Buffalo Marathon 2019: I Swiped Right.

Well, despite my ambivalence about this race, I do owe you a race report, so here goes.  This might be the hardest race report I've ever done, simply because five days out from the race, I'm not really sure how I feel about it - I'm still processing the day, the result, and how I feel, both mentally and physically.

We all know the back story - seven weeks ago this was to be my redemption BQ attempt, and then everything fell apart 6 weeks ago, with this foot injury I just can't seem to shake.  I've spent way too much time in a black hole about it, albeit some resurgences (new half marathon PR) in an otherwise dismal month and a half of running low volume, likely filled with 99% runs I shouldn't have even done.

Yet, there was this whole Buffalo Marathon on May 26.  The taper for this race was weird, since there wasn't one.  Well meaning friends tried to cheer me up, reminding me of my strong base, that it was "just a run - no stress - just go", "forget the PR - you know it's not that kind of race" and to "race like I wasn't injured".  Well that was all well and good, except there's a big difference between just a run and 26.2 miles, even if you know you aren't going to PR or likely come close.  So when you have no goal other than to decide if you're dumb enough to run (I was) you feel a bit adrift about the whole thing.

The week of taper, I took a long drive around town to just de-stress and get my mind in the right spot.  I drove some of the Irondequoit Bay Runners run course, where I had regularly laid siege a few months before.  Along the bay, the roads had flooded considerably, and there was plenty of wildlife enjoying the added water volume.

  I stopped and stared at this swan for a long time, thinking about how peaceful it looked, even in the midst of a flood....it calmly glided through the water, one with its environment.  I thought about how, even feeling adrift, how much I damned loved to run.  And I felt a sense of peace, knowing that I would just be grateful to have the space to do what I loved in Buffalo, if my foot would let me.  And that whatever happened in terms of time, I would accept - some races are meant to be raced for another reason, and even if I didn't quite grasp it, I knew I would eventually figure it out.

Then, as luck would have it, my Garmin shot the bed in terms of elevation reading, so my buddy was kind enough to bring me a loaner the day before the race.....he freaking rocks.  I made the trek to Buffalo on Saturday solo (thank you Greg!), opting for a hotel stay due to the 6:30am start.  I had a flurry of texts, Facebook messages and even a phone call from some of my strongest supporters (I LOVE you guys - I needed that!) and despite the drunkies down the hall from me, managed to at least lay in bed for 8 hours, even if I only got 4 of sleep.

Look at that Badass with the double watches...I'm such a dork.

Which I re payed kindly the next morning with rousing renditions of "Shake that Ass" "Till I Collapse", "Superman" and "Renegade".  Somewhere in the midst of my foot anger, I decided to make my playlist half Eminem and I rocked that shit out....

 'Til the roof comes off, till the lights go out

'Til my legs give out, can't shut my mouth.

'Til the smoke clears out and my high perhaps

I'm a rip this shit till my bone collapse! 

LETS DO THIS!

My foot actually didn't feel too terrible, but I KT taped it up, ate a bagel, had my applesauce pouch, lime cucumber Gatorade, and made the short drive to the race site, arriving at 5:30.  Took care of business, and enjoyed the epic start scenery.

Downtown BLO was ensconced in fog, making it (e)erie (see what I did there), somewhat cool looking, and humid as shit.  Fabulous.  I dropped my crap off at my car, stuffed my key and a few Gu's down my bra (look, I can go from a B cup to a C cup in 10 seconds!) and made my way to the start corral.

The corrals were PACKED, so I lined up with the 4:00 hour guys.  I had no terribly crazy goals - I decided to try to run with the 3:30 pace guys  (8:00/mile)  if I could for as long as I could, then ease off.  The national anthem played, they set off fireworks, (which was AWESOME!) and before I knew it, the gun sounded!

And we were off!  Not really.  It took a good minute to cross the start line, so me, being of ample technology, hit the start on one Garmin when the gun went off and one when I crossed the start.  Look at me, being all cool and shit.

