Tag Archives: BOSTON QUALIFY

Dreams of Boston: From Chasing Boston to Chasing Baby

22 Apr

Today was the 2016 Boston Marathon. I planned on BQing this year to secure my spot for 2017 but life happens – literally. My body is not my own.

I find myself 9 months pregnant and determined to not let my fitness and fitness goals get derailed.

I’ve had a wonderful pregnancy but let me tell you this – pregnancy is hard. I will be honest and say I miss my body. The body that carried me through many races. Fit, trim, lean and light.

To date, I’m sporting extra pounds that have found a new home in my thighs and arms aside from the belly. I’m very accepting of this. Yes. But the change is still challenging.

I don’t want to sound vain – only honest. For those of you pregnant mamas that scroll through feeds that showcase the ✨ glowing claims of how fab it is to be pregnant and you just don’t feel it – I’m telling you that sometimes we filter the ugly (the thoughts, the feelings, the emotions, the symptoms). It is most definitely not all rainbows and butterflies. At times it is a stab to your ego. I’m not trying to undercut the miracle of pregnancy – because I do love it, but with it there are accompanying struggles.

Struggles of self-acceptance. It’s normal.

There’s some boilerplate bullshit out there shaming women who admit to feeling insecure with their pregnant bodies. Don’t listen to them. Embrace the #hormotions. The highs and lows. It is part of the journey. Enjoy the marathon. It might not be Boston, but it is #40weeks of training!

Hopefully in the next few years I’ll look back on today with a BQ under my belt – back to the fit, trim, lean and light #runnergirl I am with Ori and daddy waiting for me at the finish lines!

Thanks for stopping by!

XO

Valgal

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The Pitch – My Relentless Pursuit to Run 13.1 Miles for Two

30 Mar

Hello lovelies!!!

 

Happy Badabump [insert Hump if you’re not lucky enough to endure unprecedented weight gain despite workout efforts, heartburn (from water), hunger pangs at 5a that are only satisfied with a slice of toast with a light spread of natural peanut butter and drizzle of honey, kicks and jabs from within that wake you up but melt your heart, the insatiable appetite for an entire bottle of wine – Chardonnay, Prosecco, or Malbec – because close to 9 months of sobriety is a bitch and I’m jonesing for a buzz, oh yeah, and upper/lower back pain] Day to you all!!!

 

Anyway… Let’s get to the content.

 

Well holy guacamole runner friends – this mama-to-be ran a half-marathon pregnant! Yes. Pregnant. All of 31 weeks of me and my little macaroon hit the pavement running. If you’re reading this and you follow me on IG and/or Facebook I’m certain you saw my photo spam that documented this incredible journey. Anyway, I’m here to give you a little glimpse into how I convinced my man to let me run 13.1 miles for two to mark the most epic and total experience ever.

 

