Category Archives: Conquering Fears

Finding a Rhythm

Is it just me or does it sometimes feel like it takes a while to fall into a rhythm?

On Saturday, I put on my wetsuit for the first time since purchasing it in January, and I attempted my first open water swim of the season. Coincidentally, it was also my first swim ever in a wetsuit. I’ve been certified for Scuba for several years, but that doesn’t really count as “swimming” in a wetsuit. This was a new experience. The wetsuit is tight and restrictive and makes it somewhat more difficult to breathe and move one’s arms. In addition to the fact that the water is murky and there are no lane lines to follow so swimming straight becomes another challenge. The goal is to work on “sighting” the big orange buoy that you’re headed toward. However, on the way to the first buoy on Saturday, my goal was to not drown. With the buoyancy of my Quintana Roo Ultrafull that might have been nearly impossible, but if anyone is capable of giving it a good shot, it’s me. My first couple hundred meters were ug-ly, but eventually I started to remember things like keeping my head down, breathe when I need to, slow down and relax which ultimately helped me find a rhythm…sort of. I managed to get through almost 2 full loops of the .62 mile course. Not too shabby for my first time out there. However, now I’m even more terrified of the fact that I have less than 2 months until I have to do that in Lake Michigan. Yikes.

After the swim, I ditched my wetsuit when I found a bunch of my tri-peeps and we hopped on the bikes for a nice flat ride in Newtown. Tracy and I got to catch up on all sorts of topics while we rode, until we saw lightening and we quickly decided it was time to bail. No wipe outs for me in our 20ish miles…success! We got a little wet as we tried to race the rain, and we got stuck waiting for a train to pass. Again, rhythm still somewhat eluded me, but at least we managed a solid brick workout before a fun night of breaking in the party deck at my house.

This was a rare weekend that my brother happened to be back in Michigan visiting my mom. Since I had to work until 5 on Sunday, it’s a 6 hour drive each way and I had to be back to reclaim custody of my kiddos early this morning, I wasn’t sure how to swing the possibility of getting up there to see him. But, as I thought about all the times in our lives that our parents had driven 1, 2, 10, even 16 hours to watch either of us participate in our various sporting events for a couple hours, only to turn around and drive all the way home, it suddenly became a no-brainer. Seriously, one time when I was in college, my parents drove through the night from Michigan to Atlanta, slept a couple hours in their van, watched my team row on Lake Lanier and then turned around and drove straight home to get my dad back for a meeting. I heard my dad’s voice echo in my head saying, “It was crazy but I’m glad we did it.”

And thus, on Sunday, upon leaving work, I embarked on the 350 mile drive to Exit 1 off of highway 94 in the mitten. I grabbed a quick coffee and ham sandwich at Starbucks so I would only have to make a short pit stop while filling up the Pathfinder. I passed the miles belting out the lyrics to my all-time favorite stage show, Les Miserables. At exactly midnight, I pulled into a South Cove guest parking spot. As soon as my brother heard the buzzer at my mom’s condo, he knew it was me.

Monday was Memorial Day. And while I very much appreciate the service of those who have fought for and given their lives for our country, I was also spending the day reflecting on my own memories. Mom started pulling out various boxes for AJ and I to go through. Old school papers, a journal my dad had given me when I graduated from High School, AJ’s old sports gear, my old softball uniform and my prom dresses. It goes on and on…

Eventually, I made my way out into the blustery Michigan weather for a run. What better way to celebrate Memorial Day than a run down memory lane? As soon as I started I thought of James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams saying, “The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces”. I thought it was a hazy mist, but it was more than that, it was my memories thick in the air. A little over 30 years ago, Al and Kris Jacobs stumbled onto a little beach town known as New Buffalo and the adjoining town of Union Pier nestled down the road. They spent nearly every summer there with their children. Eventually, they bought a place right on the harbor.

When I hit start on my Garmin, I overlooked the grassy knoll where my dad had walked me down a makeshift aisle to give me away at my wedding, which is the same grassy knoll my kids love to fish and kayak from. I ran up the hill, over the bridge to the beach, where as a child I dug countless holes in the sand with my brother and where I spent endless hours drifting in the waves with my sister, singing Madonna songs, while we all laughed at my dad falling asleep under the umbrella listening to the static of the AM radio trying to catch a Cubs score. As I ran up Marquette road, I passed the start line of the Bison Stampede 5K, the last race I ever ran with my dad. I continued on Marquette, what we had dubbed “the lake road” so many years ago, past Camp Sokol, Sturgeon Beach and Apple Lane. Where Marquette ends into Lakeside, I made a left. I hadn’t really planned to go any farther, but I felt pulled to keep going. I ran along the road that I had walked with my dad as a little girl to get donuts at Ramberg’s Bakery for breakfast. Eventually, I came to a sign that read Gintara’s. I stood at the entrance of the resort, staring down the driveway. I remembered playing tennis on the courts there with my sister. I could see the main house where we went to check in so many consecutive summers. I knew it was there, even though I couldn’t see the “Boathouse” down the staircase that we had packed our family of 5 into for sticky summer nights, sleeping on blow up rafts, playing Scrabble and never quite being free from sand in our toes. I could see the big cottage that we had rented a handful of times with groups of neighbors and friends, the Lundbergs, the Coltons, the Simms, the Gardners, the Cirannas and my high school girlfriends. It was just over 4 miles from my mom’s condo to Gintara’s. I stood there for a moment, taking in the smell of Honeysuckle, before turning and heading back the way I had just come. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve run that stretch, whether for a nice easy run or in training for a marathon or anything in between.

It’s still amazing to me that every time I run that road, there is a new house going up; but there are still so many familiar homes that have been a part of every journey along that stretch, now just a little more weathered than they were years ago. Always changing, and always staying the same. By the last couple miles, I was cruising, flying along the blacktop like I had found my rhythm. And then, in the distance, I saw two people running toward me. The taller, goofy one started leaping through the air throwing his arms out in front of himself. I gradually slowed my pace and fell in line with my brother and sister in law. We wound between the houses, down a long staircase and onto the beach, where our pace ultimately slowed to a walk as we scanned the sand for beach glass. It was a perfect way to finish that run.

