Reflections on Running 750 Miles

Okay, crappy picture, I know. You can't read the Garmin, but hopefully you can see that the bar at the bottom is completely filled in. Which means I met my goal of running 750 miles in 2012.

I'm a proud lady.

It was a few degrees above freezing when I set out this morning to run the neighborhood loops, but sunny and relatively calm.  I started the Garmin, then covered it up with my outerwear.

Today wasn't about time.

Reflecting on this run, I find that my recall is fragmented . I don't remember if I had to stop for any cars to pass, but I do remember seeing the detritus of Christmas at the curb - overflowing trashcans and over-sized cardboard boxes (some lucky kid got an air hockey table). I don't remember if I saw any one, but I do remember the way the sunlight entered my squinting eyes through my eyelashes - glittering, dazzling.

According to my records, I ran 39 out of 52 Sundays in 2012. And six of the missed Sundays, I ran on Saturday. I ran in North Carolina, Missouri, Virginia, Minnesota, and Georgia and climbed a mountain in Colorado. I ran on trails, greenways, and streets. I ran in sun, wind, and rain, in temperatures ranging from 34° to 95°.

It's no wonder that my recall of these familiar neighborhood loops this morning is fragmented. I know them so well; I've run them alone, quietly, and with friends, chatting. Small particles of my shoes's soles are ground into the pavement.

Small pieces of me are scattered here, too.

Here Comes the Sun

This morning I woke and peaked out the window and found the tulip poplar in my backyard glowing with early morning sunlight.

For my final run of 2012, the sun returns and the clouds have retreated. This morning, I'll run my way to 750 miles under Carolina blue skies.

Thank you, Universe.

Darkness

It is 7:51 am on Saturday; this is the third day this week that I have woken to steely grey skies, not a scrap of sun, and rain.

Rain, which is so often comforting to me, feels like a curse this morning.

I can only hope that unlike Christmas Eve in Georgia and the day after Christmas in NC that it does not rain for most of the day.

I need to see and get out in some sun.

Fortunately, tomorrow's forecast looks promising, with predictions of clear sunny skies.  It will be very cold; but maybe breathing in the sharp crystalline daggers that near freezing air can be will not only purge my lungs but also my mind and my soul.

As I mentioned in the last post, the week between Christmas and New Years is already a reflective enough time for me - a time when exciting ideas, warm memories, and terrifying anxieties equally rise up from the depths - and this grey monotony of more rain simply foments this vortex into a near paralyzing frenzy.

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As always, I am turning to pictures, to words, to music, to try and shift this foul darkness.


So, year 2012 in review:

January:

James and I embark on redoing our front room, hallway and foyer. The crowning jewel was the bamboo hardwood floors, which we put down with a lot of help from friends in February. (Though Sweetpea would say she's the best accessory to any room.)

February:

The gang runs the Heart and Sole Half Marathon in Walnut Creek. Good times.

March:

For the first time in decades, I sport bangs (!):

A few weeks later, my folks visit and we run a race and eat a fabulous dinner at Raleigh's 18 Seaboard.

April:

April is a quiet month for blogging. I run my first sub-2 half marathon in Raleigh at the inaugural RunRaleigh half marathon.

Though I didn't write about it at the time, I also find out late that month that I am going to become an aunt in the fall.

May:

A warm winter lingers into a proper spring and there is lots of time for stealing sunshine during lunch hours.

Then, finally, during Memorial Day weekend, we head to the beach. But not before dancing like mad, hamming it up during games, and toasting the marriage of a friend's daughter.

June:

June finds me in the weeds with work and taking my first class in over five years.  My writing and my running suffer but I manage to make sure to get out every Sunday for a longish run. James and I go to St. Louis for Father's Day weekend. While there, I see my first ever Indigo Blue Bunting.

July:

We finally have a pool party for Fourth of July.



James and I go to Raleigh for two concerts at the NC Art Museum and enjoy both, in rain and shine.

Then, we head west from the heat to Colorado!

(Yes, I would be the one the guide is reaching for.)

August:

I set a goal and make a plan to run the Richmond Half Marathon in 1:50:00. I wrap up my class and go for a long run with James in the rain.

September:

Training for Richmond starts out strong; I'm pretty stoked!

