In the Pain Cave (Days 1 & 2)

"Complaining about not achieving success despite working hard is like complaining about an ice cube not melting when you heated it from twenty-five to thirty-one degrees. Your work was not wasted; it is just being stored. All the action happens at 32 degrees." - James Clear, Atomic Habits

The first book I am reading during this challenge is a re-read; James Clear's Atomic Habits is easy to digest but full of great anecdotes and powerful, simple, actionable methods. This book pairs well with the challenge because his main argument is that while goals are great, processes will win out in the end. Put directly in context: do the five things on the #75hard list every day for #75days and you can't not see change in your life. 

I need to write these words down because I am seriously in the pain cave right now.

Day 1 I went for a 3 mile run outside and then, because I hadn't hit 45 minutes, finished with 50 burpees. I had to break them down into sets of 5 every 45 seconds because the entirety of any strength training for me these last few months has been hoisting luggage in and out of various modes of travel. By the last set, my arms were failing. I did a deep stretch yoga session that night and my arms were already angry. 

This was going to be bad.

The wonderful thing about our brain is that we can't actually remember what pain feels like. We can remember that something hurt but not actually hold the physical experience of that pain in our memory. And THANK GOD. Because I know I wouldn't have done what I did next.

Day 2 I went to the gym (my local is Assertive Athletics & Fitness in Carolina Beach) and owner Chris suggested I complete the weekly challenge - 100 squats, performed as singles, 1 every 15 seconds. I took a cue from the day before and opted to back down on weight. Even with only the bar, this challenge had me dripping. I finished with time on the SkiErg, hoping the butterfly movement would breakup my shoulders a little bit. 

Oh it broke something all right. 

Afterwards, when I took my shower, I discovered I couldn't put my arms far enough up my back to hook my bra strap. Acrobatics ensued. 

Also during this time, I started sneezing like my brain was trying to abandon ship - "Nuh-uh! I see what you're trying to do and I want NO PART OF IT." Last night I went for a long walk on the beach, swinging my arms and wincing in time.  

I've woken up this morning with the beginning of a head cold and I can barely move my arms. 

This is the pain cave, when I'd rather just lie down and eat Ibuprofen, nap, and forget that I ever wanted to start this thing.

But luckily, I do remember that this won't last forever. 

Day 3, I'm coming for you. 

#75 Hard

Hi there! For ease, I'm resurrecting this old blog as I spend the next 75 days doing Andy Frisella's #75Hard mental grit challenge.

For the next 75 days, I will do the following:

1) Digest 10 pages of self-improvement/entrepreneurial text

2) Drink 1 gallon of water

3) Complete 2 - 45 minute work-outs (1 of which must be outside)

4) Stick to a diet, including no alcohol

5) Take a picture of myself

For me, the diet will be eating whole foods (no processed/pre-packaged) with a focus on incorporating more protein and vegetables. I am not trying to lose weight but I am trying to expand my food horizons. 

I'm also running my first half marathon in 5 years this November and am looking to shake up my standard training plans. 

But more than anything....I need to prove to myself (once again) that I can do hard things.

I'll likely be posting each evening if you care to follow along. And if you want to join me, I hope you'll post in the comments on how things are going for you, too.

Here we go!

-Erin

The Color and the Sound: Jamaica in December

Darkness book-ended our five day trip to Jamaica in the form of a predawn flight to Charlotte early Thursday morning and a post-sunset flight home to Raleigh on Monday evening. The first leg, a slow birth into the riot of colors that would follow; the last leg, a sterilizing, numbing agent, sealing off the five days into a perfect capsule.

Since August, a cliche had been my goal for Jamaica: a stick-my-toes-in-the-sand, read-a-book, spend-every-waking-moment-in-the-open-air vacation. My whole person needed this reset. I've previously written of the purifying hours of being sand-blasted at the North Carolina coast in summer. By Thanksgiving it was abundantly clear I needed more: a gentle, sustained buffing. 

And when we need something, when our very souls are crying out in a stripped down plea - Help me, please - the universe does deliver. 

Anxiety

For Jessica 

I'm clearly rusty at this thing, writing. Six weeks have slipped by since my last post. Maybe because life is so deliciously full these days, full of new routines and faces, new challenges and adventures. Four drafts sit in my queue, full of Jamaican underwater adventures, Kure Beach landscapes, and a meditation on the word savor. As time has passed, I've been forced to confront that maybe I can't move on to these posts until I give you the rest of the story from 2014.

This is the other half. It is not so calm and fairly dark.

This week ice stole over Raleigh, slowed things down, pulled me inside myself.

It's funny the stories we tell about ourselves. The parts we edit out. The words that we send into oblivion as quickly as our fingers type them out.

My whole life, my story never held the words that I've learned to embrace this last year, words that prick at each of our senses: raw, anemic, restless, static, paralysis, chafed, lost.

Anxious.

Anxiety is particularly wicked because, unlike fear which lives in the present, it tunnels into your mind from the future. Boring like an insidious worm, leaving caverns slimed with Jurassic era tar.

1 in 4 women struggle to make it out of these dark places, twice as many women as men. Many of us manage to cope, to survive, to keep our eyes pointed forward while we frantically peddle our legs in place. We stay alive, but we are so, so tired.