And it reminded me, sometimes, finding your rhythm doesn’t mean going along at exactly the same pace all the time. Sometimes it means going fast when you feel like you can, other times it means slowing down because you need to catch your breath. It’s about knowing when and how you need to change it. Life can go zooming by if we let it, if we get too focused on being in a rhythm.

When I had to stop at the first buoy of my inaugural wetsuit swim to regain my composure, Annie swam by and checked on me. If I’d had rhythm, I would have missed that. When the train stopped us on our bike ride, Tracy and I dismounted and laughed about the comfort of bike seats (or lack thereof). If I’d kept my pace to finish out a solid 8 miler on Lake Michigan, I would have missed that walk on the beach with AJ and Simy. Life is about so much more than getting in a groove and coasting along. It’s about appreciating all the little things that force us to change up our pace.

Driving 350 miles for a mile walk on the beach, a burger at Redamak’s and hugs from my family…well, as my dad would say, “It was crazy, but I’m glad I did it.”

Now that’s my kind of rhythm.

RRG and Tracy at the end of Saturday’s ride

Fish Out of Water

It seems lately that people are constantly telling me how strong they think I am. And to some degree, I agree with them. I mean, I did remove a fully assembled grill from the back of my Pathfinder on Monday completely by myself. Which was especially challenging with the Thule bike rack on the back of the Nissan. At one point I thought I was permanently stuck as I was wedged immobile between the bike rack and the grill. Additionally, I have managed to come out seemingly on top of a fair amount of adversity. However, even the strong girl has days of weakness.

Yesterday I woke up feeling like a fish out of water. Maybe it was residual from a rough Mother’s Day weekend. Maybe it was in light of the devastation in Oklahoma this week and I was missing my kids. I don’t know, but I was definitely feeling homesick. I’ve always said, you can take the girl out of Chicago, but you can’t take Chicago out of the girl. I was missing having my mom only an hour drive away. I was missing having Britta close by. I was resenting living in Missouri, with none of my family around. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends here, but after all, blood is thicker than water, right? Ok, so maybe Britta isn’t blood, but I can count on her like she is. I was just generally feeling alone in the Show Me State. Like I didn’t belong here. Like a fish out of water.

So, what did I do? I went to the pool. Where I could ironically feel like a fish out of water IN the water. After one length in the pool, Coach Andy yelled, “Who are you and what did you do with Lindsey?” He wondered what in the world had happened to the stroke we’d been working on so hard. It had been a while since I’d been in the pool and I’d kind of forgotten what I was doing. I’d totally forgotten how to breathe. But I slowed down, relaxed, reminded myself that I COULD do this, and eventually I got my groove back. Sort of. For me anyway. 2500 meters later, I was feeling like I’d made some progress. But this whole multi-sport thing is still a little intimidating to me. I am, after all, the rambling Runner girl.

After a quick change, a snack and a brief sobfest on the phone with my mom, I jumped on my bike to get a few miles in before I had to pick the kids up from school. My pace was lame for the first few miles. I felt sluggish and I kept getting stuck at stoplights but finally I started cruising. I went out Old Manchester, then I went down into Rockwood Reservation and on my way back to Manchester, I had to walk my bike up the hill at the back of the park. I probably could have made it, but I got scared that I would fall so I dismounted. I re-mounted my bike thinking I was ready to go, but somehow after I clipped in I managed to immediately fall right over. Umm, does anyone else see the irony in that? It was like it was happening in slow motion and yet there was nothing I could do about it. I still can’t get used to these pedals. Fish out of water, on a bike. But, I got back up and got back on the horse…err, bike. I made it back to my neighborhood without too much trouble. Then, with about a half mile to go…flat tire. Drat. I unclipped, successfully this time. And began the clickity-clack walk home in my cycling shoes.

So, now I have experienced my first flat. I guess it’s officially time to learn how to tend to that. I’ve been expecting, or dreading rather, that happening, but it wasn’t a huge ordeal this time. The good news is I wasn’t far from home. I’m pretty sure I would have had a complete meltdown if that had happened 9 miles out. Note to self: next time I ride alone, take the phone. And cab fare.

Last night Silas graduated from Pre-school. His teachers put on a very cute Circus themed Graduation and Silas was an adorable lion tamer, complete with a whip I had made for him out of rope and electrical tape. I was very proud of the whip, considering that I don’t do homemade costumes. Frankly, I stink at homemade costumes. Anyway, Silas was definitely in his element. And being a mom, I was definitely back in my element. As we were driving home after the festivities, the kids were chattering in the backseat, playing with balloons and I was singing along with Chris Tomlin on the radio. As I sang the words, “I can say, it is well” I thought, yeah, it is well. I was back with my kiddos and I had survived a tough day of things just being out of sorts. I am the strong girl. But I realized that part of being the strong girl is, once again, admitting my weaknesses, owning them, and accepting them.

Even the strong girl has struggles. And gets bumps and bruises. And takes ibuprofen. And uses an ace bandage to wrap a Spongebob ice pack onto her hand. Sometimes the strong girl even has to skip boxing and spend the morning at Urgent Care getting X-rays to make sure there is no fracture.

I’m glad to report that the strong girl is not broken, just bruised. Both the hand, and the pride.

I don’t foresee this staying on long. It just makes me feel like I’m being overly dramatic. And dumb. Really, really dumb.

19 Miles, or something…

Today was a weird day. I ran 19 miles. On a Tuesday. Who does that? Well, I do. Since I didn’t do a long run last weekend, and this was a rare Tuesday that I didn’t have my kids, I figured why not throw a long run in mid-week. Of course, those 19 miles were basically all I did today. I had every intention of getting to swimming this morning too, but when I got the email that practice was cancelled due to some bad water, I decided to roll over and go back to sleep. Which was a fantastic idea in theory, except that my neighbors’ roofers didn’t approve of that plan. I tried for a while, but eventually gave up and dragged my butt downstairs for some quality time on the couch with my book and a cup of coffee. I did make a quick trip to the post office later to mail a letter, because yes, sometimes people actually still do that. And I hit the grocery store since my kids come back to me tomorrow and I had almost nothing to feed them. But other than that, all I can really say for today is 19 miles.

