Oh, I would walk three hundred miles...

Over the last three years through hip pain and hip recovery, I have fallen out of shape and put on weight. Though I have run and biked for more than the last fifteen years, It feels like I am starting at zero, less than zero really. 

I suppose the last fifteen years are part of why now feels so difficult, so hopeless, remembering where I used to be. Still, you have to start somewhere. So I started walking. 

I set myself a goal of logging 300 miles of walking in 2024. A little under 6 miles a week, less than a mile a day. The number seemed achievable, but would still require me to get outside on a regular basis. Moving outside would do both my body and mind some good. 

I am not counting all the random steps I take, the short dog walks we take at work, or the many steps when I get out for a round of golf. Just the intentional walks, where that is why I am out there, taking steps in the right direction. 

I stayed on track for the first couple of months at the start of the year, but no surprise, fell behind in March and April as work hours increased ahead of the tax deadline. The month of May I was back to more regular walking, but I was still behind and not keeping pace. 

June it was time to get serious again, for the arbitrary challenge, but more importantly for my flailing physical and mental health. I finished out the month with nearly sixty miles on the paths and roads, and I am now at 164 miles halfway through the year. I still feel out of shape, but not quite as wildly so as I was even a month ago. 

I am doing a few things to take my health more seriously this year. The walking bit is the most concrete and easiest to measure. There have been some false starts and hiccups with each piece of the puzzle, but progress is being made. The path ahead is hopefully long, and I want to walk it with more care. 

Some photos from my June walks.

A Walk in the Woods

My friend Cherie, who has twisted my arm into biking, then into running, also got me into backpacking. 

The summer after I moved back to Washington, she invited me along on a family backpacking trip. Her dad Jim had been going to this semi-secret lake for much of his life, and in 2013 he was headed to the hills again with his daughter and grandson, a three-generation group. Cherie's husband Brian and I rounded out the pack. The hike was challenging, including a bit of hand over hand climbing, and pushing through overgrown fisherman trails, but I was pretty well hooked from the start. 

My family did a bit of hiking and camping when I was quite young, and I started camping again in my early twenties. I love so many things about it. Being outside in the wilderness is restorative. I feel so present, away from the comforts and routine of home. I actually appreciate how long it takes to make coffee and cook food when I am camping. It just seems to make me appreciate everything a bit more. 

Backpacking adds another level to it. You have to carry everything on your back, thus reducing how many comforts you want to bring along. You also have to carry this weight up and down hills, rather than just from your car to your tent. When you get to that secret or not so secret lake at the end of the trail, it feels that much sweeter that you got there under your own power. 

And once you are there, life is just so gloriously slow. You have nowhere else to be. Time to sit and enjoy your coffee. Time to wade into the mountain lake. Time for a day hike through the woods. Time to sit on a log and read, surrounded by the sounds of nature. Time to fish if you hauled that inflatable raft that nearly crushed you. Time to just be. 

I think our group has been on four backpacking trips, but it has been a few years since we headed to the woods together. Summers can fill up fast, and then the pandemic and the appearance of my hip arthritis made it a non-starter. Prior to 2020, I had applied several times to get a permit to hike the Wonderland Trail solo, but have come up empty each time. With the new hip and the limits on running, I want to get back into backpacking again.

My YouTube watchlist has been filled lately with backpacking videos, and also bikepacking videos where they trade shoes for wheels, trails for roads. Part of it is the anticipation and desire to get moving again, but I think this happens every tax season. As the hours increase, and the weekends away from work disappear, mental plans are made for the summer, something to look forward to after April 15th. 

In the meantime, and as part of the surgery recovery, I have been going on longer walks lately. The place that has become a regular favorite is Bridle Trails Park. It is a wooded oasis in the middle of the city. There are three main trails - 1 mile, 1.8 miles, and 3.5 miles, and you can mix and combine based on what you need any particular day. I choose the 1.8 when Izzy is with me, and the 3.5 when I leave her at home (much less stopping and sniffing). Every weekend it seems I find a new tree that captures my attention, and the trail is always a little different based on the weather, time of day, and level of sunshine breaking through the trees. From the name, you obviously see horses pretty regularly, but I have also seen owls and deer on my walks. 

My body and brain are better for it every time I go for a walk in the woods, even if only for an hour or two.

Scenes from this weekend.

Accidental beginnings, and more intentional habits.

 Three weeks into January seems a little early for a resolution/habit check in, but since it is a 2022 resolution, it is probably a bit late. 

As I wrote in this January 2022 post, the habit started a bit by accident. Partially due to a hibernation week, staying home in the snow after a possible Covid exposure, and partially due to Amazon tracking my reading days on the Kindle (thanks big data), halfway through January I found out that I had read thirty-one days in a row. Since I had the streak going already, I resolved to read every day of 2022.

I made it through 2022 successfully, reading at least a few pages every day of the year. Then I continued the streak through every day of 2023 and into another January. After a bit of math, I have figured that I have now read 765 days in a row. 

As I written about previously, I was not much of a reader growing up. Though both of my parents were consistent readers, I barely cracked a book until I was in my twenties. For the past thirty plus years though, reading has been a semi-consistent part of my life. I've found insight, relief, solace, joy, and other worlds on and between the pages. The amount I read changed year to year, falling in and out of the habit. My mental health seemed to improve when I was a consistent reader, but like any other habit it was hard to re-start when I drifted away from it. Failing at re-starting became its own mental struggle. 

Like most of us, I have probably failed more than succeeded at resolutions, New Year's or otherwise. In 2011 I put a twist on it and had a different resolution each month. It was an interesting exercise in habit development and was a relative success. Part of the lesson, which should be obvious but isn't always, is that developing the habit is much more important to your success than your desire for the resolution's outcome. I can resolve and desire all I want, but until I put the work in through the development of a habit, then there is no path that will get me there. 

