(note: the title of this post is taken from “Endure: A RunWomanShow,” which is a badass and beautiful piece of theatre written by my dear friend MJ and directed by my awesome friend…we’ll call him Brooklyn for blog purposes. If you can go see it, DO. I had the honor of crewing the show in Calgary and trust me, it is beyond worth your time to check it out.)
Hello, blogosphere!
We’ve done it, made it through another week! Now it is time for blogging, beer and celebration of the weekend. You heard me correctly, weekend. As in, I am back on a (really really close to) normal person schedule of existence! Vega and I are sipping on a lovely Unibroue craft brew this evening, “La Fin Du Monde,” and it comes highly recommended by us both. Light and fizzy and deliciously spicy. Hell YEAH I’ll run for beer!
Probably my favorite from the headbands I got from BondiBands at the 2013 Scotiabank Marathon and Fitness Expo. Pardon the red face, this was directly following Wednesday’s speed work run. Also, BondiBands = made of win. They stay in place AND wick sweat AND come in obnoxious colors.
Anyways. We’re definitely coming up to crunchtime with the move out to BC. 20 days, or about 480 hours, or 37.75 miles/60.75 kilometres worth of training runs until we’re making our pilgrimage. Obviously, I’m a little wee bit excited. There isn’t really all that much left to do, either – but at the same time, Vega and I both are starting to feel the pressures of making this move a reality. Packing is pretty well taken care of, less a few small things and some of Vega’s recording studio equipment. Most of our stuff has been sold on the Kijiji-sphere (which reminds me, when I finish this article, I should repost some of the items that have gotten buried beneath other ads), so the house is slowly but surely becoming emptier and emptier. All that’s left is for me to go to my parents’ house next week (more on that in a little bit) to pick up some of my outlying shit, and for Vega to finalize his driver’s license stuff, then it’s just a matter of getting us, Visa and our stuff into the U-Haul and making the drive. I’m actually talking to Scissors about the whole thing right now, and it’s definitely putting this whole shebang into perspective for me. Lucky woman, this one – Victoria is fucking gorgeous and the perfect place for me and Vega to start laying down some roots. Did I mention that we’ll be by the water? In T-20 days? With the love of my life? And the best dog in the universe? The whole thing just makes me want to happy dance.
basically, this.
Since Tuesday, the week has been relatively low-key. Went for a glorious fartlek (hehehehe, fartlek) run on Wednesday (more on this week in running in a bit), then seen Brother W on Thursday for a little jaunt down by the river and some lunch eats and a gander at our favorite toy store. Today, slept in later than I intended to, made brekky then went running. Saw Brother W’s band this evening with Mr. Vega (they slayed it, by the way. Such a proud big sister), then made our way to the local liquor store for beer and boxes. Besides that, Vega and I have been watching “Penn and Teller’s BULLSHIT,” and (since we may or may not have downloaded all six seasons of it) “Bill Nye, The Science Guy.” Seriously, you guys – Bill Nye is still the shit. We were both expecting to get some campy nostalgic enjoyment out of it (which we indubitably have), but the show has held the fuck up for being all 90s and such. SCIENCE. SO MUCH SCIENCE. BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL! BILL!
If you are too young to understand this reference, you are likely too young to be reading this blog. Isn’t it your bedtime, anyways?
Anywhore, back to this week in running. It’s officially one week into my summer training plan – in which I scale back on mileage to work on form and pace – and I am happy to announce that as of today at 6:47pm, I have clocked 10.5 miles/16.9 kilometres this week. Not a hugely impressive amount of miles, really; however, the fact that I am able to once again focus on my beloved sport of choice from the perspective of a fully functional athlete is b-e-a-utiful. It’s taken me the better part of two years (since the KFP broke my rib, stairs are kinda evil, but nowhere near his level of malice) to heal my body (and my mind) enough to be able to run distances greater than a mile without excruciating pain in my right side. Before he fucked me up, I could run ten miles without too much thought. Now, I am exceedingly happy just to be healed enough to rebuild my regimen. I took for granted the ability to run, period. To be able to run long enough and hard enough to achieve that state of bliss where there is nothing in the world that matters besides my feet slapping the pavement – priceless.
There are some seriously gorgeous running pathways in Calgary, too – this one is on my top ten list.
The varied schedule seems to be working exactly how I want it to (again – looking at my sport from the athlete’s perspective again for the first time in a loooong time). Mondays are for maintenance runs, which are usually a mid-range distance that is run at a comfortable pace. I already waxed poetic about my Monday run this week, so we’ll move on to …
…Wednesdays. Wednesdays are for speed work, and this week’s speed work of choice was a fartlek run. Yeah, yeah, it’s a hilarious word – fartlek – Swedish, I believe, meaning “speed play”. On a fartlek run, you literally do just that, play with your speed – there are no given distances, but the jist of things is to run at varied speeds (from a slow jog to a sprint to a comfortable run pace and et cetera) for varied distances (i.e. to a stop sign, a light post, a block, et cetera) to keep the body guessing and to help you learn how to deal with rapid pace shifts (especially useful in regards to race training). I also make speed work runs slightly shorter than my maintenance runs, as they tend to particularly toast my legs. I digress. This week’s fartlek (hehehe) was exactly what I wanted it to be – short, grueling, and a negative split (that’s when you run the last half of your run faster than the first). It was HOT and sunny and beautiful outside, I had a hell of a badass playlist going, and by the time I got home I could barely stand – perfect. Speed work, check. Wednesday was a good day.
