Spring Break

My kids are on Spring Break this week. That means, the whole week, 3 kids, every day, no school, no camps, no breaks. How in the world is a mom supposed to get a workout in with that going on?

With a full marathon, a half Ironman, 2 relays and a bunch of other races coming up, I can’t exactly take the whole week of Spring Break off from working out. Some days, you’ve just got to improvise. Today that was necessary. Silas has been begging me to go back to The Boxing Gym. Today he got his wish. I’m a regular at the 10:30 am Monday class, and today was no exception. David is always saying to bring the kids in, so today I did…the whole crew.

Ally spent the majority of her time playing on her iPhone. Yes, ridiculously, my 10 year old daughter has a better phone than I do. Anyone who has ever fallen victim to receiving random old texts from me when I restart my phone knows exactly what I’m talking about when I say my smart phone isn’t really that smart.

However, the boys were incredibly enthusiastic about the whole experience. As soon as we got there, Silas put some gloves on and went to town. Ethan put down the iPad soon thereafter and put on some gloves of his own. Ethan was particularly good at the jab/cross/4 hooks combo. Who knew it would turn into a family workout?

I wouldn’t say it was exactly strenuous, especially since the attention span of my boys only lasted about half of the 30 minute class, and that’s being generous. With 10 minutes left to go, Silas was going, “Mom, mom, mom, MOM!” Dude, chill. No, I am not going to stop doing deadlifts to go turn on the treadmill for you. Now burpees, that might be another story…

So, at least I got a pseudo workout in. By the end, I had a pretty good sweat going. And I got to model for my kids the importance of exercise in one’s daily routine. I wouldn’t say that I do all things well as a parent, sometimes I cave to a tantrum, and sometimes I get overly mad about things that really aren’t that big a deal, but if there is one thing I can say about myself as a mom…I know how to make exercise fun. Childhood obesity is an epidemic and if I can protect my kids from that, Lord knows I’ll do what I can. And considering the sweet tooth that Silas inherited from me, it might take more effort than just offering green beans at the dinner table on a regular basis.

I was planning to take the kiddos to Florida this week to visit my mom (Woo-hoo, built in Granny-Nanny to entertain the kids while I go run!), but unfortunately, airfare costs kept that from happening. So, instead, I made a reservation at a lodge that is driveable, with an indoor water park…umm, that can provide exercise, right? But the best part is that it’s located right next to a fantastic state park. It may be cold, but rest assured, we’re going to bundle up and get out there to do some hiking and exploring! The idea of spending 3 straight days at an indoor water park makes me seriously question my own sanity. (Do you think I’m allowed to bring wine?)

All this to say, my workouts this week may be somewhat lacking in intensity, but they are guaranteed to provide lots of laughs, good memories, plenty of togetherness and probably a fair amount to blog about. One week of lesser workouts isn’t going to make or break my upcoming races. And I’m pretty sure that regardless of the outcome in Vancouver, I won’t likely look back and think, “Boy I really regret that week I spent with my kids”. The best things in life are the experiences we have and the people who are with us.

So, away we will go to the water park. I’m sure I’ll return a little more crazed than when I left, if that’s possible. But hopefully my kids will be reminded that as much as I love running, and cycling, and boxing (I still can’t bring myself to add swimming to that list) I love my Ally and my Ethan and my Silas, way, way, WAY more. And if you know me, that’s saying something! 😉

Ethan getting down to business with David at The Boxing Gym in Ballwin

Silas was all smiles at boxing today

Once Upon A Time…

I raced today. I was so excited to get out on a course and kill it. But I didn’t kill it. I was terrible. It was only a 5 mile race and I missed my goal by a minute and a half. That may not sound like much, but on a 5 mile course, 92 seconds is a lot. I started out too fast, and I know that for me, that is the kiss of death. I wore shoes that I don’t usually run in, I had to stop and retie both of them with very cold fingers. (Note to self: double knot the Kinvaras, especially when you may lose dexterity) But mostly, I was just a head case. Didn’t I JUST write a post about this very thing?! I was supposed to run the whole thing today with my friend, Nicole. We were going to get after it. I was not planning to tell her to go on ahead without me. Blech.