I was so, so tired.

On a weekday night in April, my aunt Meg calmed a panic-attack stricken babbling me, saying It is helpful to remember that what we experience in our external world is a manifestation of our internal world. 

Look with your eyes, shine the Light there.

And, in my case, take the biggest, baddest magnifying glass you can find deep in your hope chest and light 'em up. Burn it away.

Sitting in the flames of acknowledging, processing, and eliminating that junk was - is - painful. But I so prefer the bright pain of the burn to the exhaustion of the never-ending sludge run. And so grateful for the people who have held me, flames and all.

Last year I finally let go of chasing things that made me feel present and instead became present. I've popped up from my worm hole aflame and found myself in awe of all the torches in the distance.

I see you, friend, here and now. And if you need me, I'll sit and burn with you for a bit.

Serenity

For TJ and Morgan

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: But it ain't all buttons and charts, little albatross. You know what the first rule of flying is? Well, I suppose you do, since you already know what I'm about to say.

River Tam: I do. But I like to hear you say it.

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: Love. You can learn all the math in the 'Verse, but you take a boat in the air that you don't love, she'll shake you off just as sure as the turning of the worlds. Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down, tells you she's hurtin' 'fore she keens. Makes her a home.

River Tam: Storm's getting worse.

Capt. Malcolm Reynolds: We'll pass through it soon enough.

------

Last winter I trained for my first marathon. I kept the momentum going from the half I ran in the Outer Banks that November. Over January and February, my mileage spreadsheet cataloged the long runs inching into new territory, up from 13 to 17 to 20.

In training, I love these runs most of all. After an hour or so, reality shifts. I actually feel myself existing in four dimensions, a set of coordinates moving through space and time. Thoughts and feelings behave differently, they take on substance. Some rise from the deep, bubbling slowly to the surface, only to pop with the shock and awe of revelation; others subtly slide into view from afar to be observed and contemplated.

And after even longer still, everything quiets. And then God shows up.

In the slant of the sun through the pine trees. Appearing with the bluebirds alighting on the fence posts along the Reedy Creek Trail. In the wind dragging through the live oak trees in Kure Beach’s Fort Fisher.

Somewhere in those four months, a prayer becomes by long run mantra.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

The spreadsheet, predictable math; the mantra, a constant.

-----

I see the 22 mile flag flapping lazily in the grey of that spring Sunday. My whole body is aching, but my face is breaking into a huge grin. My mantra fades away and my brain breaks into sweet song.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…

I raise my hand and slap it as I run by.

….that saved a wretch like me…

The whisper of my feet on the gravel, the dried salt on my lips.

….I once was lost, but now am found…

I wave at the half marathoners going the opposite direction. “You’re doing great!”

….was blind, but now I see.

I exit the American Tobacco Trail for the final two miles. I have been running for almost four hours without stopping.

The wind is whipping up the skies even more out here from under the trees and I smell rain. I trudge up the last hill and at the top, they wait.

“Oh my god I see her!” my mother screeches.

“There she is! You got this baby girl!” TJ has fulfilled his end of the casual bargain we made months prior when we first met.

I don’t stop; I can’t stop. They start running with me, but my mother quickly falls behind. TJ keeps talking in my ear.

“You’re almost there. The finish line is just ahead. You look great!”

I don’t feel great. My vision is going a little wonky. I tell him to keep talking to me, and then I gasp: “Is that it?! Is that the finish line?” I have seen a smear of blue out of the corner of my left eye.

He laughs, it is rich and warm and golden.

“No, honey, that’s the kid’s playground.”

He steers me down the last quarter mile, I throw on my last bit of energy to finish strong.

My friends are there. I see Glenna and I burst into tears.

I can’t stop repeating: I did it.

And then, as I ring the bell for first timer runners and those celebrating PRs: Thank you.

-----

A little over a week ago, we returned from Jamaica. For five days, we had bathed in the sun and gentle waters of the Caribbean, in slow time shared together and meeting new friends. It is December 22nd and we are heading home to celebrate Christmas.

Morgan lays her head on my lap to watch videos while I read and TJ paces the airport floor, slightly impatient with the delayed departure. I, too, am ready to be home; for the moment, though, I enjoy the lingering smell of sunscreen on my skin and the warmth of her head on my legs.

-----

Calm skies and seas as we welcome 2015.

My hope for you is the same for myself: may we all be leaves on the wind - and free from worry of where we may go.

The Runners

The Runners from Banyak Films on Vimeo.

Hello out there. I know I've been remiss on writing. Life has been strange these past few months.

I'll be back soon.

OBX: Attempt at #19

Saturday night I fell asleep quickly and stayed there soundly with the help of the ocean waves. 

I woke before my alarm, before even the predawn light, to shuffle around the room as my thoughts rolled through the early morning brain fog.

Prerace thoughts play out in their own tune but follow a similar chord progression, alongside ritualistic activities: Drink a glass of water (Maybe I shouldn't have had that third beer last night). Start chewing on that bagel (How does this have no taste? Maybe because I have no saliva in my mouth). Drink a cup of coffee (Ohhh, yeah. Okay. I'm waking up now. Hello saliva). Visit the restroom. Check: race bib - secure? Gu's - in pockets? Camelbak - not leaking? Garmin - on wrist? Drink another glass of water. 

