Crisis of Confidence

                This morning I definitely suffered a crisis of confidence. While running this morning it seemed like the task laid out before me seems unreachable. I’m not sure if it was the stifling heat of the gym or the impact that the cast on my right hand has on my gait. Regardless of the issue I started to doubt myself, my training and my overall abilities.

                My run this morning was decent, time wise I won’t be breaking into any record books but I did my run on a 3% incline at a 5.6mph speed. It was challenging beyond any basic without obstacles and mud run that I have attempted thus far.

                The Marine Corps Marathon is now 110 days away and I’m realizing that I’m behind in my distance training. I think part of it is a lack of motivation….some of it could be that once again I’m dealing with an injury. While I’m proud of my mangled hand, and what has turned out to be a torn thumb ligament, I’m finding the cast is messing with my balance and I find it distracting. The other factor in the lack of motivation is not having someone to run with. Intellectually I know that running is a solitary sport, part of what drew me to it as a means of dealing with life, however as I need to run longer and longer distances I find the lack of running companionship to be challenging.

                It was ironic that as I sat down to write this I spotted a link on the Mud Mafia Facebook page from Runner’s World about how to stay motivated. I found a few of the tips helpful, others made me chuckle but perhaps it will help others find their way. (http://www.runnersworld.com/article/0,7120,s6-243-297--11733-0,00.html)

                In the end I know that I need to man up and just do it, as the cliché Nike ads all say. No one is going to be able to accomplish this but me. I may have the assistance of my trainer Regina and my fellow troops in SoldierFit along with friends that are also pursing similar goals, but in the end it is I alone that needs to get out of bed and run. I have achieved much harder things but I think part of why I struggle is that those where incidents that were thrust upon me, I had no other choice then to push forward. This time, I have put the pressure on myself; I have made the conscious decision to put myself through these paces.

                One thing I came across last night was the poem “Invitcus” by William Ernest Henley I had jotted it down for some reason or another (prior to the popularity of my dream boy Matt Damon’s movie of the same name) It has provided me with a degree of perspective and focus:

Out of the night that covers me, 
Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 
I thank whatever gods may be 
For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud. 
Under the bludgeonings of chance 
My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 
Looms but the Horror of the shade, 
And yet the menace of the years 
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 
How charged with punishments the scroll. 
I am the master of my fate: 
I am the captain of my soul.

The Spartan Race

                I have struggled to write this blog, not so much because of the emotional aspects swirling in my head but because in addition to losing my Spartan Race bib on Saturday I also lost my thumb nail and fractured my finger. Typing with 9 normal fingers and one the size of a bratwurst is somewhat challenging.

                I will admit I stepped to the start line of the Mid-Atlantic Spartan Race confident in my abilities but nervous about the true impact that a summer bout of the flu and a sore throat had on my training. Also, I was concerned about the 3^rd degree massive sunburn I received the day before on my back. However, immediately upon starting I knew that I was in for something completely different. I will be honest, I don’t remember all 18 obstacles or in their proper order and my sunburn was quickly forgotten. I know that on the first wall I went over I fractured my finger, though at the time I didn’t realize it I just assumed that my torn off nail was the reason for the agonizing pain. But I kept going….over walls, under mesh netting, through tires inserted into walls, over Hagrid size trees, into water and over terrain that left my ankles hesitant while my brain screamed just move.  There was dragging of cinder blocks and water with rocks that was quite chilly despite the humid temperatures. The first cargo net was scaled with surprising ease despite my dislike of heights.

                I remember the 400 feet of barbed wire well. I remember the guy in the kilt and tee-shirt yelling “Mind over matter…if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” Annoyingly distracting but it served its purpose I kept going if only to get away from his barking voice. (It was during this obstacle that I lost my bib…please observe a moment of silence for bib# 13792, it gave its life nobly).

                It was also here that I met Gail. Gail was a first time racer whose team had left her behind. She was gallantly trying to keep going. I realized at this point my time was shot to hell so I slowed my pace and helped Gail finish her first race. Apparently her friends didn’t exactly describe what she was getting into with much accuracy and she had contemplated quitting…something I too had considered in the middle of the barbed wire when the lactic acid was killing my stomach and my muscles.