I DID! HA!
Thursday was rest day in the runoverse, so we’ll skip to today. Friday is long run day, and it isn’t just distance that’s affected in that regard. On long run day, I drop my pace by about a minute per mile. I have come to the conclusion that it is not the longer distance that is the most difficult on long run day; rather, it is convincing yourself to maintain (what feels like) a(n excruciatingly) slow pace. I won’t lie, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired to get out on the sidewalk this afternoon, but following a conversation with Mother Wallace (more on that in a bit), I was pretty much shaking with rage and frustration. Perfect motivation to get my ass a-movin’. Laced up, turned on my iPod, and off I went to attack 4 miles at a 14:30/mile pace. The weather was schizophrenic today, when I took off it was about 17 degrees and sunny and hot and muggy and still. This plus the slow burn of the rage I was feeling post-maternal contact made the first mile and a half nothing but “fuck you fuck you fuck you” with every step I took. I don’t think I actually heard a single song that was pumped through my earbuds that first leg of the run; rather, all I could hear was the (silent) screams I was unleashing on my dear Ma in my head. Then, the clouds started to roll in, and the wind picked up. Sweet relief, sweet sweet breeze on my sweaty skin. I calmed down a whole bunch after that, and the last two and a half miles flew by as I lost myself in the sounds of Animals as Leaders, the smell of the lilac trees that are now beginning to line the streets, the feeling of the constant cadence of my feet hitting the ground. I got some awesome thinking time in today and even got about a half mile in the light sprinkly rain – my favorite. I came home exhausted, sweaty, sore and at peace. There is magic in the long runs, particularly. There is something beautiful about the peace that comes along when there is nothing left in you but endorphins and adrenaline; when you’ve stopped giving into the little voice that reminds you how many more miles there are or how much your calves hurt, when you conquer the monkey brain and end up with silence. There is so much fulfillment to be had, and all you need is a pair of running shoes and the pavement. Seriously, the runner’s high is by far the cheapest one I’ve ever sought out and also the craziest one I’ve ever experienced.
Hell yes, they do.
Anyways. Back to the conversation with my Mother today/fact that I’ll be going to my parents’ house next week. Y’all know how I feel about my parents. I believe I have made that abundantly clear. One of the many, many methods which my Mother likes to employ to keep me coming back for more is to hold on to dear life to things which a) belong to me and b) I need to be a functional adult. Case in point: my birth certificate and social insurance card. Both of which you need to get your passport redone (which is especially prudent as I need my passport to go on vacation with Vega and his family in September…yeah you read that right – VACATION!), and both of which are a royal fucking pain in the ass to have reissued to you. She was supposed to have brought them to Brother W’s grad last week (big surprise, she didn’t), and is making it difficult for me to acquire them once and for all; ergo, I get the “pleasure” of returning to my childhood home on Tuesday to get my paperwork and some of my books and outlying shit that still resides at their place. I am so not looking forward to this I can’t even begin to express it here, but I am hoping for a quick (aka under thirty minute) excursion with as little speaking as humanly possible. Luckily, this should conclude my necessary communication with her for the foreseeable future. It’s a damn shame that this is where our relationship has come to be; however, it feels pretty awesome to be at a point where I can laugh at it all (well, mostly). Even Vega’s noticed a shift in how much she and my father affect me these days, and while it is yet to be something I would categorize as easy to do/deal with/live with, it is a much superior way to feel compared to the shut down/lay in bed with a pint of ben and jerry’s/cry for a week method of coping I was using up until my triumphant return to the 403. I literally give so few fucks about the situation that it is barely a situation anymore (unless I turn up on Tuesday and my paperwork is MIA…then we’ll have a situation to deal with, namely Mia going BATSHIT). Hopefully though, she’ll actually be good to her word and we’ll all get out of this (relatively) unscathed.
PRECISELY ZERO.
