Hi Everyone!

I believe the only racer last weekend was Pearce at Nationals Cross Country! Pearce came 17^th overall as a masters runner in the country. Outstanding. Coming up this weekend we have the Holiday 10K and CIM races! Wohoo! And today we have a guest post from Tanis (THANK YOU Tanis!!!) Guest posts still and always welcome.

What I’ve learned from not running (Tanis Feasby)

I haven’t run in two weeks – or is it two months? – and I’m feeling like an entirely different person. I’m on a forced break because I’ve finally admitted that there’s something quite wrong with my left glute/high hamstring/butt/sit bone area and after running through it for at least eight months, it’s been getting worse.

One thing that rocked me was how quickly I’ve changed my routines. For the first week, I thought I’d get up at my usual 5:15 am and get to the gym before work or at least visit the weights in my basement. After batting 0/5 that first week, I had to adjust my expectations. So I started leaving a bag of gym clothes in my car to could go after work, and by the second week that was working pretty well. I actually have more energy at the end of the day when I haven’t run 10k before 7 am.

There’s been an unexpected benefit to getting up early and not exercising – I sit and drink coffee and have time to reflect before I start my day. This is a real change for me, as I usually live my life in a constant state of GO measured by how productive I’m being and what I’m getting done toward my goals. (Goals could be running-related, work-driven or in the domestic sphere, the latter being the hardest). Now I spend up to an hour in the morning peacefully thinking about anything from Christmas shopping to where I want to live in retirement. Despite this being one of my busiest times of year, I’m slowing things down a bit.  

This newfound flow has also affected how I approach my workouts at the gym. I don’t show up with a plan, but instead wander a bit aimlessly around the gym seeing what strikes me, sometimes following people who look like they know what they’re doing. This is surprisingly liberating. I’ve found that if I give myself permission to do what I feel like, I’m far more likely to make it out the door.

I’m thinking about my whole body and gaining strength in different areas, not just about my speed and cardio. When I’m all in on running, I really only care about strength if it will help me go faster or longer (or maybe look better in a tank top). Now I’m thinking about where I need it for overall health, which isn’t really an easy goal to measure.

Do you guys even recognize this zen person I’m describing? The problem is, I really miss my friends and the therapy of running with you. But I hope that when I eventually heal and return to running, I can be a bit more flexible in my approach and more holistic in my goals.

On to tomorrow’s workout – Lakeshore and Leslie – 6:05 Drills, 6:15 GO! (too many people racing to do hills this week – we’ll bump them to next)

1. Holiday 10K racers: 1 mile tempo, 2 min rest, 6 x 400m w 1:15 rest – 10K pace to 5K pace (don’t over extend here – it’s just to get the rhythm and feel good)
2. CIM racers: 1 mile @ MRP, 2 min rest, 2 x 400 a lil quicker as above
3. Everyone else, take a taper workout if you need one OR add 1 mile tempo to the end of the first one. So 1 mile, 6 x 400, 1 mile.

That is all – see you in the a.m.!

xo

Seanna

A conversation with my oldest and truest friend – Running. We love each other, but every now and then we need to sit down and have a serious talk.

Me: “Hi Running. I’ve been thinking. I’m worried about this upcoming winter with all of the closures and limited social opportunities, along with the darker, colder, shorter days. I just want to let you know I think I’m going to be relying on you more than ever, so please be prepared and be there for me”.

Running: “Sure, happy to help. What exactly do you think you need me for, so I can be clear?”

“Well, you’ll be my social outlet for sure – that’s super important. I need to use you to be with my friends and to laugh and connect with people. I need you to be available when people in my family want to run together because I facilitate some of their access to you. I will need you for my thought clearing solitary runs. I will need you as an emotional outlet when I’m angry or stressed. I will need to use you when I just need to force myself outside for some fresh air, nature connection and mental health. And I would like you to keep me energized enough to be present and available to take on adventures and activities with my family, not drained and tired”.

“Ok, I can do that”.

“Thanks so much – love ya!”