                Together we finished the remaining obstacles we ran through a mesh tube and got pelted painfully with paintballs from a 50c weapon. Scaled yet even more Hagrid size trees and carried buckets of gravel and made it over 5 walls with out falling. We together overcame our fear of heights and made it over the even larger cargo net, with the help of the nice volunteers on the ground who all cheered us on and high fived us as we hit the ground.

                In addition to obstacles we completed insane amounts of burpees….I didn’t attempt the monkey bars (Gail fell mid-swing), I knew that my shoulders wouldn’t handle the swinging. I fell off the balance beams (big muddy feet are not agile), missed the hay bale by mere inches with the spear(my arms were exhausted and by this point I was contemplating that there was indeed something the matter with my hand), missed the teeny tiny paint ball target (I blame the weapon), the ascending walls were more than Gail and I could manage alone and after a nasty tumble off the soap wall that took all the remaining skin off my elbows and was more than my thumb could bare, I completed burpees 151-180. The remaining 6 came from seeing Gail struggle valiantly to complete her remaining 12. I bargained with the very nice volunteer about splitting Gail’s remaining burpees so that she wouldn’t have to struggle…he considered for a moment and said he was ok with that.

                It was during these last burpees that I spotted my mother nervously standing at the finish line. I had told her that it would take me no longer that an hour to finish the course, while I didn’t know the exact time I knew that I was longer than I had anticipated. So between burpees I waved…it took several times before she waved back. I found out later that according to mom we all look alike regardless of race, gender and any other distinguishing feature so it took her awhile to realize the person waving while completing “some funny little exercise” was in fact her kid. She apparently had witnessed people tumbling off the 8 feet wall in a myriad of manners that didn’t look safe or gentle for any joint. She said she was terrified that I would come flying over the wall and break some body part (she wasn’t aware that I was already broken).

                The jousters were quite nice….they didn’t smack me too hard just enough to knock the wind out of my gut which for their safety was probably a good thing. Mom said she had already planned to smack the jousters if they hit me too hard…something about picking on people their own size was mentioned. I looked behind to see that Gail had made it safely through the nice gentlemen in the skirts and padded q-tips and I sprinted to the finish line with a surprising burst of energy that I felt I had lost for the last little portion of the race.

                I learned a lot from the Spartan Race, some of which I’m still processing. It was the most physically challenging and humbling experience I have chosen to put myself in. Also, Spartan Races are best completed with a team or at the very least with a friend who is significantly taller than you are. While the time wasn’t my best and I honestly could have done better, waiting for Gail and helping ensure she got across the finish line became as important as me getting there. I couldn’t see leaving her behind as her friends had done.

                When asked if I would do another Spartan Race my immediate reaction was “hell no” but as time has passed, I realized how truly awesome my time was in the overall picture (191/683. Time wise this wasn’t my best race but in terms placement, stamina and sheer guts and overall accomplishment it was.  With more training and a strict adherence to the WOD regiment in addition to my other work outs, next year will see me once again taking on the Spartan. Perhaps I will try one of the larger races….with the Death Race not out of the realm of possibilities.

                I have been called many things over the last few days…nuts, crazy, masochist, insane, klutzy but the name I’m proudest to bare is Spartan finisher. My bloody little finger and I will proudly tell all who cringe the story of the epic battle and the awesome friend I made.

                Now it’s on to training for my first marathon…..after a nap of course. 

Success! Complete with a nap and a near heart attack

                Today’s running excursion was a moderate success. In terms of distance and speed it’s probably not worth mentioning however in regards to pain (or lack thereof) it is. After being inspired by The Barn Beast’s theory of PTFU (Prepare The F*#k Up) I decided to do just that and take this running thing by the horns, ankles and calves be somewhat damned. As it seems that running on hard surfaces like roads, sidewalks and anything else that resembles a race course has been challenging, I decided to run on a treadmill. Aside from the freezing temperatures and its impact on my asthma I felt that by using a treadmill I didn’t have to figure out a way to get home should I get too far away and my ankles gave out. Crawling is not something I like to do unless it involves looking for contact lenses.