I visit my friend Meg in Minnesota and amidst some amazing meals (and a little too much wine), I go for an awesome run around Lakes Harriet and Calhoun.

October:

Training continues to go well in October - I cling to this schedule as my world shifts unsteadily under my feet.

James has taken a position in Athens, Georgia and we move him down there at the end of the month. But not before a beautiful weekend, complete with a visit to New Bern's Mum Festival.

November:

Race weekend arrives! And we all do fantastic.

I keep myself busy with preparing the house for sale, wearing my paint pants almost nightly, and in the quiet, I start to take more moments to notice things. I am dazzled by a spectacular sunrise on the way to work. I am still not quiet happy with my writing on it....but, no camera would have done it justice either.

December:

I go to the beach and see the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. 

This month, I practice being thankful for the small things. I meet my nephew and shuffle the trails in Queeny Park. James and I celebrate Christmas at The National, eating bread dipped in the fruitiest olive oil, and run on Cook's Trail.

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It is now 10:08 am and the rain has lessened but the grey persists. Reviewing this post, I know this too shall pass. For those of you who have read through to the end, I reassure you, I am calmed.

Reviewing this post, I find myself staring right into the face of the spirit of this blog.

Would Rather Walk. Seeing each day for all of its oportunities.

How thankful I am to have my health and strength. To have the presence and mindfulness to make choices, be they easy or difficult. To be able to smile and laugh and enjoy this world, this life, and the people who populate it.

And to know that I can't truly enjoy the light without having the darkness, too.

Christmas

Hi there! This is one red-faced sweaty chick checking in to say, "Merry Christmas to you and yours! May you be happy and healthy this holiday season!"

I just returned from a weekend in Athens with James and the cats. Christmas 2012 will definitely go down as the most disjointed holiday ever - with family members scattered due to geography and illness - and the holiday falling on a Tuesday has definitely messed with my head. Tomorrow is Wednesday?

But I digress.

While James and I were able to get out and run Saturday and Sunday in the chilly sunshine, we were foiled Monday by nearly 24 hours of intermittent rain. Today, after six hours on the road, my legs were begging to move again.  When I pulled into town late this afternoon, I found it slumbering, all of the stores and restaurants closed for the holiday (as they should be).

Slumbering town = nearly empty roads = Happy Erin.

Despite the fast encroaching dark, I went ahead and decided to do the Church 10K route. I needn't have worried - I didn't even have to stop and wait for cars to pass.

I let my mind wander during this run - I thought about the Cook's Trail run I did with James on Sunday. How quiet it was that morning as we bounced along the boardwalk. I thought about the foresight that the trail builders had however many years ago when they drove those pylons into the swampy muck. Someone loved those woods enough to want to share them with other people.

Christmas marks the beginning of a week for me that, as the years pass, has become an ever more reflective time. The Winter Solstice is behind us and the days will begin to get longer; the biggest family holiday has just passed, leaving us glutted on food, drink, and gifts; there is but one week left in the year.

While I have yet to completely weigh in on the last 365 days, I will say this:

2012, you have been one strange bird.

12/20/12

Even though I am ready for the sun to return to waking me as opposed to greeting me on my way to work, I know I will miss seeing spectacular sunrises while driving.

Molten

I managed to get out of work early enough to get a few miles under my belt before the sun went down, which allowed me to run a longer route than I normally feel comfortable doing in the winter darkness.

(I am extremely thrilled that there are only a few more days until we start gaining sunlight back again....)

After that beautiful lunch outside (cold Clementine oranges eaten barefoot on a park bench in the middle of December definitely makes The List), the sun continued to make me a happy lady this evening by gracing me with a pyrotechnic sunset.

You may have seen that there is a volcano erupting in Russia; "molten" was the first word that came to mind when I saw tonight's sunset. The clouds had swirled into contrails of purple and as the sun sank, their underbellies blazed with vivid oranges and fluorescent reds.

There is a nice long stretch along a main road out to the church where sunsets are particularly visible and I often wonderful if I'm the only one craning my head to look at them or if those driving find themselves drawn to stare, too.

Tonight I ran fast and hard, my feet driven by a compilation of electronic music that my brother made.  I hadn't ran with music in a long while and the thumping bass and crescendo-ing treble was exactly what I needed.