Mile 1 was messy - dodging runners and little cluster groups all over the place.  I saw the 3:30 pace group in the distance and covered the ground to catch up bit by bit, with mile 1 in 7:26, which was way the hell too fast.  Mile 2 was a 7:41, which I attribute to the fact that the group crossed the start line at least 20 seconds before me.  I started to question the wisdom of staying with them, but miles 3-8 leveled out at a 7:55-8:02 pace, which was freaking perfect.  The first 10 miles, in fact, felt awesome.  The front stretch of this race was awesome - there were a few gentle inclines, plenty of gentle declines, and although it was muggy as shit, the water stops every 2 miles were great - until mile 10, when the guy in front of me threw his half full cup of gatorade on my shoes.  Dammit.

At the 10 mile point, I was feeling pretty comfortable with my pace, my nutrition (gel at mile 6, water every two miles), and the world.  Famous last words.  We did a U-ey by the water at mile 11 on some rough road and I wasn't paying close enough attention and tripped with my bad foot on a pothole.  Shit.  What was likely a poor choice before I even started became evident as my foot throbbed through mile 11, at an 8:42 pace.  I stopped for a second and stretched it out, and took mile 12 to contemplate my options.  My foot felt terrible.  I realized at that point there was a huge difference between running 13.1 and 26.2 on an injured foot and just couldn't see 14 more miles happening.  So I decided to pull at the half marathon finish and take the DNF.

I thought about this for the next half mile or so and realized that I had nothing to prove to anyone.  Checking my watch, I knew I could pull off a 1:44 half, which was legit, even if it wouldn't count (if you switched distances mid race, it was a DNF).  As I closed in on mile 13, there was a big divide in the road, like a highway - all 13.1 finishers to the left, all 26.2 to the right.  I pulled into the left lane and readied myself to not cross the finish line.

There was about a quarter mile of the divide until the 26.2 made a turn to the right that was the "point of no return".  With about .5 seconds to go before this turn....I realized I couldn't do it.  I've never DNFed in my life and today was NOT gonna be the except.  So...I "swiped right" and followed the full marathoners for 13.1 more miles of fun.

Spoiler alert - This was a giant mistake.  I knew by mile 13.5 my foot was in deep shit.  So at mile 14, I made the call and pulled off at the medical tent by the mile 14 aid station.  I hit the point of "no return" - which means I physically stopped (both) of my garmins at 14.06 miles.  This meant I was done.

I sat in the med tent and iced my foot while the awesome attendees brought me water and wrapped my foot.  I felt strangely detached as I watched the runners go by....knowing I had made the right choice.  I sat there for a good 7 minutes and asked how to get back and they told me unless I needed an ambulance, I had to walk the .9 miles back to the finish.

Well thats dumb.  I thought about it for a minute and decided, hell, lets see if I can make it to mile 16 (there were med tents every two miles).  I grabbed a gu, started one of my garmins back up (I'm not a total masochist) and was off.

No I wasn't.  I lasted 2 minutes before my foot got stupid and I knew the jig was up.  I sighed, stopped the watch, and turned around, trudging down the hill.  I saw a support bike who asked if I was ok and I said I was done and heading back.  And then, because the fates conspire, two things happened.  Andy Mineo's "You Can't Stop Me" started playing on my mp3 player.  And the 3:50 pace group ran by.  Shit.  I took a deep breath and summoned every ounce of stupidity I had, and turned around to rerun the .2 I just ran....and hopefully more.

After a few minutes, this was fine!  I took it easy, staying with the group and averaged about an 8:30 mile, which was super comfortable for me.  Miles 14-20 were pretty, easy, and my foot didn't want to kill me.  Aside from my nutrition gaffe (I didnt eat at mile 12 because I thought I was done), I did rather well, and felt decent!  I enjoyed the scenery, ran through hoses (it was in the mid 70s and still super muggy, and now we had sun, too!) and rather enjoyed the game my garmin and I played - I would hit a mile marker on the course at .8 of my watch, since my watch started up at 14.2 - so I really either had to do mental math or not give a shit about my total time (I went with the latter).

This lasted up until mile 20, when the heat, humidity, and mother nature called (dammit).  I swung into a porta pottie and as soon as I sat down, my foot rebelled again.  I hobbled out, grabbed some ice, and tried the run thing again.  Nope nope nope. DAMMIT.  I looked at my watch and then gave up trying to figure out a logical goal, as the 3:50's had left me at the porta potty.  My best guess was to try come in before 10:30am for a sub 4 hour finish, which seemed reasonable and more than I deserved at that point.

