Let's Talk About Disappointment

This past weekend was supposed to be the weekend that I earned my Spartan Trifecta. The weekend that I beasted the rope climb. The weekend that I found my physical and mental limits and pushed through them.

It was also supposed to be a special weekend for my oldest son and I.

See, this kid is my always down to take on a challenge kid. He's my drop everything to help mom out kid. He's my patiently listen to me rant and rage when I'm stressed kid. And he so rarely gets the acknowledgement that he deserves.

This Trifecta weekend started as a goal he and I made together. It's a special way for us to celebrate our mother-son bond. But it's also important to me that my son see me achieve this. I want him to see how strong, determined, and powerful a woman can be. I want to strengthen the respect he has for women. I want to reinforce his understanding that women can.

Spartan has given me the opportunity to watch my son demonstrate respect for my strength by pushing me to go harder, while also maintaining his chivalry by doing every burpee with me even though he didn't have to do them.

Unfortunately, he's an adult now and bound by adult responsibilities. When he found out he would no longer be able to have off work for Trifecta weekend, I had to decide whether or not to run anyway. Without him.

Except that it wasn't really a decision. Of course I couldn't run without him. This is our thing. He's the only one willing to carry me through the monkey bars. And for real, mama ain't made of money. Race entries are expensive.

It was disappointing. I spent the weekend watching my friends post photos and send videos and update statuses while they completed their Trifecta. I was jealous. I mean, I was so excited for them and so so proud of them. But I was also completely jealous of them. But that's ok. Disappointment just serves to increase the drive for success. It just makes me hungrier for a Spartan Beast. Last week I was anxiously nervous to face a Beast. Now I'm craving it. I NEED it.

So, new plan.

We'll defer our race entries and take on the Sprint, Super, and Beast as we are able to. At this point, it looks like we'll be able to kick off our Trifecta races in November. (Or I may have to make him quit his job so it stops interfering with my extracurriculars...)

And when we crush the Beast together, it will have been totally worth the temporary disappointment.

The Race That Makes Me Question My Life Choices

The Lynchburg Half Marathon

See this? This is me trying to smile halfway through what I like to call Lynchburg's Annual Painfest.

Photo by Jay Proffitt

Half marathons are hard. I mean, not as hard as a full marathon or an ultra or childbirth, but they're hard. 

But this one? There is something about the Lynchburg Half that makes me want to question my life choices. 

I'm pretty sure that last year I said never again. And then this year's race opened up and I registered. Because that's how runners do. Or, at least, this runner. We say never again and then jump at the chance to again. I think it's faulty brain wiring.

The course for this half isn't necessarily the hardest course, physically. I mean, there IS that stupid 15-mile hill a few miles in. But once you get past that, the rest of the course isn't too terribly bad. 

The hard part of this race, for me, is the mental challenge. Of all the halves (halfs?) I do, this is the one that I have to talk myself through the most. Like, actually lecture myself to the point that I revert back to 16-year old eye-rolling me. 

It starts out fine. Fast and flat for the first four miles. There's a nice little turn-around point that gives you the opportunity to cheer and high five your friends as you pass them. 

But then you hit the hill, or as I like to call it, the place where I lose my will to live every year. There are a few problems with this hill. 

First, it's a hill. 

Second, it is misleading. Like, vastly misleading. Because halfway up, it levels out. So you think you're done. You think everything after this will be cake. And then it starts going up again. Seriously, there are few things I despise more than a liar. And this hill is a liar. 

It's also ridiculously long. It has GOT to be at least 20 miles long. Which is odd, since the race itself is only 13.1 miles. 

And then there are the cats. Every year, there are the adorable feral cats just chillin alongside the road watching us run past. Or walk. Maybe crawl. Maybe some of us are crawling. And you know they look so sweet and adorable and cuddly and they call to my inner crazy cat lady (Yes, my crazy is on the inside and not just out there for the world to see. No, it is. It really is. Inside. Not out.). I just want to sit with them and snuggle them and forget about the hill. But I know cats. I know how they do. They lure you in with their innocent adorableness and as soon as you're close, let down your guard and allowed your vulnerability to be seen by every other person in the area, they say "ummmm nope. Don't touch me, sad girl." 