To keep the reading streak alive, I obviously put the work in each day, but the simplest of tricks is what made it actually happen. I have a reminder on my phone that goes off at 9:00 each night asking, "Did you read yet?" The reminder sits on my phone until I clear it. Sometimes it gets cleared at 11:45pm, and sometimes only a few pages are read, but for 765 days in a row I have answered "yes" to the reminder. 

So, how did the habit change the amount I read? Below are the recaps from Goodreads for 2021 (pre-habit), and then 2022 and 2023:

I plan to keep the streak alive again through 2024. I have set my arbitrary goal of reading 30 books again this year, and I hope to reach it again, but maybe not hit 40 this time around. There are some other goals, habits and hobbies I'd like to add (back) this year and spend time with. The past couple of years have been difficult, but I am seeing a bit of light again. This challenge and habit formation shows that I can still find some focus, even when my brain seems to be rebelling. Reading has felt like a bit of self-care when things feel noisy inside. I want to find more things that bring me a bit of peace.

Another 2024 resolution - more reminders set on my phone this year. 

A less crooked smile

"You don't strike me as someone who is overly concerned about how his teeth look."

This was what someone at my dentist's office said earlier this year. I have told this story to a few people, and everyone has been a bit offended for me. But it was a true statement, and I took it as such. They knew their audience I suppose. 

My teeth have always been a bit janky, with two teeth half hiding behind my two front teeth, but it has never been anything that I cared much about. When I was a kid, braces were suggested, but it wasn't for anything functional, strictly cosmetic. I of course never fully understood what the money situation was growing up, but I felt like there wasn't money to spend on something that wasn't strictly necessary. 

And of course who wants braces as a kid. 

At the dentist earlier this year, they told me that my bite was putting too much pressure on a single tooth, and it was destined to crack. The two options were a crown, which would be a band-aid, or get braces to fix the underlying problem. Since this seems to be the year to fix what is broken, and kicking the can down the road to "future me" to deal with doesn't seem to ever work out, braces was the decision. 

Of course things have changed dramatically since I was a kid. No longer would there be a mouth full of metal, but rather plastic trays that snap into place. You have likely heard of Invisalign, which is a brand name for this sort of system, and I have something similar made by SureSmile. 

My treatment would be a series of 30 trays, each worn for two weeks, with each successive set moving my teeth a bit farther from their original state, each successive set moving my teeth a bit closer to the final alignment. You are supposed to wear the trays for 20 - 22 hours a day, only taking them out to eat. 

30 trays times 2 weeks equals almost fifteen months of dental fun. I just put in tray 16 this week, so I am halfway there. 

I can't wait for it to be over. 

Not because I am excited to see my new smile (see above about not caring what my teeth look like). Not because my mouth looks funny with the braces in, or that my speech is particularly effected (this tech is pretty great in both respects). No, I just find it an annoyance every single day. Not a huge deal each day, it is just always there, being annoying. 

For the first few days of every two week cycle, the trays are very difficult to snap in or remove. At my first appointment when the dentist/professional was trying to get those first trays in, it was a major ordeal, and I just imagined fifteen months of this pain-in-the-assery of me trying to do it my amateur self, and I did not take it well. And of course your teeth hurt as they are being pressured to move where they don't want to.

And honestly I just want to be able to sip my cup of coffee leisurely at my desk without being on a timer to floss, brush, snap my trays back in.

Again, small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, and tiny in the medical complaints department, but to spend $5,600 (adult dental insurance is near worthless) to do something that is annoying, where you don't feel like your life will be any better for it, while people who care about teeth are so excited for you...ugh.

Am I vaguely curious what my teeth will look like in the end - sure. Am I excited about wearing braces at night forever, because apparently your teeth still want to go back to square one - no. Was it the right decision - yes. I trust and like my dentist, and slapping band-aids on problems is not a long-term solution.

Will I continue to be annoyed, and miss those slowly sipped cups of coffee for the next seven months - yes, yes I will.

Habit check in

Had another Dry January this year. 

Last year a group of us participated in Dry January together. The motivation was to (in a small way) support our friend who was pregnant and giving drinking up for a much longer period. This time around there was less of a concrete reason, but the same group was in just the same. 

It was another easy go of it. Last year I had a brain fart and drank while out with my brothers, but this time around there were no slip ups. No drinking without thinking this year. 

One activity I have enjoyed through the two years of pandemic is getting out for a round of golf with friends, picking up the sport again after all our bike events were cancelled. Since we are out of doors the entire time, the risks are much lower. It has been a bit of a savior of sanity. About the only real thing I missed related to this Dry January was the post round beer and debrief. 

One big difference this time around is the ever increasing non-alcoholic (NA) choices. Cutting back on alcohol is having a bit of a moment. A few years ago your choice was basically O'Douls, which is a non-alcoholic version of a style of beer I don't care for in its "real" version. Now much like how the explosion of microbreweries brought increased variety and quality to regular beer, more and more companies have sprung up to produce interesting non-alcoholic beer. 

Non-alcoholic wine has been around for quite some time, but from what I had heard, it has been pretty terrible in the past. Now there are more choices for wine substitutes as well, but I didn't try any this year so I can't vouch for their improvement.

However, one of the options I enjoyed the most was the Hoppy Refresher from Lagunitas. It is basically a hop flavored seltzer and was actually created for the Lagunitas employees. One of the perks of working for a brewery is free beer, but that doesn't work out so well when you are on the clock. The company created this to hand out instead, and it was such a hit they started selling it to the public.

The hop seltzer is its own thing, not trying to pretend to be beer. Often a substitute that isn't trying too hard at replication is actually more interesting. For example, I would much rather have a Garden Burger than an Impossible Burger. The Hoppy Refresher even has this great, non-Surgeon General warning. 

click to embiggen

One new addition to the lineup this year was gin substitutes. I do love me a gin and tonic, and I have found a couple of NA substitutes that are quite enjoyable in a mocktail. One odd thing is that the non-alcoholic versions are more expensive than the real thing, sometimes almost double the price. Clean(ish) living isn't cheap. 

