Monthly Archives: February 2012

So, this happened:

Pictured above: Me wearing a coat that doesn’t say “candidate” on it. I passed, and can now officially say I’m a ski patroller! I’ll write a longer post with details as soon as I can steal a few minutes to breathe during an unusually busy work week, which might be later Monday, or might be Wednesday. But as a teaser: I learned how to pull down a sled in the bumps, which is awesome and challenging and maybe the best workout I’ve ever had. The feeling of doing that well—which is to say, the feeling of having *earned* that red coat—is the only feeling in the world better than actually getting to wear it. (As you can tell by my gigantic grin, getting the coat is pretty rad, too).

You may recall that back in December, I posted about participating in the 100K Vertical Challenge at Whitetail. The event was slated to be held on Jan. 9. Thanks to our crazy non-winter, the event had to be postponed until Feb. 13, which leads me to post about it again now.

First, I know that you’re shocked—shocked!—to hear that Steve and I have signed up for another nutty endurance challenge. On Feb. 13, we will join 23 other crazy skiers and boarders to attempt to ski 100,000 vertical feet in one day—roughly 107 runs at Whitetail—as part of the first annual 100k Vertical Challenge. The event aims to raise funds for and awareness of the Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, a nonprofit adaptive sports program that services wounded warriors in the nearby Baltimore/Washington region, as well as civilian athletes with a wide range of disabilities.

Instead of describing why I feel this cause is so important, I’d like to show you. I dare you to watch this video of Todd Love, a Marine who lost both his legs in Afghanistan, on an adaptive snowboard and not get at least a little weepy:

There are two ways to donate: either with a flat donation, or by pledging to donate a certain amount based on the number of runs we complete. Since it’s a new and relatively low-tech event, you donate to our campaign by simply making a direct donation via the Two Top website (http://www.twotopadaptive.org/), then letting us know you’ve done so (so we can thank you and brag to our fellow participants). If you’d rather pledge on a per-run basis, all you need to do now is let us know how much you’d like to pledge per run. Then, after the event, we’ll let you know how many runs we completed, so you know how much to donate via the website. In either case, if you would prefer to mail a check, send it to: Two Top Mountain Adaptive Sports Foundation, Inc., 10914 Claylick Rd. Mercersburg, PA 17236.

Thanks for any support you can offer, financial or emotional.

Several years ago, I read a really fabulous essay in some long-lost running book about how one woman’s relationship to running shifted and changed through the decades of her life. In high school, running was a source of excitement for her. After college, it was a source of intense focus and competition (this particular woman was an Olympic-trials qualifier in the marathon). In her 30s and early 40s, running became a peaceful escape from the chaos of motherhood. The specifics changed, but the relationship was a constant.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that essay recently, as my own relationship with running is morphing into something more relaxed than it had been even a few months ago. When I started this blog in 2009, I was training for the National Half-Marathon, and used long, hard runs to regain a sense of control over my life and confidence in myself after moving to a new city and forging a new career path. Running was my release—from family emergencies, from a fear that my choice to become a freelance writer wouldn’t amount to anything—and I used each workout to remind me that I was fierce and strong. It was a different type of running from the long-distance escapes from loneliness and fear of deployment I’d experienced in Florida, which was different from the phases of my life and my running that came before it.

Me beaming after the National Half-Marathon in 2009.

I assumed that when I recovered from the various injuries that have stumped my running progress over the past couple years, I would be ready to go full-bore again, training for a warm-up half marathon, busting my half-marathon PR a few months later and finally tackling a marathon finish a little closer to four hours than my previous attempts. And in fact, my knee feels 100 percent again, with my ACL reconstruction surgery a year behind me (happy birthday, little ACL!).

But instead, I kind of stopped caring as much about my pace and weekly mileage, and instead started focusing on other goals—the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim earlier this year, ski-patrol ski-and-toboggan training now. I’m still running, but my relationship to running is different.

Rather than using my runs to test my limits and build my strength, I’m using them to help my body recover and my mind relax. My regular workout: A five-mile run on the beach. No pace goals, no intervals—just a simple, relaxed five-mile run on the beach. The sand isn’t always packed, and sometimes, when I glance down at my Garmin, I see that my slog through the deep sand is clocking in at 10:30-minute-mile pace—and I don’t care. When I start, my quads and glutes are usually still screaming from whatever skiing I most recently did. By the time I finish, my muscles and mind are both happy and chilled out.

When I’m in Silver Spring, I use my group runs to chat and catch up with the friends I don’t see quite as much, not to push myself my trying to keep up with runner-friends who are faster than me.

So right now, running is less of a challenging but fulfilling teacher and more a kind, compassionate friend, the “come as you are” of my current workout rotation.

How could I not feel relaxed, with a view like this?

Once the ski season’s done, I’m sure that relationship will shift again. But for now, I’m taking a lot of comfort in the knowledge that I have a friend who will always be there for me, and somehow is always able to provide exactly what I need.

How has your relationship with running shifted through the years?