There is a familiar math to it. There is often pacing. In the presence of other runners, there is idle chit-chat of sometimes unfinished sentences. 

And there is always the question: how will today go?

That question pops up again and again in those hours before the race, but evaporates as soon as the race starts.

Then a different kind of math begins to unfold. And a different question:

What will I learn today?

OBX: Saturday in Pictures

I sat in bed last Saturday morning, writing my previous post, thinking about the string of sunrise photographers I saw on the beach. How wonderful to be sharing a moment of silence with perfect strangers. 

I sat, scrolling through the photos, trying to write words, thinking about the pourover coffee I would make with David and Glenna when they roused themselves. 

When the text came through, I headed up and entered a room already smelling of freshly ground No. 46.

I love the ritual of pourover coffee. I love it more when I get to share it with friends. It becomes a sublime experience when you get to sit out on a balcony and look to the left and see this:

The best kind of struggle

Yesterday, as the sun slipped away, David, Glenna, and I tucked into their car and headed east. Their car took me on roads I'd not traveled yet in my time in NC. We sped along in the dark on Highway 64, through a near empty swath of land, towards the Abermarle Sound. 

After stopping for supper in Williamston, we all settled back into our seats for the last hour under a very dark sky saturated with stars.

In this warm space devoid of colors, snapshots from the week came filtering back.

#19: One Week to Go, Eyes Wide Open

One week from today, I will be sitting in a car, heading back from a part of the Atlantic Shore to which I've never been.

Heading back after completing my 13th half marathon, lolling in a post-race glow; heading back with one more finisher's medal and - or so my plan calls for - a new PR, something that starts with a 1:4.

----

The Box

Tonight, I took it out for the first time since the spring.

I'm pretty sure I've had it since the first time I moved away from St. Louis.

I want to say that's when my grandmother gave it to me. The "Erin" written in marker on the faded fabric looks to be from around that time - when I was seven years old - moving with my family from St. Louis to Carmel, a suburb outside of Indianapolis.  

The first things stored in there were no doubt treasures at the time - and I still have some of them, random as they are - a brass pill box and small porcelain pig purchased for a quarter apiece from a garage sale (these survived, the feather "fountain" pen did not); a ribbon for swimming the most laps for a cancer benefit; one of the rosaries and the picture book of saints I was given for my First Communion.

The Tale of Two Margarets: Part II

Sometimes you meet people and your heart instantaneously lights up. 

And when that happens, you do everything in your power to not let them go. 

A little over twelve years ago, that happened in Chicago for me, when I met Meg. 

The Tale of Two Margarets: Interlude - Pictured, Not Pictured

It's hard for me to believe that one week ago, my Sunday morning looked like this. The theme of these pictures?

Blue skies. Every day. 

Heading from San Francisco to Napa.

The Tale of Two Margarets: Part I

Flying into San Jose last Friday night, I saw the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.

I had been travelling for seven hours, awake for sixteen, having worked a half a day and only snacked on two bags of peanuts and some pretzels, slurped down two screwdrivers; by all accounts I should have been pretty bleary-eyed, weary and beyond noticing.

But as the plane turned, I stared out the window to my left in silence and watched as the sun slunk to the sea. The sea, the only thing visible; the land, but a curtain holding back the sea. The sea, the sky, a riot of colors, blurred and morphed by their meeting.

As it turned out, that first glimpse of the Pacific along California would be echoed throughout my five days there.

Northern California in Panorama

Today was my third full day in California and the second day in a row that I've killed my phone's battery before the day was done. I have a post brewing in my brain - something akin to Kate's Pictured, Not Pictured - but for the moment, I just wanted to share my attempt at capturing the sweeping panoramic views that this trip has afforded me.

#19: One month to go

Y'all, tomorrow is one month to the Outerbanks Half Marathon, where I will attempt to break 1:50:00, so I can cross #19 off my list.

Settling In

Whew.

Between moving, working, and running, this chick has temporarily run out of words.

No longer the eldest

As I write, the white noise of a large band of rain is cocooning me in my bed. It is a lovely sound, for sleeping; not so lovely for a scheduled long run and a planned move day. They say it's good luck for rain on your wedding day; I'm not necessarily of the opinion the same applies to moving day.

Nevertheless, the run will happen, the move will happen, as all things happen, regardless of the weather. Today, as I prepare to head from the Sandflats to the Piedmont, I need to pause and pay tribute to two special people.

I'mma Hoping for Raleigh

For nearly five months I have been commuting from Wayne County to the Raleigh area for work. I have largely enjoyed this 100 mile round trip commute because it is often quiet and full of interesting things to see.

#19: Halfway there

Ah, September.

The month that says good-bye to summer and our full weekends; shuffles kids back to school, businesses back on the track of finishing the year strong.

The month that heralds the beginning of autumn, as the days tip past equilibrium into the realm of more dark than light.

The month that makes me both wishful and wistful.