. Despite having litter boxes in the basement and on the first floor of the house, he began to soil his bed. I think that was the final sign that he needed me to lovingly intervene and decide his fate. Animals do not eliminate where they sleep. If he could have gotten even two feet from his bed to pee, he would have. I am certain he just couldn't hold his urine while he slept.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyI6RIYuup5n9zDkK4kehR7TCCAXMmKRy3HsO0jFfkN2b6_Snd0rL-5rgVtLYKnE9er92tetbRKu7P_ac6e-38dFIqGv81qFaeOF-6Hq5e2Ue94Kfi2884cdBlg1QVrdbG43rhMfPBbvkU/s1600/IMG_20150610_0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyI6RIYuup5n9zDkK4kehR7TCCAXMmKRy3HsO0jFfkN2b6_Snd0rL-5rgVtLYKnE9er92tetbRKu7P_ac6e-38dFIqGv81qFaeOF-6Hq5e2Ue94Kfi2884cdBlg1QVrdbG43rhMfPBbvkU/s320/IMG_20150610_0016.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ollie 6 months old</td></tr>
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So today was the day that I picked for Ollie to die. Late on a Friday afternoon seemed like a good time so that we would have the weekend together as a family to grieve. The kids and I spent the day at home with him today. We cuddled him and told him loving things. We sat and watched a movie with him on our laps. We shared "remember whens". At 3:00 pm, with just a little over an hour left for him to live, I took him in my arms and climbed the stairs to my room. I laid him on my pillow and then joined him for our final nap together. As he fell asleep I thanked him for being with me for nearly half of my life and told him that I was grateful to have been there for his whole life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaSwxPl2fnd6zgakzS1cUKyOs5WqFBrNX9GTJ7JGYMaTAIC1kUPtJvS5jv4FPccsoGmBiA1eTwx84iyqZqJCK70IPT_BFpiF3U1kT__ZLgvKvIKNXnIOpiopT9SDDFawaC5JP-YhQQ4lV/s1600/IMG_20150610_0019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaSwxPl2fnd6zgakzS1cUKyOs5WqFBrNX9GTJ7JGYMaTAIC1kUPtJvS5jv4FPccsoGmBiA1eTwx84iyqZqJCK70IPT_BFpiF3U1kT__ZLgvKvIKNXnIOpiopT9SDDFawaC5JP-YhQQ4lV/s320/IMG_20150610_0019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the baby came home</td></tr>
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In 1997 Ollie became a part of our family which was before my husband and I were married. Hi big beautiful blue eyes beheld the biggest, best and worst moments of my life. He watched me dress for my wedding day. I probably even scolded him to get away from me so as not to get cat hair on my dress. He made room in the house for our first dog and another cat, but never gave up his spot on my lap. He was the first to inspect and accept my son when I brought him home from the hospital and then took up sleeping quarters under the crib. He stood witness as we moved into our first house, watching as we moved boxes and furniture in hopes of engaging someone to scratch his head. He greeted a second child who was a kid that grew to be unimpressed by cats. He wandered around looking for the other cat when he died. He changed houses two more times in his life and said goodbye to the dog when she died. He watched me quit drinking and sat with me at all hours of the night as my sleep was thrown off. He loved being caressed even though my hands were tremulous. He was patient with my mood swings. As I got better and began to write he sat on my lap, desk or keyboard. If I moved, he followed. He took it all in and waited for my love in between life's moments. For being so faithful, he only asked for attention and affection in return.<br />
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Today I did the most loving thing I have ever done for him. Although it took me long to accept that it was time, I knew that to wait any longer was selfish. I cuddled him and told him over and over that I loved him, never breaking contact with those big, beautiful, blue Ragdoll eyes. Our gaze was only disrupted when he laid his head on his paws one last time to sleep, taking 18 years of love and companionship with him. As he went, I was sad but I did feel a sense of relief that I hadn't expected. It was the right thing to do for him. I had questioned myself for months, wondering "How could I do that <i>to</i> him?" but today my my thought was "how could I not do this <i>for</i> him?". I gave my friend the<br />
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great and humane gifts of peace and comfort.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCYSRhPQXqyRSlkYb84jJ4vKLTtMa4je3UhHr3n6O605cTBKUDQrGGMDq3gLuThsm0wt2eLAd41a-9QAd_zubNgkvlrzv1dZs6Ankzlf2A9ZbiEXULkNHpHmdh_F02LrzbjgjfNnVpAQu/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkCYSRhPQXqyRSlkYb84jJ4vKLTtMa4je3UhHr3n6O605cTBKUDQrGGMDq3gLuThsm0wt2eLAd41a-9QAd_zubNgkvlrzv1dZs6Ankzlf2A9ZbiEXULkNHpHmdh_F02LrzbjgjfNnVpAQu/s1600/photo.JPG" /></a>We brought Ollie home wrapped in a receiving blanket that both the kids came home from the hospital in. He was so emaciated and frail that we used a shoe box for his casket. On his box my daughter had drawn pictures of all the other pets who had died during her life and wrote on the inside 'I love you'. My husband and son dug a deep hole and we placed Ollie gently with love in the ground near the other pets who have left us. To answer the receptionist's question of two days ago, "Yes, we put much thought into aftercare".<br />
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As I write, alone, at my desk without my companion, my tears won't stop flowing. My heart physically hurts and I feel nauseous. In the past I would have chosen to numb my emotions with alcohol but today that isn't an option. I will be with my grief as it washes over me and then I will begin to heal. Writing is the first step for me and running will be the second. On Sunday I will spend all 15 km of the inaugural <i>Nike Women's 15k Toronto</i> thinking about Ollie. A good run usually helps any<i> cat-astrophe</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-mkLQ_7YNTg1jY9kWihyphenhyphen20nN-a04U1NkdyFfxseLYdTBXPhwrjZY72sDHo4AYWYj0v7tMjaWLiV1BFVRjKtRuaFvZfYYq8He_XyYi-AhugJabSMALrUbBMkBnb5wZDM60AvPoD_MsGwow/s1600/ollie3jun10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-mkLQ_7YNTg1jY9kWihyphenhyphen20nN-a04U1NkdyFfxseLYdTBXPhwrjZY72sDHo4AYWYj0v7tMjaWLiV1BFVRjKtRuaFvZfYYq8He_XyYi-AhugJabSMALrUbBMkBnb5wZDM60AvPoD_MsGwow/s1600/ollie3jun10.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying his last day outside</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Be at peace Ollie</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Dec '97-Jun '15</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-86139151557790305192015-04-01T12:13:00.000-04:002015-04-01T14:17:57.441-04:00Alone together<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Around the Bay 2015</td></tr>
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Running is a solo sport no matter how many people are on your team or in your crew or group. People will argue this idea but at it's most basic form, running consists of putting one foot in front of the other and no one on your team can do that for you.<br />
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Ultimately, it is up to us as individuals to intrinsically motivate ourselves to go, to continue and to not quit. That is up to each of us and will never be someone else's decision.<br />
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The team/crew/group becomes important when you need reminders or extrinsic motivation to get out there and stay out there until your goal is reached. The support of fellow runners is important but it is still a solitary decision to run and to keep running.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscDPDEmUOb71MYt2EraB5HGWDxKt42ecZDdHJO_jTYC1IXqaCG4ekrp3VSdQbDVFzpEIRfEJT6ttbEvFDLZIS1ggI3woOYBMCKzxbnV772rodn6yu-hvPZ2VS2DRJ2x0rjxikn0Dw0Xab/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscDPDEmUOb71MYt2EraB5HGWDxKt42ecZDdHJO_jTYC1IXqaCG4ekrp3VSdQbDVFzpEIRfEJT6ttbEvFDLZIS1ggI3woOYBMCKzxbnV772rodn6yu-hvPZ2VS2DRJ2x0rjxikn0Dw0Xab/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pace and Mind</td></tr>
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We run alone together is the best way I can put it. We train together, on our own and we race together, on our own.<br />
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I am proud to be a <a href="http://www.paceandmind.com/" target="_blank">Pace and Mind</a> runner although living outside of Toronto and not training with the team in person removes me from most of the interpersonal benefits of being a part of a team, so I am used to being on my own. If I am not intrinsically motivated to do my training, there aren't any team members around here who are going to extrinsically motivate me. When it gets tough for me it is all on me. I don't have a live coach telling me I can do it, I have to be that to myself, which either I am or I am not. Aside from a training plan that tells me what to do and when to do it, I rely on myself, which in the end is how it is for all runners. Whether you have a coach and team in person to draw upon or not, it is a personal decision to get it done. <br />
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This winter's training didn't go well. Between a couple minor injuries, the cold and miserable footing and the loneliness I missed more training than I actually completed. My speed slipped away and took my confidence with it. Any of my speed workouts that I actually attempted were on the treadmill and for the most part I gave up on. Not even the coach in my head could keep me rolling. The even sadder part was that I didn't really care. I had lost the inner spark that ignites the internal dialogue that keeps us moving forward. Whatever hardcore philosophy I had developed over the previous summer and fall, went as soft as butter this winter.<br />
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Heading into the Chilly Half Marathon this spring, I ran with no pace goals or finish goal, that is how poor my training went this winter.<br />
This past weekend at Around the Bay, I told my coach not to even waste his time making me a plan. He is a busy guy and I knew I didn't have the confidence to execute anything he might come up with. Instead I decided to run with my friend <a href="https://jennapettinato.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Jenna</a> and see if I could execute her race plan. I had no notion that it would be easy but I was looking forward to actually running with someone for a long run, for the first time in, I don't know how long. Jenna runs with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TribeFitnessToronto" target="_blank">Tribe Fitness</a> in Toronto. This group of athletes are doing amazing things, conquering their goals. When Jenna mentioned she had secured us a pacer to help us stay on top of our race plan, I was relieved. I hate pace watching. It is necessary but it always makes me anxious to watch my pace slip and my goals go out the window long before I finish a race. It is very discouraging to realize early on that your race is shot, so to have someone else be in charge of that is dreamy. From my vantage point, my Pace and Mind teammates are all a lot speedier than I am so there is never an opportunity at a race to look to any of them for pacing help or support on the course. I was excited to have <a href="http://onelifelivingit.com/" target="_blank">Jason Pomerantz</a> host our race experience, who also trains with Tribe Fitness.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27r2tM4j3A7kvEtbe9NOgQvkACmi-dvCoWXTyxZk8feEt3vcVA7vLnxhKfQ_tUXzmYAF4UhuUbAVCn5wWrpkJc_fioAmuOmO_vLJC29vFZX_4s4wWjnG-G6kkdatfgYWA_2GZTDiHKPcB/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg27r2tM4j3A7kvEtbe9NOgQvkACmi-dvCoWXTyxZk8feEt3vcVA7vLnxhKfQ_tUXzmYAF4UhuUbAVCn5wWrpkJc_fioAmuOmO_vLJC29vFZX_4s4wWjnG-G6kkdatfgYWA_2GZTDiHKPcB/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jason, Me and Jenna before the start</td></tr>
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I hadn't run farther than 25 km since October at the <a href="http://www.torontowaterfrontmarathon.com/" target="_blank">Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon</a>, so 30km was going to hurt but I figured, at a reasonable pace I could do it. Our goal was to finish in 3 hours or less and the math from our pace plan saw us finishing at 2:56:00, which gave us a cushion when we got to the rolling hill section.<br />
