Lucky. Girl.

Left, right, left, right my shoulders tense up as I look out the glass window and see the same sight I have been staring at for the past twenty days for 90 minutes a day.  The green grass and the edge of the shell parking lot.  I shrug the tension out of my neck and twist around sideways trying to focus on anything else but that view.  My eyes meet the humongous clock in the center of the Westmoor Club.  "dear GOD.  Have I only been on this stupid stair master for 17 minutes?"  It feels like an eternity.  My legs, in spite of the shooting pain in my left quad ITCH to stretch, to move, to be outside, in the fresh air, mid stroke, on the pavement.  I want to run, so badly it stings every nerve in my body. Dammit.  What is wrong with me?  I have been to the doctor twice, a had an X-ray, an MRI, there has never been anything in my life I have not been able to fix with running.  I have run marathons with stress fractures, run with pneumonia, run through sadness, run through EVERYTHING.  What the hell is going on?  What is this?

 I twist back round and look at the numbers flashing on the screen.  I think back to running, to when my mind is free.  Just make it work together, connect.  I feel my core, connect to my legs, and the tension seems to fall out of my shoulders.  I close my eyes and think back.  When was I this scared?  WHen was I this nervous?  I think back to the starting line of Tough Mudder...the "race" I competed in, in May.  I think of the starting line.  Me, lined up with eight people  one girl, bravely wearing a superwoman costume, and seven guys, with whom I spent the majority of the spring training with.  We all did it for different reasons, whether those reasons were social, a new sort of challenge, or like myself, to win, we all came together and trained.  Together we developed a course, we developed obstacles and together we pushed one another.  We met when we could, and we did what we thought best, but we were facing the unknown and we were facing it go ether.  I stood on that starting line as part of this eclectic "team."  People I probably never would have had the opportunity to get to know without this "race."  Now, I smile thinking back at what the expression on my face must have been as we stood staring up the mountain of Mt. Snow, where this race was taking place.  Eight kids from Nantucket, possibly the lowest elevation and non comparable training standards of anywhere on the Eastern seaboard for what we were about to undertake.  I looked around the group.  I could see on the faces I had gotten the opportunity to get to know.  I admired their goals.  Without a word being said I could see...who wore fear, (I was among these few), who wore determination, who wore camaraderie.  I took a moment to reflect.  I saw a moment in each of them.  I saw a moment in myself.  We all wore teamwork.  I looked to our crowd of supporters who had come to watch and photograph.  I was Proud. I was scared shitless, but I was proud.  We climbed the wall to the starting line and I headed in thick smelly mud to the start.  My heart was racing in my chest, my head was fuzzy.  My teammates recognized this and immediately I felt the reassuring pats, he whispers of encouragement and I charged forward.  I felt ready.  The first bars of the National anthem began to play and I readied myself, setting my ind to my race just like any other race in my past  "here I go.  I have to win.  I HAVE to win."  All of a sudden with seconds to spare, I look down and one of my team mates who was there for "fun" decides to untie my shoe.  In calf deep thick smelly mud.  My eyes well up, I  start to panic and immediately shut it down.  He looks up at me and panics. "Hey!" he shouts, "chill the fuck out."  I try my best retie my shoe and charge across the starting line.

The race goes on...and we spread out.  I learn throughout it is NOT about winning.  It about working together to get over these challenges.  And that without fear, without determination and without camaraderie no one would cross that finish line.  I smile every time throughout the course I have to lean down and re tie that FUCKING shoelace that he untied.  And I learn.

The machine beeps and I look down, smiling.  Ninety minutes complete on this stupid stationary machine.  I grab the towel, take a sip of filtered water and rejoice in the recycled gym air underneath the fan before I dismount the stair master, reach for my phone and find messages from my team, nearly a year later, asking about my leg, giving me alternatives to train and setting the bar to train with me, together in a way we all can.   My eyes well up, I walk towards the door and realize, not to sweat the small stuff...it about the team you have behind you and how you work together in order to cross the finish line that is important. I realize I am a lucky girl.  No matter what.

Fall....