19 miles. No rain. No snow. Again, weird. It seems like so many of my long runs lately have been under the duress of less than ideal weather conditions. However, I am very much looking forward to the days of not having to check the weather on my phone 15 times in making a decision on what to wear. Will I be over-dressed? Will I be under-dressed? Any special accessories like tornado-proof shoes? These hovering cooler temps are getting really old. I’m so ready to run in shorts and sleeveless all the time, and God help me, I will not complain about the heat this summer.

I started my run today by myself. I like running by myself, so that’s no big deal. But after 13.32 miles, I was definitely ready for some company. Fortunately, I already had a group to meet. We did a team outing for the new FLEET FEET that is getting ready to open in Des Peres later this month and we ran the social run course that I will have the shared privilege of leading every other week, just like I already do in Chesterfield. I could not be more excited about it! But, like I was saying after a little more than 13 miles on my own, the company was more than welcome. We ran the 5 mile course, which is incredibly hilly, completely the opposite of the Chesterfield social run that is on the levee and flat as a pancake. Mmmmm, pancakes…

After my solitary 13 through the hills of Wildwood, I was thrilled at the nice slow pace set by the 6 month pregnant chick and the injured dude. The last time Adam and I ran together was a trail half marathon where he got injured. We finished just seconds apart and he ended up with a 3^rd place age group award, I got nothing. How is that fair?! Well, I guess it’s not exactly fair that he’s been injured either.

As we finished up the group run, I asked in my always too loud Lindsey voice, “Who wants to run this last .7 with me to round out my 19?!” Not surprisingly, I didn’t have any takers. They said, just run up the road to the bar, we’ll meet you there. Which is exactly what I did. And then I proceeded to throw down with a cheeseburger and fries like nobody’s business. And a couple of Courtney’s hot wings. Boy, some pancakes sure sound good right now…

Like I’ve already mentioned, it was a weird day. There’s a season for everything right? Sometimes we need to do things on our own and sometimes we need others to help pull us through. I thought it was interesting that I finished those 19 miles alone, just as I had started. But, that wasn’t the part about today that was ultimately so weird. 2 years ago today, I felt more alone than I ever have in my entire life. I was at the absolute rockiest part of the bottom. Things couldn’t get any worse. I knew my marriage was over. And the possibility loomed that my life was too. I was telling a friend today about some of the stuff I was dealing with then, and in response to the question, “How do you even begin to let go of all that pain?” this is how I answered: You spend 29 days under a blanket wanting life to just go away, that’s rock bottom. And then, you come to the realization that your entire life you’ve been a survivor. You’ve survived everything that’s been thrown your way. So you slowly start to pick up the pieces and go forward. Its slow steps at first, but eventually you find yourself running toward freedom. And when you finally get there, it’s amazing.

That’s kind of how I feel at the end of every run. No matter how tired I am, or how slow I’m dragging myself along, at least the last few steps, something stirs and I am able to muster the strength to run like I haven’t just put 19 miles behind me. Because I am a survivor. I feel like I am a running to that feeling of freedom and I’ve made it. It is amazing. Especially when you get to the end and you get to celebrate with the awesome people who kept you company along the way. A couple years, or even a couple miles, can make all the difference in the world.

For some reason, after all that, I’ve got a hankering for some pancakes. Geesh, you’d think I just ran 19 miles, or something.

Adam and RRG post race

Leg 19

It was gorgeous out today. Hard to believe that just a week ago I was running in a blizzard resulting in a foot of snow. The snow has all melted and it appears that maybe Spring has finally arrived. Well, hold that thought, we have a chance for flurries tomorrow. Seriously?!

Well, today I took advantage of the beautiful day. I went for trail run and muddied up a brand new pair of New Balance 1010s. It was awesome. Pretty much the whole time I was running I was thinking about one of my upcoming races. The Smoky Mountain Relay is less than 3 weeks away and I could not be more excited. As I ran some tough hills today, it was the thought of repeating Leg 19 in a few weeks that pushed me up those inclines.

The SMR is a 215 mile relay through the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina. It’s typically a 6 or 12 person team, last year we were 9. I got pulled on to the team by Jordan and his wife Jan, who both worked at FLEET FEET. Jordan was looking for more people to add to the team at the same time I was looking to try something totally different with running. I figured, this is something I want to try, it sounds really cool, so sure, why not? One and done, right? Wrong.

As we got closer to the race, I had a chance to meet the other St. Louis based team members. We skyped with the guys we had picked up from the race website to join our team. We totally scored picking up 2 guys from Utah, who are not only awesome people and amazing athletes, but Mark owns a house near the finish where we all stayed. And will again, even though Mark won’t be with us this time due to the impending arrival of his third child. Not all of my teammates have their priorities in order since they have not planned these things around SMR, but I guess we’ll forgive it since he lets us use his house.

Ken and Jordan started putting together a rough draft of leg assignments. The nice thing about SMR is that you don’t have to stay in any particular order, you can jump around in the line-up however it suits you. The first draft came out and I started scanning it. My first leg: 4 miles, easy. Second leg, same. What is this?! Just cause I’m a girl they are going to give me only easy legs. This is stupid. And then I saw it. The only leg labeled “Very Hard” was given to yours truly. Sweet! Well, I said I like to run uphill, so they let me have it. 5.5 miles up a 2500 foot incline on gravel about halfway through the race which puts us somewhere in the middle of the night. I was pretty stoked that my team had entrusted me with this leg of the race.

Each team starts according to ability and projected time based on 10k time trials for each team member. When I did my 10k last year to see what I was capable of, it was the first time I’ve ever broken 50 minutes. And that was just me, out on the road, getting it done. Put me in a race setting and I’m capable of even more. I’ve since had the chance to prove it. In October, I crushed that when I finished in 48:30, taking home a 2^nd place age group award at the Gumbo Flats 10k.

But anyway, we were one of the last teams to start because we were expected to be pretty fast. At the start line, there were some announcements. One of them was this-Leg 19 had been declared one of the hardest legs in any overnight relay in the country, so we were given the choice to opt out of it. My team started looking around, who has Leg 19? I said, “I do. That’s my leg. And I’m doing it. We came to do this and we’re not opting out of anything!”

And so we began the race. Jan started us off and ran a loop through the park, and then Matt continued our trek into the mountains. Some legs were on the road, some were on trails. Some were flat to easy rolling hills, some were intense uphill all the way, some were steep downhills.