Were there any lessons or morals to the story in not drinking for a month? Not really. No epiphanies were had, I didn't lose a bunch of weight, and I didn't feel more rested in the mornings. As with previous Dry Januarys I have participated in, it was mostly concrete goal to start the year, and a check against habits running in the background. You can't change habits you don't pay attention to, and over all it is just good to pay attention.

There was one clear benefit this year. When I was mostly separated from friends in January, it was nice sharing this common goal with the group. We'd check in through text or through video on Marco Polo, swap stories and drink suggestions. It was good excuse to reach out. I kept us connected in a different way during a month that is statistically the most depressing.  

Will I do it again? Probably. But there are plans this weekend to see friends and enjoy an adult beverage together. In person. 

Silly challenges and a resolution

 Sometimes you just have to trick yourself into things.

When I was stuck at home during hibernation week, I went for a lot of walks. Of course it was great to get out of the house, and the pup really loved the snow, but I wouldn't have walked quite so much if I hadn't signed up for a silly challenge on Strava. The challenge was to walk 50k for the month. I had largely forgotten about the challenge/goal until I was bored at home. I certainly would have gone on several walks anyway, but wouldn't have been motivated to go as often or as far. I ended up walking about 34 miles in December, more than half of it in the snow between Christmas and New Year's Eve with traction devices on my hiking boots.

Another challenge I engage in is to try and read a certain number of books each year. I have been using the Goodreads website to track my reading since 2008. I started using it mostly to keep track of books I had read. More than once I would return to a book series that I had stepped away from, picking up where I thought I had left off, only realizing three chapters in that I had already read this book. Now an even greater value of the website is adding to the "To be Read" list whenever I hear about an interesting read.

However the To be Read pile is growing faster than the Read list. I already have piles of physical books stacked around the house, and a massive virtual pile online, but there are so many books that catch my eye I can't resist adding another to the list. When I am looking for my next read, and none of the books in the house are hitting the spot, I pull up the online list. However, many of the books have been on there so long I have no idea where I heard about them, or what grabbed my attention in the first place. I end up reading synopsis after synopsis to jog my memory.

The last few years I have tried to read 30 books a year. I came close in 2018, but haven't ever been quite able to reach the magic (arbitrary) number. 

(Click to embiggen)

In 2021 I read 21 books. Nice numeric repetition there, but in a year when I had so much time on my hands, and so much desire to get out of my own head, I wish I had read more. 

So much of it is habit. I won't deny it is harder to read these days. I am, like so many others, easily distracted by my phone, the TV, and other shiny things to scroll through. I used to be able to fall into a book so much more easily. Didn't matter if I was in a crowded coffee shop filed with people and chatter - I could shut it all out. Not so much these days. There is this constant background hum tapping on my attention's shoulder. 

Along with the urge to get the miles in during the last week of December, I was also trying to read a bunch. I wanted to try and re-forge the habit before work would once again get crazy in January, and hibernation week did make it a bit easier. I have been reading books on my Kindle lately and I saw this thing pop up on my phone.

Without intending to, I had a month-long streak of reading every day. May as well keep the streak going. I am going to try and read every day in 2022. It may not be many pages on some days (hello tax season) but I want to commit to reading this year. I know it will be good for me, moments of quiet in a noisy world. 

I have some other pseudo resolutions in mind for the year, one of which is to keep writing here and hopefully elsewhere, but we'll start with reading. If you have any recommendations for books that you loved, let me know and I will add them to the digital pile. I will try and get a few off the To be Read list to make room. 

9/9/2021

Twenty years ago today was the day I got married. Still one of the better, in the moment, days of my life, surrounded by family and friends. Of course the nation would change two days later, and then a much smaller part of it some seven years later.

Twenty years further down the road, feelings and lives have changed. Gray hairs, new friends, regrets, adventures, new memories. But that time will always be part of me, in those old memories, in the lessons and discovery as our two roads diverged, in the hope we will always do better each time we try. 

You belong, among the wallflowers

 This popped up in the old Facebook memory feed today.

Yep, still awkward. 

Natural introvert, I have done my best to feel more comfortable with people and crowds by jumping in feet first (on rare occasions to be honest). I have been blessed for my efforts almost every time. I guess the first major plunge was the charity bike ride down the Pacific Coast back in 2006. Didn't know a soul, but ended the two week ride feeling like I had known many of the riders most of my life. 

The more recent one is the North Bend Beer Runners. Again, didn't know a soul, but showed up alone, ready to run, less ready to mingle. As per usual, I built it up in my head, it is a totally welcoming group, and I have been rewarded over and over with community and friendship for just showing up that first time. I feel comfortable most of the time, but still almost every Thursday in the time before we start running, and the first fifteen minutes of gathering together afterward, I am the picture of the awkward wallflower. I don't know why this feeling persists, but it does.

If you see me in the corner, know I am doing my best to work my way out of it.

Stop talking yourself out of it

"There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep yourself open and aware to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others."

~ Martha Graham

Looking back on parts of 2020

A friend of mine recently posted this on Facebook:

Name a good thing that happened during 2020.

For me I made a bunch of new friends that I would have never known were it not for this year.

I drew a blank when trying to answer this seemingly easy question. After reading through the many responses, small and good things that had happened to people I didn't know, my comment to the post was simply, "this thread" because I appreciated so much the question and the answers. 

Our memories seemed pre-disposed to remember our struggles more than our victories, the bad over the good. On top of that, my memory is chronically poor so 2020 (maybe more so than other years) is all just a haze. But on this last day of the year I sat down and tried to remember some of the more positive things that happened this year among all the general suffering. Since my memory is terrible, this is by no means a complete list, and I look forward to people reminding me of things I forgot. 