Tying this all together, I’d like to call your attention back to the quote I titled this post with. “When forgiveness is what you won’t give; and help is what you won’t ask for, keep going.” A year ago, I was drowning (metaphorically, that is – it would be a royal fucking shame for a NLS certified lifeguard to drown), in both the weight of the anger I was carrying around (at my Mother, at the KFP, at Sunshine, and et cetera) and the refusal to ask for any kind of assistance. There was a point directly before my 22nd birthday where I had legitimately given up. On everything. I didn’t give enough of a fuck to even try to see the light. Then, Sunshine’s mom made a crack at me one day about how lazy I was and how it was starting to show (a reference to the way my lululemons were (at that point) fitting a little snug). That same day, I got into a massive fight with Sunshine, and with his mom’s words still ringing in my ears, I went for the first run I’d been on since September of the year prior. I remember the relief, the massive weight I felt lift off of my shoulders. If I wasn’t living for myself, I’d live for running. And so it all began. I am a stubborn woman, definitely my father’s daughter. I neither give forgiveness away with ease nor ask for help without grief. That said, I also refuse to give up, leaving me with but one option: keep going.
…it’s just really, really hard to see that when you’re standing at your lowest point.
I suppose that MJ probably meant something slightly different with that part of the monologue in particular; however, it’s been ringing in my ears since I hung up the phone with my mom today. I don’t know for sure, but I am pretty comfortable in ascertaining that running has been my life raft through the shitty reality that is dealing with my past. I’ve gotten better at asking for help – I’ve leaned more heavily on Vega than I have on pretty much anybody else in my life ever before – but unfortunately, there are things in my own head that he simply can’t fix for me. That said, he too encourages me to keep going when I think I can’t, and I think he’s one of the few who understand the mental gains I’m seeing through running. Prior to today, I never thought I would forgive my mother. Somewhere around mile 3 today, I truly believe I did. Forgiveness, the one thing I thought I could never give to her, is hers for the taking. It isn’t worth being pissed at her for the rest of my life if she isn’t a part of it anymore. That’s probably been your overwhelming reaction to the majority of my posts about her, dear readers, but it’s a new and welcome realization for me. And help? That thing I wouldn’t ask for? Turns out the rope I needed to pull me out of the blue and into the black was the simple act of – you guessed it – me time, pavement style. Keep going. Right in front of left in front of right in front of left. Somewhere along the path there is clarity and there is peace. Much like a long run, this is usually found only after more pain and more difficulty and more sweat and more miles than you want or think you deserve. Keep going.
At the end of the day, every single bad thing that has ever been done/happened to me in my life is now kindling for my fire. I call it up on the bad days, let it burn hot and fast as fuel on my runs..and then, it’s gone.
(side note: the superfluous “s” on the end of strength is going to drive me batty; however, I am far too lazy to make my own gif)
Apparently I was in the mood to write it out tonight. I feel better seeing the thoughts that usually fill my head instead filling up my blog – it’s easy to think you’re crazy, much more of an art to instead pour it out on paper (or, y’know, the internet..potato, potahto) and start to realize that it’s not always you who is the insane one in question. We’re almost halfway through the year and I am starting to see major progress in my BHAG – mental health and physical health are both well underway to being in check. Sometimes I forget where I started, which makes it especially difficult to see how far I’ve come. Don’t get me wrong, I have a long way to go (there is still a lot of kindling for me to light – lots to mull over and plenty to write about), but I am lightyears from the starting line. It’s a mindfuck, to say the least.
We ain’t in Kansas no more, Toto.
I am a lucky, happy, excited girl. I could go on forever about it (and sometimes I feel like I do), and it’s double amazing that I get to live for the rest of my life feeling this way. I have the love of my life, the Poochie Fantastico, and some amazing friends surrounding me – definite turnaround from what I am used to (i.e. my loser exes, both friends and romantic interests, my less than supportive blood family, and et cetera). I have a newfound respect for myself (i.e. massive strides in recovery, major steps forward in training, I do this weird thing called smiling all the time), and I’m starting to feel it all falling into place. Life’s good. Actually, Vega’s making homemade onion rings right now, so life is great. I am so happy today about simply being alive that I don’t really know what to do with it at all.
I feel like this guy. All. The. Time.
Vega thinks it’s cute that I get so excited about things, and I take that as the hugest, most wonderful compliment. I remember a time when even bacon didn’t excite me (BACON. I KNOW). However, my love, that is an oversimplification. I am excited about Victoria, but that isn’t really the thing that makes me jitter with glee and anticipation. Truth is, it’s just easier for me to focus all the happy-happy-joy-joy I feel about our life (even if nothing were to change, I am beyond the happiest camper in the world with our day-to-day exactly as is – I have everything I could ever want or need as long as we’re together!) into one particular(ly badass upcoming) event. Honestly, I feel that you and I have won at life, Vega. Everything from here on out is simply icing on the proverbial (gluten, dairy, and grain free) cake. I love you, my love; and I love our life, and our future. How I got so lucky, I will never know. That said, I don’t particularly care to know the how’s or the why’s – life needs a little bit of magic and random happenstance.
If you don’t get this reference, you’re definitely too young to be reading this here blog.
Anyways, this post has gone on for long enough, there are onion rings for me to eat, and I need t0 devote some time to stretching my calves.
Gratuitous cute:
More when there’s more to be said.
Wallace, out
|Eloquence is Bliss| 