I did my first leg, about 4 miles on the road. Other than a couple dogs chasing me, it was no sweat. On the way to my second leg, Craig had to drive like a maniac because of the potential for the van route to take longer than the runner getting to the exchange point. It lived up to its potential. Despite Craig’s driving, and me almost falling out of the van pantless, Mark still beat us. And he kept on running. So when we caught up to him, he said, “Can I please finish this leg? I feel really good”. I jumped back in the van, feeling totally dejected and announced, “I’m stealing Jan’s leg.” So, literally, I took the following leg from Jan. There is nothing worse than having your adrenaline all amped up and then being told to chill. That leg was a fairly easy 4 miler, except that it was dusk and by the end of that leg it was so dark I almost fell into the abyss because I couldn’t see anything.

Finally, at something like 2am, it was my turn to really get after it. Leg 19. Here we go. That leg was a beast. Aside from the fact that it was pitch black and I could see nothing farther than the 5-10 feet in front of me, thanks to my headlamp, it was very much a never ending hill, or so it seemed. I kept thinking about Jordan’s words, “It doesn’t matter how slow you go, just don’t stop.” At only one point did I get about a 10 step break from going uphill, a very brief plateau and then back up. My teammates had asked what I needed in terms of support. I said, wait for me at about 2 miles up and we’ll go from there. They waited. When I got there, Ken gave me Gatorade and some encouragement. I don’t know if it was my ego or being delirious, but I remember talking smack, saying “This is nothin. I own this mountain.” They went up a couple more miles, and waited again at a weird turn. When I saw them again, I was no longer talking smack. I was no longer talking. I was barely breathing. Then they said, “See you at the top” and they were gone. I finally got to the sign that said I only had a half mile to go. Yessss! But according to my Garmin, I still had about a mile and a half. Hmmm…that’s weird. Turns out some kids had moved the sign down the mountain in an effort to be funny. Not. Cool. I kept climbing, slowly, so slowly. At one point I wanted to see how dark it really was, so I covered my head lamp for a sec, uh, yeah, it was total blackness. I was having a mental battle with myself, “I want to walk. No I don’t. Yes I do. No I don’t”. Then the mist started and it got so foggy, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. And just as it seemed I would NEVER get there, I could hear Nate O cheering me on and he slowly came into view. Oh thank you sweet Jesus, I made it!

On April 18, a carload of us will make the roadtrip to NC. And some time during the wee hours of April 20, I will have another go at Leg 19. I am determined to do it even better and stronger than last year. Because I am better and stronger than I was last year. You may not know this about me, but I’m not typically one to back down from a challenge. Leg 19, I’m coming for you. Again.

RRG…smiling at the top. This is why Nathan A has given me the nickname “Leg 19”

I Don’t Want To Be

Today, after I left swimming, I hopped into the car and heard the Gavin Degraw song “I Don’t Want To Be” on the radio. Which is, by the way, an awesome song.

“I don’t want to be anything other than what I’ve been trying to be lately

All I have to do is think of me and I have peace of mind

I’m tired of looking round rooms wondering what I’ve gotta do or who I’m supposed to be

I don’t want to be anything other than me”

That song made me think about a conversation I had last night when I met a friend for a drink after work. Chris and I were talking about the fact that after going through a divorce, you are kind of left stripped of the need to impress people all the time. Divorce teaches you first hand that you will never be able to please everyone all the time so you might as well surrender the need to try. You learn how to be more true to yourself than you’ve ever been. You’re kind of left with this mentality of “This is who I am. You can take it or leave it, but I’m done trying to be something I’m not.”

It was especially funny to be listening to that song today right after leaving the pool because at swimming I had a startling revelation. After sitting at the Nissan dealership for considerably longer than I was supposed to this morning for a new set of tires for the Pathfinder, I was going to be late to swimming. Rather than an hour and a half, I would have barely an hour of pool time. I started questioning if it was worth it to hurry and get there or if I should scrap it, go home and do yoga. I decided that since I hadn’t been in the pool for almost 2 weeks, I needed to get in the water. Weirdly, I had actually missed it and I needed to do some long, slow laps. I’m now determined to become the Forrest Gump of swimming. So, today as I was challenging myself to go 1000 meters without stopping, I came to the conclusion that I have maybe, just maybe, started to like swimming. GAH! How in the world did that happen?! I am officially a triathlete. I am no longer an imposter. I went the distance, a full 1000 meters in the pool. Actually, it may have been 1050 meters, because I thought at one point I’d lost count and I didn’t want to cut myself short. I swam the extra 2 lengths just in case. But the point is, I did it and I really felt like a swimmer. And…wait for it…I liked it.

That’s the cool part. At my core, I’m still the same old Lindsey. But my identity is ever changing. I’ve always kind of considered myself to be a “jack of all trades, master of none”, so why shouldn’t I be a triathlete? I don’t have to be great at all of it, but since I enjoy all of it, why not? Don’t get me wrong, my first love still is and always will be 26.2, but, as much as I’ve resisted it, I have this new part of me now too. The part that is a swimmer. The part that is a triathlete. I am multi-faceted. And not just in regards to sports.

Swimming has taught me so much about myself. It’s teaching me about conquering fears and about continuing to improve myself, both as an athlete and as a person. I made the initial attempt at triathlons, just to take on a new challenge and look where that brought me. Just like in life, it’s important to continue evolving. Whether you’re married, divorced, single, gay, straight, a parent, whatever, we all change over time. The key is to know who you are and be true to that. As Gavin sings, “Part of knowing where I’m going is knowing where I’m coming from.” I know where I was when I wasn’t being true to myself and I don’t want to go back to that. But now, I know who I am, I’m happy with me and I’m happy with where I’m headed.

RRG playing the part of the Triathlete

Spring Break, Part II

We’re home. Safe and sound. Nothing like having your first vacation as a single mom start off with not being able to check into the hotel because your credit card has been cancelled thanks to some joker who tried to commit fraud at a Target in Brooklyn. Super (Insert maximum sarcastic tone here). After a few phone calls, a bit of stress and the threat of tears (mine), we were good to go. Although, I could have done without the additional headache of a stalled Pathfinder after loading up the car at check-out. Someone please tell me it’s going to get smoother from here. But the kids had a blast and I survived, so I’m gonna call it a success.