• When the shelter-in-place orders came in, so many were stuck at home. Some were fortunate to be able to work from home and thus keep their jobs. However, cabin fever still exists and with few places open and many outlets restricted, many took to walking around the neighborhood. Many seemed to adopt dogs to give them an excuse to get outdoors. Since they were now home more than ever, it was also a great time to help the new pups adjust. While walking around the neighborhood, most everyone was more friendly, exchanging waves and greetings from a distance, deftly maneuvering off and onto the sidewalks to give each other space. The neighborhood felt more neighborly this year.
  
  
• The neighborly feeling also extended beyond the neighborhood. There are obviously endless stories of how people are not taking Covid seriously, and just generally behaving as if providing even the smallest amount of concern for their fellow man is beyond them. However, I have seen so many small gestures of kindness that made me see the care in other people. All the small things that said that though were are not all in the same boat, that we see that we are all weathering the same storm. That we are all in this together. 
  
  
• This was to be a huge fitness year for me. My 2020 schedule included Ramrod, two Half Ironman events, and my first full Ironman. All were ultimately postponed to 2021. As I have mentioned here previously, having an event on the calendar provides the motivation to get out there running, biking and now swimming. The literal finish line gives me something to shoot for, and a proper deadline to make sure the workouts happen. Without the deadlines this year, it was easier to stay on the couch, but various virtual challenges helped keep me from falling too far off the wagon. My regular Thursday night running group the North Bend Beer Runners stuck together all year online. People posted pictures and stories of their runs, as well as pictures of them toasting each other, now at a distance instead of gathered in local pub or brewery. Northwest Trails also held a trail running challenge over the summer. Each week there were new routes and scavenger hunts that kept us outdoors and engaged. Even the silly challenges on Strava (workout four days a week, run a solo 5k or half marathon, etc.) helped keep me moving forward. While I definitely missed the atmosphere and comradery of in-person events, the virtual version definitely did some good.
  
  
• And speaking of virtual communities, it was the year of Zoom and the like. For a number of weeks in the summer, several long time friends from the Keg Restaurant would have a weekly Zoom gathering on Fridays. It was nice to see all the faces and hear their stories once a week. My biking group also "gathered" somewhat less formally on the Marco Polo app. The app lets you send short video messages to individuals and groups. Sometimes we would send random clips of what we were doing, but there would also be semi-regular gatherings with Jenica kicking things off with a "Roll call, watcha drinking?" Of course nothing will replace being able to see each other in person, but in this strange year of distancing, there was still some connection.
  
  
• For about a month I did a "Friends in Photos" project on Facebook and Instagram. I posted a photo each day of a different friend, most often a picture of the two of us side by side. The project was intended to run until we could gather in person once again, but of course this has gone on longer than most of us anticipated. Sometimes I would write a little note with the picture, sometimes they were posted with little context, but it was great to revisit all the faces and places and remind myself how fortunate I am. 
  
  
• At the end of last year I purchased something called a Five Year Journal. The journal is set up with a page for each day, but with room on the page for entries for five consecutive years. My writing habit has obviously been neglected these past few years, and I suppose I decided to begin using this journal to jump start it a bit. It was also meant for me to pay more attention. As noted above, I often have trouble recalling the smaller things that brought me joy in the moment. In previous years I have tried writing the smaller things down on strips of paper and putting them in a jar to read back again at the new year, but after the first month or two I would forget and lose the habit. This journal has been more successful, but again there are weeks here and there where nothing was written down. I finally put a daily reminder on my calendar so at 8:00 each night it pings me to recall the day. It ended up being a very strange year, and I am glad to have this journal as a small window into all that that 2020 was, and to have it continue to keep me paying attention in the years ahead. 

This was such a terrible year in so many respects. Global and personal suffering. Hardships for friends and myself. People we have lost, and beliefs that have been fractured. 2020 is a year that we will all be glad to have in our rearview mirror. However, a flip of the calendar page will not wash it all away, and 2021 will also be difficult for many of the same reasons. The light at the end of the tunnel can seem far off, but I will continue the effort to look for the small joys that bring us light. 

Maybe someday, maybe not

My ex-wife is engaged to be married again.

She sent me a message a while back to let me know. She didn't want me to find out about it through a mutual friend or on Facebook. We have not had much contact in the past few years, but she continues to be kind and thoughtful whenever a life event from either of us prompts a message.

Even seven-ish years down the road, the message raised a swell of sadness that had been building. It wasn't from any hope of us ever getting back together. Other than knowing she remains a caring person, I do not know much about her these days. No, the sad feeling was more a reminder of what is missing in my life, what has been gone for some time now.

I have not been in a relationship for a couple of years now. Recently I had this thing going on with someone I knew. Our friendship veered into some new territory. She did not want a relationship, and truth be told, I don't know that we would have made a very good couple, but there was some sort of spark that pushed its way through. It was ill-defined - casual but not superficial. I have never seen anyone casually before, nor have I ever had a friends-with-benefits sort of arrangement, but it was new and exciting.

Two days before my ex sent me the note about her engagement, I found out that the friend I was spending time with was now in a relationship. It was sort of a one-two punch, rejection present and past reminding me of how alone I felt, and it made me think again how that may never change.

Before you raise any arguments - yes, I know I am not actually alone. I have a wonderful family and more dear friends than would be expected of this awkward introvert. And I am thankful.

But it is not the same.

I want the belonging in one on one. I want to have one person I am hoping for when a text comes through. Someone to share moments, exciting and seemingly dull. Someone who I will make mistakes with, but who believes that although my heart is often awkward, it is always in the right place. I want a deeper connection that physical and emotional intimacy brings. And yes I want love.

But I don't know that I will ever find it again. For several years now, I have begun to acknowledge (if not accept) that I will not find love again. There is no guarantee that I would - no man behind the curtain pulling the strings or some guiding hand of fate.