The sun is shining, the light is fall.  The scenery perfect,  I look at my watch.  Five hours of work before I can run.  Sunrise used to be my time, I could wake up and race the sun as it rose in the East, each footstep one step closer to a new day, a new opportunity.  Not anymore.  Now, I have enough confidence in my run to be able to run anytime, anywhere, to escape from what I want to escape from and be me.  To run, to feel free.  Like today.

 I run, step after step, lifting my feet mile after mile but still the brain in my head is saying STOP.  I look at my garmin, 8.64 miles. "This is pathetic," I think to myself.  I never used to stop before 10 miles.  That USED to be my easy run.  What is wrong with me?  As soon as that thought enters my mind, my right knee twinges, my right shoulder tweaks and my back on the lower right side completely feels locked up.  I pull over to the left side of the bike path and rip my iPod buds out of my ears, throwing them to the ground, take my garmin off and throw it beside the earphones.  "what the eff?" I scream out loud frightening a lovely summer touristy couple as they pedal past nonchalantly on their schwinns.  "WHY is this so hard?" I used to leave my house at the crack of dawn every day and push out 15-20 miles no sweat before dawn. Why can I not finish 10 miles at my 6:30 pace like i did without any thought before?  What is wrong with me?

I begin to  walk away from my stuff and think.  What was different? what was the same?  How did I feel then?  How do I feel now? What was I doing in my life? Where am I now?  Where am I headed?
I walk for about fifteen minutes before it hits me.

I used to run because of the science, because of the escape from life, because of the excuse it gave me for time.  I wanted to be the best...hell, I didn't want to be the best, I HAD to be the best, and I would break everything else in my life in order to do so.  That is where I was.

I love my minis.  With my whole heart, I love being able to spend time with them, to do new things...they started a new tradition of a "family run" everyday after school  a .25 mile run to the seagrass park down the street and back, for which we all get dressed appropriately and properly "hydrate," I love spending Sundays with them and with my friends and having my friends introduce all of us to ways of the island, like digging for steamers and cooking our dinner.  This is now.  This is what it is all about.  Yes, my mile pace has suffered, yes, if you put me in a 5k right now, there is a chance I would not win.  But for the first time in my life ask me the important question....


DO I CARE?

The answer, as I walk back towards my stupid garmin and all judges equipment is no.  I do not.  I started to run because I wanted my minis to look up to me.  I want them to simply know who they are looking up to, and I cherish every single second of my time with them.  I pick up my watch and earphones, reluctantly plug them both in but pay them no regard until I finish my run...constant, steady and strong eight and a half miles later.  I finish up, walk to my
 car and head straight to my minis ready for a night of ice cream sundaes, movies and snuggles.

Boot Camp

"So....who wants to meet at Steps for a beach workout?"  I confidently ask as the Tuesday class comes to an end.  I see a few of the guys look at each other and sort of shrug their shoulders.  They have been working together, the same group for the past three weeks in this space.  Strangers totally at first, but somehow this group has come tougher and become one as eclectic as they are.  They're game, but true to form, like guys, they refuse to answer me.

"Cool," I say, "Steps.  Thursday 4:15."  I shut off the lights, pick up the weights and walk over the guy who passed out on the front stoop.  "Dude.  Get up, you're bad PR...see you Thursday."

Thursday am....foggy as can be.  I immediately feel my heart begin to beat faster, I hope these guys don't bail.  Tough Mudder is 5 weeks away and I am getting seriously nervous for this race.  I need them to push me as much as I push them.  Sure enough throughout the day I get the text, Facebook and voicemail messages asking about class. I respond continuously...yes...we are on.

4:00, I pull my mini cooper up to the circle and see four boys shyly hiding in their cars appropriately positioned around the circle.  They see my silver mini and get out.  The sky is still a touch cloudy and the wind is howling.

"SO...it's kind of cold, no?" asks one of my boys.

"hmmm...," I say, "Well, I am wearing shorts, but if you can't hang, I mean I guess I get it." I head down to the steps and towards the beach.  I look halfway around and see them following me.  I walk down the steps and begin to pretend I know what I am doing.  I draw some lines in the sand and try pacing some distances out.  Slowly but surely they come.  4,5,6,7,8....They begin stretching and watch me...greeting one another, these guys who never knew one another until a few weeks ago and this class.  They high five, they nod, they are themselves.  Here,  after work, with a common goal.  Totally out of their element, totally trusting me, totally susceptible.