While I was away, I received the following message from my friend and SMR teammate, Ken. By the way, this is the guy I’ve had a conversation with while in adjoining port-o-johns. Now that’s bonding! Anyway, his message:

“Spring break provides a chance to bond with our kids in ways that our normal routines do not allow. As for working out, do what you can. You suffer from the same problem I do, you believe that going at life at 100% is the only way to go at it. Unfortunately our muscle fibers need to heal or we end up in the gray zone with no improvement. So take these days as a chance to let the muscle fibers heal up while your workouts are easier.”

He’s exactly right. And that’s exactly what I did. My workouts were anywhere from minimal to non-existent. However, my heart fibers were what got truly stretched.

My workouts included things like practicing the fine art of “car dancing” and climbing many levels of stairs to reach the top of the water slide. Although, I have to admit, it wasn’t just for the stair climb workout that I carted a giant intertube up those stairs so many times, I’m kind of a big kid like that.

I have to give my kids huge props. They were champs. They humored their mom’s hairbrained idea to go for a hike when it was only registering 18 degrees out. Seriously, isn’t this supposed to be SPRING break?! What’s with the excessively low temps?! But, we did it. We saw deer, climbed trees, caught some fantastic views and had ourselves a good ol’ time…at least until the whining of “I’m hungry” and “I can’t feel my feet” set in. Just as Ken said, I go at life at 100%, so as tough as it was for me to accept that I wasn’t going to be able to complete all the trails I wanted to, I needed to do what was best for my kiddos and know when to say when.

I’d have to say, though, that the best workout of the week award goes to the laughter Silas provided as he did his spontaneous poolside dance party to “Moves Like Jagger”. That kid does have some sweet moves and he had me laughing long and hard. There is no better way to burn a few calories and tighten up the abs than laughing.

Like I said, my heart fibers got stretched more than any other part of me this week. Ally and I doing multiple slide runs together, Ethan spotting more deer than anyone and his declaration that “This hike is AWESOME” and riding the lazy river with Silas; those are all things I will hold in my heart forever. Even long after I’ve forgotten various tempo runs and speed workouts…well, ok, I don’t cherish speed work at all.

But here was the part that really got me. As an added bonus, we had access to an indoor amusement park as well so my kids got to ride the likes of the Growler and the Tilt-a-whirl to their hearts’ content (and to their mom’s nausea! I love rollercoasters, but the spinning, Oh, the incessant spinning…). The first night Silas kept dragging me onto rides because he needed me there. By the end of the last night, he was doing rides by himself. As I watched my three sweethearts climb onto the Growler together, (a huge blessing for the fighting to subside for a brief and beautiful window) I was so amazed by my little man’s courage. He’s not a baby anymore.

As a parent, it’s my responsibility to teach my kids how to spread their wings and learn how to fly. But who knew that at the same time I’m teaching them, I would be re-learning how to do that myself?

One of our family rituals is at dinner time we go around the table and each say our best and worst thing of the day. We hadn’t done that during this trip, until lunch yesterday at Nonie’s Cafe. The kids said their “bests” were everything from hiking, the wave pool, going into Chicago to see friends, the ropes course, the various rides, Shedd Aquarium, the water slides. They basically made a list of everything we had done and called it the best. But I have to agree with them. My best was…all of it. And my worst was…umm, yeah, I don’t really have a worst.

Well, I guess I probably coulda done without the whole credit card debacle.

My cuties at Starved Rock State Park in Utica, IL

It’s Magic

It’s funny how workouts have a way of mimicking life. We have good days and bad days; likewise, we have good workouts and bad workouts. As I was on my way to the pool this morning, I got a text from my best friend, Britta. She has finally entered the world of texting, it’s still rare, but it does happen on occasion. You may recall a post I did about a month ago called Why I Run, which was a response to Britta asking that very question. She was, at that point, considering signing up for the Chicago Marathon. Well, here’s the update. Despite Active.com’s epic fail the day registration opened and then later crashed, Britta managed by some miracle to clinch a place on that first day. Last week, I was one of 36,000 runners who entered the lottery for the remaining 15,000 or so spots available. I had slightly less than a 50/50 shot, but it was out of my hands. This morning, I woke up to find the email that read, “Congratulations! You have been selected to register for the 2013 Bank of America Chicago Marathon”. Awesome. I have the opportunity to run 26.2 miles with Britta in the city that cemented our friendship for life. It just really doesn’t get any better than that.

So, anyway, back to the text Britta sent me this morning. Here’s our conversation:

B: Just ran seven miles and felt like crap every step of the way. I need more sleep…

B again: But that’s the first time I’ve felt yucky so that’s something.

RRG: It happens. We all have a bad run once in a while.

B: Until two weeks ago, I haven’t run seven miles since college. Again, I will take the positive little steps, literally.

RRG: Exactly! And on that note, I’m getting in the pool. J

If you recall, Britta is the swimmer. So it’s funny how we’ve taken up each other’s sport. But the theme of this conversation is so true. Some days, I go run and I feel fantastic. Other days, I run and it’s fine, nothing special. And still other days, I run and it’s like I would rather be rolling around in a pile of nails and shards of broken glass on a bed of hot coals. Some days, we just don’t have it. That’s not just running, that’s life. No matter the amount of coffee or Midol or whatever I think I need, sometimes I just feel like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and I spend the whole day in a funk. Those are the days, or the workouts, that you just have to power through so you can get to the end and say “I made it. And that’s good enough”.

Oddly, I jumped into the pool today and had the exact same experience. After a brief warm-up, Andy asked me, “How’d that feel?” I responded simply, “Stiff”. I wasn’t feeling comfortable in the water. I was tired. My shoulder hurt. Blah, blah, blah. So, what do you do when you’re just not feeling it? Well, you suck it up and you keep going. I did some drills, that got me loosened up and I felt a little better. Then Andy said, “Ok, it’s time to try swimming 500 meters without stopping, no breaks at the wall”. Oy vey! Unlike Britta not running 7 miles since college (I won’t date us here and say just how many years that’s been), I have never swam 500 m without stopping, not ever in my life. I’ve stayed afloat for that long, but never actually swam freestyle all the way. It was go time!

