regret

I remember reading a quote from Gloria Steinem (and I’ve since searched high & low and can’t find it) – but it stuck with me.  It was an essay about women and self-confidence.  Our inability to make decisions. The paralysis that can engulf us when trying to do “the right thing” or make “the right choice”.  She wrote something about being an adult grown-up woman and wishing she could go back and embrace her younger self and say: “It’s ok.  You did the best you could.”  I remember reading that and feeling a rush of empathy.  For myself.

This runs counter to the general belief that as women we should constantly be berating ourselves and beating ourselves up for this or that screw-up.  Being hard on yourself is just what you do.

As a single parent to a pre-teen boy, I’ve begun to realize how my each & every comment towards & about myself impacts him.  My “negative self-talk” isn’t only hurting me.  No one likes a show-off, but when I come home from a bad day at work or from a race or long hard training run and he says “How was it mom??”, I am careful with my words.  My internal answer at that moment might be “it sucked bigtime and I cannot believe I even signed up for that stupid 100 mile race, i am a totally insane & should just quit right now” – But i usually say “it was good/great/so fun!”

And sometimes, it truly was.  But the point is: playing small & diminishing my self-worth serves no one.

Same with regret.

from my wedding album, Japan 1996

If we were to spend our days reliving our so-called mistakes and missteps, we would literally miss out on living.  I look back on my 26-year-old self and want to give her a hug – not smack her and say “WTF Erin! – you are completely delusional to think this is an appropriate person/time to marry!!”  I was doing the best I could at the time.

In turn, I was blessed with the most gentle, sweet, strong, brave & incredible son that I could have ever possibly dreamed up in my wildest imagination.  He makes my life whole.  No regrets.

me & my bean, 2000

I think a lot about the distinction between “mistake” and “opportunity for learning”.  I’ve decided it’s all learning.  And when we, as women and people, decide to open our mouths or put pen to paper and share that learning, it is almost revolutionary.  Blame & shame dissolve in the face of honesty and self-reflection. Compassion is a powerful thing, especially towards oneself.

my sakura tattoo, 2005

One of the things I did upon accepting the knowledge that my marriage was over & that filing for divorce was a decision I had to make and honor was to gather up my close friends & get the tattoo I had been dreaming of for years. (and we all know that acquiring a tattoo is an arena ripe with potential for regret….not mine, whew!)

Sakura = cherry blossom = new life & the fleeting impermanence of perfection and beauty.  Those seemingly “perfect” moments, choices & decisions —> guess what? They pass.  To respect each one as a learning moment in itself is to ultimately respect yourself.

No guarantees, no perfect choices or solid gold 100% perfect outcomes. Just learning.  Running has only solidified my beliefs with regards to regret and learning.  Respecting the process.  One step at a time.

Etes-vous prets?

“……Are you waiting for time to show you some better thoughts? When you turn around, starting here, lift this new glimpse that you found; carry into evening all that you want from this day. This interval you spent reading or hearing this, keep it for life.  What can anyone give you greater than now, starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?”

-William Stafford

My running life began in college when I learned to row.  I remember sitting with my best friend, making a list of the pros & cons of joining the crew team.  I’m fairly certain “meeting cute boys” and “strong abs” were at the top of the ‘pro’ list – we were 19 after all.  Looking back, the overwhelmingly positive outcome of that decision was the unearthing of my athletic, strong, competitive, sweaty self.

No matter that the first track workout found me huffing & puffing after 1/2 a lap.  Or that my graceless lack of coordination resulted in all manner of bumps & bruises from hauling the shell in & out of the river and navigating the oars.

Soon our runs grew longer & hill repeats and killer erg workouts became standard.  I learned how to do a proper squat with huge weights & eventually embraced the endless sit-ups and stair climbing.

I LOVED crew.

After all these years, I am thankful that the ‘pro’ list was longer than the con.  Through rowing I learned that my physical boundaries could be pushed and my comfort zone totally squashed.

Through rowing I found running & I became an athlete.

Now in my 40s, I can’t imagine my life without running.  I owe most of my good days to the fact that I made it out for a run.  I often think of the formal rowing command “Etes-vous prets? Partez!”, and use it as my mini-mantra.  “Are you ready???? GO!”

I love that.

As a runner, I have big dreams & aspirations which drive me every day.  Yet, I know I will never snag a podium finish and you won’t find me at the front of the pack.  I will never be that sleek gazelle gliding along the trail leaving dust in her wake.  I simply aspire to be READY.

Too often, I fear women are somehow forced to choose between the cringe-worthy “look-at-me! look-at-me!” self-absorbed, attention-seeking desperation and the “oh-god-don’t-look-at-me, I don’t even deserve to take up space” self-loathing.  I aspire to be PRESENT.