The last 10k went by in a bit of a haze....I was averaging about a 9:15-9:20 mile - running when I could, walking when I couldn't - getting drenched by garden hoses and squishing with every step.  At the final 5k I knew that unless I totally fell apart, I would finish under 4.  The last mile was downhill (thank god) but the wind....was in our face.  Crap.  At that point, there was only one savior.

You know it.  This little gem found its way to my playlist after Rob and Biz found it the day before the race (THANKS GUYS) and I "beep beeped" my way through the last mile.  At mile 26, my foot completely seized, as if to remind me that it would let me finish, but hell if I got to run there.  Fine.

I limped my way in for a 3:55:27 finish, or an 8:59 pace according to the official results. 

I look like crap.  I am in pain.

Post race the girl that finished right behind me came up for a big hug and told me she had been pacing me for the last 10k and it was a huge PR for her and her first sub 4.  That immediately made me feel better and I took a pic of her ringing the PR bell - Way to go Hillarie!!

Got my pic taken in the classic "I'm soaked, really out of it and a giant GD mess", then walked badly the .5 miles to my car where I anti climatically (after stripping down in the parking garage because I am Rico Suavee) drove back to the Roc.

I ended up finishing in the top quarter of females (93/401) and the top 20% of my age group (18/96) which is pretty good for how badly I fumbled and the fact that I spent 10 minutes of the race literally not going anywhere!

After showering, icing and doing the mom thing, I got to hang out with some new friends and do a "let's celebrate my poor life choices" bonfire, which was a great way to end the day.  When asked how the race went....I was vague.

 I don't know.

I do know a few things.  It was likely a terrible decision to run the race, and an equally poor decision to finish it.  I'm not sure why I did it except I'm stubborn as hell.  I also know I raced nowhere near my potential, which is interesting - I felt fine the day after, sans foot, and five days later, could totally race again (Don't worry, I'm not).  My actually forward moving time for the 26.2 (I ran 26.4 since I ran .2 of the course twice) was a 3:42, which is right off my PR.  I'm not sure what to do with this except my overall moving pace was an 8:30 - which, after 7 weeks of crap training, really DOES mean your base has something to do with it..

Oddly enough, Buffalo made me realize that I do have that BQ in me.  I just need some time to walk away from it, heal up, and do a few other things (Oh wait, there are two other sports to triathlon??)  right now I have my eyes set on either Steamtown PA (October) or Indianapolis (November).  We got time.  

Regardless of the ribbing from my, ahem, FRIENDS, I declared that I would stay off the foot running wise until at least the day before Keuka, which is June 9.  I have abided by this for 5 days and am damned proud of myself.  I will NOT be aqua biking this year, thank you.  I respect the hell out of aqua bikers, but it's time to heal this damned foot and get back to business.

Does this mean I'll actually do some legit swim training?  Did a 20x100 main set yesterday, cause I'm still stupid   badass a follower of the guys I train with.  Does this mean I'll get on my damned bike?  Why yes.  I actually rode outside today, thank you very much.

Buffalo was a huge learning experience, a slice of humble pie, and in my mind, a turning point.  It's time to get back on that horse bike and go for what I want, while being intelligent about my life training.  

Buffalo.  I swiped right for you.  I think.  While I still debate that it was a terrible choice to make, I'm not sorry I did it.  We didn't match the way I wanted us to, but I think you set me up perfectly for my next true match (yes, I mean BQ, people!)

Let it Go

And for one hot second, you forgot I was a mom, didn't you?  While looking for inspirational titles for this post about my pre race thoughts on the Buffalo marathon, I wracked my brain for songs that fit, and of course, as it usually goes, it was sitting right in front of me.

In the form of my adorable daughter, who firmly believes she is Princess Elsa and pretty much refuses to wear anything but this nightgown, high heels, and a snowman cape nowadays while whirling around the kitchen singing "Let it Go!"

I could learn a lot from her.  Namely, to just frigging let it go.  This has been an interesting concept for me this time around - I've shared quite a few feelings on the blog that show how vulnerable I've been feeling since my last marathon and the ensuing foot (and life) issues since.  I've made no secret about the fact that running this race is likely a poor life choice and that I really have no goals for it other than to finish it.  I've even debated eating the cost of the race and just not going, but something stupid keeps me from doing that - likely, the fact that I'm pretty stubborn and if I sign up to 26.2 miles, I'm gonna give it my best shot.