I was listening to a podcast recently with an interview with Aimée Lutkin about her article (links below) where she had told her friends as much. There were the immediate objections that "but you're so pretty/funny/smart." "You'll find love when you stop looking/least expect it." "You're not trying hard enough." Her responses:

• Pretty/funny/smart guarantee nothing, if maybe expanding your pool of applicants.
• I have stopped looking for years. how much more can I not look?
• Let me show you all the apps and all the advice I have already tried.

Believing this casual thing might work was probably born out of all this. There were no relationships on the horizon, and I needed to embrace any connection that made me feel more human. The resulting feelings of loss prove to me that I really miss those connections, and that something casual is not enough, a stop gap at best.

The woman on the podcast still hopes that she finds love, but that she is done wishing and waiting. It is a conscious choice to stop the feeling that her life is in a temporary state (without a partner) and that things won't truly get moving forward until this period ends. And if there is some magic spell that can be cast to make someone come to you when you least expect it, well her article may be just that.

I am not so strong to say that my life would be complete even if I never found love again, but a growing part of me wants to live my life as if it would be. To focus on what is important to my happiness and enrich connections to the people who are in my life. To find passion outside of romance. But I have not yet given up hope. I still look, if clumsily.

There is something in my life that has been taking up much of my time the past few months, which may make it easier or harder to meet someone, or it may indicate I am not ready yet.

Podcast link: Why Oh Why episode 17: Alone Forever
Article by Aimée Lutkin: When Can I Say I'll Be Alone Forever?

Beat the Blerch Half Marathon

My return to running had started to have an effect on my mental state, but now the physical test was here, ready or not.

I arrived at the start early, as I always like to do. I hate being late in general, but especially on race day, I want a nice buffer of time. Time to take care of parking, pottying, etc. Time to stretch out, wander around, take in the energy of the crowd. Time to find a little clarity and determination of mind.

As mentioned in the previous post, the event would have couches, Nutella and cake at the water stations. If that wasn't enough, you could make yourself a burritoughnut before heading out. After grabbing a warmed doughnut, you can add more treats like bacon, potato chips and/or Gummi bears and then wrap it all up in a tortilla. It sounded like a recipe for hurling at the first mile marker, so I passed.

The event included a full marathon, half marathon and a 10k. The marathoners had already taken off by the time I arrived, and the 10k runners would start after we did. Everyone ran on the same trail, so they set us out in small groups to try and avoid congestion. I queued up in the first half marathon group and just in case anyone regretted not grabbing some sugar before starting, a guy dressed up as a Blerch was throwing marshmallows into the crowd. 

Though I was pretty unprepared, and the event was a little goofy, I was going to do my best with what I brought to the start line. I was hoping to get in under two hours and would have been pretty happy with something closer to 1:55. There is certainly a big mental factor to these longer events, and I felt like I had the right frame of mind going in. No pressure, just a day on the roads with strangers as friends.

The route is almost entirely along a wooded trail. The first mile or so included a gravel path along the river before joining up with what I assume is rails to trails conversion. After a few miles, the runners spread out into their own paces and I ended up running along with a handful of people. The morning was cool and calm, and running through the woods was peaceful.

At the first water station at mile three, there were the promised couches that the volunteers were encouraging us to take a break on. As this was an out-and-back course, I would pass by this station again at mile ten and told myself if the wheels had come off by then, I would indulge in the couch break. And maybe some Nutella.

As we moved further along the path, we caught a few of the marathoners. They had set out an hour or so earlier, and had run a side trail to add on some early miles. The marathon is certainly more than twice as challenging as the half, and I am sure it was a bit discouraging to have runners passing them by so early in their day. I was glad I was only half crazy this time.

We reached the halfway point and made our way back, but not before high-fiving the volunteer at the turnaround point. I had looked at the elevation profile of the race because I always like to know what is in store for the day. A late hill is always tough, but if at least you know it is coming, it is less discouraging. The elevation profile showed that we would be climbing in the first half and descending back down on the way home. The hill out seemed relatively gradual, but once I turned around it seemed more pronounced and that really picked up my spirits (and pace).

When I was nearing the ten mile mark, things were starting to tighten up, but I hadn't fallen apart yet. I decided I was going to resist the couch temptation and just grab some water and push on. When the stop came in view, there was a long line of 10k runners waiting to come through, and we were waved away. I couldn't have made it to the couch even if I wanted to, but they also were so busy with the 10k runners that we couldn't even get a cup of water. This was the only glitch in an otherwise nicely run event.

My calves, hamstrings and glutes continued to tighten. I had intentionally not looked at my watch all day, just wanting to run on feel and see what I could do. That said, it felt like I was doing relatively well, so I kept pressing on, riding the edge of discomfort. Each step and turn in the path brought me closer to the finish, but it also used up any dribbles of gas I had left in the tank.

Rounding the last corner I could see the finish line just that final tantalizing point-one mile away. I dug in to see if I had anything left to pick it up and finish strong. I don't know that I went any faster, but the finish line photos show that at least I looked like I was tapped out ugly. I will spare you that photo.

I walked through the finish area, medal in one hand and probably more importantly a cup of water in the other. I walked until my muscles calmed down enough that it no longer felt like I was going to pull something if I moved too suddenly. I had thought a doughnut at the finish (sans bacon or gummi bears) might be a nice treat, but I was nauseous enough that only potato chips sounded good. I also passed on the finish line cake.

When I finally looked at my watch, I was surprised and very pleased to see 1:51:33 as my finish time. I had no real business running a half marathon on that day. This almost forgotten about event finally forced me (procrastinatingly late) back out on the roads. I sort of expected to go down in flames, take my medicine, recover, and then start taking this (running and my health) seriously again. It is mostly all still true, but it is very satisfying to press on to a good result. To show up late for a test and somehow half-ass my way to pull it off. Probably a metaphor for my life in there somewhere, but we will just move on to some of the free photos provided by the race.