Jay lead us through a very comfortable first third of the course to which we had time to chat and laugh and socialize. The middle 10 km saw us pick up the pace by 30 seconds per km which was still<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early on, feeling good</td></tr>
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good. We chatted and laughed less but there was no distress. The worst part of this section was a bridge we ran over that had a waffle style metal grid on the bottom of it where you could see below you. I nearly had a panic attack! For real. I thought I might die right then. My mind said 'don't look down", so what did I do...uh huh, I looked down. Nausea rose, I got lightheaded and felt weepy. Jay recognized my panic and offered support but then I looked down again. After that I said I gotta get off of here and sprinted to the pavement...where there was a photographer waiting. Right on cue I smiled and waved despite my ensuing meltdown. I recovered as we carried on about our running business.<br />
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The rolling hills weren't as bad to run as I thought they were going to be from the accounts I had heard from other runners. Clearly I was still fit enough to run the hills. This is related to the fact that there are nasty hills all around my house. There isn't any route I run that doesn't boast three or four increases in elevation that make you curse out loud and cry for mercy. I did not traverse the hilly section unscathed though. At around 25-26km I ran out of energy. The kind of energy deficit that people talk about where you feel like you can't go on. I had no pain. My heart and lungs were keeping up. I just had no 'go' left in me and Jay was announcing that it was time for another pace increase. It was at this point I slowed and started to lose Jenna and Jay. Of course, I didn't let them know because I didn't want to bust their pace. Quietly I slowed and told myself I just needed to recover a bit. It didn't take long for them to notice I had dropped off and they started to wait for me. I waved them on and said I was coming. That was a lie.<br />
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Jay came to my rescue as we sent Jenna onward. He immediately asked me if I wanted a gel and I said 'No. I think I will puke.'. He gave me some pace info and encouraged me onward and at this point I was walking. I found some intrinsic motivation, not to stay on pace but just to get going so I could finish and put the suffering to rest. It was around this time that I saw a sight that made an emotional and mental difference...faces I knew. <a href="https://twitter.com/cowboytweets" target="_blank">Nathan</a>, who is our Pace and Mind back bone and a few others from our team and from other crews in Toronto. My smile was big when I saw him even though I wanted to say 'Nate save me'. Nathan said "You are doing great" and the Reaper said "No you aren't". As I continued with Jay at my side I saw other faces I knew like Bill from <a href="https://www.facebook.com/nightterrorsrun" target="_blank">Night Terrors Run Crew</a> and fellow <a href="http://canadarunningseries.com/blog/2015/02/welcome-canada-running-series-community-leaders/" target="_blank">Canada Running Series Community Leader</a>. He had me aimed up for a photo, so on cue, I smiled and waved even though I was dying. I really was happy to see such supportive friendly faces, so it wasn't really a fake smile.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling on cue at 27-28 km</td></tr>
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Shortly after the burst of happy I had from seeing friends, I stopped running. Jay discreetly was checking the watch but I knew as a good pacer he was still keeping the time in mind without pressuring me to a meltdown. He handed me a gel and said just take half. I knew I needed something even at the risk of throwing it all back up on his shoes so I did what he said.<br />
I put my iPod on really loud and got my head around the fact that I needed to put 3 more kilometers under my feet. The gel that Jay gave me had 100 mg of caffeine in it...an amount that is not found in any other gels sold in Canada. All I can say is away we went! I clutched that gel and and sucked on it for the next 2 kilometers. I all but turned it inside out to lick it clean. Jay had been peppering me with encouragement that I could only read by his body language because the Volbeat and Metallica were blowing my ears in an effort to help me find the last bit of hardcore beast in me.<br />
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We rounded a bend and Jay pointed and I knew by the look on his face that he was showing me the way to the finish. A smile so big broke my miserable scowling face wide open. I took the music out of my ears because the sound of the last kilometer of any race is enough music to my ears and inspiration for my legs. Jay announced 400 meters to go and started to warn me about the steep downhill grade once we entered the arena. At this point with the distance to the finish closing and being a for sure thing I was content to cruise. However Jay had the watch and I didn't know it but he was still watching the time and hadn't given up on the goal Jenna and I were shooting for. Jay grab me by the hand and locked my arm up tight in his, pulling me along...fast. I thought I might trip on my legs. As I was starting to panic about the very real potential that my legs might get tangled up under me and I might actually wipe out and cause a news breaking pile up 100 meters from the finish, I saw my life long friend <a href="https://twitter.com/laurieruyter" target="_blank">Laurie</a> holding the greatest race sign ever! It said 'Run Faster Right Meow!".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmlT7ZqAEscG0-ldJ_2-N6v7j3s8YthcUsXmG6fJFz7UNCDMdqBa8tAZUZGOak7A5KRNvWiHy-D3RZwLNS9abHeFVld6PSDkhW6gIWjzGhpbkO0GPBR2Slobcn4ofw0ZzccAmGVUuEpwX/s1600/photo+4+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmlT7ZqAEscG0-ldJ_2-N6v7j3s8YthcUsXmG6fJFz7UNCDMdqBa8tAZUZGOak7A5KRNvWiHy-D3RZwLNS9abHeFVld6PSDkhW6gIWjzGhpbkO0GPBR2Slobcn4ofw0ZzccAmGVUuEpwX/s1600/photo+4+(1).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pace and Mind and Tribe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Entering the stadium was everything everyone said it would be. I was scared to death I might have to run a lap inside in front of the crowd before crossing the finish but was so happy to see that wasn't the case.<br />
I finished with Jay and stopped my Garmin, which I didn't even consult because it had been slightly off the entire race. My time didn't matter to me. I was finished. I was alive. I hadn't caused a pile up and I was pretty proud of those things in themselves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzWW_BDNC2jQ888XrsWB_BlygRIWKG3AwPPdzVI6oghJAEfUJANVZ6f0n9Cqh39j9yi1qW82wjsvXhMcpPkqElZnXkDSfS_rDVh5sCr4OyMoFEANzyZzhgoU1PE-HQxdA0-RzEwirGOCe/s1600/260370_190219024_Medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzWW_BDNC2jQ888XrsWB_BlygRIWKG3AwPPdzVI6oghJAEfUJANVZ6f0n9Cqh39j9yi1qW82wjsvXhMcpPkqElZnXkDSfS_rDVh5sCr4OyMoFEANzyZzhgoU1PE-HQxdA0-RzEwirGOCe/s1600/260370_190219024_Medium.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rounding into the stadium tunnel</td></tr>
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<br />
Jay and I heard that Jenna finished just ahead of us and that made me proud of her. I took a group picture with members of the Tribe, just like I was one of them. I ran with my Pace and Mind singlet on but on this day, it was the Tribe that embraced me. I ran with Jay and Jenna, members of an awesome group of Toronto runners. On this day and like any other day it doesn't matter where you are from or whose colors you wear, we all run alone together to chase our goals.<br />
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Thank you Jenna and thank you Jay!<br />
By the way Jay got me across that finish line in 3:00:59.<br />
I love this running life!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-26037199240482940222015-01-24T21:45:00.000-05:002015-01-24T22:01:34.239-05:00How deep is your bravery buried?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I was texting with my lifelong friend, <a href="http://www.paulavollick.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Paula</a> and our conversation was about risk taking. She said to me,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCH-ORSvHFFiIFEjy9SOWkz4ATO2blh4b_sJULdbUyZ01xWCAtUg8wMEXnt0JijLECLNPsKTS_ReCNLEVYTU2ezOrYzCYsqhGP6OoEwZptTE0hPRYdmQN4mdpe0927v7cDdWj8UlsLaUqr/s1600/photo+(29).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCH-ORSvHFFiIFEjy9SOWkz4ATO2blh4b_sJULdbUyZ01xWCAtUg8wMEXnt0JijLECLNPsKTS_ReCNLEVYTU2ezOrYzCYsqhGP6OoEwZptTE0hPRYdmQN4mdpe0927v7cDdWj8UlsLaUqr/s1600/photo+(29).JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alone at my hotel</td></tr>
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<br />
'Yes, but you are brave and I am not.'<br />
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...when I read that, it stopped me and made me think...<br />
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I told her that she was brave too; her bravery was just buried a bit deeper within her than mine. I thought some more...<br />
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I haven't always been brave. My bravery was buried at one time, just like Paula's. I would do some gutsy things when I was drunk, but that wasn't bravery it was more like stupidity.<br />
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I encouraged Paula to be brave and to take risks and say 'yes!' to adventure whenever possible.To do this, I advised her to take small steps; no big leaps.<br />
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I told her small acts of living outside of her comfort zone, little by little would unleash the bravery that I know is inside her. She was skeptical. I made a few suggestions of small acts that would require her to take a deep breath and have faith that everything would work out but wouldn't be so daunting as to paralyze her efforts.<br />
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At this point, the conversation (is it still called a 'conversation' when the communication is via text?) turned to running...what a surprise!<br />
<br />
I suggested she think about running <a href="http://www.canadarunningseries.com/toronto10k" target="_blank">Toronto Young Street 10k</a>. I reminded her that she has done it before and then I cleverly sent her a link to a 12 week <a href="http://www.myrunningtips.com/couch-to-10k.html" target="_blank">Couch to 10k training plan</a>. I had a moment where I felt bad that I had done that unsolicited. Running is <i>my</i> thing. It's what I do to survive and thrive in my life. What made me so egocentric as to think that what was good for me would be good <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoe8OwEpMdUEYF7aXEDZhe-hHFtU1XZqFfVHJ_eByyolZhNQAgSCCwEsKrPs99PjUcaTpfZhfeBsII2RuXxc60CkJYn9v6omo_9Dm1l4jp8HFB34rmE8ufO7WbrzoV2dRjlaqQErnJbXr/s1600/photo+(28).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoe8OwEpMdUEYF7aXEDZhe-hHFtU1XZqFfVHJ_eByyolZhNQAgSCCwEsKrPs99PjUcaTpfZhfeBsII2RuXxc60CkJYn9v6omo_9Dm1l4jp8HFB34rmE8ufO7WbrzoV2dRjlaqQErnJbXr/s1600/photo+(28).JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running in Central Park</td></tr>
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for her? Why am I always so quick to push running on people?<br />
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The question came to me and was answered just as quickly. Running works for <i>me</i>. It might be dramatic to say it has saved me but then again, maybe it isn't. I don't want to find out. What I know is that I am a different person in many ways since I adopted a running life. Being sober certainly can be credited for this new life I am enjoying, but it is not understated to say that I have 1,469 days of sobriety to my name because I run.<br />