It's funny.  I'll toe the line Sunday morning feeling the most unprepared that I've ever been.  I don't even know if I'll finish.  My foot has good days and bad days, but I do know I've trained with no consistent mileage or speed at all in the last 7 weeks, and aside from a great half marathon, have no confidence in any time goal at all.

When you take all of that away, you start to accept the fact that you can't control all the nitty gritty things going into a race - I have no split goals.  I have no perfect play list.  No magic sport beans to take before the race.  Hell, my garmin is only half functional.  I leave for Buffalo Saturday with my preferred race outfit, an mp3 player full of old stand bys, and some KT tape.  I haven't even stalked the weather.

Do I have a rough plan?  Sure.  It's called, have fun and don't die.  I can't decide if that's a good thing or not.  It's tough to wrap your mind around a concept that you literally have no control over - suffice to say, the dramatic taper queen you all know and love really doesn't exist this time - I'm not calculating the exact splits to run a BQ, plotting out exactly where to take that gu, or where the elevation gain will trip me up and I need to account for (Hell, my garmin won't record it anyways).

I think the lack of control has taught me a few things - you go through stages of frustration (especially when you are type A like me!) - the denial that you can't control it, the anger that you can't change it, the downer side when you realize you can't (hello wine and oreos), bargaining, and hopefully, acceptance.  I would say I'm firmly in stage four right now - doing the bargain dance - not to PR, but to allow me these 26.2 miles and to enjoy it, and to get through it without injury.

I can renounce my badass badge for this race.  Hell, in a fit of bad assery, I decided to set my own stage and finally do something non- race related that I've been meaning to do for quite some time - I got inked.  Tattoo #3 (still healing) complete!

I'm aware this is a super wise thing to do race week, but we have firmly hit the "fuck it all stage" with this taper and race prep. I was feeling pretty hardcore, until my daughter saw my tat and remarked, "MOMMY!  I love your cutie mark!"

Well, that takes me down a peg.  And reminds me, as always, that it's OK to laugh and take life a little less seriously.  To laugh with those that make you laugh.  To allow yourself to cry with those that let you cry.  To appreciate those that are your biggest cheerleaders, even if they come from completely unexpected places.

To my cheerleaders over the past few months, I want you to know how damned much I appreciate you.  I've had amazing support from people that I never expected it from, both in terms of my running ups and downs and my other life woes.  You guys are absolutely amazing and I don't deserve your awesomeness, but it sure as hell has made me smile on those days when I need it most.

And if I can ask for one more favor....throw some love my way on Sunday, whether you're in the area or want to throw it virtually (you can track this shitshow here) I would appreciate the hell out of any well wishes that my foot decides to be functional and allow me to finish the race.

Source

And for the next few days. I'll continue to just "let it go" and hope this laissez faire attitude brings a great race Sunday.  (The cold never bothered me anyways- hear that Buffalo?  COLD.  COLD!)

Kind of a Big Dill

Alright.  Enough is enough.  I started to write another deep blog post about fear and the concept of inertia in one's life...almost hit publish, then realized that there are way to many of these pithy posts lately, and with most of my friend circle in the same batch of emotional turmoil that I am in (injury, work, weather....just name it, 99% of the people in my world need a million dollars and a perma vacation at the beach).

Well, I'm sorry to say I don't have the winning lotto ticket.  And while the sun is FINALLY shining in NY, it's still too cold (even with a wetsuit) to hit the open water.  But it's not too early to crack your beverage of choice and fire up the grill.  And really, what says winner winner better than chicken dinner?

Admit it.  You missed my puns.

Back in the day, I used to have a nifty little recipe section of this blog I updated more than once in a blue moon, full of "I can't gourmet cook but I'm sure trying to be creative" recipes.  Lately, I've totally let that go in favor of running and bitching posts.  I can't promise a return to it, but I'll try anything once!  (Stop it.  Really).

Well, Tops had chicken drumsticks on sale.  I'm not a dark meat girl, but seeing as I have a problem with Iron deficiency (no, that was not a 140.6 joke), I decided to forgo my usual chicken breast and go for the drummies.  I ran out my usual marinade, so I had to go searching for a viable substitute.