Running circles in my mind

Mental health equipment

Where can you run to escape from yourself? 

~ "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot

I have been struggling a bit this year. It hasn't been to the depths of depression, but there has been a lingering feeling of lowness and sadness. A few things recently have ramped up this background feeling and brought it to the forefront, but that is a story for another post. For now, I want to talk about the small things I am trying to do to push back the branches that have been closing in.

I have been pretty inactive this year, at least in comparison to previous years. When I did not get a permit to hike The Wonderland Trail, I really lost steam. This was already going to be a step-back year for biking and running, and when the big hike fell off the calendar, I let myself wallow and stagnate. And my psyche suffered.

On May 29th, I put a September 16th half marathon on the calendar to have a finish/deadline to encourage me to get back out on the roads.

 It didn't work.

I ran a mile on May 31st, ran three times in June to "prepare" for a 5k, and then didn't run a step until the end of August. I had been doing some bike riding to prepare for the RSVP, but even that was a bit half-hearted.

I had basically forgotten about the half marathon, but I needed to get back out on the road for other reasons. I needed to stop running circles in my mind, torturing myself with ruminating and over-thinking, and leave some of that crap by the side of the road. August 24th I ran two miles at lunch, and then a 5k that Saturday (which I had also forgotten about). It was of course a bit painful, as first steps always are, but I was at least moving. And being among other runners at the 5k - well, that community always feels so inclusive. Shared challenges can pull you out of your own navel gazing and drain circling.

Forgotten or not, the half marathon was still out there. Training cycles are of course typically about 16 weeks, so with three weeks to go, this was going to be cramming for finals. Fortunately the half marathon I signed up for was sort of perfect. The Beat the Blerch run is sponsored by a local guy that creates the online comic, The Oatmeal. He talks a lot about how running has saved him from his darker/lazier side, penning the book The Terrible and Wonderful Reasons Why I Run Long Distances. He talks about how running lets him find the void, the silence of mind where you are not constantly bombarding yourself with current stress or past failings. Running has helped me find a similar peace in the past, and I hoped I would find it again in rhythmic footfalls.

"The Blerch" is a character that Mathew Inman created that "represents all forms of gluttony, apathy, and indifference that plague my life." Along with the nice metaphor of The Blerch to represent the crap I was trying to exercise from my mind (pun sort of intended), the half marathon was an event that didn't take itself too seriously. Keeping with the theme of temptations, there would be cake, Nutella and couches at the water stops. There would also be costumed Blerches to chase you down the trail.

And I obviously had not taken the training very seriously. From August 24th to race day, I ran a total of seven times - four weekday 2 milers, and weekend runs 3, 5 and 8 miles. I missed a couple of runs due to bad air quality from the fires, and one because of work. The half marathon was also the morning after one of our four major work deadlines, so that didn't make it any easier. I obviously went in with no expectations, figuring that if the wheels came completely off, there was always cake, couches and a good story.

How it all turned out up next.

Turn the page

A new year. A fresh calendar page. A clean slate.

So many of us wait for January 1st to resolve to follow new goals and leave certain habits behind. The date is rather arbitrary in the grand scheme of things, but it has a nice tidiness to it. The fact that it follows so closely after the Holiday/Christmas season, changing habits is especially welcome as we detox after too much food and libation. You are also inspired by the time spent with the people you love most. We commit to "start to do things differently," but are happy to postpone it a week for that nice annual starting point. I mean 1/1 is even numerically pleasing as a place to start. There was even a possibility of snow this morning, which would have reinforced the clean new world feeling, but alas my neighborhood received just a dusting.

So here I sit happily falling into this tradition or trap with a laundry list of things I would like to change. It is of course a poor strategy to try and make multiple changes at once, and New Year's resolutions already have a pretty poor reputation for longevity. Check into any gym and it will look very different at the end of February than it did at the New Year. In 2011 I did the monthly resolution experiment, and it was a nice exercise to focus on one thing each month. I was not so clever as to prepare another list for 2017, and quite frankly I haven't even begun by writing any down for 2017.

But there is definitely a loose list floating around in my head. Top of that list is to be more present, focused on what is in front of me rather than living with distraction. Step one would probably be to write these things out to get them out of my head and in front of my eyes, but I chose to start here first as this seems to be the worst casualty of inertia.

I was recently talking to a couple of our clients at work. They have been promising me some information for most of the year, and we were still talking about it on December 29th. One of them said, "I am really going to focus on getting this to you, but we have failed enough times that I won't bother lying to you about getting it to you tomorrow." Similarly, I won't bother here with lying to you that I will be writing on any regular schedule, but I will try my best to get back in the habit. It does my mind some good.

I recently finished reading a book called On Trails: An Exploration by Robert Moor. It is about how trails develop, both through human and animal activity, and their impact on the world and ourselves. It was an interesting read. Sometimes when I am reading a book and want to remember a good passage or turn of phrase, I will flag it with a little sticky note. This many tags is generally a sign of a good book.

The opening quote on the preface page of the book is:

"The path is made in the walking of it" ~ Zhuangzi

I don't know what my path will be in 2017, but I have some ideas of where I would like it to lead. At this point, though, I won't bother mapping it out. I will make the path by walking it.

Jar of memories

On New Years, most everyone does their own little mental review of the past year. Hopefully recalling some highlights, but often recalling things that you did or didn't do that you would like to rectify as you move forward to the clean slate of a new year. 

It is pretty easy to recall the big events. New jobs, new houses, new relationships, fun trips and big days on the calendar. The negative events - lost jobs, broken relationships, illness, passings and other losses - seem to leave marks more permanent on our psyche. It easy to let the smaller moments that lie between these major events fade into the background. In more quiet years you are left wondering what you even did with those 365 days you were given. 