A little disclaimer: The Rock n’ Roll DC Marathon Series is significant to me. I ran the Rock n’ Roll DC Marathon Series in March 2014 and it marked my first ever participation in the full 26.2-mile trek to the finish line. I trained for months on the unforgiving apparatus – the treadmill – during my first winter in the District classified as “snowmageden.” Despite running on the treadmill with an even incline, I finished the race and with far too much energy left in the tank – after the hills and all. The energy stores left in the reserve triggered my affair to find perfection. I would go on to run more marathons as the ultimate test of my running ability. Fast forward to the Rock n’ Roll DC Marathon Series in March 2015 – this would be the third marathon I would complete. Having just come off the residual high of missing a BQ by 4 minutes (I ran the Marine Corps Marathon October 2014 with bronchitis and stopped several times to hack a lung or two) I was more than ready to race and secure my spot on the Boston Marathon starting line. I was certain I’d qualify and at the very same race only one-year prior that ignited this passion. My legs were light. My body told me I found the balance between training and rest days. I was at my perfect race weight. I was alert. I had no fear that I wouldn’t give 100%. I hadn’t exhausted my limits. I would BQ. I was flying. “Light. Easy. Fly.” was written on my hand for support during the moments when the fun of running manifests itself into drudgery. But BQ I didn’t. The significance of this race was the mounting wave of pain that overtook my right hip . After a failed BQ attempt, an arthrogram (painful) and x-rays I was told surgery would be the placeholder for a BQ (at least for a while) to repair the FAI and large labral tear. I didn’t know what was worse. The constant state of excruciating pain felt on my right hip or the fact that I’d be forced to be immobile for 6-9 months post-surgery. That reality led me down a rabbit hole of emotions and what-ifs. Thoughts of losing all athletic ability, losing muscle and form, endurance capabilities, maximal aerobic capacity/peak VO2, etc. I was devastated. Ugh!!! I was told by the doctors that surgery would help me – it’s the setback for the ultimate comeback. But I didn’t care. I wouldn’t be running. And life without running is not life – at least not for me.  Then through Immaculate Conception (wink wink) my body decided to carry a life – and voila – I found myself 31 weeks pregnant and flirting with my third Rock n’ Roll DC Marathon Series  – but this time I’d only tackle the half-marathon – that is, if everyone cleared me to run because of baby girl and my hip. Talk about the significance of this particular race. Each one marked a pivotal moment for me in my exploration of mind, body, spirit and ability.

 Note: I’ve been running with FAI and a labral tear since diagnosis. The pain is not terribly significant since distance has been minimized. It’s there. But tolerable.

But let’s talk about this third Rock n’ Roll DC race, my being in the third trimester and the arduous pitching I had to conduct to make the sale. Because I was a runner before being pregnant and maintained my activity during pregnancy I was cleared outright by my doctors to participate in the half-marathon. The only convincing, pleading, marketing, selling, and solicitation I had to do was with Andy – the father of our unborn child. His concerns were that of my health (especially my hip) and baby girl. Granted he knows I would never jeopardize the health of our baby he had his worries, despite what the doctors said. Naturally, I petitioned him. Every. Single. Day. 

 

Because his obstinate stance opposing my participation running a half-marathon was met with my obstinate stance for participating, we missed each coupon code and price reduction incentivizing runners to join.

 

Then shit got real. 

 

The last-call for registration was during the Health Expo for package pickup. Hello, this was two days prior to the race. My sales pitch obviously lacking. Andy wasn’t budging. Couple my plea to run with a higher cost to race – I didn’t see a favorable outcome. This wouldn’t be an entry fee paid for in the race with my unrestrained willingness to push myself to collapse and PR. No. This is an entry fee I want to pay so that I could run effortlessly with a moderate heart rate to feed ego and pride – to say I did it. To say I ran for two. (But don’t I most days of the week on the treadmill for $29.99/month?)

 

I channeled my inner teenager. I flooded him with texts. Message after message pinged his phone as if we time traveled back to when we were teenagers and he pulled some dumb shit (okay, me too) and I was appealing his requests.

 

I explained why I had to run. And I am sharing my mini dissertation with you so you can get a glimpse of my conjunction of life and running.

 

“…my being pregnant is really a marvel to me. I haven’t lost the lust to run and it is who I am. I don’t want to be like the norm because of the lack of perfection (my being pregnant, not a race weight, etc.) as a reason not to participate. I have the intuitive and instinctive nature to care for my daughter – unborn or not – and me. If I need to walk I walk. It’s not about racing. It’s about being a part of a community and a tribe that is unlike anything else. It’s about me being out there – moving – slowly – and with the grace of God and my will behind me. It’s about showcasing that you can be fit and active and pregnant at any size and at any stage. It’s my play time. Where I can be interacting freely in an environment that I love – and outside with nature – in my element. It’s liberating. It’s euphoric. And I miss it terribly. It’s so much more than running. It’s my lifestyle. And I know you came back in my world when I was prepping for a surgery – but you don’t know who I am and how liberating and free it makes me. I found myself through running and it’s because of running I’ve found confidence and self-acceptance. It’s gives me so much joy. It fulfills me.”