                The gym where I sometimes work out is small and most importantly free. It has two treadmills. An elliptical. Some interesting bicycle contraptions.  A few weight machines. And one of those lounge chair ab torture things that look like the wrong move would result in you being turned into a sandwich. It’s a pretty basic gym that I should probably mention is located inside a retirement community. Since I am often times “volunteered” by the Volunteer Director (who happens to be my mother) I get to use the gym for free.

                When I arrived this morning one of the residents that I recognized but couldn’t remember her name was there working her way around the various machines.  I started out on the treadmill at a gentle walk, all the while wishing I had remembered my ear plugs to lessen the volume of the TV playing. Honestly, I was surprised that CNN studios weren’t suffering from feedback in NY from the volume of the TV in the gym. While I am a great fan of Christine Romans and the CNNam crew, I typically listen to their show at a much lower volume. After starting my jog the kind lady whose name slips my mind, my description of short with gray hair and glasses drew a groan of irritation from my Volunteer Director mother, decided to use the lounge chair ab torture thing which happens to be in front of the treadmill. As I was running along listening to the commentary on the situation in the Middle East I began to realize that my gym companion had stopped moving. When I peaked over the top of my machine I realized she wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed, my initial thought was horror that the torture contraption killed this little lady whose name I don’t know but who is very sweet. I was much relieved when I heard the loudest snore I have ever heard escape from this little tiny person.

                We were joined shortly by another resident who fits the previous description and again whose name I can’t remember. (In my defense there are over 400 residents who for the most part have gray hair and glasses). She walked slowly on the treadmill next to mine while I ran until I felt the slight twinge in my ankle and knew I needed to stop while the getting was good. As I slowed to a walk the lady who had decided to nap in the ab lounge chair torture contraption woke up and acted as if she hadn’t been asleep and quickly began crunching away…nearly giving our new gym companion a heart attack since she didn’t realize there was someone snoozing on the gym equipment. It was quite a humorous way to spend time in the gym.

                In the end, after the overly loud TV and snoring gym companion, I did a 12 minute 1.5 mile run at 4.5 mph with a 2% incline. I ended up walking about that same distance between the warm up and cool down.  Not an awesome workout but I’m pleased with how long I went without pain. Most importantly, I’m feeling like I have my confidence back. I’ve got my game face back and I’m PTFU. It’s a little over 3 weeks until my first race ever and I’m feeling like I’ve got it. 

Frustration

                The last week or so I have felt an annoying sense of frustration. In the last month or so of training it’s as if for every two steps forward, I have to take three steps back. Especially in the area of my ankle and shins. It seems as if I baby my ankle along until it feels better and then I slowly work up my weight and routine and then I try something as bold as actually running and then it’s back to square run with me hobbling around.

                The greatest moment of frustration came after I tried to take a short run, about 1 ¼ miles through the neighborhood, only to be left barely able to walk without ice packed legs for two days….and what was merely an ankle injury turned into shin splints. A common malady for runners I understand, but added to other things it was just another damn frustration. With the frustration comes the question of how in Sam Hill am I going to run a marathon when I’m barely able to run two miles without having to call a taxi to  return me to my starting point. I’m not so sure the Marine Corps Marathon organizers would appreciate me hailing a taxi in the middle of the race-not that I typically have much luck hailing a cab when I’m bumming around the city.

                If I were to look at the root of my frustration it probably stems from this need to achieve self perfection. I over analysis when things don’t go as planned and even when they go as planned, or at least are successful; I still have a tendency to find a flaw, albeit subtle to the outside observer.

                I’ve been trying to remind myself during the last weeks of frustration that I’ve come a long way. Considering I started this journey with mangled ankles from a yet to be determined “how the hell did I do that” moment-running with incorrect shoes or leg pressing too much weight are two of the top culprits, I’m actually doing fairly well. But if that isn’t enough to soothe my frustrated self, I can go back further and see that I truly have come a long way. I was a talented athlete with a bright future. I played three varsity sports but was always willing to play anything. My future as a WNBA/MLB/LPGA/MLS star came to crashing halt when at 15 I nearly lost my life to an undetected thyroid disorder. Resting pulse of 150 is not really ideal for an athlete; well it’s not really ideal for anyone for that matter. The following decade was filled with trying to recover from the emotional and physical impact of a that took who I was and all that I knew.