Enter pickle juice.  Ahhh, pickles.  You are amazing.  As an endurance athlete that has a real thing for salt, I adore my pickles.  So does everyone else in the house.  So it's not that abnormal to run across a sad jar of pickle juice in the fridge without any pickles in it.  I've sliced up onions, carrots and cukes (yes, I know, thats what a pickle is) and stuck them in the pickle juice for tasty treats...but I figured the pickly goodness would be even more epic as a marinade.

So I did what I do best.  I threw random shit in a container and called it a creation

The Marinade:  (for 8 chicken drumsticks)

2 cups pickle juice

2 tbsp garlic salt

1 tbsp black pepper

2 tbsp brown sugar

I had a picture here of 8 naked chicken drumsticks in a bowl.  I deleted it, because frankly, it looked gross.  Use your imagination.  Put that chick in a bowl, cover it with the marinade, put the lid on, and shake it with what yo mama gave you up.

Stick it in the fridge for 4 hours, giving it a flip turn every half hour or so, or whenever you happen to pass by the fridge. 

Grill those beautiful babies on the grill until they become golden brown.  If you're afraid of the grill like I am, bribe someone braver with beer and do the corn and side dishes  inside (Cause who grills out without corn on the cob?)

Delicious.  

A slight tang, some sweetness from the brown sugar, and a nice bite from that pickly goodness.

And that, my friends, is a big ole welcome to Summer 2019.  Chicken on the grill, a nice cold beverage, and some corny goodness.
Thanks.  I'll be here all week.  (And you're welcome, as this was loads better than my last "I'm tapering and whining post" from my last taper session!)

Perfect

Someone send a cookie.  I finally broke the Dan Reynolds theme.  Of course, no one is surprised that I moved right back to my true love, Ed (oh that man....Ed, why are you married?)

Ok, Rae, knock it off.  (To be fair, Greg supports my love of Ed Sheeran and I have full permission to run away with him when I meet him.  Because, you know, he's totally pining for me).

Where was I going with this?

Right.  Perfection.  Man, you guys, it's been a crazy 6 weeks.  Crazy.  I think if I was to go back and read my big ass attitude take no prisoners blog from January-March and then everything post marathon taper I would wonder what kind of crazy emotional mess took over for Rae.  Good news is, I'm finally moving out of it.  Better news is, I think I actually learned something from it, and am growing for it.

Someone get that woman a lolly pop, she's graduated kindergarten!

For real, though, people.  As I've embraced the step by step method (which, I love you all for the props on and I'm glad it even helped one person!) I've also embraced the idea of letting go of perfection.  Of being okay with hitting 3 miles of tempo instead of 4.  Of taking a deep breath and being real in a conversation with my friends and family.  Of voicing my  idea that sounded good in my head at work and is a complete dud.  Of just going for it with the best I have at the time.

It's scary as hell to admit that you aren't chasing perfection.  That you might, in fact, have absolutely no idea what you're doing 99% of the time.

Somehow, there was this concept out there that I might actually have all my shit together.  (Let's take a moment to laugh at this).  Really, it couldn't be further from the truth.  I'm not sure if it's the weather (will it ever stop raining?) the fact that both my kids are little terrors because they are SO OVER SCHOOL (teachers, I totally feel for you), that work has been a shit show with all the travel and deadlines, that Greg's work is also insane, the fact that even though I've altered my training, my foot is still somewhat effed up....oh wait.  I think I was going to say something to the effect of I'm not sure why my shit is all over the place.  Pretty sure that covers it.

So, let's reiterate....do i have my shit together?  NO!  Sometimes i go for a run in the rain and cry.  Sometimes I skip the run and just cry.  Sometimes I eat all the oreos.  And sometimes, I just stare at the wall, trying to summon the energy to be a damned human being.  Sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough to accomplish my goals.  Sometimes I have second thoughts about the direction of my life, the people I interact with, and in general, a clue about what the hell I'm doing.


And after spending way the hell too much of my time being anxious about it, I'm realizing that it's ok.  Whoever said life was sunshine and daisies is crap.  We live in a world right now where most of what we see is heavily filtered.  Insta posts of people "killin' it", Facebook posts of perfect families, races, meals, and life seen through the most perfect rose colored glasses.

Because who wants to see reality?  We all live it.  We want the escape.  Because that's so much easier to wrap our heads around.