 

And there you have it. Like an overdramatic 16-year old girl I was committed to convincing the man I love to accept me.

 

So what did he do? He went ghost on me. The sound of silence was loud. Unbearable.  Each passing 45 minutes I glanced at my phone. Nothing. Not even the little dots to indicate he was typing. I was convinced I wouldn’t be running. He won. My determination to run was no match to his contrarious petition.

 

Then I got the call.

 

The call of calls. My florid of texts worked. He granted my request!

 

I was in shock. Giddy. Childlike enthusiasm came over me. You couldn’t wipe the grin from off my face. I was smiling ear to ear. Big. Wide. Showing all my teeth! I giggled. I shrieked. I jumped up and down. No kidding. I was time warped  back to being 16 when he asked me to prom – I couldn’t wait to announce the news but more importantly, dress for the occasion! Except this time I wouldn’t need long preparation, a fancy dress, my hair all done up, or makeup – only the essentials – colorful compression socks, a matching headband, sunglasses, my Garmin (I’m eyeballing the new Garmin Fenix Sapphire 3  but it’s totally unnecessary as I’m 8 1/2 months pregnant), iPod, a hair tie and my Newtons.

Fenix Sapphire 3

 

So there you have it. I signed up…

 

Not to race. Not to smash a PR. But to simply run.

 

And run I did.

Thanks for stopping by!!!

 

XO

 

Valgal

 

PS – My experience running for two covering the distance of a half marathon at 31 weeks pregnant will be posted shortly. I’ve had the case of pregnant brain and speaking let alone writing complete sentences has presented me with a great challenge – that and maintaining a focus without being distracted “Squirrel!” Ha.

Intro – Running for Two: From Chasing Boston to Chasing Baby

4 Nov

Hello lovelies!

Welcome to the newest addition to my blog – Running for Two: From Chasing Boston to Chasing Baby!

Woweee!!! Here I am closing in on the last week of my first trimester. I am 12 weeks and 2 days pregnant with 194 days to go until we get to meet our little macaroon! We are officially due May 15, 2016! I am amazed. Thrilled. Entirely enraptured by the uncertainty of it all!

Upon discovery of being pregnant I scoured through literature about running and pregnancy. I found your typical books with your typical advice: keep your heart rate below 140 (crock of poo poos); go slow; reduce mileage; reduce intensity; etc. [Insert big yawn]

I wanted literature from veteran runners who have been at this very crossroad I am faced with.

Talk about cravings. I was craving literature that wasn’t written and influenced by an aged wrinkly man who hasn’t seen a woman’s anatomy since 1973 unless he google’d the free videos on his phone [cough cough] I mean mega iPad and watched it magnified at the bagillionth degree possible. No. I wanted literature written by, co-written by or edited by elite women runners who understand hormones, fatigue and their own body and how it plays an active or not so active role in their workout regimes during pregnancy – especially for the particular energy-annihilating, ruthless and impetuous hormones that rule over my morning sickness and desire to sleep that is the first trimester.

I was searching for honesty about the sport from women to women. I wasn’t looking for the retro housewife tales of daily housekeeping that dictate I should be a “wife”, cook, laundress, cleaner, dishwasher, nurse and hostess but most definitely not an athlete.

Newsflash: I’m pregnant. I’m in the magical misery of the first trimester where admission for two is wrecking havoc on all of my cognitive functions. How ever does current literature expect me to be a wife, cook, laundress, cleaner, dishwasher, nurse and hostess on top of also being a full-time employee (in a career I’m captivated by), a master’s student and an athlete? Something has got to give and I tell you what – it isn’t the latter three.