I still finished in the top 7% overall, and I finished in the top 3% of women runners. I was 29 out of 913 women my age. I still averaged 7:55/mile. (Would have been 7:45/mile without the 2 pauses to retie shoes…stupid) Why am I disappointed in this? Because I had a goal in mind. I wasn’t really out there to compete with anyone other than myself, or so I said. And I blew it. Or at least it felt like I did.

As the day progressed I realized what had happened. I carried a lot of baggage through that race with me today. It’s funny how you can be doing your favorite thing in the world, with one of your favorite friends, amongst thousands of happy Irish people (or at least people wearing green and pretending to be Irish) on St. Patty’s Day…and still feel lonely. How is that even possible? Well, sometimes we have to battle old demons. They can weigh on us, exhaust us, slow us down.

As I was driving home, I began writing this story in my head…

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, young princess. Her name was Lulu. Princess Lulu loved to run. Running made her feel wonderful and beautiful and free.

One day, when Lulu was still just a girl, one of her friends decided to steal something from her. She trusted him. But he took something from Lulu and it caused her to break a little on the inside. He broke a part of her, the part that made her remember that she was beautiful. Lulu was sad. She didn’t want to get her friend in trouble and she thought she was to blame for allowing him to take it. So she kept it a secret. She didn’t tell anyone about what her friend had done for a long, long time.

A few years later, Lulu was separated from her father. She missed him tremendously. Her father was the person that reminded her that she was beautiful no matter what. And she started to forget. The broken part not only caused her to forget that she was beautiful and forget all the good things about herself, it started breaking up other parts too. It got worse. The longer she kept the secret, the harder it was to remember the girl she had once been and she started to believe that she was anything but beautiful.

Princess Lulu still loved to run. It still made her feel good. But it no longer made her feel beautiful. Now it made her feel tough. And if she was tough, then she felt powerful, and that would show other people that they couldn’t take things away from her.

But then, one day many years later, her father came back. She was scared; she didn’t want him to see the brokenness that made her feel so yucky. But her father had a special mirror that allowed Lulu to see not only her beauty on the outside, but more importantly all of the beautiful parts on the inside. Her father already knew about the broken parts, and he could help put them back together. He showed her that she was beautiful even without the part that was missing. Slowly, her heart began to mend and the more beauty she could see in herself, the more beautiful she became.

When she ran, it was no longer about feeling beautiful or feeling tough, it was just about being who she was and reminding herself how far she had come, all those miles that were behind her. It was about reminding herself that she wasn’t broken anymore.

Today when I ran, I wasn’t running for me. I was running to try to prove something, but I was carrying around so much weight that it just didn’t work. I forgot how far I’ve come. I forgot to just be me. And the more things went wrong, the more I slowed myself down worrying about them. So, even though I didn’t hit my goal this time, I guess I didn’t entirely blow it, because as always, I learned a lesson from the experience.

So, do you want to know the rest of the story? What happened to Princess Lulu? Well, the story isn’t over yet. It’s still being written. But you should know that Princess Lulu is healthy and happy, most of the time anyway. She will never get back what that boy who claimed to be her friend took away from her, but she has learned to look beyond it. She no longer feels like a victim of his theft. And she knows she is not defined by the part that is missing. Some days she feels beautiful and other days she wrestles with what exactly that means. But no matter how she sees herself, she knows that her father always sees her in that special mirror and she knows that, more than anything, she is loved.

Wearing green and ready to run with one of my favorites.

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.

Finding Purpose in the Rain

The other day I saw one of those silly ecards on Facebook that was exactly perfect. It read, “I don’t go crazy. I am crazy. I just go normal from time to time. Get it right.” That pretty much describes every runner I know. Otherwise, why would I have gladly gone out into a downpour this morning and run 17 miles? I started at 9:34am. By 9:37, my braids were soaked, my shoes were squishy and there were streams of water pouring off both sides of my navy blue FLEET FEET hat. By the time I finished I was reminiscent of the scene in the movie League of Their Own where the announcer says, “And then there’s Marla Hooch. What a hitter.” It wasn’t my most gloriously attractive moment, to say the least, but I got it done.