I don't remember where I saw it exactly. It was probably a Facebook post, but it definitely had a Pinterest kind of feel. Fill a jar full of slips of paper with notes and memories as you go through the year. Then come the turning of the calendar page, go through the slips of paper and recall the smaller moments that make up a life. The practice not only helps a memory fading with age and electronic distraction, but it also helps bring you into the present to recognize these smaller experiences, to appreciate joy and connection as they happen. Like a similar project of taking a photo a day, it forces you to open your eyes to the world around you, and to see the beauty that often fades into the background. 

I opened up my jar this morning. Like many resolutions, I was pretty active for the first few weeks, but the dedication faded as the months went by, ending in my last entry on March 1st. All but one of the memories was about spending time with friends. Celebrating New Year's Eve at the Keg with friends I had met there twenty years before, and gathering with even more people the following week to mark the closing of the restaurant that brought such wonderful connections. Another slip recalled meeting my brothers for drinks and conversation, a new tradition started and continued through 2015 for which I am very thankful. The last slip was about waking up with Jennifer in my new home The Sanctuary, sitting on the couch, staring out at the lake, cups of coffee and good conversation. 

Strangely absent were those tinier moments. Moments where I saw physical beauty and felt deeper connection with the natural world. Moments where it felt like I saw behind the veil. Tiny moments that brought epiphany or revelation. I know they were there, but they have faded without the anchor of a note or photo to help me bring them forth again. 

I am going to use the memory jar again in 2016. I hope to make the habit stick throughout the year, again for the dual purpose of remembering these experiences at the end of the year, as well as to be more focused in the moment and to recognize these tinier snippets that make up this wonderful life. 

This New Year's Eve was a quiet evening at home, and New Year's Day was not much more memorable in the grand scheme. The past few years I have started off the year with a 5k and dip into Lake Washington. This year I went on a solo run in the afternoon, but spent the morning admiring the lake from the relative warmth of my house over some pancakes and coffee. It was more of an easing into this new year rather than jumping in head first. I did at least take a photo of the beauty recognized in the moment. 

As I was typing this, I saw a reflection in the computer screen of a Blue Jay landing on the railing just outside my window. I turned to see it, but as I moved to get my phone/camera, it took off. No picture of the day. A moment that I would surely forget a year later, if not an hour later if I hadn't been writing here at the time. I don't think it warrants the highlight reel of the memory jar, but a nice moment in time. And I think nature is calling me to get dressed and get outside into the frosty day. 

Ten years further (farther) down the road

It was one of those things that hit you as you are trying to fall asleep. When you are trying to shut down for the night, your brain has this habit of letting random thoughts pop in. It is usually frustrating, but at times a nice connection bubbles forth as your mind free associates pre-dream. It suddenly dawned on me that I had been at this running thing for more than ten years. It was actually ten years ago in February when I first laced up my shoes.

It all started more or less on a dare. Plans made over glasses of wine to someday take on a marathon, all from the starting point of not having run a step in years, if ever. I ran/walk/shuffled through a half mile run that February morning. It wasn't pretty, a little discouraging to be winded so quickly, but I kept at it. Three weeks later I ran my first event, the St Paddy's Day Dash, alongside a few other friends who had either thrown out the challenge, or stooped to pick up the gauntlet that had been thrown.

Running is generally a pretty solitary pursuit. Some run in groups, but I would guess some 95% of the miles are solo runs. Hitting the road alone after a day of work when the couch and TV tempts, sneaking off for an hour or more on the weekends when your family beakons. It doesn't feel lonely at all though. It is a time to clear your head and re-energize your mind. As the blood flow is diverted to the muscles in motion, it seems to take with it the garbage blocking the synapses in your brain. If you aren't completely focused on just getting your next foot in front of your last, you can get that free associating feeling normally reserved for when your head hits the pillow. You come back both spent and refreshed.

These solitary moments are a big part of running, but they frame some of the best experiences - running events. "What is the difference between a jogger and a runner? A racing bib." the old saying goes. All too simple as most old saws are. You can be a great runner without ever pinning a bib on, but I do think you are missing out on something.

For one, a finish line. There is something particularly satisfying, both emotionally and physically about taking that last step. A sense of relief, a feeling of accomplishment, the simple joy of completing something you set out to do. The reward for all those miles you put in, all those times you headed out when it was so much easier to stay inside.

While it is hard to beat the feeling at the finish line, there is definitely something magical about the start. One of my favorite quotes about running and running events is from the book "26.2 Marathon Stories" by Katherine Switzer and Roger Robinson

The prelude to a marathon is one of life’s strangest yet most vivid times.  It is a time of intensity yet relaxation, apprehension yet resolve; a time of deeply introspective solitude in the midst of the biggest jostling throng most of us will ever join.  So many people, intent on a separate inward commitment, but united in one common physical endeavor.  Our motive is private, the context public.  We are strangers who are instant comrades, competitors bonded by the shared knowledge that we are all about to undertake one of the hardest tasks in our lives.  Ahead lie strenuous effort, weariness, and pain, but we will endure it voluntarily, for the sheer enjoyment of trying.

Even before you take your first step, you are rewarded with the energy of all those around you. And though the road ahead will likely be difficult as you tap into all you have, to do your best, you know you are not alone in the pursuit. And as much as the finish line is a reward for your effort, this camaraderie is the reward for all those miles you ran alone.

I ran the Seattle Half Marathon a couple of weekends ago. This event was my first half marathon, and that first time was ten years ago. Both times I came in under-trained, though these days I have a base fitness that never seems to go away entirely (thank goodness). It turns out that even more important than the base fitness is the base belief in yourself that you can do it. All the miles not only trains your body, but it trains your mind as well. You develop a mental toughness by practicing not quitting, pushing through the discomfort and sometimes pain to keep moving forward.