You were right, buddy, happy music.

Refreshed

It's a rainy Monday and I'm back in North Carolina after a long weekend in St. Louis, visiting my parents and my brother and his budding family.

My last post was full of pictures; this one, I'm going to attempt to put down some words. My lack of sleep may make it muddled, but I will try nonetheless.

As seems to be the trend in my life of 2012, the weather in St. Louis this past weekend was completely out of season, with it feeling more like early fall than early winter.

The benefit to this was the ease with which I visited my park every day I was there.

Friday, I had the pleasure of running with my brother Pat and the even greater pleasure of realizing that I was actually in better running shape than he! (Something that won't last long, for sure.) It was a hazy grey late afternoon when we went out for a loop on the Hawk Ridge Trail. We were both a little winded (me by the hills, he by the distance) but it didn't stop us from talking. In a lot of ways, I felt like we closed a big gap in the forty-five minutes we spent trodding the gravel.

Saturday, my mother and I went for a "hill-tackling walk" - I wish I had brought my watch, just to see what crazy path we blazed through the park, past red-headed woodpeckers and kindly boot-clad, dog-toting equestrians.

Sunday morning, I planned to do two laps around the Hawk Ridge Trail, but my failure to bring my hydration pack and the park's decision to shut off the water fountains for the winter put a stop to that plan.  I enjoyed the first three miles in silence at sunrise - not another soul about but me - and the second two passing kindred spirits in the early morning light. 

With all of the moving that I've done in my life, it's sometimes hard for me to believe that I've been able to enjoy this park for more than fifteen years. In so many ways, it's been a touchstone, one that I can return to after months away and still find solace beneath its trees, along its paths. A place that is like an old friend, one that is aging but ever recognizable.

Maybe someday I'll take my nephew there and teach him how to stop when he hears the shrill hoarse call of a woodpecker and wait in silence for the drumming of its beak. To crane his neck and look for the scuttling bird. To delight in finding it. To wonder at and to love this world we live in.

A few of my favorite things

1. Squishy babies who sleep like koalas on your chest.

2. Crazy cloudy days in Queeny Park.

3. New coffee shops (Shaw's Coffee) in cool neighborhoods.

4. Spending time with family.

Thoughts on going home

"At some point, we all leave and we learn the hard lesson that in life, you can never go home again. Not to the place you were. But you also learn to take all the best and hardest parts of your past and you build again. You find your shelter. It’s the infinite loop of discovery that we all travel. You spend years thinking you can never go home and one day you look up and realize you are already there." - Melissa

Melissa's blog wanders over a variety of topics including some I understand (music), some I can't for lack of experience (parenthood), and some I never will (women's fashion). Above all, I appreciate her thoughtful candor and beautifully written posts. Her pictures make me melt, too.

While her life experiences have been different than mine, this post really resonated with me.

I've spoken before how I believe that home is being with people you love.

Maybe it's because I lived in six different houses in three different states before I was thirteen.

Maybe it's because there are so many beautiful places to see and if I'm in one of those spaces with those that I love - eating a good meal and laughing; drinking coffee in the early morning light; wandering the streets or the woods - I don't miss the physical house that is supposed to be "home." I know I've carried the important part with me.

Maybe it's because I know that however wonderful, that house could burn down or - in the case of my family home being situated in the Midwest - be leveled by a tornado. But no force of nature can touch my memories of times with those that I love.

Some people spend their lives fearful to leave where they've always been and other are always clamoring to get back to where they came from.

Me, I want to take my joy in where I am in this moment and where I am going.

Because when you re-envision what home is, you can always go there, again and again and again.

Things That Make Life Worth Living

I am forever indebted to my friend Meg for many things (e.g. the exposure to an eclectic array of awesome music and movies; an ever-present listening ear; and many, many good meals with even better conversation).

Something I often forget about is her "Things That Make Life Worth Living" list that I learned about soon after meeting her.

She had compiled a list of things that upon reading, made her smile and appreciate the day.

When I was 19, I started my own book.

I go through fits and spurts of keeping up with it; every time I unearth it (every year or so), I have at least 30 things to add to the list.

Last night, for some reason, I thought to go into one of my storage bins and I found it.