Anyway, I found NO substantial literature. Zilch. It all felt outdated and lacking charisma. I am not interested in jogging to keep fit – I’m interested in running to Boston qualify (BQ). Now that I’m pregnant I’m interested in maintaining a routine that will afford me the agility to bounce back to BQ training post-pregnancy. I don’t want a book about “how-to” perform a casual light jogging stroll through the park while (get this) maintaining a low heart rate. Shit!!!! Do you know me? Tell me fro-yo is on the menu somewhere today and I’ll get giddy over adorning my ménage of flavors with sprinkles and gummy bears – that alone will spike my heart rate to 140+! And you want me to take it easy doing a light stroll? Riiiight.  Call me a running snob – a nickname given to me by a good friend but a light stroll doesn’t cut it. I need to sweat from the sport that is running. I’m cognizant that I am pregnant and my body must slow down. I want to ensure I’m being safe with my goals and that’s why I searched for books that broach the topic. I even poured through running blogs and stumbled upon a few I enjoyed which has brought me to write my own.

FRO-YO yummy!

FRO-YO yummy!

So there it is, the long and short of it. I will be blogging about my experiences Running for Two: From Chasing Boston to Chasing Baby. Please note that I am not an expert (no way no how), I am not a dietitian, a nutritionist, a coach etc. I am simply a first-time pregnant 30 year-old woman who wants to share this journey with you in the event you’re as lost as I am. This is simply the truth of my experiences that I am sharing with you. I hope you find that it is amusing, inspiring, relatable, elemental, and conventional. Most importantly, I hope you find this as a source of comfort and unification in knowing that you are not alone in this uncomfortable, awkward, exciting, beautiful, interesting, uncertain transformational experience. I’m right here with ya!

So here we are…we’re pregnant! Congratulations!!!!!!!

Stay tuned for the trials of the first trimester!

Thanks for stopping by!!!

XO

Valgal and little macaroon

Friction

25 Jul

Hello Lovelies!!!

And how are all of you fabulous people doing today?

The sun is out, the weather is warm but not too warm, the humidity is low and I got my run on today…I got it in!!! Today is a good day. And last night I had a good evening, too. I shared my evening with the lovely beauties I’m grateful to call my friends. My relationships with them are so powerful and with little friction. We sipped on wine and shared laughter over topics of relationships, travel, engagements, injuries, and wildly inappropriate subject matters. The dialogue nurtured me as I have missed these women immensely. I swear these friends of mine eat sunshine. We can discuss terrible and beautiful things that have happened to us and to others. We can also discuss world events that are equally terrible and beautiful, and we do so in such a manner of grace and patience with sober awareness paired with frivolity. These women help me explore the depths of myself I wouldn’t otherwise know. They help me see a world through a different lens and I want to give them a shout out and say thank you.

I want to say thank you to these beauties for a myriad of reasons. One of which is kind of my mantra and I’ll get to that. But to travel somewhere 2,200+ miles away from home and to luck into a group of women who not only speak my mantra, but live it…are you shitting me? This is not common practice. I believe most people peacock 24/7 and I’m not trying to sound pessimistic there…more like I’m finally a realist. More often than not people speak words crafted by their bitter tongues that speak boilerplate bullshit…But these women, nah…they’re real.

I always find that when I’m with these women we find ourselves in a natural rhythm of conversation. Their passion and excitement flows from their tongues like the wine we pour in our glasses. Their eyes sparkle and radiate when they divulge new news! I love these women unconditionally because they don’t encourage whining. They don’t suggest that you have to explain yourself and what you’re doing with your life. Instead, they propose solutions; they suggest that you throw yourself in unknown territory without a predetermined plan. They encourage strength, independence, and freedom from the insecurities that we tend to build in our heads. If there’s friction they want to help you sand it down. They speak Valerie. They defy the status quo and don’t explain why. They just do it. They are genuinely themselves. They are authentic. And they don’t apologize. Helllllooo, can you tell why I love them?

One of our topics in the middle of our wildly inappropriate conversations was about my hip. My good ol’ right hip. They encouraged me to accept my fate and have surgery. So let’s discuss the deets.

Granted, I ran today…but oh man the hurt. It felt like someone was stabbing a steak knife in my hip in an attempt to get it lodged in there to stay put while I was running. War games were playing in my head. My rational self begged me to stop while my stubborn self told myself to push through the pain. PAIN IS TEMPORARY. Pain is Temporary. Pain is temporary.