“I wasn’t finished. You often ask too much of me. If I am going to commit to this role for you, you need to let go of some of the things you normally ask of me”.

“Like what?”

“Don’t use me to measure your sense of accomplishment and achievement. Don’t use me to compete with yourself and judge yourself and continually try to better yourself. Protect me from getting tied up with your ego. Care for me and nurture me and love me back. Don’t abuse me”.

“Do I do that?”

“Seanna, I’ve been with you for over 30 years. You know I’ll always love you but yes, you do. You sometimes wring me like a wet sock to see how much you can squeeze out of me. When you don’t treat me well, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to be there for all that you ask”.

“Well, you’ve broken my heart many times too, and I always come back”.

“And I always come back too. But sometimes it takes time. And you’re telling me you don’t want this winter to be that time. So let’s treat each other gently for a while and give you what you say you need”.

“Ok I will do my best. And Running? I love you”.

“I know”.

I was recently reminded of a great Buddhist proverb. A monk worked his whole life to achieve enlightenment. When he finally attained it he was asked how he did it. He replied, “Chop wood, carry water”. Then he was asked what he would do now that he had attained enlightenment. He replied, “Chop wood, carry water”.

Obviously I brought this back to running 😉 Let’s pretend what we’re seeking, instead of enlightenment, is a goal race or time. That’s fine – sometimes we have one and sometimes we don’t. But the point is, don’t expect anything to fundamentally change in you or what you do once you reach your goal. We’re not striving now so we can rest later. We’re doing what we love to do and if we get a great race time in the process, fantastic. It won’t change what we’re doing though. Now is a perfect time to find out how you love to run, without an external race goal influencing you.

I’m reminded of the summer of 1996 when I was 21 and living in a tent and working in a bookstore in Dawson City, Yukon. I ran pretty much every day and loved it so much. I could run at 10 or 11pm along remote northern highways and have as much sunlight as if I was running at 10 or 11am. I basically had two route options: one along the Top of the World Highway towards Alaska, and another 7km straight up a hill called The Midnight Dome. I’d alternate between these two routes and never got bored. I remember really falling in love with running there – there were no gps watches or strava or cell phones or even the internet – running was a very solitary and personal endeavour. On my runs up the Dome I had to stop often to rest my legs and catch my breath. I made it a personal goal to run all the way to the top without stopping by the end of the summer. I remember the joy and sense of achievement I felt when I first did it. I was so happy. There was not a soul to tell but it didn’t matter. I stopped at the top, took it all in, and jogged the 7km back to my tent.

View of Dawson City from the top of the Midnight Dome

Well, as fate would have it, I discovered that a few weeks after my first ascent they were holding the annual Midnight Dome Race. Runners came in from all around (well, mostly Whitehorse) to see who could make it to the top first. I quietly realized that I had been inadvertently “training” for this race for a couple of months. So I paid my $15 and entered the race. Imagine my surprise when about 2/3 of the way up a car with a CBC reporter from Whitehorse leaned out with a microphone to tell me I had a huge lead and how did it feel to be the likely women’s winner. I don’t think I said much since I was gasping for air, but I did make it to the top first. I won a meal in a restaurant, a night in a hotel and tickets to Diamond Tooth Gerty’s cabaret – all expensive tourist things which were huge luxuries for the “dirty hippies across the river”. I remember my main takeaway being that the race was a funny lark and a totally random coincidence. My hippie tent friends who saw me running all the time (and rarely showering) laughed about it with me. It was like we’d pulled one over on “the man” – winning the prizes for a race I didn’t really care about. That hadn’t been why I was trying to run up the Dome. And I don’t remember the experiences of the prizes as much as the feeling of when I first made it up without stopping. I also continued to run up the Dome (on tougher days still stopping the odd time) – and still relished the challenge and accomplishment every time.

I think I sometimes forget that feeling. Of being the outsider, and doing what I do because that’s just what I like to do. If you want to train hard, train hard. If you want to run up a hill, do that. If you want to run on trails, that’s what you should do. If a race pops up, sure, jump in. Maybe it’ll be what you were training for. Maybe not. But after it you’re going to go back to chopping wood and carrying water, because that’s the whole point.