So, picture this: Linds J running 3 loops around Creve Coeur Lake in the driving rain. Every once in a while I would tip my head toward the sky to let the rain fall on my face, I could feel myself smile, and I would close my eyes. Lindsey quirk #5: Sometimes I try to run as long as I can with my eyes closed. I find it a good form of release, and I especially like doing this on a long straight downhill. I’m sure eventually I’m going to bite it. Probably really hard. But until the day comes when I go careening down the side of a hill, rolling through trees and brush, resulting in stitches and/or broken bones, I will likely continue this practice. Anyway, I was out there to put in the miles all by my lonesome today, but weirdly, I was not the only one. There were several other runners on the path and as we would pass each other, we exchanged that slight smile and knowing glance that says, “So you’re crazy too.”

And here’s the other thing, while I was out there getting after it, I had about 25 friends that were doing something even more ridiculous. 13 miles of trails in the rain at Cuivre River State Park for the race Quivering Quads. From what I hear, it was a total muddy mess. And I think that sounds absolutely, spectacularly awesome! Like I said, as runners, we’re all crazy.

Runners, let’s face it, we’re a little bit cultish. I mean that in a good way, of course. Or as my non-runner friend, Ben, says, “Runners are all drinking the Kool-aid, but it’s more like a protein shake.”

Seriously, think about it. Anytime a runner finds themself in a room full of mostly strangers, we still have a way of gravitating to other runners. It starts out with an, “Oh, you run too? What’s your favorite flavor of Gu?” Afterwards comes a brief assessment period to size each other up with questions like: How many marathons have you run? Ever done an Ultra? What’s your PR?

Eventually, you and your running acquaintance find yourselves huddled in the corner where the true bonding begins as you discuss things like stress fractures and where you were on the course the year they cancelled the Chicago marathon because it was so bloody hot and the water got lost. By the time you’re being dragged out the door, you and your new bestie have become facebook friends, you’ve tweeted about this awesome kindred spirit you’ve just met and you have plans to run together next weekend.

But why do we do it? Why do we willingly go out in weather worse than the postman would and put our bodies through such torture? Well, we do it in the name of fun. We do it for discipline. Sometimes we do it out of guilt, knowing how we’ll feel if we don’t. We do it for bragging rights. But we also do it for purpose.

At the end of my run today, I found a new friend hanging out in the pavilion at Creve Coeur. As I stretched a very tight IT band, Ed and I started talking. When he was younger his goal had been to break the 4 minute mile. The closest he ever got was 4:08. Umm, yeah, he passed the sizing-up assessment with flying colors. But not just because of his speed. Now Ed has Stage 4 Colon Cancer with metastasis to the liver. He’s had baseball sized tumors removed and ongoing chemo. Just like my friend, Teri, who I’ve talked about before, he is continuing his athletic feats while fighting a battle for his life. I have nothing but respect for these folks, especially as I think about how much easier it is for my healthy body to go run 17 miles.

And earlier this week, I made another new friend, who I fit with new running shoes at the store. Douang recently lost her 22 month old child, who was diagnosed with Leukemia at only 6 weeks old. I can’t imagine anything worse in life than the pain of that. She said she took up running to find purpose and to just keep going.

We all have storms in life. They all look different. You never know what’s going to be thrown your way. Running has been a constant in my life, but the storms have blown through. Some were just a passing shower, and some have been more catastrophic. Some have delivered me to a point where I wanted to just stop eating altogether; running gave me a reason to eat. I knew I needed food to have enough energy. If I didn’t eat, I couldn’t run.

Douang was right, running gives us purpose when we want to throw in the towel and quit. Or when we don’t even know what we want or what the next step is. Storms in life will come and go. During the times that the rain falls hard we learn to appreciate, even more, the days when the sun is shining.

It’s funny. As I sit here typing this, the sun is starting to come out after a LOT of rain. Which is appropriate seeing as I am currently entering a season of life where it feels like the sun is shining after running at least 17 miles in the rain. I know it’s going to storm again eventually, so in the meantime, I’ll keep running. I’ll keep logging the miles in any kind of weather, just to stay prepared for whatever comes my way. Running won’t save me, but it might just give me a reason to get out of bed on the rainy days.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a pint of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch in my freezer that is calling my name. I’m going to eat the whole flipping thing. And then lapse into a post 17-miler coma.