                In 2005, I was nearly killed in a car accident and was left temporarily paralyzed from the shoulders down. I thought I would never walk again but I was lucky that the fracture in my back was not the cause of my paralysis but instead the result of my body shutting down to protect itself….or at least that’s how the doctor explained it to me. A couple years later I was assaulted and left with a shoulder that can not only predict the weather but whose cracking would make a nice addition to any performance of a Beethoven sympathy.

                While some shake their heads at my list of injuries and illnesses, a few laugh and tease me about them, while others go so far as to question their validity….I look at it as 15 years that have reshaped my life into an interesting direction. But if I truly look at the last 15 years as a whole, and ignoring what others think and say, I have come a long way…..I just need to remember that when the frustration seems to keep me in an angry/frustrated state. I need to remember that five years ago I never thought I would walk again. Now I’m not only walking but running. Hopefully the two steps forward and three steps back will reverse course soon allowing me to get back on my game so I can kill my upcoming races. 

When-Thoughts on passion, shoulder sockets and music

                Yesterday was a pretty awesome day. I spent a few hours at the Frederick Fight Club snapping pictures of my buddy Mischa as he trains for his bout in a couple weeks. I watched as Mischa sparred with a couple Junior Golden Glove winners. A truly awesome experience. The energy was indescribable, but inspiring was definitely thrown in the mix of feelings. Being in a room with a bunch of guys that are doing what they love with such awesome talent and desire. The time really caused me to reflect on what I’m doing to fulfill my passion of running (as well as fulfill my overall life’s passion). The end result of the afternoon left me with a feeling of wanting to do more. To step up my game as Mischa would say.

                I’ve already alluded to my boot camp days and times as my set “when” days. The in between days I fit my work outs in when my time allows. Typically I try and work out first thing in the morning so that my day starts out energized. Though as the weeks have passed I have found on the non boot camp days I am working out twice a day; once in the morning and then again in the evening after supper. As Mom is working up her strength to recover from stay in the hospital I am walking with her at the local mall for an hour each morning.

                As I’m typing this I am feeling like I wanted to go longer and harder this morning. I had definitely had moments during our arm work out that I thought my shoulders would surely fall out of their sockets and lay on the Astroturf covered pitch, to my credit I pushed myself with 15 pounds today up from 10. I’m still not completely discounting the chance that I may be doing more ab and arm work outs after the affects of the ice on my shoulders has worn off.

                I realized over the last few days that so much of my schedule is built around when I work out. When I need to eat. My goal of being in shape for my list of races and ultimately the marathon has driven me to change my lifestyle. Some might say it has taken over my life and perhaps they are correct in their assessment of my new found behavior. Part of it is excitement in finding something that just seems to suit me. Part of it is finding something new and challenging that seemed in the past as unattainable. Part of it is really to keep me from going completely insane while I search for a career that suits me as well as my new found passion. (Career focuses currently: Marines, FBI and law enforcement)

                I have a race every month except for July and September.  I was going to try and pack those “free” months but decided to allow myself some down time on those months to focus solely on training and perhaps some biking and camping adventures with friends.  September is the month prior to the marathon and knowing my ankles tendency to be cranky I want to focus those weeks entirely on the marathon. Besides, my two week sojourn to the beach will provide me with ample training opportunity…what better way to greet the day then a run along the beach as the sky turns from navy blue to sun kissed pink and orange.

                Now when I run I feel like I’m chasing that sunrise. I’m beginning to feel comfortable in my stride. I still need to work on my breathing and my speed. My days as a basketball and soccer player have programmed me to take off full speed ahead without any concern for the fact that my body will perhaps stop breathing sooner than I would like. Now my focus will be on slowing down and having a consistent pace. I’ve tried music of varying types but can’t seem to find anything that keeps my stride even, not too fast and not too slow. Eminem and P!nk are fabulous for my emotional state of mind but do little to keep me from tearing up the ground. My next attempt is classical music. I’ve been going through my CD’s pulling out the music from the days when I was striving to be a classically trained musician in hopes that something will match my stride and keep me on pace.