I'm calling BS.  It's time to embrace it. To embrace it all.   The bad days, because they make the good days so much better.  The good days, because then you can remember how damned lucky you are to have them.

This all coincides, of course, with my taper for Buffalo (serious question - is there even a taper if you don't have a build?)  As I've posted before, I signed up for this race as a BQ redemption from my last marathon, 5 weeks ago when I was full of optimism and speed.  Since then, I've had mental doubt, physical doubt, and wallet doubt.  I debated not even running it.  I took four days off running this week to get my shit straight (it was supposed to be a week, but....I'm weak.  See above).  Oddly enough, it's not felt like a taper because....I'm not doing anything!

#nofilter

In lieu of being anxious, or trying to ascertain the perfect race plan, I've decided to let it go.  To stop stressing about my time, about my pacing strategy, about my perfect taper.  And just enjoy it.  To remember why I'm lucky enough to get to do this and to ease up on myself for once in my life.

It's sort of freeing.  And also terrifying.  But I think if I can just let go for one fucking second and smell the roses, that might actually be the next step in this whole big, scary goals thing.  To step back from your laser focus on those goals, let go of achieving all of the "perfection" and enjoy the art of the process, in all its squiggly lined, screwed up glory.

And that, while its not perfection, seems like it might be more of an interesting ride.  Count me in.  Bring the oreos.  And the wine.  We're gonna need it.  

She never wanted...

She never wanted to be a doctor.

Besides the fact that she was squeamish when it came to blood, there was no way their family would be able to afford medical school.  That was meant for her best friend, who came from a family that had money lying around for luxuries like ski trips and lunchmeat.

She never wanted to be a teacher, either.  She knew that if she was a teacher, she’d have to say hello and goodbye to a whole new set of children each year, children who she would love as her own.  And her heart couldn’t take that.

No, ever since the girl stood shyly in front of a presumptive grown-up, a neighbor or teacher who foolishly thought she might have an ambitious dream that could somehow come true as he or she asked almost mockingly, “What do you want to be when you grow up?,” she always had the same answer.

A mother.

It didn’t take money to be a mother, it just took love, and she had plenty of that to give. She knew she could spend hours sitting in a stream looking for “tones”, racing cars on tracks and hours with a three year-old girl on her knee, reading books about cats in hats and bears that went searching for a spooky old tree in the woods.  That was love.

It didn’t take a degree to be a mother, it just took patience, and she had plenty of that to give. She knew she could stay calm when her son dropped a rock through the sink changing the turtle’s water.  (Maybe she should have been a plumber). That was patience.

She knew she’d spend every waking moment of her life giving her kids everything she had.
As many books as they could read, even it meant she wore the same faded sun dress to birthday parties year after year.  At least it came in two colors.

Notes in lunch sacks, “I love you”s and “XOXOXO” scrawled on paper napkins every day, no matter how much they said it embarrassed them.

New Adidas shoes in just the right style and color every season, even if it meant she had to go into the national debt for just the right “style” from American Eagle…again.

Sing-a-longs in the car to Monty Python with all of the neighborhood kids boys, even if her own begged her to stop.  Spam spam spam spam…

A pair of arms to find comfort in after their first broken heart  or after sitting out half of cross country season out due to a broken foot.  Maybe the shoes weren’t worth the money.

And in giving her children everything she had, the girl would be able to give her children and herself something she’d never had.  Stability.  Love. Unconditional acceptance.

She knew that after her kids were grown and just out of her reach, instead of diplomas on her walls she’d have framed watercolor rainbows and photographs of ballerinas.  Instead of her fingers or wrists dripping with gold, they’d hold a Hello Kitty BandAid leftover from that weekend’s game of “doctor” and a piece of ribbon that was supposed to be a bracelet, gifted from her granddaughter.

She’d look at that little girl in front of her, believing she would have an ambitious dream that would absolutely come true and ask her quite lovingly, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  And the little girl would always give the same answer.

A princess.

Naturally.  But whether her daughter’s daughters became doctors, teachers, locksmiths or princesses, she couldn’t help but feel that somehow she had a little to do with that.  And she’d be wrong.
She’ll have everything to do with that.  Because she was...mom.

Happy Mother’s Day to my own beautiful mom and all the other amazing moms out there!