Without further ado, a (rather extensive) sampling (starting in 2002 and ending now):

• Warm towels to receive you from your warm shower
• Biting into a perfectly crisp and juicy apple
• Toasted bagel sandwichs
• Reading Jane Eyre for the first time the summer after 8th grade
• Crisp, autumn afternoons
• Cool, breezy summer evenings
• Dark, rainy spring mornings
• Hushed, snow-covered winter twilights
• Finding a flower on your windshield
• PAY DAYS (Note: I used to cash my paycheck on payday. Nothing so satisfying as all those bills...)
• Eating ice cream straight from the carton while sitting on the front porch
• The warm, hazy time and space between awake and asleep
• Getting mail
• THANKSGIVING DINNER (and leftovers)
• The salty smell of ocean spray
• The smell of coffee (Note: wrote this one long before I drank coffee!)
• Concretes from Ted Drewes
• Listening to a compilation made especially for you
• The Friday Night Ritual with Meg, Jason, and Chris
• Basking in the sun by Lake Michigan
• Hugs
• Freshly baked bread
• Inside jokes
• Julia cutting my hair for free (Note: and what a damn good job she did!)
• The warmth in your muscles after a good run
• PAINTBALLING
• Writing letters to far-off friends and nearby neighbors
• Finding the "too-expensive pants" on sale
• Hot baths after snowball fights at midnight
• Seeing your little brother smack the baseball deep into left field
• Watching little kids amuse themselves with nothing but the dust at their feet
• The husky tone of a guy who's beginning to get sleepy
• Fresh flowers
• Getting off work early
• Hot, soft pretzels at sporting events (with the fake cheese!)
• Hearing the Moonlight Sonata played
• Surprises
• Capturing an image in a perfect picture
• Walking with Chris on a foggy night and sitting on the pier, scheming about "the mist"
• Babies who fall asleep while you're cradling them in your arms
• Falling asleep in Dad's oversized leather chair
• Cooking dinner in your own kitchen
• Falling asleep to the sounds of Chicago
• Tapping the carrebeaner at the top of a 50' boulder after several sweat-inducing attempts
• Meeting someone new, talking for hours on end, knowing that you'll never be the same
• Waking up in time to see the sunrise and falling back asleep for another hour
• Having your heart beat faster when listening to a great song for the first time
• Kissing someone for the first time
• Burying yourself in a comforter when the windows are open and it's snowing
• "Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses"; the pink light of late winter sunsets
• Being pinned and tickled and laughing until your sides ache
• Cuddling with a close friend who rests his head on the bridge of your nose
• Brian, when asked about the lamps in his office, talking about his soul being poisoned by fluorescent lights
• Having your hair played with
• Playing with someone's hair
• The night sky in the mountains
• SKIING - down a slope, without falling
• Bullshitting with "the gang" at Steak 'n' Shake until 2 o'clock in the morning
• Sitting on the front porch with Dad, talking late into the night while it pours down rain
• The smell of pipe tobacco
• Seeing the moon rise blood red over Lake Michigan
• Raking leaves in Litchfield the day after Thanksgiving
• Clove cigarettes with Cabernet Sauvignon
• All inside jokes spawned in Apt. 901
• Late brunches complete with coffee AND orange juice
• Running up the stairs of a lookout to survey the woods of Southern Illinois
• Locking eyes with a possible soulmate
• Being picked up at a train station, an airport terminal by someone you love
• Holding hands with Meg while bookshopping on a chilly but sunny Friday afternoon
• Seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for the first time
• Hiking alone in Giant City State Park, rediscovering yourself and following your heart
• Bryan's Chicken Marsala
• Finding the coi pond on Leland Avenue in Chicago
• The Blueberry Flapper at Harbaugh's
• Watching a sea turtle eat coral and turning to see an eagle ray fly by all while SCUBA diving in Cozumel
• Watching James talk to my cat and walk him around the yard like he was his child
• The buzz of Carbondale's farmer's market on a sunny Saturday morning
• Sharing silences with someone you love
• Maw Maw holding my cheeks
• Da calling me a beautiful lady
• Learning that your heart is smarter than your head
• Running the STL half marathon with Mom and Emily
• Seeing the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean at Topsail Island on a chilly winter morning
• French-pressed coffee
• Long slow distance runs on Sunday mornings, no matter the weather
• Miss Virginia's carrot cake (O.M.G.)
• The way southern men call women "girl," as in "What's happenin', girl??"
• Climbing Buffalo Mountain in Silverthorne, CO
• Dinners or wine tastings at Chef and the Farmer
• Running the paths around Lakes Harriet and Calhoun in Minneapolis
• Mother Earth Tap Room
• The delicious weight of an eye pillow during Svasana at the end of a yoga session
• Toasted subs from Botino's 
• PRing a half-marathon three years later in Richmond
• Whitey's grape popsicle after running the Bix 7 on a sweltering day
• Running in Umstead Park in Raleigh
• Seeing an Indigo Bunting while running in Queeny Park