This is when I recognized that the conversation I had with my doctor the other day was not hogwash. I had originally thought that the doctor wanted to err on the side of surgery because that’s profit in his pocket…and although he showed me evidence of why it was needed, I couldn’t believe it.

So let’s backtrack…

Monday I went to a specialist who would perform my right hip labral tear surgery. I visited with him to discuss the results in greater detail, determine the necessity of it and if required, schedule the date of surgery. When I met with Dr. P he promptly asked me if I knew my results. I assured him I did. He said okay, tell me what you know. I explained the tear in quick breath. He advised me that I was misinformed. He followed it up and instructed me to lie down on my back because he wanted to contort my body to feel how my hip would react. 

Okay. I felt friction.

After a few awkward leg placements and my right hip popping disturbingly he sat me up. The friction dulled to intermittent blunt pain. He inquired if the positions hurt. I said to a degree but it was tolerable and felt more like my hip was catching onto something. He appeared to be in disbelief and said I have a high pain tolerance.

He had me take a seat next to him by the computer. Images of my hip flashed on the screen. I recall thinking, “Great. What good is this shit…I can’t read it. It’s my hip. Woo freaking hoo. What’s atypical about it?”
That’s when Dr. P starts explaining my condition.

Guess what…

I don’t have a right hip labral tear from running…NOPE. That’s the secondary condition from running. The primary condition is severe Femoracetabular Impingement (FAI) or better known as hip impingement with a number of bone cysts coupled with a large labral tear. Ouchies!

To explain I’d like to compare it to relationships. When something is good for you it shouldn’t hurt, right? But like most relationships friction arises. How do you get past the friction—especially when the relationship works for the most part?

This is my conundrum.

Running, parallel to me and my relationships with people have become old faithful to each other. SO why is it turning on me? Is it bored with my antics, my conversation, my very essence? Have I nagged about the pain and discomfort for too long? Have we become like security blankets devoid of true companionship?

I have exercised integrity with running. I have even applied the attraction principle—a little bit of distance and silence… I thought that should have done the trick (back in April). Running post-discovery of the labral tear robbed me of my confidence but reassured me when I picked it back up that distance and silence were golden gifts—the catalysts that helped me find my speed. A BQ was SOOOOO in my future, like tomorrow!!! So where did I go wrong? Did I even go wrong? Why are we breaking up?

My running relationship akin to that of real relationships has caused literal friction. My hip impingement basically means that the pain I’be felt since I was about 3 years old in gymnastics and forward was due to my ball (femoral head) and socket (acetabulum) rubbing abnormally creating damage to my hip joint. Apparently, compliments of my genetic makeup, my femoral head is too big for the socket (that’s what she said – I had too…sorry!). All my complaints of the rubbing, crushing, clicking, catching, sanding and popping sensations in my hip have a real physiology — for that I am relieved.

I’m suffering with the reality of my diagnosis because I’m used to getting what I put in on and off the path. I like to gain what I’ve earned. I recognize obstacles come up and trust me I know them well. I overcome them. I am happy to run through them with all my might — my whole 5’2” stature. But now I won’t be able to run through this one. Did I earn this discomfort because I was putting in the miles and speed to earn a BQ?

The surgery is going to require Dr. P to complete an arthroscopic procedure. He will shave my femoral head down to a size that accommodates the socket. During the arthroscopy he will repair and clean out the damage to the labrum and articular cartilage as well as shave off the cysts. Ugh!

Dr. P told me because of my 5’2” frame and being moderately thin that it is highly likely I will have a difficult recovery because my body won’t be able to compensate for the excessive swelling. Oh boy. He’s telling me to expect a 6-9 month recovery.

WHAT!?

I asked him immediately when I can start running…he laughed. He told me I might be able to jog sooner but he can’t give me a definitive timeline. I’m troubled because I don’t know what jogging is.  