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The question that then sprang to mind was 'What came first the chicken or the egg?' (not certain if this is an appropriate saying for a plant eater but no animals were harmed as a result of its use, so I think I'm good). Let me explain...<br />
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Was I always all these things that are emerging since I have been running or has running made me this way?<br />
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Am I brave and strong and resilient because I run or were these qualities always part of me except they were drowning in alcohol (because I can assure you that I was not a good example of any of these things when I was drinking too much).<br />
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Has running changed me or has sobriety changed me? Has running developed these things in me or has sobriety allowed them to flourish?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodFJlm1mXz5LF6XGSKDmXbQ58jO5-U-CfC58eIGyu3wYX1km9I3Lot1Yh4Pej-lt8_UZt5tmyE7X-6bDbxP-h9KEQ0yOitNcnuhcoXmnioPNoGzQ-A5jtsBRnckbOydG-hPWh3bKjg_e9/s1600/photo+(30).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiodFJlm1mXz5LF6XGSKDmXbQ58jO5-U-CfC58eIGyu3wYX1km9I3Lot1Yh4Pej-lt8_UZt5tmyE7X-6bDbxP-h9KEQ0yOitNcnuhcoXmnioPNoGzQ-A5jtsBRnckbOydG-hPWh3bKjg_e9/s1600/photo+(30).JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empire State Building. That took bravery!</td></tr>
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I would like to believe I had these things inside me, just like I told Paula she does and that sobriety and running, together have let me be who I am supposed to be. I am so much more and have so much more because I don't drink and because I do run. I don't think the answer can be teased out easily.<br />
<br />
Running makes me clear and confident and with this confidence, bravery overflows. This week I <br />
traveled solo to New York City to cover the launch of the new Adidas Ultraboost running shoe. This in itself may not be a big deal to some, but for me...I have flown 3 times in my life and never alone or to NYC. At one time I wouldn't have done it, either. Now, in my life and in my current frame of mind, I did not hesitate for a second when the opportunity came up. I navigated the airports alone (easy peasy). I roamed the streets of NYC alone and fearless. I went up the Empire State Building solo. I dined with myself. My husband was nervous for me. My kids were worried about me. My Grandma was horrified that I was alone in NYC...but not me, I relished every moment of it. What an awesome experience.<br />
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In summation, it doesn't really matter what the source of my bravery is, but that I am grateful for how it has enriched my life. On Tuesday I am off to Portland Oregon (solo) as a guest at Nike Headquarters, to check out what's going on there with their running shoe developments. Chicken or egg...I am loving this sober running life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJme_NaSkak46OCK9Tah3aeB2Yj-bSkrYD1rSR-xBsW4MV0iqAfutdap7HoiKuc4eFqeOlQNl_5_YN-dOcSHG3eQcJxBIEQwk-k9n4bBEpbwtyYhiRD5CUH3xn_L11lb0b8eeqDEFFnX_/s1600/photo+(31).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJme_NaSkak46OCK9Tah3aeB2Yj-bSkrYD1rSR-xBsW4MV0iqAfutdap7HoiKuc4eFqeOlQNl_5_YN-dOcSHG3eQcJxBIEQwk-k9n4bBEpbwtyYhiRD5CUH3xn_L11lb0b8eeqDEFFnX_/s1600/photo+(31).JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solo walking tour of NYC. Walked about 10 miles</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-53739479864168470612015-01-19T06:20:00.001-05:002015-01-19T06:24:04.407-05:00Outrunning Guilt; 4 Sober Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Our action or inaction can set in motion a cascade of negative internal feelings; one of which is guilt.<br />
In my experience, guilt is a currency used to pay for our transgressions and time determines when the debt is paid in full.<br />
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We feel guilty for as long as we are meant to in order to pay off the debt of our choices. The length of time we feel guilty is a measure of how significant the breech is. A slight misstep produces short lived guilt and the debt is paid but a trip and fall event will see guilty thoughts and feelings linger longer before the books are balanced.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
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There are different perspectives on guilt and its inherent value to a person . There is the position of denial where people will say no purpose is served in their lives' by feeling guilty and that they never experience it. Others say guilt is a negative emotion that is poisonous to our souls and that their actions are influenced by avoiding its onset. Guilt is described by others as a positive entity allowing them to learn from their mistakes. Like anything else in life, history, experience and perspective create the foundation of our beliefs and thus we all see things uniquely, including guilt and its affect on our conscience.<br />
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Four years ago I asked the hands of time to put me on a payment plan that would lift my <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbGjK9eyvPf_r31XSoYauvwezUGJvG-TXecMBSyHzj_FFG97QZcBjDvz9z3LfLwL-4_J2LDZy-tQXnJbbhSkWm2XSJOabIUNlQkOI8s5nxxqdRmVONRWZsF9yztwl9ZSsQCqcKgEeRmm6/s1600/LostFile_JPG_1637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIbGjK9eyvPf_r31XSoYauvwezUGJvG-TXecMBSyHzj_FFG97QZcBjDvz9z3LfLwL-4_J2LDZy-tQXnJbbhSkWm2XSJOabIUNlQkOI8s5nxxqdRmVONRWZsF9yztwl9ZSsQCqcKgEeRmm6/s1600/LostFile_JPG_1637.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2011-first half marathon</td></tr>
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conscience out of the red and into the black. I was tired of feeling guilty about the residue of my alcohol dependence. I was tired of only feeling good when I was drunk. I was tired of apologizing to my husband and friends for things I said and did while I was wasted. I no longer wanted to live an overweight and uninspired life. I was done smothering my emotions with wine and beer or whatever else was available when I needed it. I wanted to get sober, pay off my debt and live happily ever after.<br />
<br />
If you have been following along you will remember that I was a (sort of) functioning wife and mother with a full time job. If you are new to my story, <a href="http://www.irun.ca/blog/index.php/contestant-3-christa-davidson-2/" target="_blank">start here</a>. I was holding it together and most people would never have seen a problem. That didn't mean there wasn't one. When I finally admitted that there was a problem that needed attention, the guilt got really big and gave rise to shame. The first year and a half that I was sober, only a handful of people knew about my addiction to alcohol and commitment to sobriety. The shame was so great that I didn't want anyone outside my innermost circle to know. People have a way of throwing stones and judging that which they have no idea about and I didn't want to be the source of their gossip.<br />
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I needed to keep things quiet until I felt resilient enough to not give a damn about what anyone thought about me. The healthier I got the stronger I became and with strength comes the ability to hold your chin up and say this is me, take it or leave it. As my weak spots became less vulnerable, I was able to be transparent about my addiction and sobriety. This transparency let light shine in and that light outshone the shame and dissolved it. The guilt remained.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhbf617OEOeGpzSynJ7DMq5PJ4LupStSFESa-V5LCIcgx0evB0r702QqCKjaJXiHUQzai9_yUeXAbhRTRd3GHcEDhs3zyetMZJAFa4ZD8gvG6kf5XOAu1ELu1zcTVUX6QNt4Ok6HDPm1p/s1600/oct2012+046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhbf617OEOeGpzSynJ7DMq5PJ4LupStSFESa-V5LCIcgx0evB0r702QqCKjaJXiHUQzai9_yUeXAbhRTRd3GHcEDhs3zyetMZJAFa4ZD8gvG6kf5XOAu1ELu1zcTVUX6QNt4Ok6HDPm1p/s1600/oct2012+046.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2011-suffering the pain of 10k and the debt of guilt</td></tr>
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Running has helped to keep me focused on sobriety by giving me something else to obsess about and somewhere to channel my emotions and guilt. When I feel bad I take it out on a hard run. When I feel good I get high from the road and the kilometers under my feet. Adrenaline and dopamine are my 'drugs' of choice and they come without a bill of guilt. By now, I have worked out much of my guilt related to drinking and have forgiven myself for being so in love with Alexander Keith. I know that I am physically and psychologically wired for addiction. I know it as sure as I know my name. I know that despite finally feeling atoned for the debt of my transgressions, I have an illness like any other and that is not my fault or my debt to pay. I didn't choose it, but I can manage it; which is a perspective that has been earned through tears and sweat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vn2mept61cN1FjZeI6raGyFkHva2k3UEAMfDpcNzBty1l96-a_r9jrM4CmuscEef-rzIJKTwNGtmHlvC7YSaOT1bBPzXRSjHsnGh1iHCcoLpGlN0XcKLuJ0mBWrzL-DfwDXbQgbrKGUG/s1600/photo+(21).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3vn2mept61cN1FjZeI6raGyFkHva2k3UEAMfDpcNzBty1l96-a_r9jrM4CmuscEef-rzIJKTwNGtmHlvC7YSaOT1bBPzXRSjHsnGh1iHCcoLpGlN0XcKLuJ0mBWrzL-DfwDXbQgbrKGUG/s1600/photo+(21).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finishing 2014 with a 5k PB at home in Orillia</td></tr>
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This transformation in mind, body and spirit has been brought about by thousands of kilometers and dozens of running shoes. I have learned about myself and what I am capable of. I have accepted myself. I have forgiven myself. I am acutely aware that like any other disease in remission, there is the risk of re occurrence. One drink is all it would take to re-open an account at the guilt bank. So no matter how strong and resilient I become, I am forever fragile, in a sense. For now, my time is my own and is not indebted to guilt. The ledger is balanced and so am I.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-85278264253703692952014-11-18T19:30:00.001-05:002015-01-19T07:12:48.891-05:00Pace, Pride and Perseverance at STWM2014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>"Don't judge each day by the harvest that you reap but by the seed that you plant."</b></i></blockquote>
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<i><b>~Robert Louis Stevenson</b></i></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: left;">It's easy to feel small, even insignificant standing shoulder to shoulder with runners waiting to start a race that boasts 26,000 participants; that's a lot of bodies and nearly twice as many feet. For someone running their first race at the </span><a href="http://stwm.ca/" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank">Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon (STWM)</a><span style="text-align: left;"> the electricity in the air can stir up even more anxiety than is typical at a race start. Even those who find themselves repeating this event can feel like small fish in a big sea. This event is loved by a lot of runners.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the start...</td></tr>
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<br />
I stood in my start corral, among these runners, as I did last year when I ran my first marathon. This year a few things were different though. The corral color was different, for one. I had trained my ass off under the watchful eye of my coach, <a href="http://paceandmind.com/" target="_blank">Rejean Chiasson at Pace and Mind</a> and as such had made huge improvements in my fitness and subsequent pace times. I had some confidence in my ability as this would be my third marathon in a year. The goal I had set of a sub 4 hr finish was lofty, but reachable if the formidable running gods found me in their favor. I stood knowing I would run a massive personal best time even if I didn't cross the finish at 3:59:xx. Last year I debuted as a marathoner at this race in a time of 4:51:xx; with all the hard work I did over the season my time would be better than that. The most important thing that was different this time, though was that my friend of more than 35 years, Laurie Ruyter, stood along side me in that corral, readying herself for her first half marathon.<br />