RRG after a very wet 17 miles. Shirt says Running on Faith…because sometimes that’s all you’ve got to go on.

Stair Repeats and Blondie Bars

What’s worse than being stuck at home with a puking kid for two days? Being stuck at home with a puking kid for two days and making the bad decision to bake. Because when you’re stuck in a house with just one other person most of the time, who happens to be managing only Gatorade and saltines, you find yourself eating the entire pan of Trader Joe’s Blondie Bars. Ugh.

After 2 days of that, I was in serious need of a run. Especially since my calves were still ridiculously tight from another bad choice I made earlier in the week. On Monday, I went to boxing. Then I decided to go for a run at the mud pit called Castlewood State Park. Now, I love to run in the mud, but I only managed about 3 miles because the mud was more like clay that was clinging to my shoes making it feel like I was running with cinderblocks strapped to my feet. So, I gave up that idea and decided to run the stairs. I didn’t just run them once, or twice. Not even 5 times. I ran the Castlewood stairs 10 times. Yeah, that’s right, I said TEN. I’m not sure what got into me, maybe it was Kanye singing “N-now that that don’t kill me, can only make me stronger”. Or maybe it was my determination to do even better this year on Leg 19 of the Smoky Mountain Relay in April (5.5 miles over a 2,500 foot incline on gravel in the pitch dark-Bring it!) Whatever it was, it seemed like a good idea the first time up the stairs. But by round 7, I couldn’t even really feel my legs. By the time I got back to my car in the parking lot, my quads were shaking and I had a hard time removing my Cascadia’s from my feet.

I always say its two days after a tough workout that the pain is the worst. So, here we are, it’s Wednesday, and my calves are on fire. I’m hydrated. I tried foam rolling. That was only minimally helpful. I knew I needed to go for a run to stretch it out. But after sitting around watching TV and eating Blondie Bars for 30some hours, I was severely lacking motivation and energy to get off the bar stool my butt had become glued to. I needed to tap into another source. Question: What is in perpetual motion and has the energy of a puppy on steroids? Answer: My 7 year old. So, after I picked the older kids up from school, I said, “Hey Ethan, you wanna go for a run around the lake with me?” He said, yeah, sure, but could I wait 10 minutes for him to get ready. Uh, yeah, cause I’m gonna need at least that long to get motivated to do this. It’s only 1.25 miles around the little lake we live on. It really shouldn’t be this challenging. I figured we’d go around twice, maybe three times. So, we got ready, we went around the lake once, plus a little more, for a total of 1.59 miles. We didn’t even run the whole thing because E kept getting a side cramp and needing to walk it off. I don’t think either one of us broke a sweat. I’m not sure I burned more than 15 calories. And my calves are still killing me.

So, what’s the moral of this story? I have absolutely no idea. I guess it’s don’t run stairs repeats at Castlewood when you’re going to be stuck at home eating Blondie Bars for two days.

Man I can’t wait to get out there and log some miles tomorrow. But I think I might stay away from hills for another day or so. And I foresee see a big salad in my future.

Ethan and I after his first 5k in November 2012

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.

The Comeback Kid and the Snoopy Balloon

I love my job. I mean, I really, really love my job. How many people can honestly tell you they love what they do for a living? For the most part, people go to work to earn a paycheck and go home. But I am in the rare position of actually, really, truly loving what I do. David, my boss and owner of all 3 FLEET FEET St. Louis stores, always says “Do what you love, love what you do.” It’s a good motto and I am fortunate enough to have the opportunity to do just that.

I don’t just love my job because I get to wear running clothes to work. Although that is a nice perk because A) It’s a little like wearing pajamas all day, and B) I can leave work and immediately go for a run, which I am frequently known to do. And I don’t just love my job because I get to try out all the new shoes and other cool running accessories as they come in.