Fine. So, I continue my crawl up the 30-mile hill with every single other runner swooshing past me. (Seriously. Where are all of the other normal people walking up the hill? Why is EVERYONE still running????)

And then I make it to the top where a so-called "friend" is volunteering...with his camera phone...photographing this? Really, Blake???

Whatever. 

So, you get through that hell and hit the training center campus place. (It has an official name, but I never really pay attention to what Jeff is saying pre-race. I'm sure it's all important stuff, but at that point I'm just focused on not crawling back to my car and driving to the nearest coffee shop.) You know, you'd think the hill would be the worst part, but it's not. Because you have to run not one loop around the training campus place, but two. Two 50-mile loops around that campus place that I despise. I don't know what kind of training they do there, but when I pass volunteer dude saying "If this is the first time you're seeing me, you've got another loop to go," I just want the training center place to not even exist. Plus volunteer dude. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice guy, but I kinda want to punch him in his throat. 

Now, let me say that one of my fellow educators was running right with me this entire race. (Except for the point at which he swooshed past me going up that stupid 87-mile hill.) Normally I might even refer to him as a friend. But this man was congratulating and cheering and basically happy-making with Every Single human being he passed throughout the entirety of this race. And at this point in the race, I kinda just wanted to trip him. I mean, yeah, yay for all the people out here doing a thing. But seriously, I'm just trying to make it back home to my couch without giving up on life entirely. I need you to stop the positive stuff, Gibbs. Just stop it. Still, I'm wearing my Girls on the Run Solemate shirt, so I'm thinking I probably shouldn't actually hurt anyone or start yelling obsenities. 

Ok. So, you get through your two loops and see volunteer dude saying, "If this is the second time you're seeing me, go straight." And I think I want to give volunteer dude a hug, except I can still remember the time that he told me I had to run another loop and that still hurts so nevermind. There is lingering resentment.

And then you get to your volunteering friend at the top of the 100-mile hill and he's still there with his camera phone and so you're a little happier now that you get to go back down the hill so you try to look cute and give a happy "I've totally got this" smile. (But when you see the pictures later, you realize you should probably never try to do that again.)

And then you find out that the 150-mile hill that you crawled up is really only about 3/4 of a mile when you go back down. I'm not sure how that happens. Apparently the basic laws of physics cease to exist in Lynchburg in August. 

And then you get to the last four miles. The last four flat miles. Flat should be easy, right? Except that your legs are done and your lungs are done and your mind was done three miles ago. This is the absolute worst part of this race. I spent those last four miles trying to convince myself that stopping and walking just for a half mile or so was NOT a good idea. I ran through the logic that I'm a grown woman and I can do what I want. I'm participating in this race voluntarily and if I want to stop and walk, I should be able to stop and walk. Running should be enjoyable. If I'm uncomfortable, I should just ease up a bit until it feels good again.

All of those things are true. 

But then I remembered the shirt I was wearing. Sometimes it's important to do hard things, push through the discomfort and find your inner strong (mine hides inside there with my inner crazy). So I kept running. Because when my Girls on the Run season starts in a few weeks, I want to be able to push my girls to do the same. 

And when you cross the finish line to THE most beautiful and appropriate finisher's medal you've ever earned, the pain and discomfort disappear.

Thank you to Jeff Fedorko and Riverside Runners, HUGE supporters of Girls on the Run of Central Virginia, for a race I love to hate. Truly one of my favorites every year. (But don't come at me with that reminder this time next year.) And thank you for all you do for the community.

And I'm sorry for all the bad words I called you in my head during the race...

Sometimes We Get A Little Crazy

This is Lobo.

He's my protector. My best friend. My constant companion. I'm pretty sure he loves me more than anyone else in the world. Look at that face. So full of love, adoration, loyalty...betrayal.

I mean, he won't even look at me.