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In 1978, we met in Kindergarten at Marchmont Public School...the same school my kids go to and my husband teaches at; the school that I look out my side bedroom window and see every morning. The same school at which I ran and won race after race, as a kid. Laurie lives a short 2 km run from my house, with her husband who also went to Marchmont, as a kid. They live in the same neighborhood they grew up in. Tradition, friendships and ties run deeply around here and I wouldn't trade it for anything.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurie, Me and LeeAnn</td></tr>
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Laurie has been by my side through heartbreak and celebration; through life and death; through good times and bad. We learned the alphabet together. We graduated from grade eight together. We skipped school together, in high school. We went to parties together. She held a cool cloth to my head after I almost passed out getting my first tattoo, over 20 years ago. She was my maid of honor, 15 years ago. It was to her that I made one of the first heart wrenching phone calls after my Mom was taken off life support and pronounced dead, at 47 years old. Her arms were among the<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurie and Tucker</td></tr>
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first to cradle my first born; at which time we agreed that neither of us would know what to do if the kid cried and further agreed we would just have to call a nurse, if he did. She drove me to an appointment to talk to my doctor about my drinking, a year before I actually quit drinking (she drove because at 10 am that morning I was already too drunk to drive myself). She has been around for all of the big stuff and all of the small stuff, so standing with her in the blue corral on October 19, at her first big race and her first half marathon was a prideful experience for me.<br />
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I didn't feel lost in the sea of runners. I felt grounded as I stood beside my friend, about to run 20 km of her race with her. I had someone by my side who would keep me company for nearly the first half of my race and that meant a lot to me. The spring had come and gone and so had the summer and its' warm days as we shivered waiting to run. In those moments before any race begins, I climb deep in my memory and reflect upon the work, the kilometers and the people who have gotten me to the start line and this day was no different. I thought of my husband Mike, who actually stood just meters away, on the other side of the fence that separated runners from spectators. I thought of my kids. I thought of my friend Tamara. I thought of all the long runs I had done to get here. I also thought of Laurie, who set a goal, <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reflecting...</td></tr>
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worked hard to train for it and stood waiting anxiously to my left to get on with it.<br />
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I had supported her training the best I could over the previous months and with each long run that she completed, I cheered with pride. I even had the privilege of having her join me part way through some of my long runs so we could finish together. I know she was grateful to have me running beside her and her dog Dutch, as their runs increased from 12 km to 15 km and to 17 km from week to week. What she didn't realize was as much as I helped her, she helped me finish 30 km, 33 km and 35 km runs with company, support and smiles.<br />
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As the start of the race was signaled the butterflies disappeared, the anxiety melted away and the kind of calm that comes from being able to just run settled in. Our chatting was minimal as I set into 'all business' mode, where energy would not be wasted on talking unless necessary. I offered short one or two word directions as we navigated groups of slower runners, water stations and the tangents.We eased into the first 5-7 km taking in the sights. As we approached Toronto Western Hospital, I told Laurie,<br />
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<i>'that's where my Mom died'.</i><br />
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The memories and tears were undeniable as they were last year when I ran past this landmark and as they were the two years before that, when I ran the half marathon. My heart was never so broken as the day I walked away from her lifeless body, in that hospital. I lost my biggest fan that day. Laurie was quick to offer reassurance as we ran passed the building silently. My Mom had been important to us both.<br />
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Laurie kept pace and focus. Prior to the race, I told her I would pace her to a great finish time up to the 20 km split, but it was up to her to dig deep on her own from there. For much of the first 10 km she was by my side as we were inspired by cheering stations, funny signs and crowds of people who cheered with such enthusiasm that you would have thought they were our own families. At one point, four of those people cheering were Laurie's family! Her sister-in-law Tara, along with her niece and nephews were heard yelling before they were seen. It was a nice moment with high fives, all around.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laurie and her family</td></tr>
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As we continued to tick off the kilometers we started to see the elites heading toward us on Lakeshore. This brings goosebumps to my skin and tears to my eyes every time. I feel so proud of all of them; it doesn't matter which country they run for. At this point, Laurie asked me if we would see <a href="http://lannimarchant.com/" target="_blank">Lanni</a>. I did a quick calculation of the men we had seen and of the women who were leading and told her we should see her any minute and we did. That was inspiring for me and for her as we had met Lanni during the summer at the Pace & Mind Toronto Island run. We shouted like cRaZy girls, but the focused and fierce look on Lanni's face told us that she didn't hear a thing.<br />
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At the turn around on Lakeshore, Laurie began to slow a bit, but still stayed just off my shoulder. I knew she was strong and prepared, so I stayed in my head and focused on my pace times rather than constantly checking for her. She had this, with or without me. I was on pace for my goal finish, but my legs were tight and were not loosening up any, so early on I began to doubt my ability to hit my finish time. If my legs hadn't relaxed yet, they were unlikely too, which would mean trouble the farther I ran. It was just a matter of how bad would it get. I thought to myself, time will tell.<br />
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At 19 km, I couldn't see Laurie when I took a quick look, but again, I knew she was there somewhere. I<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seeing Richard, Danielle and Rejean</td></tr>
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had hoped to give her a smile and thumbs up at the split but I didn't see her again for hours. I did see Richard and Danielle from Pace and Mind, along with Rejean. Their cheers of encouragement brought tears to my eyes. Rejean asked,<br />
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<i>'Are you good?'.</i><br />
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I nodded 'yes', as I headed toward the 20 km mark. I was mentally preparing for the long last half of the race when I looked to my left and there was Rejean running by my side. Before he could give me a quick pep talk, I asked him,<br />
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<i>'Did you see my friend, Laurie back there any where?'.</i><br />
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I wanted him to say 'Yes! She looks good', but with a sea of runners, it stood to reason when his actual answer was 'no, I didn't'. His pep talk was brief and then he was gone. I was alone for the first time in 20 km, no Laurie, no Rejean. I was alone with thousands of runners, facing the tough part of the marathon.<br />
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My pace was on target and my spirits were good ,but my legs were threatening to cramp with every step and I was dizzy. These were threatening to be pace altering problems as I was only a couple kilometers past halfway, what hope did I have that I could keep rolling through without impact. I stopped briefly to swallow a handful of <a href="http://energybits.com/" target="_blank">energybits</a> with a gulp of water and continued on. This season I had practiced being in my head and blocking out all other stimuli which was helpful in ignoring my legs and I am often dizzy because of low blood pressure, so I was able to run to 32 km before I started to break. I sent my husband a text at this point and said,<br />
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<i>'I'm done. My legs are tight and ready to go into knots. How's Laurie?'.</i><br />
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I didn't wait for a response because even though my words said I was done, the reality was I needed to get back to the finish area and it was cold and there was no other way to solve both issues except to run. I could feel my phone vibrating responses in my pocket, which were no doubt panic induced words of encouragement from Mike, to keep going. As runners do, I ran. I experimented with my pace and found a comfortable speed that seemed to keep the legs cramps from rearing their ugliness. I was also reignited by seeing team mates and fellow digital champions who called my name and cheered me along. There were so many friendly faces raising their hands and giving me nods that any loneliness I may have felt evaporated. I actually was seeing people I knew and had run with over the past year. This was different than other years. I had running friends out on this course who gave a damn about my performance while fighting for their own. Toronto is not my home. In fact, my home is an<br />
hour and a half north of the city and the only person that I know who cheers for me at this race is my husband, who waits at the finish. This was new and very heart warming. Thanks to my P&M team mates, Michael Oliphant, Alan Tou and Olivier Dyason who gave shouts or nods. Thanks to fellow <a href="http://www.torontowaterfrontmarathon.com/en/dchamps.htm" target="_blank">Digital Champions</a> Mike Thornton, Andrew Chak, Heather Gardner and Karyn Cooper and these are only the ones that come to mind right now, that offered encouragement. I saw other social media friends too. It was just what I needed. I ran on.<br />
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At 36 km, I pulled out my phone again. I read messages from Mike that said to keep going. I also had a single message from Laurie that said,<br />
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<i>'You can do it!'</i><br />
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I sent Mike a quick message to say that I was okay and to tell Laurie I would see her soon. I was far off my goal finish time, but in those moments, it was about survival to the finish, not about any particular time. Unlike the previous two marathons I ran though, I was aware that as tough as it felt, it really wasn't that long or far to go to the end. At this point in the other two races, it might as well have been another 20 km to the finish because it felt hopeless, not so on this day. I had a bit of experience that told me it would end soon if I kept at it.<br />