My dad always said, “Surround yourself with good people.” I can honestly say I’ve done that, some of the people I work with have become like my family. That’s just one more reason I love my job. Runners typically tend to be happy people (it’s the endorphin high) so being around other runners all the time generally makes life better. Additionally, I share in the privilege of leading the weekly social run at the store, so I get to hang out with a bunch of sweaty runners who love pizza. Is there anything better than that?!

The best part of my job, though, is the opportunity to encourage other people in a love of running. My favorite customers are the people who come into the store not really knowing why they want to start running, they just know that they do. These are the customers who want to suck up all the knowledge and all the enthusiasm I can offer. I don’t claim to know all there is to know about running, not even close, but I do know that my passion for it is contagious. It is an absolute joy to work with people who have an open mind to the feeling of freedom and the rush of adrenaline that only a ‘Runner’s high’ can provide. They are just about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, and they have no idea what’s coming.

It’s always funny to me, the people who say, “Well, I’m not really a runner, I just run a couple miles at a time and I’m really slow” or “I’ve only run 1 half-marathon , so I’m not actually a runner.” Umm, yes, you are. It doesn’t matter how far or how fast you run, if you lace up your running shoes on occasion and hit the trail or the road or the track for a 50-miler or 50 meters or anything in between, you are a runner.

It’s March. In specialty running, that means track and field season. Despite my early exposure to running, and a life-long love affair with it, I actually have very limited personal experience in the area of track and field. I ran track in Jr. High, but that was really before we got into all the technical equipment of spikes and such. I only ran one season of Cross Country my freshman year of high school and when spring came around I went out for the softball team. I remember my dad taking me to buy my first glove. I still have that glove, it has never been replaced. But anyway, back to running. My friend and co-worker, Barb, is the resident track expert at the store. As a former track coach, she has been incredibly helpful in assisting my efforts to learn the ins and outs of this particular niche of running.

The other day, as I was talking with Barb about my minimal track experience, I began to recall a story. The very first race I ever remember running was the 400m dash at Field Day in 4^th grade. If I remember correctly, there were 2 girls from each of the 7 or 8 fourth grade classes signed up for that event and our class held try-outs to see who would represent Mrs. Troster’s room. I know I remember correctly when I say that for most of that race I was in dead last. But somehow, as we came up on the halfway mark, I started to pass some of the other girls. With 100m left I was in second place. And with just a few strides to go, I passed Kim Scott for the win. Talk about a high! Winning is awesome, but there is nothing better than a win like that. It was completely unexpected. When I got home from school later that day, I had a surprise waiting for me, from my dad; a congratulatory Snoopy balloon. I don’t tend to be overly sentimental and keep a lot of stuff just for the sake of nostalgia, because I always say the thing is not the memory. I actually stole that line from Peter Walsh who hosted that show ‘Clean Sweep’ on HGTV. Lindsey quirk #4-I am obsessed with chucking any unnecessary clutter in my life. But I’m pretty sure that balloon is in a box somewhere at my mom’s house. I kept it because it’s not just a deflated Mylar balloon. I kept it because of what it represents. It represents a Never give up attitude and a come from behind win. But it doesn’t just represent winning, because winning isn’t always about being the first one to cross the finish line. It represents a spirit in me that my dad celebrated all those years ago when he gave me that snoopy balloon. It represents the fact that even when I can see that things aren’t going my way, I won’t just give up and quit. I won’t roll over and die. I will fight to the finish. I am strong enough to push through and make a comeback. That wasn’t the only time in my life that I had to make a comeback, and it certainly hasn’t been the most challenging, and I guarantee there will be more. I guess you can just call me the Comeback Kid, because the fact of the matter is that I won’t ever quit, even when it’s hard, I’ll keep on pushing forward. And that’s the spirit I hope to impart on every person that I put into a new pair of running shoes at FLEET FEET. It’s just too bad I can’t send them all out of the store with a Snoopy balloon of their own.

Friends that are like family…RRG, Jess and Liz

Lindsey squared heatin it up…leaving out the back door of FLEET FEET so we can do what we love.

The fearless leaders of the FLEET FEET Chesterfield social run…RRG and Cole.