I am inspired by women who not only take chances but live their lives poised and ready to jump at them.  How often do we consider doing something and then don’t because the ‘con’ side of our list grew so long and that chance passed us by?

I am inspired by women who exercise their courage on a daily basis so that they are ready.  Not better or worse, faster or slower, more or less successful, attractive, thin, rich, accomplished than the next; just the most ready and present version of themselves in this moment.

How about you?  Etes-vous prets?

imperfect inspiration

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life…..I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

- Anne Lamott

Inspiration flows from many sources.  Often I am inspired by people who come into my life by happenstance but seem familiar somehow….those who are generous enough to shed light on a gem I may already have but have yet to notice.

From age 22 to 29, I lived and worked in a rural area of Japan, teaching English as a Second Language.  I was fortunate enough to be placed in a lush, green, sparsely populated area on the island of Shikoku which allowed me to fully immerse myself into the language and culture.

My time in Japan was marked by highs and lows. I fell in love, got married, became ill, got help, regained my health, did some necessary exploration & eventually uncovered my love of running long distances in nature.

Kochi, Japan

Two years before leaving Japan and moving back to Seattle, I trained for and completed my first marathon.  I had been running daily, but nothing more than 5 or 6 miles.  I ran along the river in the hot sun and was the recipient of many stares, puzzled looks and the occasional “Hellooooo!!!”.  Not many women were out running, let alone tall pale blonde ones.

I began to see one woman.  Over & over, and she was running looooong and fast.  One day she stopped and asked me very slowly in Japanese what I was training for. I remember feeling so flattered that she talked to me! Turns out she was training for a marathon that September.  She said something along the lines of: “HEY! You should do it too!!!”

At that time in my life, I NEEDED her to say that.  I needed this fast strong marathoner, who didn’t even know me, to stop and give me a huge smile, a vote of confidence and a empowering invitation: “Let’s run together – I’ll help you!”

So began 4 months of meeting Kana for weekend long runs.  She would plan the distance, the route; waiting for me religiously out front my apartment at 6AM.  At that time I was 27 and newly married.  She was in her mid-30s and was a single working mother of a 10 year old boy.  (A crystal ball would have let me know that I’d better take good notes because I would, years later, be in her shoes…and she was the epitome of strength, courage & self-respect.)  She wasn’t letting her difficult situation stamp out her dreams. She didn’t let cultural pressures smoosh her determination and desire.  In short, she INSPIRED ME.  She wasn’t seeking perfection, she was simply demanding the very best of herself.  That was an eye-opening summer.

I’m sure we looked ridiculous running along the river, arms flailing as we used gestures and body language to communicate.  My Japanese was satisfactory and her English was nearly non-existent. We laughed a lot.  She counted off the kilometers and ran me through that summer right up to the race.  She gave up a whole weekend to drive me to the course, high in the mountains, so that we could run the most difficult section before race day.

My goal was to finish under 4 hours.  Being my first marathon, I really had no idea what to expect.  Per my normal way of doing things, I chose a hilly, hot, difficult marathon for my first.  All on winding mountain roads, through villages and rice fields, ending in a tiny village along a beautiful river, complete with natural springs to soak in.

It was 91 sweaty degrees at the start.  (this sounds completely barfy to me now, but at the time I was accustomed to the heat & humidity).  I had my race plan, Kana had hers – and we were off.

my first marathon, Japan 1997

I remember having so much fun…loving every minute…until around mile 21 or so.  At that point I really started to question my ability to finish this thing in one piece.  Looking back on this day, I felt the pull of my friend the whole way.  I knew she was up there, running strong and fast…and that she believed in me.

With 1 mile to go, my 4 hour goal was still in sight but I needed to pick it up.  I ran across a little bridge and saw Kana, in flip-flops and street clothes (as she had finished 40+ minutes earlier) waiting for me, screaming her heart out.  She yelled the Japanese equivalent of “YOU GOT THIS SISTER!!!” and ran that last mile with me.  I was in tears from all the emotions and physical exhaustion.  She ran me right in to a 3:54 finish.  To this day, this is my proudest finish and the one most dear to my heart.

Now that I am training for my first 100 miler, I see obstacles popping up daily which challenge my commitment and dedication.  I have found myself looking at my training plan thinking “WTF!!??” How in the HELL can I fit this in??  As a single mom, working full-time and committing whole-heartedly to putting my son first — I am by no means executing a perfect training plan.  I miss workouts, have crappy workouts, sleep in, etc etc.  Not Perfect.  There was a time in my life when Not Perfect = FAILURE & you-might-as-well-forget-it-and-give-up.