I never know who will take me up on going for a walk – if anyone. Usually there is one person who walks with me and my volunteer partner. Sometimes there are two, sometimes none. We walk with men who are staying at a shelter in my neighbourhood. My idealistic idea was to start a running group. I can’t do everything, but I can put my expertise and knowledge in physical fitness to use in a caring and loving way. I know the powerful link it has with mental and emotional health. However it didn’t take me long to learn that poverty and physical health are closely related. Many of those who are mobile have injuries or long-term conditions which keep them from running. Some of them can walk though, so we do that. We walk and talk and sometimes sit for a coffee.

Jake* is big and gentle. I wasn’t sure if he could even walk the first few times I went because he was always sitting down with a foot which had been terribly burnt in a fire. He also wasn’t super motivated until I mentioned that a Starbucks coffee might be in the cards. He’ll walk for that I discovered. So we walk slowly to a Starbucks about half a mile away. As we walk we chat. We talk about Jake’s youth, where he grew up, where he went to school, his sisters, his parents, his daughter. Jake has kind eyes and a quick laugh. He is also addicted to crack, panhandles for money, and I can smell alcohol on him at 9:30 in the morning. It doesn’t bother me. I have no expectations of him – he owes me nothing. I enjoy walking and talking with him and hearing about his story, and he tells me he likes walking and talking with me too – I think because I listen and ask him questions and remember what he’s told me. Also I don’t judge him. I wonder about his sisters and daughter (his parents have passed). They must be wishing and hoping for the best for him, but I understand that they have to stay away as well. I’ve been in that position.

There were often other people around my mum. She was surrounded by social workers, nurses, old friends and acquaintances who’d resurfaced. She was a physical and mental wreck due to decades of alcoholism. I had maintained a physical and emotional distance for as long as I could. I did feel the duties of a daughter though, so would provide care and company as if by script. I did not want to be there though. I wanted my mum to be loved but for some reason I could not often call up that emotion. I watched in awe as these total strangers were able to treat her in a way that I could not. They chatted, listened and laughed with her as she was in that state with no judgements or expectations. They had no feelings of disgust or disappointment or anger. They just saw a human being who needed love. I was very grateful to all of them that they could give her what I couldn’t. If you can outsource love, I think that’s what we were trying to do by the end.

On another day in the week I lead an exercise program for patients from a forensic outpatient group at a mental health hospital. These are people who have been deemed not criminally responsible for illegal acts they’ve committed. I don’t know what they’ve done – nor do I want to. I treat them all with the respect and compassion I would treat anyone. I work with them with genuine effort and interest because I want the best for them. I care about them. We move and sweat and lift beside each other and laugh and fill our blood with endorphins. Many of these clients live with their parents or siblings. I wonder about their immediate support teams too. The people who know about the crimes they’ve committed. Who are burdened by supporting them. Are they able to show them love and respect, or are they relying on people like me? I don’t mind filling that role. It is much easier from a certain vantage point. I feel like I’m paying back the people who were able to give it to my mum when I couldn’t. Let me share my love this way.

Sometimes I send my son out into the world after a difficult morning. We’ve gotten in a fight, said not nice things to each other and we both feel badly. I can’t always back down – I’m the parent. I have a role to play in raising and teaching. But I plead that he will encounter someone who will show him love in this day. I want (need) him to experience kindness, love and respect, but it doesn’t always flow seamlessly beside the more difficult teachings of life lessons and discipline. When I am feeling angry and tapped out I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the teacher or friend or family member who extends a branch to him. I think I physically feel the weight of it all coming off me. There are other people in the world who will love my child – it doesn’t all have to weigh on me.

I find myself thinking about Jake’s mother. He tells me how she would buy his new school uniform and iron it to make him look sharp for school, and the pain in my chest nearly brings me to my knees. He was once a loved little boy. I am sure his mother was relying on the world to love her son when she wouldn’t be able to anymore. I do my small bit where I can. I hope others fill in other gaps too so there is enough for him. And I pray to god that there will continue to be people who love out there for my kids when they need it.