I get nervous.  For the first time ever with these guys.  One of them looks at me.
"So...what now?"

I jump to the usual warm-up, "20 jacks, 20 burpees"  As soon as my feet spread and hit the sand I think "Oh fuck, this is going to be hard."  The sand gives and my legs are forced to react.  We hit the sand for burpees and I feel the energy of the boys.  The motivation, the drive and I thrive. We finish.

"Sprint, top of the hill...to the stairs, 7 flights up and down... go."  We hit it, all 9 of us.  I literally hear the hearts racing, the breath gasping and encourage them on.  "learn to cope, inhale through your noise, exhale through the mouth.  Settle it."  A few guys step out of line to handle it, but most...who have worked together since the start settle into a rhythm and begin to encourage one another.  I even begin to laugh as one guy attempts to throw me over the railing on one of the final passings.  We finish the stairs and hit the beach again.

Once everyone has caught their breath I look to the Jetty...about half a mile down the beach
"let's run, down and back...I will yell a percentage of what I want you to give and you follow."
  They nod.  But not before one of my faves suggests 20 burpees at the jetties before heading back.

"okay dude, done." I say shrugging it off.  I have totally opted for barefoot running, my own choice, but until this point it has been smart.  We take off as a group on the beach and head with the wind towards the rocks.  At once, I hit a shell, and my toe splits, I look down and see the blood immediately.  Shake it off...I have to beat these guys to keep them going.  I yell, "50%" we pick it up I yell "25"  some fall back, "60," we pin it up, "50," some fall back, "75, pick it up" "50,"...I look behind me and there are several behind my yelling power.  Just two who I am not "competing" with.  I get pissed.  "100."  I turn it on.  They both keep up.  "50," I yell.. even more pissed.  I am passed, by one.  I shrug it off and hit it again "100"....I try to catch him, he is off.  My left leg hits a deep patch of sand and my leg sinks down to my knee.

"JUST. FUCKING. GO. to the end, " I yell.

He turns it on and as pissed as I am, I am also proud.  I stop to walk...just as I do, the second guy catches me and I think FUCK no.  I turn it on and sprint him out to the rocks.  We stop, I turn left and look at my toe for a second.  I shrug it off.  It's bleeding, but will be fine.  I look left instead and think.   I look back down the beach at each and every guy running.  NOT walking, running.  Finishing.  Running.  For what?  For a time?  For a PR?  For the love of running? NO.  For each other.  FOr training with each other, for wanting to be the best each and every person could be because of this group.  THIS is why I love racing.  not for me, but to push someone else.  To be there when they crush it.  To be there for them.  I set my new goals and I look back.  Because of this moment.  For one split second among all these minutes, I am a TOTAL girl, I well up, look to my left, see Brant Point light  look back and hit the sand for 20 burpees with my boys.

A different Spring.

Monday morning.  I roll over and grab my phone.  Ugh.

 4:49  I shut the alarm off and my feet hit the floor.  Due to the time change the sky is barely grey at this point of the morning.  I try to ignore that fact that in my brain and body it is actually 3:49.  I jump in the shower, and grab my lulu get up for the morning.  I ignore my garmin, charging on the night table, and grab a water bottle from the fridge before I lace up my old ghetto brooks and head out the door.  The keys hit the ignition and I drive the familiar path to the gym. Deer are even disturbed by my early morning timing and jump out of the way.  I remember when this was the time of day two years ago when I ran among them, startling them gracefully, on foot.  Now, I interrupt them with noise and zoom past.  I turn the corner and zoom up the drive.  I park, grab my headphones, my shoes and unlock the door.