In 2005, I ran the race alone. Well, not alone of course. I had a couple of thousand other runners keeping me company, but I didn't have anyone really to share the experience with. When I crossed that finish line, having run much farther than I had before, farther than I believed I could, I wept with joy and satisfaction. I broke down without reservation, and that may have been the first step toward feeling a part of something. To appear weak in a crowd of people and be proud and not ashamed.

Ten years later I headed to the start line with five others, four of us jammed hip to hip in the back seat on the drive in. Three were basically strangers, but it was race morning and all barriers were down amidst the nervous excitement. It was below freezing at the start, but it didn't dampen anyone's resolve. We would join in the battle together, and we would finish. We lost each other almost immediately after the gun went off, but we were joined by others, their drumbeat of foot strikes providing a rhythm to the morning.

I ran a solid race. The time was almost unimportant, though I found some satisfaction in the clock. I came in just under my goal time, and more satisfyingly, I ran the second, hillier half in just about the same time as the first. I found that hidden reservoir to keep pressing even as the road grew long (and steep). Afterward, when we had all crossed the line, we got to share in the victory, each understanding what the other had been through. Community through shared experience.

I still struggle to get out the doors some days, and there are often more ticks on the clock by the time I finish, but running still has power in my life. Power to detach, power to connect, power to challenge and power to succeed. The power to bring me closer to friend and stranger alike.

Ten years on, the finish line was (almost) as sweet.

2005

2015

Number one and number ten

On the road(s) again

While I was down in San Diego, along with reconnecting with friends, I wanted to reconnect with running as well. I needed a kickstart, and I thought sunshine and beachfront scenery would do the trick.

My first run was a nice pairing of the connections. I went for a run with the other Sean on one of his regular loops up in Oceanside. It was great chatting with him, though it was between my slightly labored huffing and puffing. It didn't help that it was the longest run I had been on in five months, or that we had spent the previous evening catching up over (several) beers.

Once I headed south to San Diego, I retraced some of my favorite routes over the next few days. I had picked a place steps away from the Mission Bay Loop, so running would as easy as stepping out the door. The loop around the whole bay is about fifteen miles, so I opted to only do the western half. The shorter seven miles was still pushing it for my current level of fitness, but the sun, surf and other fit bodies out running kept me pressing forward.

Over the next couple of days I ran up to Sunset Cliffs and then along the Mission Beach boardwalk. Getting back to regular exercise was of course part of the motivation, but running along those familiar paths again helped bring back all that was good about my time in San Diego. I found parts of myself I had neglected or forgotten in my time living there, and I found memory triggers of those feelings three years later in random places along the path.

Back at home, there is little sun or surf to tempt me outside, but it looks like I was able to bring a bit of that San Diego magic back with me. I have managed to get out eight times in the two weeks I have been back, so the habit is starting to feel ingrained once again. The half marathon scheduled for tomorrow also helped to add a little urgency to get my butt and feet back out on the road, but there seems to be more to it than that. I am starting to care again for this body I have been given. Though I am still struggling with the food aspect (especially during the holidays), when I am running regularly I start to look at food more as fuel than as a source of comfort, so hopefully that will begin to spill over.

In another moment this week, after returning from a lunchtime run, I walked over to the local coffee shop to grab some caffeine. Before even taking a sip, on the walk back I noticed the world seemed a little sharper, the colors a little brighter. An endorphin afterglow I suppose. Whatever it was, it felt like a veil lifting for just a moment to get a peek at what was on the other side, and confirmation that I have taken some positive steps down the right road.

The Vacation Bubble

When I travel, it is not just an opportunity to get out of town, but also a chance to step away from life for a while. The daily chores and routines are left behind that door I locked behind me on the way out of town, and do not return until I do. I am pretty good at leaving the thoughts of work behind as well, and I tend to float along in this self-contained bubble. Even as I let in new places and experiences, the "real" world of home is kept outside the barrier.

The flight out is a great transition. You are pretty much forced to sit still. Thirty thousand feet in the air traveling 600 miles an hour, texts, emails and phone calls can't catch up to you. Well, at least they didn't used to be able to. Now you can have that wifi tether if you want to, but thankfully phone calls are still verboten. For me, the flight is the time to pull out that book that lately has been pushed aside for whatever is on Netflix.

It is as if the vacation bubble has a bit of helium to lighten the load of each step. As the days pass, life at home and all that it entails fades further from my consciousness. Shoulders relax, eyes brighten and the mind clears. I feel more present. I am sure this feeling is hardly unique. Take any animal out of their regular habitat, their senses are heightened to the new surroundings.

Inside the vacation bubble, everything looks brighter, and maybe even easier. As you acclimatize to the new world, maybe you start to let in a few bits and pieces from home. Holding them up to the vacation light, things start to look a bit dingy and worn. You start to fantasize about leaving it all behind and setting up shop to teach scuba to tourists or open up that beachside restaurant with the swim up bar.

It is the rare few that actually pull the trigger, though. And of course your vacation paradise is someone's everyday home. All of their daily chores and responsibilities are there, you just can't see them inside your bubble or behind their locked doors. Still, on two separate trips to San Diego, the bubble popped and triggers were pulled.

Returning from the first one some ten years ago, my wife and I went out to dinner before settling in back home. She wondered aloud what it would be like if we moved south. I thought it was just vacation glow that hadn't dimmed yet, but it turns out it wasn't. A few years later, she confided that she resented that we did not move, and later headed south on her own.

I took my own trip to San Diego not long after, and while there on vacation decided to make it my home for a spell. Of course I knew it would not live up to what it felt like inside the bubble, but even after a new set of chores and responsibilities arrived with the new home, some of that vacation feeling remained. The new surroundings, new friends, and lets be honest, the sunshine allowed me to see things in a new light. I had planned to stay for a year, and ended up staying for almost three.

As I head south this time for another visit, I plan to use this time in the bubble wisely. To reconnect with parts I have left behind, and to the love and friendship that remains in this vacation spot that became home. To see things in a new but familiar way, and to bring some of that light home with me.