*Name has been changed to protect privacy

I self identify as a jock. It’s taken me until my forties to become comfortable owning the term. I mean, it must have been obvious to others long ago. As a kid, when given my choice of camps to sign up for, I would always choose Sports Camp. I never asked which sports they were referring to. I just knew that if there were sports, I would love it. And I always did.

In elementary school I went to a very academically focused school. In that environment my jock-ness was even more pronounced. I was often picked ahead of all of the girls and most of the boys when it came time to pick teams for dodge-ball or basketball (two sports I am not very good at at all, so that fact speaks a bit more to my classmates’ lack of athletic enthusiasm than to my own skill.) Along with my sister and two other girls, we played on the all boys hockey team and just accepted the fact that we had to get changed in broom closets. My favourite day of the year was Sports Day where I would compete in all track and field events with equal enthusiasm. By the end of elementary school I was gravitating away from certain sports which I didn’t love as much as others (I never really took to the indoor ball sports like basketball and volleyball), but I would still sign up for absolutely anything that involved physical activity and movement if it took the place of math, art or music.

In high school I was thrilled to discover I could sign up for pretty much any team I wanted to. Among the teams I competed on for my high school were: field hockey, soccer, ice hockey, badminton, swim team, x-country running, track, x-country skiing, downhill skiing. Outside of school I took part in even more sports. Don’t think I’m bragging; I was actually so bad in some of them (swim team and downhill ski racing for a start) that my friends don’t even remember me being there. I was in the slow lane, or toodling down the hill, but still there and loving it! I also at one point thought I was pretty good at badminton, but it turns out I just squeaked onto the team and was never played in the crucial matches. That never dampened my enthusiasm though. I never understood how people could not enjoy playing or competing if it was an option over attending school!

In university I decided to study Phys Ed, because, obviously. I learned about things that were interesting to me: anatomy, sports psychology, physiology and sociology of sports. But unfortunately I undervalued all of this. I thought that since I enjoyed it and found it interesting, it must not be serious. It wasn’t business, or engineering, or law. It was sports. I often tried to underplay my jock-ness. Being a jock doesn’t sound smart or feminine – two things I also wanted to see in myself. When people asked what I’d graduated in, I’d make fun of my degree, saying I took “Gym” in university. I tried to follow fashion trends, but just could never manage to get into putting on makeup, and always seemed to revert back to wearing running shoes. It didn’t help that I worked at a sporting goods company, so my entire wardrobe had three vertical stripes going down the arms and legs. And that was pretty much the uniform in the office, so I fit right in.

But being a jock is more than what I wear and what I studied. I think it’s how I see and understand the world. When I see a mountain, my first instinct is that I want to climb it. I don’t want to paint it, or write a song about it, or just admire it. I want to experience it. I feel like I’m not part of things unless I’m taking part in them. If I visit somewhere new and see people doing an activity (surfing, cycling, hiking) I want to do that to in order to feel connected. I am not a passive observer. Maybe that’s what defines a jock. I just have an urge to get in and be part of the action. I can’t always make sense of the world by just looking or hearing or thinking about it. I have to physically be a part of it. I have to live it.

So I am now owning the fact that I’m a jock. I did mention this to my husband once as we looked around our house and realized neither one of us had any aptitude nor the desire to learn about how to redecorate and make it look fancy. I said, “Sorry. You married a jock.” (I think he knew that going in ;)) My wiring is such that I won’t walk into a room and notice the fine details of décor. I won’t look at magazines and learn how to be the most fashionably dressed. I won’t spend money on makeup or heels which make me feel like I don’t fit my skin. But when my husband points to a mountain and says “wanna bike up it?” or to a 50K cross-country ski race and says “wanna do it?” I will almost all of the time say “of course!” Because those things, to me, are having fun and living genuinely.

Feelin’ alive.