If you had told me just 2 months ago, that I would swim 500 meters in approximately 12 minutes and feel like I could keep on going, I would have told you that you were batshit crazy! (Sorry, I usually try to keep things G-rated…or PG at the most, but I needed to make a point) Somewhere over the past 8 weeks, Lindsey learned how to SWIM. But guess what? If I would have bailed because of all the excuses I was conjuring up in my head, I wouldn’t have even known I could do that. I needed to just get out of my head and stop over-thinking. I’ve always had a tendency to over-think and over-analyze ev-er-y-thing, from workouts to life in general: Why does my shoulder hurt? What if he doesn’t ever call? Why didn’t so-and-so respond to that email? What will all those people think of me if I do my own thing instead of going along with the majority? (Someone please tell me I’m not the only one who does this) But let’s think about this, if there’s nothing we can do about it, why worry about it?!

Something Andy said to me in the pool today as I was struggling along, was, “Strive for consistency, expect anything BUT.” That’s so true. Consistency and pace are key! Especially when we’re talking about going the distance. But we have to be prepared to roll with the punches and power through when we’re having a bad workout. Fighting through when we’re just not feeling it is what makes us stronger. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if life was always consistent, too? Well, no, actually. There is something to be said for breaking the status quo. Sure it would be great if we could avoid the hurts and the heartaches (or the shoulder aches), but it’s the pain that makes us grow. And if we didn’t feel the yucky stuff, we wouldn’t appreciate the good stuff so much. The lows might be lower, but that makes the highs higher too.

I’ve already admitted to my reality TV addiction. Last night I was watching The Biggest Loser (Yes, I watched The Bachelor finale, too) and Jillian said so many things that struck a major chord with me. The best one was this, “Here’s the thing-you try and you fail, you try and you fail, but you know why you get up every day and try again? For THIS moment. This moment right here. This is what you fight for. And it doesn’t happen often, but when it does happen, it’s Magic. And it’s worth it.” Amen, Sister!

Something else Jillian said was, “It’s about a girl that lives the life SHE wants, who follows HER dreams and who does not hang her state of being on the outside world”.

We don’t get the magic moments every day, we may even go years without one. It’s taken a lot of hard work for me to become that girl who doesn’t hang her state of being on what anyone in this world sees. But I am living the life I want and I am following MY dreams. It’s Magic. And it IS worth it!

RRG and B…this is approximately what we looked like the last time B ran 7 miles. I tried to use effects to enhance the photo, not sure it really helped.

A confession…

I am obsessed with movies. All movies. Comedies. Classics. Action. Drama. Musicals. You name it.

My brother and I actually have a secret language. We speak movie lines. We do this so often that sometimes people who know us well will hear us talking and say, “What movie is that from?” And one of us will respond, “It’s not. I just said it.” I can also speak this language with the rest of my immediate family, my cousins, other extended family members, and the occasional non-Jacobs clan foreigner.

Disclaimer: I will only say this once, and only once, if anyone attempts to make fun of me for what I am about to say, you are taking your life into your own hands…I will plead temporary insanity. But here’s my confession. I have a secret addiction to sappy, cheesy girl movies. Otherwise known as, chick flicks. I don’t like to admit this because I’m concerned that the negative connotations associated with enjoying such movies, may tarnish my reputation as a badass. But I’m about to quote a movie of this genre, so I figured I would just out myself already and be done with it. So, there ya have it, I like sappy movies. The Notebook, Love Actually, The Holiday, Letters to Juliet, When Harry Met Sally, all of them. If there’s an insanely hot, buff, young stud as the leading man, all the better. Preferably the likes of Jude Law, Vince Vaughn or Ryan Gosling. And Ladies, who’s with me in thinking that Taye Diggs really needs to do a nice romantic lead? One word…Yummy. And yes, I cry during the bombing scene of Pearl Harbor and when the old people are laying in their bed while the water rises in Titanic.

So, anyway, the other night I was watching Eat, Pray, Love. No one does cheesy girl movies better than Julia Roberts. Am I right? Well, in this scene of this particular flick, she was thinking about leaving an unhappy marriage. She said, or rather, she was thinking… “The only thing more impossible than staying, was leaving. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I just wanted to slip quietly out the back door and not stop running until I reached Greenland”.

I know that feeling. There’s running. And there’s running away from something. I used one to do the other. I ran my first marathon in 2001, and then I had three kids from February of 2003 to July of 2007. I ran a half marathon in between each of my pregnancies to make sure I got my body back down to size and to feel good about myself. Ethan was 4 1/2 months old when I turned 30 and I was determined to be wearing my skinny jeans for my birthday. I did. I ran the Chicago Half the week before. I’m still not even sure how I trained for that with an infant. But it was after my youngest was born that my running took on a life of its own. I was a busy mom of 3, not yet school age, kiddos. It was my sanity to get to the gym every day, pass off my little ones and jump on a treadmill. I ran my second marathon just after my 3^rd baby’s first birthday and I didn’t slow down. It became an obsession. I worked in a run where ever I could. But the ones I looked the most forward to where those long Saturday morning training runs. The longer, the better. I was like Forrest Gump, I just kept going. I wanted to run and not stop until I reached Greenland. At the time all of that was happening, I didn’t realize what was going on. It’s taken some deep introspection (and a lot of therapy) to figure out what I was doing. I wasn’t just running; I was running away. Running was my attempt to get away from my life, a life I had lost control of. Running was my escape. My escape from a marriage that I didn’t know how to change, or I was too scared to change, because I had spent so much of my life running from the things that I didn’t know how to confront.

Leaving my marriage is without a doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life, but I had to confront it. There was no running from it. I couldn’t just slip out the back door. I had to stand strong and face it. And now that I’ve learned how to face things, when I do run, I don’t feel like I’m running from something, I’m running TO something. I’m running to accomplish a goal, running to get healthy, running to feel strong, running to embrace freedom. Later in that scene of Eat, Pray, Love Julia says, “Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” My failed marriage left me feeling like my life was in ruin, but I guess now I run to continue my transformation. I run to grow and to prove that transformation to myself. Because I don’t need to prove anything to anybody else.

However, just to set the record straight (and to reclaim my rightful badass status), I can quote Tommy Boy in it’s entirety, I really wanted to name my youngest son Maximus after Russell Crowe’s Gladiator, my favorite Bond movie is Dr. No, and who doesn’t love Indiana Jones? Any questions?