Brand New Me

The past couple days have been FULL of good news. Ask anyone who saw me yesterday, I was bouncing off the walls at all the positive things that have been happening in my life. As usual, life is a rollercoaster, but it’s been an adrenaline pumping thrill ride this week. I was put to the test of how much I’ve grown over the past several months, and I passed, with flying colors! I saw very clearly my own personal growth. It was awesome!

So, why did I wake up this morning feeling so down? I think the emotional high of the past couple days left me a little bit drained. Additionally, even though I rose to the occasion in the battle of some of my old demons, it was still a battle. To say I was emotionally exhausted this morning would be an understatement. It was one of those days where I wanted to set my theme song on repeat, Brand New Me by Alicia Keys, to remind myself that I’m not the same person that I was a year ago. Lindsey quirk #3-Yes, I have a theme song. Actually, if I’m being honest, I have several.

Somehow, despite my depleted emotional state, my physical energy was oddly very much intact. I ran twice today. I needed to. Even though I knew I would be running 5 miles with the social run tonight at FLEET FEET, I knew that I needed to get my hills in. I went to Babler and tried, for four miles, to find some answers and to clear the fog that had settled on my brain.

As I was running, I determined that despite my obvious growth, I was somewhat pissed that it had even been tested. And then as I thought about it more, I was pissed at the person who had tested it. And even more I was pissed that I had allowed myself to be put in a position that required so much growth over so many years. I’m still sorting through some of that. (On a side note, boxing is really good for anger management. For legal reasons, it’s a much better idea to punch a bag than a person.)

I got an email from my friend Emily this morning, and it’s funny because I had actually just been thinking about her when my phone buzzed with the notification of her message. I was specifically thinking of the last time Emily and I got to run together last winter. We did about 7 miles on the lakefront on a beautiful, brisk Chicago morning when the coolest thing happened. We were running along, just south of Navy Pier and all of a sudden Emily stopped and pointed to something on the ground. The word ‘FORGIVE’ had been spray painted on the sidewalk. Emily said these were painted all over town, but she’d never actually seen one. I don’t know if she’s seen any since, but I don’t get to run in Chicago all that often anymore, so it’s the only one I’ve seen.

I love the picture I took of it. I love how the shadows crossed through the word making it kind of abstract. Because, let’s be real, the concept of forgiveness is kind of abstract.

Forgiveness is a tough one. People hurt us. People make us angry. Webster defines the word Forgive as 1: to give up resentment of or claim to requital for; and 2: to cease to feel resentment against. Resentment can be nasty. It leads to bitterness and it eats away at your heart if you allow it to. I have always said, I will not be a stereotype, I do not want to be bitter. I just won’t allow it.

However, forgiveness is a process. It takes time. Sometimes it takes a lot of time. It’s not just something where you can say, Ok, I forgive you, it’s over, and then move on and never think about it again. Sure, it’d be great if that was actually possible, but we’re human and we just don’t have the capability to do that. And here’s the worst part, sometimes you don’t even get the apology that you may be entitled to. So, what do you do with that?

Well, all I really can do is listen to my heart and just keep trying. I can be the brand new me that I know I am. I believe that I always want to forgive completely, but it takes time to work through that and I won’t say that I have forgiven before I’m ready to. Coerced forgiveness or a forced apology, isn’t real, so who does that help anyway?

Some things are relatively easy to forgive, like someone accidentally spilling beer on you (I’m really glad we can laugh about that, Marxkors!) or your children breaking the screen door (Ok, so I was pretty mad about that one, and all three kids went to their rooms until they decided to tell the truth about it. But, once they did, I got over it. And, by the way, it’s still not fixed.)

I’ve heard Britta say many times, “Nothing is unforgiveable”. It’s true some things might be a lot harder to work through than others, especially when someone really hurts our heart. It’s difficult, it’s challenging, but it’s not impossible.

The other thing about forgiving that can be really tough is when someone knows our heart is hurt and they keep poking the bruise anyway. That’s what happened to me yesterday, my bruise got poked. And today I was dealing with the after effects of that. I needed to face that. So I did. I thought about it. I was sad about it for a while. Then I ran some hills. And then, I let it go. There is freedom in forgiveness. If only it could always be that simple.