If I am in a foul mood, reading through this list reminds me of all of the wonderful tidbits that my daily life has to offer, if I only choose to remember:

Nothing is worth more than this day. 

Word.

"It's an irritating reality that many places and events defy description. Angkor Wat and Machu Picchu, for instance, seem to demand silence, like a love affair you can never talk about. For a while after, you fumble for words, trying vainly to assemble a private narrative, an explanation, a comfortable way to frame where you've been and what's happened. In the end, you're just happy you were there-with your eyes open-and lived to see it."

-Anthony Bourdain

(I just started reading his The Nasty Bits last night and this closing of his preface was EXACTLY what I felt when I tried to write about that sunrise the other morning.)

Sunday Thanks

For winter blooming flowers.

For good conversation with old friends and finding new coffee and chocolate in favorite places.

For bright sunny days to work outside.

A gift

Last night was my company's Christmas party and much fun was had.

A little too much fun in my case.

Despite a strong urge to laze away the morning, I went ahead and roused myself and headed out.

I forgot my watch in my muddled state, but I did remember the (far more crucial) water.

The cold front moved on as quickly as it arrived and so I donned shorts again.

The late morning sun is now burning off the last of the mists which muffled most sounds as I ran. 

It was an awkward run. My left calf knotted up pretty early on and throbbed in time with my temples. I felt sloppy, disjointed, my stomach sour. I was glad I forgot my watch.

By the time I got to the turn around in the park, though, I was feeling - as I nearly always do - happy to have my feet moving, despite my blasted calf, aching head, and protesting stomach.

Running is a gift I can give to myself again and again.

Shorts and Stars

65° on this first Tuesday in December, warm enough to warrant shorts.

After waiting around longer than expected to resolve an unexpected tire issue, I laced up to do a few neighborhood laps.  It quickly became apparent that my blood sugar was low and I was not going to be able to run as far as I would like, but nevertheless, I enjoyed taking some deep breaths under a very starry night sky.

A cold front is predicted to start moving in tomorrow and despite the relative calm balminess of tonight, I could feel the beginning snatches of it as I ran through pockets of cool dry air.

Running through the first, the word "thermocline" suddenly popped into my head and I remembered seeing and feeling this strange phenomenon during a SCUBA diving trip with my father.

Thermocline: "When scuba diving, a thermocline where water drops in temperature by a few degrees Celsius quite suddenly can sometimes be observed between two bodies of water, for example where colder upwelling water runs into a surface layer of warmer water. It gives the water an appearance of wrinkled glass that is often used to obscure bathroom windows and is caused by the altered refractive index of the cold or warm water column." (Thank you, Wikipedia.)

Source

Source

Another day, another sunrise

My sublime experience on the way to work - or rather, the timing of it - reminded me of something I had long been meaning to do since moving to North Carolina.

Go watch the sun rise over the ocean.

This time, with pictures.

As a reward for (finally!) finishing painting yesterday evening, I roused myself at five, made some coffee and headed to North Topsail Beach. I timed it almost perfectly. The symphony was just starting as I crested the high rise bridge over the sound onto the island.

 I pulled alongside a few other scattered cars behind the dunes and walked onto the beach.

I took a seat and settled in to watch.

I even got lucky and someone was out working this morning.

The cold bit my cheeks and fingers as the waves roared over the rumble of the boat. Platoons of pelicans soldiered past.

And then, she came.

In all her glory.

And this morning, nearly alone on the beach, it felt like it was just for me.