My point is the friction is real. I can choose to either work through the friction to find a resolution (surgery) or wash my hands of it. Some relationships are best ended. Truth. Not this one. If you’re like me and chose to work through the friction I hope you reap the rewards of fighting through the discomfort because you want it so madly!

Relationships are unpredictable (have you met running?). Some are safe. Some are monotonous. Some have explosive sparks (hello wildly inappropriate girl talk). Some are bound by magnetism. Some are boring, abusive, codependent, selfish and proprietary. Whatever relationship you find yourself in, running, platonic, romantic, I urge you to see the opportunities disguised as friction. 

I believe there is an opportunity to BQ despite the diagnosis…just not as soon…

The BQ qualifying door may be shut for 2015 but I recognize that although I have been rejected from what I wanted, I’m being re-directed to something better. Find comfort in friction. Make it a friend. After all, to date it’s been a long-lasting friend helping me to discover that it all isn’t really that random — you can fuck up entirely along the way, you can play the wrong sport and not get that D1 scholarship, date the wrong people, marry the wrong person, invest in the wrong stock, train too hard and get injured…but you end up exactly where you need to be.

Cheers to friction. May it continue to unfold in all your relationships and may you find its remarkably uncanny backdrop in crises to be the driver of your greatest revelations.

How do you handle friction? What have your experiences been with sports/running injuries and how have you rehabilitated?

Thanks for stopping by!!!

X0

Valgal

     

 

The Pot Finally Boiled Over

28 Mar

Hello friends,

I went ghost on you for a myriad of reasons. But I’m baaaaaack!

I’m back but I’m not quite back.

Running and my life between the miles have both put me on a journey I wasn’t expecting.

March 14, 2015 was the day I greeted my third marathon. I put the training miles and sweat in but I knew I wasn’t likely to BQ. I had several distractions that I had to tend to. Although I have always made time to train, with the events I was juggling there was no reason to put my body or mind through any other strain. Had I trained as I have in the past it would have been permissible to put the stamp that reads SELFISH on my forehead. I didn’t want that.

I was already struggling with what selfish meant. I knew what it meant to me but what it means to others takes on a very different meaning. Everyone has their own definition shaped by their experiences, hobbies, interests, or lack of the aforementioned.

Needless to say, I put the miles and sweat in and I was going to run my third mary despite the bull I was facing head on. Or bulls. I wanted to get lost in the peripheral magic of the marathon. I wanted to take in the spectators, the energy, and the music while I organized my thoughts and ran through the pain.

March 14th was a gloomy, wet, and cold day. I didn’t care. I showed up with alacrity to run all 26.2 miles in the rain because I wanted that stamp of authenticity and BADASS RUNNER on my forehead-anything to dimmer the flashing selfish reminder…

The rain fell. The Newton Women’s Ironman Elite racer shoes weighing all of 6.2 ounces were heavy as I ran, or really footslogged through the course. They must have been double their weight. (Attention Non-Runners: This is a big deal. Extra weight adds stress and slows your cadence.) Fellow runners were averting puddles and continued to weave in and out of the crowds to avoid them. I didn’t understand. How does one avoid puddles when it’s raining? I ran straight through them with childlike enthusiasm. I was already wet. Running through each puddle made me feel badass but also like a kid. I giggled. I wore a grin because I was taken aback to a simpler time. A time when mom would come pick me up from softball practice or gymnastics. A time when sports, friends, family, and Friday night dates with my grandparents were all I worried about. A time when you could jump in a puddle and relish in the splash for the simple reason that you wanted to!

While thoroughly enjoying the inclement weather, my iPod died five songs in. Water damage.

There I was. Running. Running without tunes. I never run without tunes. I had 24 miles left. I told myself I would let the energy of the race and crowd carry me.

What crowd? There was no crowd. The rain and cold weather had friends and families of loved runners nestled up in their cozy homes drinking coffee or sipping mimosas. They were warm. They were dry. They were the smart ones.