Step By Step

And, this blog has reached a new low.  NKOTB.  For the five people that still read my blog, please don't desert me.  You thought it couldn't get any lower.  It has.  I promise, I won't bring back Milli Vanilli.  And that this title really does have a meaning (At least, in my mind it does).

One of those statements is accurate.  I'll let you be the judge of which.

What I do know is that it wouldn't be a random weekday without some kind of soapbox analysis from me, so here it goes.  I've been doing so much thinking lately (which explains the burning smell) about getting myself to where I want to be - the process, the jumping off point, the burnout, the step back, etc. that it seems to be about time to finally stop acting like a crazy person and formulate some kind of sustainable plan that has actionable steps but isn't spinning out at a thousand miles an hour.

It's funny the way big ideas start out.  You get all excited to go "Eat, Pray, Love" on your life and go through so many stages to do so - the excited stage, the "eff it all Imma go do it" stage, the successes, the failures, the "why the hell am I doing this" stage, the inevitable disappointment when you fail, the overwhelmed feelings, and, I assume, most people end with the "the hell with it" stage.

I almost got to that last stage.  When you're kicking ass and taking names, its easy to assume that all of your big scary goals are gonna happen.  Who gets scared?  ME!  Who's going after it all?  ME!  Who's all big and bad and not gonna let anything stand in her way? ME!

Nice try, Rae.  Actually, all it took was my Achilles heel (literally) for me to crumble.  Faced with the inability to run and the fact that I had, by my own personal standards, failed to meet my first A goal, sent me into a ridiculous tailspin full of pessimism, anxiety, and such flat out neediness that I feel like I need to extend my condolences to anyone in my personal circle who stuck by my crap and give them a big, fat hug and (at least) a bottle of wine.

I'll likely need to rob the liquor store to pay my debts, but I digress.  It was NOT a good situation.

As many of these things go, I clearly haven't resolved this.  Or come to any nuggets of wisdom on my own.  As usual, its been a process of admitting my own fallibility, coming to terms with the fact that I am not, in fact, superwoman (this was a horrible realization), and that when I actually take the time to listen to people smarter than me, I tend to do much better.

So here it goes.  Fresh start.  I can't charge forward in my life and make everything better all at once.  But I do have the ability to accept the fact that I'm a work in progress and to take just one step with one of my dreams to go where I want to.

So that's my new plan.  Step by step.  What can I do today to make those big, scary goals happen?  What goals are most important to me RIGHT NOW to work on?

And then it's go time.  I've picked 3 (after all, that's the magic number) things to do each day to take steps to where I want to be.  They could be five minute tasks or more long term tasks, but something that takes at least one baby step to achieving my goals.

Today's three included setting up an appointment for a bike tune up, FINALLY getting some tempo miles in, and un-google porting my old phone number to transition to a better work/life balance (yes, it's the return of the "fake phone number" for those that remember!)

Baby steps?  Perhaps.  But for the first time in while, I felt a sense of accomplishment about multiple areas of my tonight.  I stopped stressing, set my three goals for tomorrow (set up appointment for a tattoo (YASS!), order power meter, content transfer from the old phone) and I'm ready to rock.

It might seem simplistic.  But like most things worth doing, it all starts with that one step.  Forward momentum and recognizing that, in most cases, it's those little steps that add up to big things.

What are you doing TODAY to achieve those goals?

Rise Up

Sorry guys.  Some day I will break the love for Imagine Dragons.  Today is not that day.  I actually had an Eagles song title all picked out for this blog post, then as I started writing it, "Rise Up" came on spotify, and I paused for a moment and just listened to the lyrics and they 100% fit the bill.

"I was there but I was always leaving
I've been living but I was never breathing

The more I stray the less I fear"

So, I spent two days on the road for work this week, presenting and exhibiting at a National Conference in Buffalo, and meeting with high level county executives in southwest NY for new partnerships with the program I co-direct.  The work was a smashing success, the trip long and somewhat draining, but with 7 hours in the car over two days alone, I got to do something I haven't in awhile.

To stop.  And listen.  And think.  Aside from pointing the car in the right direction and paying attention to where you are going, there isn't much to driving except staying awake (which was a little bit harder on day two!).  I usually load up the car time with conference calls with my team or other agencies we work with, but this time I decided to load up my ipod and just zone out and think.

It was pretty dangerous stuff.