Thanks to the many many shining examples of imperfect yet AMAZINGLY INSPIRING women I have met along this running journey, I am letting my idea of perfection just float on out the window. Don’t need it anymore.  I am inspired on a daily basis by women just like me: women with demanding jobs, kids, family responsibilities – commitments which will always take them away from the trail.  I want to go to bed each night, gently knowing that I did the best I could do & fully commit to simply getting up and doing it again.  I am continuously grateful for the knowledge that so many of you are right there on the same bumpy path with me.

Lost & Found

“Can trail running develop into an unhealthy addiction?”

This question struck me as ironic.  My experience has been quite the reverse.

If you happened upon the 20-something version of me, running along a trail, chances are I would not meet your gaze, offer a greeting or share a smile.  Chances are you might mistake me for a teenage boy or a girl with a terminal illness.  You would see me struggling to make it another mile during a run which likely offered me little joy; just a momentary respite from the non-stop chatter, rumination and disquiet in my head.

Running was not my addiction.  Running was the balm that soothed my aching soul during those very dark years.  By age 25, I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and entered treatment.  At 5’9″ and 90 lbs., my body was failing.  I lacked the maturity, strength and courage required to address the painful issues underlying this destructive behavior. Instead of meth or cocaine, I chose starvation.

During those years, the fear and sadness that engulfed my being made any sort of self-reflection or exploration nearly impossible.  In the whirlwind of any addiction, we lose sight of ourselves.  I was, literally, lost.

While in treatment for my eating disorder, I was not allowed to exercise.  I remember calling my best friend from college, sobbing….what would I do without that rush of endorphins, sweat and sharp release?  The familiarity and security of running had provided a sort of soothing rhythm to my days.  She taught me a deep breathing exercise over the phone, one I still utilize to this day.  Inhale…2, 3, 4; Hold…2, 3, 4; Exhale…2, 3, 4.  I was running.

Thankfully, through much support, I recognized that the most powerful tools I have are my mind and my voice.  Identifying my thoughts and feelings and expressing them authentically and truthfully in a kind and appropriate manner (a skill most folks learn much earlier in life??!) -this is my practice.  I’m still working on it.

Training for & running my first marathon at age 27 marked the beginning of the end of my addiction.  There was no room in my life for the old Erin.  Running long distances on trails requires fuel, oomph, guts, drive and spunk. The old me would have never even made it to the start line. DNS.

I approach running with such gratitude now, as I know that through running I found myself.  The dirty, muddy, sweaty, smiley Erin is my favorite Erin.  I’m really not sure if I would have uncovered her if running had not stubbornly stuck around.

I suppose I sound like an addict when I say that I cannot imagine my life without running.  Yet, the familiar path of addiction is one that I simply refuse to venture back down.  I can safely say that running free on beautiful trails in the mountains is the single most reliable antidote to ever being pulled down there again.

motion

“March on. Do not tarry. March on, and fear not the thorns, or the sharp stones on life’s path.”  

― Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

I love this cute & humble finish line!  Despite the fact that I appear to be barely moving, I am, in reality, about to burst a lung here.  It doesn’t seem to matter the distance, the idea always remains the same: KEEP MOVING.  March on.

When I look around at the people in my life whom I admire most, it is clear they all have one thing in common: hustle.  The ability and self-motivated desire to consistently resist inertia.

I was a bit of a slow learner in this area.  The scrappy tomboyishness of my girlhood seemed to, at some point, morph into shyness, introversion & laziness in my preteen and teenage years.  Behind a book or magazine was where you could find me.

I was raised in a family of athletes, runners & mountaineers.  I can easily recall the distinct ski-wax aroma & creaky wood floors of the original REI & I spent many a weekend sleeping in a tent or in my dad’s red VW pop-up camper.  I learned early on how to snow-seal my hiking boots, how to stuff a stuff-sack properly & how morning hot chocolate tastes so yummy by the campfire.

everything is more fun outside…

Unfortunately, despite my parents’ wonderful examples and abundant opportunities, it wasn’t until my 20s that I independently discovered the joy of moving my body long distances in the outdoors.  Difficult feelings, emotions, experiences — they used to immobilize me; make me feel small & scared & render me speechless.  Through running, I have found a direct path out of that “stuck” place.  Running allows me the space and freedom required to get my momentum back – to get Erin back.  Mud, dirt, biting wind, cold rain, blazing sun, strong mountain gusts — one cannot move through these elements on their own two feet and remain emotionally static.

The enormous value that I now place on physical movement outdoors is the promise that when I finish I will not be the same – whether a 30 minute jog or a 50 mile race.  Knowing that I can count on this subtle positive transformation through such a simple act as running through the woods — this is a gift I can trace directly back to those early hikes & outdoor adventures with my parents.  I may not have appreciated it much then, but I consider myself so very lucky to have uncovered this gift and reclaimed it as my own.

 then….

 and now.