Running. Running. Running. I was running to the songs I was singing in my head. I know about a quarter of each song on my playlist and I put shuffle on. However, the last song I heard before I got to the race was Ella Henderson, Ghost and it was stuck on repeat.

I keep going to the river to pray

‘Cause I need something that can wash all the pain

And at most I’m sleeping all these demons away

But your ghost, the ghost of you

It keeps me awake

When I could finally toggle to the next song, I was singing A$AP Rocky and Kendrick Lamar, F*in Problems. I’m sorry. I meant this white girl was whiting up Kendrick Lamar’s rap verse.

Uh, yeah ho, this the finale

My pep talk turn into a pep rally

Say she from the hood but she live inside in the valley now

Vaca’d in Atlanta, then she going back to Cali, mmm

Got your girl on my line, world on my line

The irony, I eff’ em at the same damn time

She eyeing me like a man don’t exist

Girl, I know you want this D…

And I would giggle. I giggled like a child because it was so inappropriate. But I kept singing it. Over and over. Just that last line. Then I thought of its semblance to the movie Wonderlust when Paul Rudd talks to himself in the mirror. Classic. More giggling. My thoughts were all over the place!

I eventually went back to the songs I knew in my head. Ella and Kendrick were always featured but I sprinkled in some Eric freaking Church and other varieties. The variation of songs and genres put me back in the game.

I fared quite well considering. Mile 12 came and I was at a crossroads. It said, LEFT LANE HALF MARATHON/RIGHT LANE FULL MARATHON. I suddenly felt the pang of decision-making. I already made several big-girl decisions over the course of the past few months, I didn’t want to make anymore. I mean, my life between the miles was all about big decisions as of late. Running the actual miles shouldn’t have been. I flirted with going left. I knew I hadn’t trained properly and that would have been the safest choice.

I looked down to my Garmin hoping it would return an answer and tell me what to do. It surprised me as it displayed I was on track for a negative split! My heart, lungs, and legs all felt great other that the discomfort of my right hip. I thought, Oh Snap!!! I may actually BQ! And in this weather! Hello BADASS runner! That stamp was going to be real! I told myself if I go left my half marathon time would be dismal.

I went right.

All was good. Negative splitting, baby!

Then the pot finally boiled over.

Mile 17 met me with devastation. I was paralyzed by pain. I could not put one foot in front of the other. In one stride my right hip screamed game effing over, Val! Game over indeed. I stopped. Panicked. The pain was excruciating. Between the rain and the hurt, I didn’t know if the salt I was tasting was from my sweat or tears. I knew I needed immediate attention and help, STAT!

The pain was sharp. I could not engage my muscles to move my leg forward. I was at a dead stop. No music. No phone. No metro card. Wet. Cold. Freezing.

After being still for a few minutes I tried to hobble my way forward to complete the race. Nope.

I was done.

With no aid station around and minimal spectators I felt alone and worried I couldn’t get to the finish line. I asked a gentleman if I could use his phone for a taxi. He said “Better yet, my wife just ran by and me and my in-laws are headed to the finish line now to watch her cross. Why don’t you join us?”

I gladly accepted. After brief discussion I learned that his wife’s name is also Valerie and she was trying to BQ as well. I learned that he’s a runner and is going to do his first 50-mile race soon. I was in good company! I was actually in the company of 4, his in-laws and I’m guessing his brother-in-law. Where would I sit in the taxi?

The taxi arrived. I’m blessed by their willingness to help me out while I recognized I was equally blessed to be standing 5’2” and 105 pounds soaking wet, literally, because I could make fitting five people in a taxi with a driver work. I sat on the brother-in-law’s lap. I’m pretty sure I made his day. I giggled.

After the taxi ride and slogging through the finisher’s area Scott received a called. The call was from Valerie advising him that she too got injured at mile 22. What’s the irony? Seriously!? Two Valeries and both are injured! I couldn’t wait to meet my twin and caption a picture, “Twinsies!”

The story continues and is peppered with more comedy. However, I’ll wrap it up.