RRG and “Little” brother after the Surf City half-marathon 2011. I’m pretty sure we were quoting movie lines during that race.

Running Through the Storm

It’s funny how day to day life happens so gradually, but one morning you wake up and come to a screeching halt as you realize how totally far away you’ve gotten from the person you thought you were and the person you hoped to become.

Not all that long ago I was in the midst of a personal crisis. I had just moved to a new state, was trying to get settled into a new house and was struggling to understand the tragic death of a dear sister in law and my unborn nephew. All the while, I was faking a marriage that had completely fallen apart. Instead of dealing with any of this in a healthy way, I escaped into my own little fantasy world. I still managed to take care of my 3 kiddos, unpack all the boxes and follow through with my commitments. I did it all under the guise of “I’m doing just fine”, when really, I wasn’t. At all. In fact, I hadn’t been fine for a really long time. Years. I tried to make everything look wonderful on the outside, to cover up the fact that inside was a big, old, ugly mess. Eventually, my fantasy world came crashing down around me, as they inevitably do, and it was time to start picking up the pieces.

I’ve always attached my identity to others…I’ve been a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend. But who am I? Who am I? I had absolutely no idea. And so began the quest to figure it out. I quickly realized that I had been so focused on taking care of everyone around me I had completely forgotten to take care of myself. That is, in a healthy way, not the self-centered way I had been living inside my own head as a means of survival. I took on the emotions of everyone else, to the point that I didn’t have a clue what I was feeling. I was getting buried alive under everyone else’s baggage. I had gone numb to my own emotions, lost the ability to feel and put up a wall. A big, thick, brick wall. On one side of the wall, I painted a picture of the always smiling mom with the perfect, happy life who had the kids sitting nicely, the house clean and dinner ready when their dad got home. But on the other side of the wall, I had allowed others to quench my spirit and break me down into a woman I didn’t even recognize. I went into self-destruction mode, crying out for someone – anyone – to just notice me.

Initially, it was easier to define what I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be a doormat. I didn’t want to be a cookie-cutter image of the people around me. I didn’t want to be an extension of anyone else. I did not want to be a victim. I couldn’t continue to ignore the fact that I have a right to set down boundaries for myself and other people need to respect them. I no longer wanted the heart of stone that couldn’t feel. And I didn’t want to stay trapped inside myself. How in the world was I going to break out? How was I going to take down the wall? Well, the only way I could, one brick at a time.

The first question I addressed pertained to how I could take care of myself through this process of, it may sound cliché, “finding myself”. Well, I love to run and it’s been on my bucket list to get to Boston for THE marathon of marathons. I had been training for another 26.2 in April of 2011 when my world began to crumble, but that got thrown by the wayside. I began to research fall races and map out my next course. Then, I started my training program to run the Quebec marathon on August 28, of that same year. Running gives me time to think, time to process everything going on around me. But it also gives me time to just “be”, when I don’t have the capacity to think anymore. My passion for running gave me an idea. I remember sitting at IHOP with my mom one morning talking about a need to get out and do something for me. We could see FLEET FEET through the window where we sat. Less than a month later I started my new job where I get to share my enthusiasm for an awesome sport with others, people from all walks of life and various levels of ability, from the beginning jogger who has decided to make a life change to the amazing ironman tri-athlete who has overcome great odds of addiction or illness, and everyone in between. Everyone has a story to tell and I love to hear them.

Writing is another of my passions. I know, go figure, right? But with a background in foster care, I never had any formal training in journalism. I enjoy writing and I believe it allows me to articulate in a way that I otherwise can’t. So when I stumbled across an opportunity to write for an online news page, I sent in a writing sample and was accepted. Voila! That was easy. It was just a matter of setting my fear and self-doubt aside long enough to put myself out there. Every Wednesday during that summer, was “Field Trip Day”. The kids and I would load up a backpack containing our essentials for the day and go off to explore our new surroundings. This not only gave us something to look forward to doing together each week, it also gave me great material to write about.

So, what have I learned through my journey to find myself? I learned that the answers I was seeking weren’t nearly as profound as I expected them to be. I’ve learned that I really hadn’t lost who I was as much as I thought. In fact, I’m still most of the things I was…a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend; but I found out that I’m so much more, too. All of my labels that attach me to others are part of who I am, but they don’t define me. I’m an individual, I’m a runner, I’m a writer. I’m passionate about the people and the things I love. One of the best things that anyone said to me during this journey to find myself is that I am valuable. I deserve validation and all the time it takes for me to process and respond to any given situation. I want to be totally authentic. I have real feelings and emotions and I’m not afraid to figure out what they are and express them anymore. I get very excited and animated when I share stories of things that make me happy. I get sad when the people I love are hurting. I get very scared when I feel vulnerable. But I allow myself to feel those emotions fully. I express them. And then I release them so they don’t weigh me down and overwhelm me. I set goals for myself, sometimes I accomplish them and sometimes I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ve failed, it just means I need to reevaluate my goals and keep on trying. I make good choices and bad choices. Hopefully, the good out-weigh the bad, but when the bad blow up in my face, I want to teach my kids and myself that I can get through it. My successes and my failures are part of what makes me who I am, but not my definition. I want to be a good example of a strong, healthy, well balanced woman for my children. I can’t expect to do it all perfectly, but I hope that I can teach my children to be self-assured, well-adjusted people who are not afraid to love whole-heartedly, laugh often, live fully, take risks and stand up for themselves and what they believe in. I hope that we can celebrate each other’s successes and I hope that when we mess up really big, we can say, “Well, that sucks, but I still love you and we can get through this.”

In loving myself, I am much better at loving others. I am a more calm, caring and patient mom (most of the time). I am a more empathetic friend and a better listener. Self-awareness has helped me to really not sweat the small stuff, because I am able to declare the things that truly bother me and let everything else slide off, instead of letting it all fester in a cauldron of stress and unevaluated emotion. There is a sense of freedom that comes with that and freedom was something that I was desperately longing for. It is highly unlikely that I will ever be completely fearless, but I am no longer willing to let my fears hold me back from doing anything.