5:06.  I hit the lights and begin my routine...1 mile sprint, followed by jumping jacks and burps until I feel like my chest is going to explode.  I stop for a split second and think about it.  Two months until tough mudder.  A challenge I am seriously, seriously afraid of.  Even with a marathon, it is the simple act of one foot in front of another.  A run.  Our bodies were made to move, to run.  THIS.  Tough Mudder....entirely different.  A challenge, 10 miles of running with 27 insanely ridiculous obstacles along the way. Exactly what I need.  A new challenge, a new way of thinking. A strong way of thinking and being.  Already feeling like a slacker with my delay, I  eye the pull-up bar in the corner, it is my personal goal this month to hit 10 in a row.  I shy away and hit some push-ups.  50.  Stairmaster to simulate hills, as hard as I can.  I feel my heart palpitating and ease off.  Jacks.  Bosu.  Burpees.  Push-up rows.  I keep up.  I look to my left and see the sun rising in the sky.  I miss the pounding.  The running.  THe moment when I was alone on the bike path appreciating the rhythm of my body moving together and the sun rising in the sky with each new day, the thoughts, the chance for a new beginning  every day.  Tough.  I shrug it off and keep going.

5:38.  In a moment of sadness I hit the tread and crank out some speed work.  I reminisce in the feeling of my feet flying and truly enjoy every step.  I love the power and strength I feel with each stride.  My arms cranking to move my body, and my core crunching with every movement.  Whole body working as one. I love it.  I own it.

6:08.  I step off, and think of my 8 year old client who always says when she steps off, "it feels like I am still moving."  I smile, grab some water and hit 50 more push-ups.  Still I eye the pull-up machine.  And still shy away.  I stop dead in my brooks.  What am I waiting for?  I walk over and grab the bench.  I reach up and take a deep breath.  I look over my right shoulder and catch the sun square in my eyes.  I accept it as a challenge and pull my body up.  I tuck my tummy in and focus on moving from my core.  I use my lats and pull my body up again and again.  I breathe deep and find the connection.  My back working with my arms, with my shoulders with my breath.  I hit 7, then 8, then 9.  My arms give.  I succumb.

6:18.  I sit on the floor and smile.  Dope.  I found it.  I set a goal.  Totally different from what knew and loved and moved to get there.  I didn't hit it...yet.  But I know I will.  The power of the mind is really what manages everything.  I throw my sweatshirt on and head out the door.  Plenty of time for coffee before my 7:00 am class.

Tulum. Free.

My feet felt free, my toes churning up the powder white sand as the warm water splashed up and hit my calves...which were, by the way on FIRE in spite of the 17 classes I teach weekly, and the 50 plus miles I run every week with shoes on.

 I saw my target, the flipped over yellow dinghy up ahead and turned it up.  I find the groove, the rhythm and feel my arms start to take over for my legs on the final stretch.  My breath kicks in and the sand hits higher and higher.  I see people along the beach begin to look at me as if I must be on some serious crack.  I not only ignore in it, I relish it.  Faster and faster until I hit my mark and begin to slow to a stride.  I stop, breathe and look to the sea.  Mexico.  Two of my closest friends getting married.  Awesome group of people.  Beautiful spot. And a truly amazing place to run.  Even though my brand new, SO awesome, yet ghetto for my Greenwich ass, black and turq asics were hi-jacked from this very spot yesterday when I realized I needed to be "freed" of shoes mid-run,  I realized I didn't even care.  About anything.   I have no garmin, no goals, no anything, here.  No schedule, no have to's, no should be doing's.  It's all about the run.  I have never run barefoot.  In fact, as a runner who has lost a potential significant PR as a result of serious stress fractures, I have always been pretty vocal on the importance of supportive footwear.  That was years ago...and a whole lifetime away.  I remember feeling devastated at the time but now, I can't even imagine caring.  In this moment, post run, where I am ALWAYS a total geek and take a minute to reflect I recognize the metaphor or irony...or whatever it is.  I have never been good at distinguishing between the two...maybe my shoes were stolen for a reason.  Feel the freedom.  Find the freedom and appreciate it.  Five days with no schedule, just friends and a beautiful spot to enjoy in its simplicity, barefoot.  I take a deep breath, look towards the turquoise waters and reach for my phone, my second favorite part of my day has ended.  I dial the numbers and wait for the voices..."Mama?" I hear it and coupled with my cheesy realization, I well up.  "Hey Mays,  what did you dream about?"  I breathe the warm air in and begin to enjoy the best part of every day.  "You." she says.