                I have one month until my first race. A 5K mud race sponsored by 368 Athletics and held at the Ceresville Mansion. It will be nice…close to home, short race that will allow me to quite literally get my feet wet. And there will be beer. Beer is always a good thing.

                

#PrayforJapan and #CrescentCity

Crescent City Morning

               I woke this morning to images that were somewhat reminiscent of the destruction of 9/11. I sat rooted on the side of my bed thinking that perhaps I was in some nightmarish scenario. Somewhere between fully awake and partially asleep. I was nearly late to boot camp this morning as I flipped between the Weather Channel and CNN watching the images and trying to make sense of what was happening. Despite spending the day watching the images on constant replay I am not yet able to fully comprehend the magnitude of what has happened.

                As the concern of a potential tsunami made its way to the United States I was left with conflicting emotions. Tsunamis seem like such a distinctly foreign concept. It’s something that was studied in various science classes; seen happen in faraway places. But to have such a catastrophic natural event knock on our borders left me feeling…agitated.

Standing on the beach

                When I turned on the news this evening after a brief respite to clear my head I heard of the tragedy in Crescent City, CA. One killed and three swept to sea. While it seems that the person killed was attempting to take pictures of the tsunami waves, it doesn’t lessen the tragedy. Especially with the assumed loss of three lives swept to sea, not to mention the livelihood of many who lost their boats when the harbor was destroyed.

                I realized that some of my agitation and unnamed emotions stemmed from having been to many of the places on the left coast. Having spent many days driving along the PCH enjoying the coast line, feeling the ocean breeze on my face. Following the coast through the Redwood’s and into Crescent City and up through the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps it was knowing that only 6 months ago I was in the very location that turned out to be such a tragic spot for many that has left me feeling so jumbled inside.

                Crescent City, CA was an awesome town. The people were incredibly nice; while it lacked a decent place to eat for a vegetarian the misty views over the ocean were amazing. I spent time walking the beach and dipped my toes in the Pacific Ocean. The view from my Brady Bunch-era decorated room was terrific. I found a fondest in my heart for Crescent City, perhaps because as a photographer the docks provided ample opportunity to capture some amazing images. 

                While I remember the people of Crescent City fondly I also hold in my heart all the other people and places that have been so adversely affected by the earthquake and tsunami. I wish that I knew specifically what to pray for that would somehow solve their problems but it seems so overwhelming, so I will just pray for the people of the small town I fell in love with; for the people of the world who are faced with unthinkable challenges and tragedy I pray. 

Where

                I suppose the where have I been might be good place to start. I don’t really have a decent answer to that other than I’ve been focusing on caring for Mom and somewhat forgot about my blog. 

                But the where I was originally going for while the idea was kicking around in my head was where I work out. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings I wake up at 4:30am to make my way to the Frederick Indoor Sports Complex (FISC). Technically, I work out at 368 Athletics which is the kick ass gym located inside the FISC. There Regina has me run up and down the soccer field with various apparatuses along with playing with various machines. 

                I use to think that the days in between were off days where I could recover my muscles. Orginally, the in between days were needed to do just that. The first few weeks I felt as if I was going to die or at least never walk or move my arms like a normal human being. However, as I got stronger I craved the exercises on the “off days.”

                On the off days I work out at home with my newly purchased equipment. A balance ball, medicine ball, bar bells and a jump rope.  I also use the neighborhood streets (when my shin splints aren’t being cranky) to run. When my shins are incredibly cranky I use my cyc-ops to pedal many miles while watching CNN or whatever else appeals to me on a particular morning.

                I’m finding the mixed up routine of places helps keep me from getting bored, something I was worried might happen when I found out there was a two year wait for the PFT. However with the new goal of the Marine Corps Marathon I’m feeling motivated.