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The over pass at 39 km was no more friendly this year than it was last year. I had to stop part way and walk that sucker. As I did last year, I noticed the railing and the traffic below but unlike last year, I was not tempted to end it all by jumping. I was in way better shape mentally and physically than I was last year at this point and I acknowledged that and was inspired once again to get it done. Just before I started to run I met a really angry man that was full of cuss words about the over pass and the marathon in general. While I did not feel as angry about things as he did, the sh*t disturber in me couldn't help but fuel his fire. I responded with a bevvy of my own snarling curse words about the elevation gain and the race and marathoning in general. It was wrong, I know, but I got a kick out of his anger.<br />
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The last few kilometers hurt and so I jumped back into my head and shut out all of the pain and the spectators and the noise. I fixed my gazed and headed for the end. My goal time was blown long ago, but I have never ran a race that I didn't run hard at the end no matter what, so I ran like I was chasing time. I looked to my left as I came up the finish chute and I gave Mike an almost imperceptible head nod which he knew meant 'I did it!' and his eyes meeting mine in that split second said 'I never doubted you.'. As I stopped my watch, the tears pooled in my eyes at missing my 'A' goal of a sub 4 hour finish. The pools grew heavy and let go and allowed a couple tears to slide down my cheeks. The tears were halted by the angry guy I met at 39 km. I was making slow progress through the volunteers who held medals and sheets and when I looked up through my tears there he was. He was still cursing. He sent congratulations my way that were book ended by f-bombs and I couldn't help but smile. He ranted about losing five eff-ing years from his life by running that race. Once again, I couldn't help myself as I incited his anger by emphatically agreeing with him. He decided he needed two medals for the race he just ran. I told him he should ask. I credit him for turning my tears into a smile. My feelings of disappointment didn't hold a candle to the level of emotion this guy was roller-coasting on and for some reason that felt good.<br />
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Nearing the end of the walk through the finish area, I saw Laurie. She was waiting for me. She gave me the biggest hug and said,<br />
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'<i>You did it!'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The tears built again and I said,<br />
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'<i>I failed. I missed my goal."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She said,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"No! You were great!'</i><br />
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I snapped out of my sadness. This moment was her moment! I hugged back hard. I congratulated her on her race and told her how proud I was. It wasn't about me or my missed goal. I was more proud of her accomplishment than I was sad about my own. This girl did the thing that I admire most in a person. She set a tough goal. She made a plan to achieve it. She worked the plan. She realized her goal! She finished her first half marathon at what I think is the best race around and she did it in a debut time of 2:02:18.<br />
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This day was more about the seed in her that had been watered and allowed to grow. Her pride in her accomplishment and her newly realized belief via her achievement, that she can do anything are what it's about. I am proud to have been there. The only thing better would have been if I crossed that finish with her.<br />
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I am looking forward to many more running adventures with my friend, as she has been bitten by the running bug.<br />
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Thanks to Alan Brooks and the CRS team for a great race. Thanks to Jenna and the Digital Champions for camaraderie that I couldn't run without. Thanks to Rejean and my Pace and Mind team mates for expecting the best from me. Thanks to Mike for always saying 'Yes', and thanks to Laurie for being there, as always.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-9852099550580514912014-09-01T12:45:00.000-04:002014-11-19T15:44:28.330-05:00My Past Her Future<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="color: red;"><b><br /></b></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: red;"><b>"You weren't around for the first eight years of my life"</b></span></i></div>
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She said these words at breakfast while reading the paper. The statement was born into the room with the same 'matter of fact-ness' as though she had just commented on the weather. Asperger's does this. She's about the straight up facts, not the emotions. She didn't lift her beautiful blue eyes from the page; to her, this was not shocking or scandalous, it was just her reality. She wasn't laying blame she was just pointing out the obvious.</div>
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The words hung in the air and wouldn't float away; couldn't be brushed off. The breakfast activity in the restaurant faded away as I drew inward. My husband sat quiet and still. I couldn't bring my eyes to meet his. I knew in that moment his silence reflected the conflict he must have been feeling to both support her by letting her thoughts and experiences stand on their own without excuses or apologies and to offer comfort to me. It was impossible for him to do<i> </i>both, so the silence grew. It was clear that she didn't need to talk about it; it just was,what it was for her. </div>
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I accepted her perspective and tried not to feel it too deeply but eight years is a long time to feel abandoned by your mother. I was left wondering how that will impact her as she grows and develops and perhaps becomes a mother herself, one day. Our perspective on our own history is all that matters and is what shapes us. It is what creates our identity. What will she carry with her that shapes her as she develops into herself?</div>
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Will she be stronger and better for it or will it make her vulnerable and uncertain. </div>
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I have faced and conquered my weaknesses and the past is the past but it's my past, not hers. It is true that 'now' is the time and that moving forward with healthy habits that breed positive choices is the focus but what about the past? 'Now' is so much a part of 'then'; they are so tightly woven that I wonder if it is possible to extricate one from the other. The choices I made during the first eight years of her life were products of my past; of my lived history. Events from the first eight years of my life impacted the choices I made as an adolescent and as an adult, so too will it be for her, as it is for everyone. Those early years are among the most formative of our development. Once the damage is done, it cannot be undone and most definitely impacts who we become, how we see the world and our place in it. </div>
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What becomes of a female child who believes her mother didn't give a damn about her for eight years? Whether it is true or not doesn't matter; all that matters is that this is her truth. My truth is different of course but that doesn't help her. My truth is that I loved her deeply but did not have the tools to help her or myself. My truth is that I thank God for a husband who kept all the tiny details and pieces connected when I could not. </div>
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Tilley was a challenge from early on in her being and I checked out of her life and into a bottle. That bottle dulled a lot of emotions that were of my history, not just the concerns with her development. She did not drive me there, I was already on my way. My drinking is not her responsibility, it is my own; this is just to say that I was weak and was made weaker by alcohol. I can't argue her perspective of abandonment. I was in the home but not connected to the family that lived there, which is just slightly better than an estranged mother. I didn't know what to do, so I did nothing, essentially I did abandon her.</div>
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We are easily fooled into accepting that 'now' is all that matters. I believe in 'now' and moving on but I don't believe that it is all that matters. Believing this to be true would be insulting to my daughter. It matters to her that I let my past negatively impact her future.Can I do enough 'now' to make up for then? I am not feeling sorry for myself; I own this truth. It is my burden to bare; one that may only be lightened in time or may prove to weigh heavier as she shows what she is made of. </div>
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Owning this truth does not come without emotion. 'Now', instead of pouring a drink when things get tough, I run. The moment I was able to go, I was gone, not unlike unleashing myself into a bottle of wine. The mechanism by which I cope is different but I still need something to channel myself into. Imagine the sad, weepy girl who cries when she drinks and now substitute the bottle for running shoes and there I am. I ran and I reflected on what she said. As I ran the mask came off and the tears flowed, not for me but for her. She didn't and doesn't deserve the consequences of my choices, yet her 'now' has been created by my 'then'.</div>
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I can run from myself and my past and I can run to myself and my future but she is an innocent bystander and I can't out run that no matter how far or how long I run.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-64713940960016542642014-08-11T07:18:00.001-04:002014-08-11T20:00:51.949-04:00Checking in...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The training cycle for Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon is moving along. I am feeling better out on the roads than I have in more than 7 months. I feel strong, healthy and confident about my abilities. My coaching relationship with Rejean and Pace and Mind is going really well and as a result #stwm is looking like it will be a good race for me.<br />
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As the weekly km total increases, so does the wear and tear on our feet. In honor of losing another toenail (which brings the current 'missing toenail' tally to 4) please enjoy the following post from the archives.</div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.irun.ca/blog/index.php/a-girl-and-her-feet/">http://www.irun.ca/blog/index.php/a-girl-and-her-feet/</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-33422828157117948642014-07-14T17:15:00.000-04:002014-07-14T17:19:02.254-04:00Mountain Growth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiEvdaALSaVmvYEFhG3Pd6yjvdRLfLzi9NNc67z0HzjR9quLvt4nVEKHTVjjF_Nr9iE8QR8tHx2RJJe1z_-eYsH0nU7F6ZNc9iTOHrr33ZEtvxRjvgxTtjjjPvn7KtICU7e5EKCi5EzX5/s1600/ECSON1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkiEvdaALSaVmvYEFhG3Pd6yjvdRLfLzi9NNc67z0HzjR9quLvt4nVEKHTVjjF_Nr9iE8QR8tHx2RJJe1z_-eYsH0nU7F6ZNc9iTOHrr33ZEtvxRjvgxTtjjjPvn7KtICU7e5EKCi5EzX5/s1600/ECSON1.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><o:p> </o:p>Easy does not change us; tough is where growth happens. Yesterday
I grew by leaps and bounds, literally. In retrospect, the <a href="http://www.thenorthface.com/en_CA/endurance-challenge/">Northface EnduranceChallenge</a> half marathon at <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Blue</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Mountain</st1:placetype></st1:place>, in Collingwood
may have been ambitious for my first exposure to off road running. It was the
kind of race that experienced trail runners called challenging. I called it
just plain hard.</div>
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With the completion of hard things comes a sense of pride.