So, you know when you're in the midst of some pretty intense hormone emotion? (I'm talking specifically to the ladies here. The other life-manufacturers of the world.) Like, all of the stresses of the world are weighing down on you, no one loves you, everything is falling apart, nothing will ever be good again emotions? They don't last long. And when everything is back in balance, life can once again be amazing.

But when you're smack in the middle of it...it can get pretty ugly.

It's possible that I may have had one of those ugly times recently. And when I say ugly, I mean ugly crying. I mean heart-wrenching, soul-sucking sobbing. I mean the kind of sobbing that gets to the point where you're no longer sure whether you're still crying or have actually moved over into laughter. And not normal, happy laughter, either. I'm talking maniacal laughter. Like, this is exactly what they created the word maniacal for. The kind of laughter that causes people to slowly back out of the room. And just when you start to think, "oh good, I'm laughing now. Laughing is good," you shift straight back into crying. And then you get kinda angry, because you can't hold onto the laughter, which would probably feel pretty good right then. But really, the relentless sobbing actually feels pretty good, too, so you just really get into it.

So, dogs are supposed to be these love you unconditionally, calming, nurturing, take care of you when you're sad creatures, right? Like my friend Kim pointed out as she was definitely not laughing at me during such an episode, dogs are used to help individuals with autism calm down in the midst of a meltdown. That's what they do. They see us through our drama. They can handle it. They love us more than themselves.

Yeah, so my Lobo. My sweet little rescue baby Lobo, saw me in the midst of this hormonal breakdown recently, said "Nope" and got up and walked out of the room. He said, "I can't even be bothered with your level of crazy right now," and straight up bounced. Wouldn't even make eye contact as he was leaving. And stayed in the other room for the duration of this breakdown.

In fact, every single animal in my home left. I mean, this one eventually came around once the sobbing slowed down into more of a whimper. But even she wouldn't actually look at me.

So, let's bring this all back to the purpose of this blog. Raising money for Girls on the Run. When you're in the midst of one of these cycles, it's important to have women in your life that get it and can assure you that you're not crazy. You're powerful. And sometimes you have to release some of that power in the form of crazy tears. Help us help more girls start to build their female support system by donating to Girls on the Run. They need this. We need this. (And trust me fellas, you need us to have this, too.)

In My Tribe, We Rock Scars With Our Dresses

I went kayaking at the Cove with a few of my tribe ladies Friday.

We spent several hours out on the water. Talking. Venting. Laughing. Sharing. Supporting. Understanding. (One of us may have fallen over into the water for no clear reason.)

See, this is how we repair.

We need this time not only with one another, but with nature.

We need to be out in a world bigger than us, among the trees, among the mountains, even surrounded by the water that I find fully terrifying. (Really, it scares me to death if I think about it too much. So, obviously I have to do it. Because you need to the do things that scare you.)

We know that this is not something that everyone understands. We know that there are people in our lives that don't get it. That's ok. Those that we play with get it. Those people are part of our tribe.

Our tribe is there to run with us, float with us, play with us. Our tribe will meet us on the trails so we don't have to run alone. Our tribe will load three kayaks into their truck so we can spend a day floating around the Cove. Our tribe will pull on gold lame' and take on teams of kids 20 years younger in a game of tug of war or Bubble Soccer. (Seriously. Bubble Soccer. That is my new jam.)

And then our tribe will wash their cuts and bruises, put on fancy shoes and dresses, and probably even wash their hair, to head out to dinner in celebration of each other.

Because sometimes a girl just needs to rock her scars in a little black dress to be reminded that she is both powerful and beautiful. (And also, scars...because falling over in the water for no clear reason...sometimes I'm not entirely sure how I make it through the day without breaking something.)

Our Fall season of Girls on the Run starts in a few weeks. I'm so excited to help a new group of girls start to discover their own power and beauty and maybe even start to develop their own tribe of strong, supportive girls. 

You can help support Girls on the Run by clicking here and making a donation. 

And if you feel like getting out on the trails or floating around on the water, let me know. Our tribe is always accepting new people. We'd love to have you.