Emily and RRG, right after we found ‘FORGIVE’.

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.

Some Days You’ve Got it, and Some Day You Don’t

Some days you’ve got it, and some days you don’t. My legs are toast today. Every time I move, I pretty much want to cry. My quads are screaming. After 3 days of doing almost nothing due to having the kids at home for snow days, I went and ran 15 miles yesterday. And lemme tell ya, I’m feeling it today. I guess, to say I did nothing on those snow days, isn’t entirely accurate. I ran in circles and jumped through hoops trying to entertain 3 kiddos who were suddenly off school for a couple days. And I shoveled snow, lots of snow. I was the first person on my street to have a cleared driveway. It’s the Chicago girl in me. If I’m going to be stuck at home, it will definitely not be because of my own doing. It’s amazing how much of a workout shoveling can be. But anyway, yeah, I got up this morning with the intention of running before or after boxing. But alas, boxing is all I was able to manage today. It was funny that on the jab-jab-roll-hook-cross-cross combo, David said to me, “Nice power.” Because quite frankly, I didn’t feel like I had any power today. And my roundhouse kicks were severely lacking in comparison to what they typically are.

So, today was a day that I just didn’t really have my usual stuff. Of course, sometimes, on those days vanity can kick in and do incredible things. A couple weeks ago, I had just that experience. I walked into boxing on a Wednesday morning, and the first thing I said to David was, “You better start this class soon or I’m gonna lay down on the floor and go to sleep.” I was tired and I didn’t feel like working particularly hard that day. But something changed as soon as I glanced in the mirror and figured out that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. Jackie Joyner Kersee was at the back of the room, taking the same class I was. OMG, I get to work out with Jackie Joyner Kersee. Holy Crap, that is so flipping cool!

You can bet I didn’t slack on that workout. As tired as I felt, something in me kicked into high gear, call it pride or vanity or whatever, but I went full throttle when I saw Jackie. No wusses here! I was dripping with sweat by the time we finished. Like, we’re talking eyes burning from the streams of sweat pouring down my face dripping.

When we finished, I hesitated. I didn’t want to storm her as soon as the class was done, but there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to talk to Jackie. (Yeah, that’s right, I’ve seen her again since and we’re on a first name basis. Well, ok, I’m on a first name basis, she probably doesn’t remember mine.) Anyway, I put away my weights, had a drink of water, and was chatting it up with some of the regulars I know. I put on my jacket, my black Fleet Feet jacket that I wear proudly so that people know I’m a part of the running community. I grabbed my boxing gloves and my keys, and threw my sunglasses on top of my head, which is so classic Lindsey. I looked around…where did she go? Shoot! Did she leave? Oh, nope, she was on one of the weight machines. I walked casually across the gym. Ok, so, maybe I was trying really hard to appear casual. On the inside I was jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store. She looked up and saw me coming. I smiled. Jackie smiled. I spoke, “I don’t want to interrupt your workout, but I just wanted to say Hi. I’m Lindsey.” She extended her hand and I shook it, as she said something…I was in a fog, I think she said HI, or nice to meet you, or something, but I really couldn’t tell you which. I told Jackie that I had received a finishers medal from her a couple times at the Bridge the Gap half marathon in Quincy. She said, “Oh, I was just up there for the kickoff. Are you going to do it again this year?” I said, “Well, I’m not sure yet. I’m signed up for the Vancouver marathon which is the week before.” She kind of chuckled and said something like, “Oh, you marathoners. I couldn’t do that.” Are you kidding me?! This is Jackie Joyner Kersee! I’m just happy to be standing in the same room with her and all of her Olympic greatness.

We talked for a minute about Fleet Feet and the 5K race that Jackie’s foundation is hoping to start next year with the help of our race timing division. Then I told Jackie I’d let her get back to her workout. She made a comment about needing to get in shape. HA! I responded with, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about there. But when you’re ready for new shoes, come see me at FLEET FEET”. I really hope she does.

RRG and JJK at the finish of the Bridge the Gap half marathon in Quincy, IL

Rambling Runner Girl

Adventures of a scatterbrained runner…