The harder something is that you stick through; the feeling of pride is
multiplied exponentially. I headed out for the hardest run of my life to endure
all that the Collingwood mountain terrain could throw at me. What I didn't know
was that the landscape would get thrown in front of me again and again and
again. The triumph of any given climb was short lived as another was waiting
around the corner or on the other side of the forest.<br />
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My first clue that I was in over my head came as <a href="http://www.ultramarathonman.com/web/">Dean Karnazes</a> gave the morning announcements which were heavily laden with warnings
of danger spots made even more treacherous by that morning’s rain. The more
warning he gave the more my face dropped. I quickly wondered if I could run out
of the start area and transfer to the 5 or 10k race. My husband recounts that
he saw a look of fear on my face that is not typical of me and he knew what I
was thinking. Before I could bolt backwards, it was time to run forward. As the
start was announced, I swallowed hard and as I have done many other times told
myself, just put one foot in front of the other.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That View</td></tr>
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Within 1km my heart and lungs were challenged like they have
never been. The constant increase in elevation was relentless. I nearly died
when I saw a ‘1 mile’ marker, feeling as though I must have put 5k under my
feet by that point. I had never known suffering like that and began telling
myself that I would bail at the first aid station. I was ready to concede and
cut my losses so as to spare my life. In this dark moment I found myself
clearing the trees and I was out on a flat gravel road. This gave me the chance
to straighten my posture and pick up my speed a bit while I thought ‘this is
more like it. I can do this’. I was recovering from the constant climb and
feeling better as I turned the corner to be faced with another giant hill. I
could not see the top of this hill beyond the horizon and when i finally reached the highest point, I could see it flattened out for 100m before it rose higher in elevation.</div>
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The aid station was at the top of the hill and for some
reason I abandoned all thought of quitting and carried on to what was the
nicest part of the course. There were only a few slight hills and after what I
had just climbed really didn't count as hills anymore in my mind. The forest
was quiet and the footing was decent. It was a welcome reprieve. I was able to
recharge and gain back some confidence, but this was at fewer than 7k into the
race. There was so much torture to come.</div>
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The slippery, muddied narrow trails, the giant up hills, the
gruesome down hills just kept coming. I suffered and so did everyone else. It
was not an easy course by any stretch. The final 1.5k before the finish was the
slowest part of the entire race for me. It was what trail runners call
‘technical’. Straight down a steep</div>
wooded trail on tree roots, rocks and steps forged
into the ground that were as slick as ice from the mud and rain. That last
distance must have taken me more than 30 minutes to navigate. When I came out
of the clearing a man yelled ‘just through those trees and you are at the
finish chute’. I could not believe that it was so close to being over. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Andrew Chak after the finish</td></tr>
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I finished with a big smile because it was over but more
importantly because I did it. As I crossed the finish mat, I knew I was a
different person. I saw myself differently. I have always thought of myself as
someone who could endure a lot, but I had never physically done something like
this before and it almost broke me but it didn't. Not only am I stronger today
than I was yesterday, I am deeper too. This race was timed perfectly as I train
for my third marathon. There will be hard training days and the race itself
will be hard, but I have a new threshold for what hard means and my worst
marathon training day will never be as hard as the 3 hours and 39 minutes I
spent out on that mountain.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-39531997602621845502014-06-25T05:30:00.000-04:002014-06-26T08:50:28.221-04:00Running Home, Not Alone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the past I have written about my preference for being a solo runner. I have shared how following my own schedule and not allowing my running to be bound by a group running itinerary has worked for me. I am disorganized; fly by night and without pattern to my lifestyle. The only schedule in my life is my work schedule and that is not even consistent from one week to the next, so the thought of waiting for the clock to say a certain time to run has never appealed to me. Running on my own timetable and fitting my runs in between family and work without having to plan for a running timetable is less stressful for me.<br />
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When I go to bed at night, I set my alarm clock with the intention to get my run in early but if I wake up and I don't feel rested and eager to go, then I skip it and do it later in the day. I march (or run) to the beat of my own drum. I find this type of scheduling or lack of, serves me well. It allows me to test my body at different times of the day in different conditions and encourages me to run when I feel best. It also alleviates the burden of being somewhere on time to go for a run. I feel out my day, eye up the things that have to happen at specific times and I slot in my run somewhere among those obligations. </div>
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I have also written about the value I place upon relationships, connections and experiences, yet being the only member of my own running group leaves me without a sense of belonging (it also leaves me without a bulk discount on team shirts). This is one of the holes in my solo runner philosophy. I thrive on being involved with people, yet I don't run in a group. To this point, the need for connection to other runners has been filled through online interactions predominantly as a Canada Running Series Digital Champion. The tides are changing though, as they say.</div>
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I have entered into a new coaching relationship with Canadian elite runner and 2012 Canadian Marathon Champion Rejean Chiasson. Rejean and I first connected about two years ago through the commonality of addiction recovery and running. He has been supportive of me and my running, so it piqued my interest when he was rolling out his plan to launch his coaching empire <a href="http://www.paceandmind.com/">Pace and Mind</a>. I started thinking that using a more local coach might have benefits. My previous coach was in the U.S., therefore, we never had an opportunity to meet in person, which is not entirely unusual considering how the Internet has no worldwide borders or boundaries. Rejean is based in Toronto and I began thinking that it might be a good idea to work with someone that I could see in person from time to time.<br />
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I envisioned this partnership as primarily an online coaching set up with the chance to connect at races. My vision and expectation of this new arrangement has already been transformed. I haven't just gained a coach; I have become a member of a group of runners. I am no longer a soloist. Along with Rejean giving a damn about my running, I now belong to a group of like-minded men and women who care about my goals and achievements. This became undeniably clear this past Friday at the <i>Longest Day Ekiden Relay,</i> hosted by Toronto's <a href="http://blacklungstoronto.wordpress.com/about/">Black Lungs</a>.<br />
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The relay was a cumulative distance of 42.2km, divided into different distances that were run over six <i>my</i> best, whatever that was would be good enough.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczeziJewwMtE-kkUhGcVg7obQh3jxXz1p-5IQYoi-5JdNuIhGBNkXL9km1jk93NMuexcZmAEj2BV0KUw2BEi2LsCN2G5aOpTaU3KX6WvMXfyKd_vTxOszDMnZuy8ohFjtHTGvZOoPhZku/s1600/photo+%25288%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiczeziJewwMtE-kkUhGcVg7obQh3jxXz1p-5IQYoi-5JdNuIhGBNkXL9km1jk93NMuexcZmAEj2BV0KUw2BEi2LsCN2G5aOpTaU3KX6WvMXfyKd_vTxOszDMnZuy8ohFjtHTGvZOoPhZku/s1600/photo+%25288%2529.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coach Rejean giving instructions</td></tr>
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runners per team. Pace and Mind had two teams entered and had two other members that ran on a different team. This was the first time I met the others and I instantly felt like I belonged. That feeling of being in the right place spread as I prepared to be tagged for my leg of the race. The support and encouragement that rang out was inspiring. I run, but I am not a fast runner. I train to become better. I recognize that my performance is more about guts than talent, but my teammates made me feel as though what I was doing mattered and that </div>
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The start area buzzed with electricity and to avoid becoming antsy or anxious from that energy, I focused on staying in the moment. I reminded myself to look about and really see the people around me. There were so many runners that I recognized from social media that I wanted to meet in real life, but I felt like a fan girl, too awe struck to speak and therefor couldn't muster the courage to walk up and say hello; instead, there were nods and slight waves of recognition to signal acknowledgment among us. I did speak to a few people that I follow on twitter and instagram, but for the most part I kept quiet. I listened to Rejean's instructions for the race and repeatedly told myself that it didn't matter if I was slow as long as I ran as good as I could. I wanted to show the P&M runners that I was there to work hard.<br />
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I was the second last runner to leave the start area and I launched away as I was tagged. I was headed to the 5km turn around faster than I would normally have run. In the first 800 meters, I had stitches on both sides and was struggling to suck in oxygen but I didn't back off. I thought of that Steve Prefontaine quote, "the best pace is a suicide pace and today is a good day to die". My pace would not be considered a suicide pace to most of the runners there, but I thought I was going to die and it was by choice, so it was indeed a suicide pace to me. I do this thing when I run hard. When my brain says "whoa there, this is a bit fast", I check in with myself to see what's going on because when I push out of my comfort zone it gets busy and loud in my head. I quiet the chaos by checking myself from the shoulders down. Am I slouching? Straighten up. Am I breathing erratically? Slow it down. Make it rhythmic. Am I sinking into my hips? Tighten the core. Don't rest on the hips. Are my legs tired? Keep them rolling. The faster they go, the sooner I'm done. By the time my check in is done, I settle down and just run. It still hurts, but at least I am more relaxed about the discomfort. If things get chaotic again, I repeat the 'check in'.<br />