So, what does define me? Well, it’s an ongoing, changing, evolving definition. But life is not necessarily about the definition, it’s about the journey to try and find it. The best part is, if I discover something about myself that I don’t like, I can change it. For now, I just try tolive in the moment and enjoy the things I love, with the people I love. I love to run. I love to write. I love the funny things my kids say. I love to walk on the beach and stare up at the moon on a clear night. I love coffee, probably more than I should. I love that my little brother can make me laugh so hard I almost pee my pants. I love singing at the top of my voice when I’m driving and I don’t care who sees me. I love exploring new places. I love that I sometimes talk to my best friend on the phone multiple times a day. I love the extraordinary moments that happen when I least expect them. I love surprising someone with the perfect present. I love crappy, reality TV (I know, it’s sad, but I do). I love a good glass of wine with my girlfriends. Most importantly, I love that now I can say, and really believe, that this is who I am. Take it or leave it, this is me.

As for my dream of getting to Boston for the pinnacle of my running career, Hurricane Irene had other plans for me in Canada. Despite my training and preparation, I was unable to even attempt the Quebec marathon that day because of the gale force winds that caused the race officials to cancel my event. I spent an amazing weekend in Quebec, only to find out the morning of the race that my goal would have to wait. But I learned a lot more about myself through that whole experience that completes me as a person. I was devastated that I didn’t get to run my race and I cried. I cried the whole long, miserable walk back to the hotel in the rain. Then I spent a rainy day sitting in a quaint, French coffee shop looking at the whole situation to assess what I could gain from it. However, that didn’t stop me from throwing a 2 week long pity party about lost chances. When I finally put a stop to that, I felt like I still had an itch that needed to be scratched after the frustrating demise of not just one, but two marathons. Sometimes life just takes unexpected turns and you have to figure out what direction you’re going to head from there. The direction I chose was south, to Dallas for the Whiterock Marathon. I didn’t run it with numbers in my head, putting a lot of extra pressure on myself. I ran it for the pure joy of running and to honor my dad who ran that very same race 30 years ago. I ran it 2 days after the 10th anniversary of saying good-bye to him. I ran to heal. In 40 degrees, gusty winds and pouring rain, I ran my heart out. I missed my Boston qualifying time by just minutes, but I ran my fastest marathon ever because I ran simply for the feeling of joy and freedom that running gives me. I don’t know if I will ever get to run Boston, but that doesn’t take anything away from what I’ve already accomplished. Just like everything else in life, it’s really not about the destination; it’s about how you push through all the obstacles you face and what you learn along the way.

The view of Quebec City from my hotel room…the day BEFORE the marathon.

I Can and I Will

Last night I had the good fortune of spending the evening with some truly amazing multi-sport athletes. I was invited to dinner at my friend Teri’s house. I pulled up to Teri’s home and at first glance my SUV with Thule bike rack seemed to fit in perfectly with the other vehicles lining the street. However, mine was lacking something. I felt a flutter of adrenaline, as I parked behind a jeep displaying the Mdot logo, indicating the driver is an Ironman. That feeling of adrenaline increased, as I walked past car after car with 140.6 stickers. Amazing! Who am I to be invited into the company of such accomplished greatness?! In July, I will merely attempt to do HALF of what several of these women have already completed, some multiple times. Some while fighting incredible odds. One whose name is Teri Griege.

I still remember the first time I met Teri. I had just been working at FLEET FEET for a very short amount of time; I don’t even think I was fitting shoes yet. Teri and her daughter came into the store to find something for her to wear on TV. Huh? What kind of TV show do you go on in running apparel? The kind where they send a film crew to your house so you can be one of the highlighted competitors at the KONA Ironman World Championships, that’s what kind. Teri started to tell us her story. She had been invited to Kona as an inspirational athlete because she had just missed qualifying when she competed in Ironman Louisville. But here’s the kicker…Teri came within minutes qualifying for the Ironman Worlds, while she had cancer. Only 2 weeks after completing that race in Louisville, she was diagnosed with Stage 4 Colon Cancer. Teri took that news and turned it into strength. She continued to train despite chemotherapy. Last week at swimming practice, someone told me that Teri will go to a chemo treatment and then come straight to the pool for a workout. Incredible.

As Teri stood there in Fleet Feet that day, telling her story, the 6 or so of us who were working, in addition to the other customers in the store, were all crowded around listening. I can’t remember who all was there, I know Faith was standing next to me and I think Jess was with us, too. I’m pretty sure every last one of us was crying. I know I was. And I still get choked up when I think about how absolutely amazing my friend Teri is for all that she’s accomplished.

Last October, despite a diagnosis of Colon cancer that had spread to her liver, major surgery, and many chemo treatments, Teri went to Kona and completed the 2.4 mile swim in the Pacific Ocean, followed by a 112 mile bike and then a full marathon. Everyone knows I love running marathons, but I really can’t even fathom throwing down 26.2 after an already full day of athletic activities like that. And I especially can’t fathom doing it while battling a vicious, grueling disease. Teri can. And she continues to fight.

About a month ago, Teri came into the store because her daughter Katie needed some running shoes. While I helped Katie with shoes, Teri asked what I am currently training for. I told her the Vancouver marathon and Racine 70.3. Teri said she is going to be in Racine too, which is awesome, because just knowing that Teri will be there too gives me inspiration. She will likely be using it as training for some other Ironman race, while I am just hoping to finish it. As we talked, Teri said she’s planning on Ironman Arizona 2014. She wanted me to think about doing it too. Are you kidding?! That’s the coolest invitation I’ve ever had to anything in my life! But, I haven’t even completed 70.3 yet, I have no idea how that’s gonna go. And as I sat there, with the wheels turning in my head, waves of doubt crashing around and coliding with thoughts of “Well, maybe?” I was physically unable to utter the words “I can’t” to this woman. Because this is Teri Griege, you don’t say “I can’t” to her about anything. If she can, and she HAS, then you at least try. I don’t know that this is the right time for me to attempt something of that magnitude, what with having 3 small children and adjusting to a new lifestyle. But I know that if the opportunity was to present itself, the only logical response to Teri is, “I can and I will.”

I am humbled and blessed to call Teri my friend. More than anything, she inspires me to remember that anything is possible!

Here is the link to Teri’s website. http://terigriege.com/ She truly is Powered By Hope.

RRG and Teri Griege-Ironwoman

Rambling Runner Girl

Adventures of a scatterbrained runner…