Hustle on…!

courage

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
-Anais Nin

Since my introduction to ultrarunning in 2011, I have been fortunate enough to be able to run trails in some amazingly beautiful places with some equally beautiful people.  Some of my trailrunning experiences have been delightful, fun-filled romps through majestic forests on fluffy fragrant sun-dappled trails.  Others have been downright miserable. Frustrating, humiliating, ego-bruising, scary, painful.

The gift to me is: all those experiences are MINE.  Without the risk of trying that intimidating new distance, heading out on that sketchy terrain, running harder than I think I should….. I would have missed out on countless opportunities for growth & learning.

I’ve gotten horribly lost (multiple times), acquired quite the collection of trail scars, raced with bloody knees, bloody nose, sprained wrist and left all manner of icky vomity goop on the trails. (All that & I have yet to run my first 100-miler – !!)

Despite all the discomfort I don’t regret one single bruise or scar.

In February 2012, I toed the line at my first “hard” 50k, Rainshadow Running’s Orcas 50k.  SO many elements of this race scared me — the elevation gain, the technical trails, the long climbs, the “opportunities” for getting lost (my personal specialty), my lack of downhill prowess & the anticipation of all the speedsters cruising past me (“on your left!”) as I tootle along, praying to make the cut-off….

It ended up being my most satisfying finish line crossing to date.  It wasn’t fast or pretty but I FREAKING DID IT!

Orcas 50k, 2012

In a few weeks, Lars & I will visit Orcas again.  I can’t wait to experience another fantastic trail adventure with him – just one of many we have been able to share since we met.  This year promises to be one full of risks & rewards, for both of us, in all areas of our lives.  I am so fortunate to have found a partner who both cushions my falls and celebrates my triumphs.

I have a message printed out and pinned above my desk at work.  I glance at it every day.  Even though I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like (hint!!) I am also extremely fortunate to have, as my brother, one of the best men I know.  I don’t think I will ever meet a more careful, honest, thoughtful, kind-hearted & humble person.  It seems that every bit of advice or insight from him strikes at the very heart of what I was needing to hear. This is what he wrote to me last year when I told him I had decided to train for my first 50 miler:

“I’m a firm believer that we define ourselves by the goals we set. Committing to the goal is the hard part: whether or not or how long it takes to achieve it is secondary. What counts is the standard against which you choose to measure yourself. It takes a ton of courage to choose to grow– to become a new person, whose standards go beyond the ones you’re currently comfortable with. But that’s the only way growth can happen. And that’s what it’s all about! As Bob says: “he not busy being born is busy dying”. So get after it! But be willing to give up your old self–which, one way or another is always painful–to get there.”

This rings so true for me every single day.  Thank you, Bo.

Here’s to a year of courageous commitment to growth & full realization of our goals.  I, for one, am excited – !

balance

“You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.”  – Annie Dillard

When I became a single mom in 2004, my son was 4 and balance was something I was desperately seeking but sorely lacking. I suddenly found myself child-free every weekend & knee-deep in a grimy sludge of insecurity, fear, and loneliness. High drama, inappropriate men & loads of wine seemed to give me some sort of (destructive) momentary respite from the lingering knowledge that my self-esteem was in the toilet.

Moderation is not my specialty.  My life had lost any sort of healthy balance.

When I look at my life now, it’s still messy.  But rather than fumbling with fiery blobs of crazy, I feel I am juggling bright colorful balls of promise.

Running the way I want to (i.e. a ton and in the mountains) is, by definition, quite a selfish pursuit.  I’m asking a lot of those around me when I go for a 4 hour run or travel for 2 to 3 days at a time for a big race.  The 100 mile race goal doesn’t necessarily seem like the smartest choice for a single working mama.

My son has his own dreams:

and they’re pretty awesome.

I gain so much from watching him work hard, fight, and do what he loves, even when it hurts or isn’t very fun. (repetitive ‘suicides’ up and down the basketball court? ouch.)

I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by loved ones who have been right there to pick up the slack when I take time to pursue my running goals.

Grandpa makes everything fun…

….and Grandma is “a riot”.  (that’s a good thing, mom!)

My son is even getting in on a little ultrarunning action himself…

(volunteering at Cascade Crest 100 miler, summer 2012)

Despite outward appearances (ratty hair, jungle-like yard), I’m feeling pretty balanced these days.  This is clearly due in no small part to the wonderful people in my life. The likelihood of my remaining stuck in that old sludge was greatly reduced by a select few of you.

Looking ahead, I plan to follow this recipe for balance, as it seems to be working: head up, heart open, pay attention, ask for help.  I have so many moments ahead that I don’t dare miss.