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As I ran toward my turn around point, I met others from the group running their way to the finish. Rejean gave me words of support through a pained grimace and so did every other member of Pace and Mind. I also saw other familiar faces that I have come to know through social media. It felt right. With 1.5km left to go I felt myself slowing. I heard the familiar "whoa there" in my head. I did my check in and I told myself that I would be disappointed with myself if I didn't give everything. I put in both earpieces and focused on the angry tempo of old 1983 Metallica. I fixed my gaze and reeled in two runners. Before I knew it the road markers were counting down the last hundreds of meters. I could see and hear the finish line. What I saw were Pace and Mind singlets and what I heard was my name being cheered. I have never heard my name yelled at a race as an adult. I have never had anyone waiting there for me, giving a damn about my arrival.*<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRYAfjU3qBlGag8UXqp7QbOFFU3y5GCAes7b6pih4-2jozq3pW_Q9T169qg-z_BQb7mevKpPa5x9WoRjR7QzePWrtTY999-61jQXZtl6Sn5R_ZokMpfC47YsHLu0sWXCpa2HmiaiNSlBA/s1600/photo+%25285%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXRYAfjU3qBlGag8UXqp7QbOFFU3y5GCAes7b6pih4-2jozq3pW_Q9T169qg-z_BQb7mevKpPa5x9WoRjR7QzePWrtTY999-61jQXZtl6Sn5R_ZokMpfC47YsHLu0sWXCpa2HmiaiNSlBA/s1600/photo+%25285%2529.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost done</td></tr>
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I regret that the moment I finished, I could not revel in the congratulatory buzz. I walked right by it all looking for a safe spot to vomit. It was the same feeling I got when I would drink too many tequila shots. Eventually one of the shots wouldn't sit right and would threaten to come right back up but if I could just be left alone for a minute, not talk and not be touched, I could will the nasty urge to vomit away. Apparently this technique works post suicide pace run, too. I did not unload my guts into a nearby bush while others looked on. Although even if I had, I suspect no one would have flinched.<br />
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Everyone ran with everything they had and even though that looks differently for all of us, each person's contribution was worthy. I have found a home that I didn't even realize I was looking for. I will continue to run most of my runs by myself because of geography, but I know that there is a crew of runners that will welcome me and my abilities when I can join them. I see many connections and experiences in my future because of the Pace and Mind runners.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pace and Mind June 2014</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Note: My husband Mike is always at the finish waiting for me, but the crowds at big races are often too big to hear him cheering my name and of course he gives a damn about my finish, but not in the same way your team mates do :)</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-75636505095232945582014-05-16T17:54:00.001-04:002014-05-16T17:54:12.591-04:00For Nicole<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Ottawa Marathon is just a little more than a week away and my legs and hips are feeling good, but on Tuesday, my heart was broken. My sister in law, Nicole Belair died as a result as an act of heroism.<div>
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The link will direct you to a post I wrote for the<a href="http://www.runottawa.ca/blog/le-team-du-rob/the-finalehers-and-mine"> Ottawa Marathon blog page</a>. The post highlights my preparedness for the race next Sunday, along with a tribute to Nicole.</div>
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Rest peacefully, sweet girl...until we meet in Heaven xo</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-45937019920056511402014-04-29T07:00:00.000-04:002014-06-26T08:52:20.062-04:00Evolving But Never Revolving<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_1qIzo0e-CBXpdzjczh8Zyq1WZklgVeoYmA5gZdoA6nX5FAe_aNsmFyqldw7hWge72q1486wD22XO4ZU5uniOCk5PYjcxD0RsbDu2Udmgm8wsx8ZEH65jeXa_LRLAhdjbIpMOHydpRi4/s1600/summer_pink_flower_217812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_1qIzo0e-CBXpdzjczh8Zyq1WZklgVeoYmA5gZdoA6nX5FAe_aNsmFyqldw7hWge72q1486wD22XO4ZU5uniOCk5PYjcxD0RsbDu2Udmgm8wsx8ZEH65jeXa_LRLAhdjbIpMOHydpRi4/s1600/summer_pink_flower_217812.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a> Spring is finally here! Spring is my favorite season because of the hopeful feeling it generates. It makes me feel inspired to do new things. So, I am going to share a few of them with you and see where we land...<br />
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Over the winter I had been feeling like I had outgrown my blog and until five minutes ago, this had caused me some distress. Moments ago, that feeling changed, just like that! When you change your perception, you change your opportunities.<br />
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Increasingly, I felt less and less motivation to pen new blog posts and that was making me uneasy. I love to write and sharing my experience of alcohol recovery was a good decision, but it has become harder and harder to share things because I have nothing to say.<br />
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So, a sense of panic has been building. Having nothing more to say means I am done. The 15 minutes of fame I have enjoyed and that has helped me stay strong and healthy is up. There is nothing left for me to say because I have grown and I no longer see myself predominately as a sober runner. I see myself as a runner, a wife, a mother and a host of other things that have nothing to do with beer.<br />
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In the early days, I wrote about situations that challenged my sobriety and how desperately I clung to the rhythm and punishment of running to keep my focus off of drinking. I have out run and out grown the despondency I once felt toward my sober future and have replaced it with confidence and strength. I don't fret or dwell about staying sober. I just live each day as it comes with a grateful and healthy spirit. I am new and I am different, but I am having so much fun writing and connecting with people that I don't want to shut the blog down so I am going to do some new things here.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-JHQgKUvo4TJWWNmcbeMo-uuigO5nRTHd6WKAW9okFvAKlYcv-u5cgP_4MtoKFiIuaLCIh5AJbu-2PsL8tMSPul7ivpGzoNUukyq4hfJUa94LDO8Go9zwv6ALShms6Bkpc8DGvG01Uh2/s1600/fruits_sweet_fruit_213988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-JHQgKUvo4TJWWNmcbeMo-uuigO5nRTHd6WKAW9okFvAKlYcv-u5cgP_4MtoKFiIuaLCIh5AJbu-2PsL8tMSPul7ivpGzoNUukyq4hfJUa94LDO8Go9zwv6ALShms6Bkpc8DGvG01Uh2/s1600/fruits_sweet_fruit_213988.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a><br />
The focus will be less on sober living and more on healthy living. I would love to build my blog into an interactive community of like minded people, so now more than ever, if something sits right with you, please thank me by commenting and further by sharing it with your friends and followers. What is the content going to look like? I don't know exactly...and I am okay with that. I am committing to weekly content updates which is something I have struggled with because if I wasn't feeling it, I couldn't write it.<br />
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For starters, I know I want to share monthly fitness challenges with you. I run, but I have a hard time being consistent with fitness and strength work. I completely understand the benefits of incorporating these things into my running, but it just doesn't happen. What I have had a modicum of success with are 30 day fitness challenges. They are laid out for me and they are short term which helps me to commit to doing them. I thought if I am going to do a challenge, I should share it and maybe we will end up doing it together and encouraging each other. So, I guess this is where the new content will start and we will see if it goes or if it blows.<br />
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For the month of May I have chosen the <a href="http://30dayfitnesschallenges.com/30-day-burpee-challenge/">30 Day Burpee Challenge</a>. The burpee's reputation precedes itself. I have yet to meet anyone that reacts with cheering when the exercise is suggested, BUT we all know that they are highly touted as a dynamic exercise that targets multiple muscles along with the heart and lungs. If you are unsure about how to safely pull off the exercise, there is a helpful clip on the website to help you out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hJmvjORi4XuxrxB012i38g1ST0gwE5rXPzeK8arDQk7UsQbBvxZHRtFJK8wjnfuNSiTem5RmXwsXiJhzAKFb1YgD7-4wf-XilEfMOttmonSk247L39GH9bOa9wAd_I4dAtII9Ww36ktc/s1600/sports-jump-10038306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hJmvjORi4XuxrxB012i38g1ST0gwE5rXPzeK8arDQk7UsQbBvxZHRtFJK8wjnfuNSiTem5RmXwsXiJhzAKFb1YgD7-4wf-XilEfMOttmonSk247L39GH9bOa9wAd_I4dAtII9Ww36ktc/s1600/sports-jump-10038306.jpg" /></a>Who doesn't want a firmer hiney that doesn't jiggle when you wiggle or stronger hips and quads that can help you drive farther while running? I want those things, so I am gonna just do it! Why not? 30 days of burpees starting May 1st. If you are with me, don't suffer in silence, let me know. I need your support and we can be accountable to one another. Complete the day's Burpee challenge as outlined on the <a href="http://30dayfitnesschallenges.com/">30 Day Challenge</a> website and let me know here, in the comments! There's even app to help you if you are interested. I downloaded the 30 Day Challenge app from the Apple store to help me be consistent, yup there's an app for that!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-56238646867857858712014-04-15T17:31:00.001-04:002014-04-15T17:31:28.495-04:00Letter to Laura who is #BostonStrong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have never been to the Boston Marathon to cheer or to run and maybe I never will. <div>
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Today, on the first anniversary of the terror and violence that was unleashed at the finish line, my heart is heavy for those who were there and for those who were left to wonder about the safety of those they loved. My heart is even heavier for a young woman I have come to know on twitter who was there and saw too much. This is for @laulaubird...<div>
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<i>Dear Laura</i><div>