I realized that I've been running around at a zillion miles an hour lately, trying to fit it all in, and doing none of it really well.  I've laid down all these big, scary goals and zoomed from one to another, either achieving them or not, and if its the latter, I've taken about .3 seconds before I re up and give em another go.  We all know I'm a little Type A and can't handle not pursuing something I want with all the energy I can muster.

But the problem is, there is no down time.  No time to rest and reflect.  Its been such a whirlwind lately that I find myself moving from spot A to spot B with the grace and fluidity of a well trained robot - that is, no grace and fluidity at all.  There are certain things I can't really control - like being a mom and all the basic "adulting" stuff that I have to do, which is fine.  Then add in the training, which has become way more intense this year in terms of time and effort, but I still love it.  Add in work, which has been one big stress ball, and a few family issues, and its gone bust for me.

There's the good stress - see above - I am totally in love with training this year - I've had three huge PR's in 6 weeks, and I am incredibly amped about that.  I've also made some great new friends this year because of that training, and I am incredibly happy about those new connections, which, even though it's introduced some drama into my life, has been way worth it and admittedly enteratining from time to time. 

Then there's all that other stuff.  And I find myself even stressing about the good stuff - whether its an escape mechanism from the bad stuff (running to de stress), or the overwhelming desire to achieve all the things...that I can admit I'm totally burned out about it.  It's become completely overwhelming and gotten in the way of the path I thought I could see for myself....completely cluttered with "to dos" that have no way of possibly being accomplished, whether its another damn marathon training plan or finding a time to set up that estimate for the roof over.  And when that happens,  you look at your "to do" list that somehow has 45 things on it for this day alone- and you just give up.  You lose your momentum and foresight to accomplish anything.  And end up on the couch eating oreos and accomplishing nothing (not that I've done that.  Ever).

Ive been spinning out with this lately and not doing a darn thing to help myself in any way - dealing with it in a very reactive kind of way.  Sign up for another race.  Hit that training every day.  Take on a new work project.  Do the school function. Grocery shop, laundry, bills, parenting - complete with at least 3 nighttime wake ups and a freak out because we spilled juice on our favorite pants. Get it done. On 4 hours sleep.  Now.  And even when I'm exhausted, I wake up at 3am in a panic, unable to calm myself and focus with all the mind clutter.

The other day, while travelling for work, I had the opportunity to pull off the side of the road and just stop.  To enjoy the beauty of nature at its simplest.  I stood there for a few minutes, completely unaware of anything else around me but the dance of the wildlife. There were three geese hanging out in a pond, squabbling over god knows what.  They flapped around and squawked, and then as suddenly as their feathers were ruffled, they settled back in and glided in perfect formation down the water.  And as they swam by, I watched the water ripple up the banks and seamlessly flow to the shore.

For some reason, this really affected me - the wild dance of controversy in nature and a return to equilibrium.  As I made my way back to my own crazy dance of life, I thought about the importance of stopping and "smelling the flowers", or "watching the geese", and realized that I really needed to make the time to step back and enjoy.  To realize that I don't have to do all the things, or fix all the things, or achieve all the things ALL of the time.

I was talking to a friend the other day about life in general, and how we were both really overwhelmed with "adulting".  Of things breaking in our houses.  Of random unexpected bills.  Of the stresses and worries we had about the things that were most important in life.  And as we ruminated and shared our worries, he started to talk about how maybe 2019 just wasn't our year.  That maybe their were already things in play in early May that made it so that all the effort we were putting in just wasn't going to happen the way we wanted it to.  And that maybe we needed to re-assess our goals or realize that we might not fulfill our dreams right now.  As a friend, I completely sympathized and did what a friend needed to do - I kicked his butt and reminded him (and myself in the process) that if we wait for perfect conditions, we will never get anything done.  And how easy it is to line up reasons why not rather than just taking that one step to getting what you want, even if its taking the time to get your mind right to figure out what that even is.

For now, that's where I'm at.  I still have every intention of kicking some butt this year, and going and getting those scary goals.  But perhaps with a little more purpose.  A little more clarity.  A little more time to think. And I little less fear of "straying" off the path as I go for them, even if it seems counter productive to do so.

Time to dive in.  But tomorrow.  Today, I think I'll stop for a few minutes and do some bird watching.