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<i>While I wasn't there in Boston when it happened, this past year has left me feeling, in some ways that I was. That is not to say that I know what you are feeling and how deeply you suffer, particularly on this day. It is to say that your experiences have impacted me. I am devastated to know that your life is forever colored by such a senseless act of violence. I don't know you any more than a few tweets and a few direct messages, yet somehow, I am connected to you because I am struck by your candor. </i></div>
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<i>In 140 characters or less, I can see the kind of day you are having, and I am amazed at the amount of information that can be shared so succinctly. I have seen the videos and I have seen the Sports Illustrated feature on the attack, but the imagery that impacts me the most comes from that which I piece together in my mind after reading your posts. </i></div>
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<i>I can only imagine the state of shock and disbelief you must have experienced as you saw innocent athletes and spectators with wartime-like injuries all around you. I have pictured this in my mind as if through your eyes, countless times. Imagining this nightmare through you brings tears to my eyes as I write and I feel a squeezing pain in my heart. You and all the others are innocent and undeserving of the events of that day and of the physical and psychological sequela that is now yours. </i></div>
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<i>The memories of the chaos of sights, sounds and smells that enveloped you must be unbearable at times and I wish I could wipe them from you. I wish you could go forward without the burden of all these things that have undoubtedly changed you. But you can't. The damage is done. I wish we could sit down and drink it away. But we can't because more damage would be done than it would serve to help.</i></div>
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<i>I will not presume to understand what the past year has been like for you. I know it has been further complicated by the inability to do what you love which is running, but what I do see is a strong woman who will mend on all fronts. That is not to say that you will be without vulnerabilities or bad days or setbacks, but it is to say that you will once again be mentally and physically strong. </i></div>
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<i>I look forward to the day you once again run that marathon with your head held high knowing that you are #BostonStrong. I will be cheering loud and proud from where ever I am. As I have known heart break and disaster through your eyes, so too will I know the thrill of victory as you cross the finish line as a survivor.</i></div>
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<i>Thinking of you</i></div>
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<i>@christadavidson</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-87627193035776678172014-03-12T19:06:00.001-04:002014-03-12T19:06:18.724-04:00Training for OttawaHere is the link to a post I wrote about training for the Ottawa Marathon with Rob Watson as my coach. <div><a href="http://www.runottawa.ca/blog/category/le-team-du-rob">http://www.runottawa.ca/blog/category/le-team-du-rob</a></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsRZ0FfVy99HYz_PQVu4tB-5qxs-XxO4mpUByVkzsKcTwyLagr5OXamYx-XtXENEk-5Mis9nseiMA7Tiz6zjMNXKmxQi63-sRz955cPEdhkE6WiiMjdYBK6QhftIQ3ifWhQekBxpLUprb/s640/blogger-image--1702195150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAsRZ0FfVy99HYz_PQVu4tB-5qxs-XxO4mpUByVkzsKcTwyLagr5OXamYx-XtXENEk-5Mis9nseiMA7Tiz6zjMNXKmxQi63-sRz955cPEdhkE6WiiMjdYBK6QhftIQ3ifWhQekBxpLUprb/s640/blogger-image--1702195150.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3674800768915022427.post-72085690581427693362014-02-25T06:30:00.000-05:002014-02-25T16:20:39.641-05:00No Amount of Beer will Help This...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The past few weeks I have been struggling with my emotions...well, really it has been most of my life, but the last three weeks or so have been particularly challenging. Actually, to be completely truthful, saying the problem has been my 'emotions' might lead you to believe that there are a 'variety' of feelings that I am challenged by. This is not the case. I have been struggling with one emotion and that is sadness. I have been really, really sad. Sad enough that the amount of running I have been doing hasn't been able to neutralize it and the voice calling to soothe it with beer...or wine...or tequila has been loud. Rest easy though, I have<br />
not stepped foot in a bar or liquor store.<br />
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My sweet and lovely gem of a daughter, Tilley pushes me over the edge of sadness to despair at times. She will be eleven later this year and sometimes it is like living with with a three year old. Tilley has Asperger's and as such she is intellectually gifted and could tell you in great detail about the life of a koala, but has difficulty using words to convey her own feelings. She will talk non stop about the intricacies of the world of Pokemon, but can't find the words to tell me she doesn't like something, instead I get to try and decipher her sobs, moans and groans to guess what is bothering her.<br />
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Tilley thinks in black and white and sees all events as either fair or unfair. If things don't fit into her fixed patterns of thinking, she cannot simply switch gears and go with the flow. Flexibility does not come easily to her, if at all. Another struggle for Till involves her senses. Loud, echoing noise, like might be heard during an assembly in a gymnasium or at a sporting event bothers her to the point of sleepless worry the night before and ultimately translates into her not attending the activity.<br />
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She will immediately pull off her clothes if they have come in contact with moisture, as she can't stand the feeling of the moisture against her skin and she can't tolerate that they are soiled and imperfect. The dog sniffing her with a wet nose can produce this action, as can a spilled drop of apple juice.<br />
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At other times she has a super human ability to smell things. She can identify smells that most of us don't even realize are there. The downside to this is when it is a smell that bothers her. She hates the smell of mint, which leaves us in a difficult spot with toothpaste. It is so extreme that she will try and get out of the car if she smells freshly brushed teeth or if there is mint gum being chewed. Any smell that she doesn't like can put a halt to anything we are trying to do. Last week we got out of the house and being pressed for time scurried to the car. Tilley jumped in and jumped right back out. She couldn't stand the smell of the 'laundry breeze' air freshener I had placed in the car the day before. Already late, it took extra time to coax her back into the car after I had removed the scent because the smell lingered.<br />
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These are just a few examples of life with Tilley and reading about them in isolation does not begin to paint the picture of my day to day challenges with her. I can't remember the last day that we got to school on time. Daily there is at least one reason for her to resist getting up, getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing her teeth, having her hair brushed, putting her outdoor clothes on and getting out to the car and just when we have marginally conquered all of that, she will have some need to return to the house. You can't lean on this kid too heavily either. If she starts to feel any kind of pressure being placed on her or if she senses some unhappiness or disapproval with her efforts she can collapse into a melt down which sends her running for the comfort of her bed and we are right back to where I spent 20 minutes extracting her from to begin this sodded process.<br />
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Tilley was diagnosed a year ago, but I have been her mother for over ten years and none of this is new. What is new is that we were making some progress with the help of an Occupational Therapist and then Christmas break put a halt to our daily routine. Once school resumed in the new year, I knew that we would face some challenges getting her back to routine and I hunkered down and was ready for that storm, but it is persisting, much like our long cold winter this year. About four weeks ago, it seemed as though the problem of getting back into the school routine had resolved but was replaced by a new reason to hate school. <br />
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A reward program in Tilley's class has turned our house upside down because to her it is NOT fair and she can't seem to meet the expectations for earning a 'Platinum Card', therefore she hates going to school which makes our mornings extremely difficult. Why can't she just get out of bed in the morning when I wake her? Why does she lay there and moan and roll around and refuse to get dressed? Why do I have to choose my words so carefully in case I say the wrong thing that might add fuel to this fire? Why, why, why? Why can't she find a bright spot in the day ahead? Why can't she smile? Why does it all have to be so hard for her...and me?<br />
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The sadness I feel is for me having to maneuver and balance every detail, every day just to get out the door, but deeper is my despair for her and the fact that she can't enjoy anything like other kids do. I know that I have no right to complain when I have a child who is intellectually and physically healthy, but I would give a lot for her to be of average intelligence and over the moon happy.<br />
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Isn't that the standard parent line..."I just want you to be happy"? I just want her to be happy with life. I wish she could wake with the hope of something wonderful happening, instead of being filled with dread for what might happen. What must that be like? This is not as defined as waking up and worrying about a test today or a presentation or a late bill payment. This is every day worry about just being. What is it like to have to think that way all the time? I am driven to tears of frustration and inadequacy parenting her and then I stop and question what is it like to be in her head? How hard is it to be her? From my perspective it looks like it is so hard for her to be in her skin. It breaks my heart and no amount of running helps that because it's not something I can change. This is how her brain works.<br />
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I do enjoy moments with her when she is not troubled by anything but in the back of my mind I know at any moment it could all fall apart if she were to hear something or smell something or feel something that she can't handle. This is our reality and we do our best but sometimes it just make me want a pitcher of beer; just as running doesn't help this, I know Alexander Keith won't either, so I am still sober and running,because what else can I do...<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02264877193184935214noreply@blogger.com0