Looking back, there were so many signs that were trying to lead me to what was the right direction-turning left. But I refused. Instead of wearing SELFISH on my forehead I should wear STUBBORN. I took the difficult path. Reflecting on this now, it appears I often take the difficult path with my personal affairs.

The race was one for the books. The pot needed to boil over otherwise I would continue to do more damage to my hip and perhaps never be able to run again.

The race, in all of its glory, through all of the rain and discomfort, baptized me. Cleansed me. Everything unfolded as it should to set me up for new beginnings.

I may have made some wrong choices in my life but they have led me to the company of great people. Those who rescue me at a race or those rays of sunshine I am lucky enough to call my friends, our own quirky tribe of DC Blossoms! I may perplex the shit out of you, but this is my journey. I am in awe of how every little thing when added up has brought me somewhere wonderful. I am grateful and blessed for the things that didn’t work out the way I once wanted them to. I might not have BQ’d March 14, 2015 but I’m on a road to recovery. My setback is a setup for a comeback! As for my other affairs, I trust in the process and I repeat, my setback is a setup for a comeback! 🙂

I am reminded that you have to be brave with your life.

Just like a marathon, any race, or really life, our journey leads us to the same destination; it’s just some paths have more obstacles.

I’m waiting to see what’s next for me. I’m embracing the journey, the unknown, the good, the bad, the fair, the unfair, the highs and the lows, and all the love in between. But this round, I’m going to practice patience and repeat the mantra, over-planning kills the magic. I’ll let life unfold organically. Hopefully I get to wear BQ on my forehead the next round. Until then, I’ll live in the magic of today and just love and make mistakes!

Thanks for stopping by!

Happy running and gee, happy recovery for those of you who are in my current shoes!

Talking about shoes, time to change into some to go out and watch the Wildcats make it to the final four!! #BTFD

XO

Valgal

Be Brave With Your Life

UofA Keep Calm BTFDMarathon

Running High

2 Jan

Hello friends!!! And Happpppppy New Year!!!

As I reflect on the blessings and tough luck that was 2014, I approach 2015 hopeful. There were moments in 2014 I found myself tongue-tied and twisted. It continues to be a trickery issue. The issue of ambition and happiness. Can you have both?

A friend of mine shared a thought-provoking article a few days back that touched on a similar subject. Replace ambition with love. No, no, no…I’m not saying, “Love and happiness…Can you have both”. Keep reading.

The article was about self-identity. Let me explain and circle it back to my endeavors and exhausting commitment to running. The article states that love is emotional and compatibility is logical.

Hmmm. Okay…[thinking oil and vinegar…]

I’m clearly emotionally involved with running but my commitment to run for hours upon hours and abuse my body to the point of dehydration renders me delusional, high and happy and is likely NOT logical. The question is, do the two really blend together, or are they like oil and vinegar? Can you have love without compatibility? Can you have compatibility without love?

I have evaluated this topic and I am left puzzled.

This whole time I have been preaching to you that running is where I have found myself. Running is my identity. I was wrong. (That tastes like vinegar but I’m fortunate that I have acquired the taste)

Running is my love and we are compatible. It is a graceful tango with emotion and logic! (I wish everything were so easy.)

Running leaves me empty at times but also fills me with euphoria. Running gives me a sense of happiness and thwarts any feelings I may have of dissatisfaction, anxiety and depression (temporarily). Running and I get along, pretty dang well. When we argue, we argue fair. We have a mutual understanding that when I’m being a pain in the ass (quite more often I’m sure than I would like to admit) it will call me out and drive me to dig deep and push harder until I break through the barriers I have created. It peels away at my layers exposing me to vulnerability. It allows me to be transparent in this forum in which I express my life between the miles. It is the ultimate relationship as it challenges me and keeps me striving for more. Our dance through emotions gets me intoxicatingly high. Who wouldn’t want this?

But as I said minutes ago, I was wrong when I exclaimed that I found my identity through running. Running is NOT my identity. Running supplements me. As should any relationship. Running makes me whole but does NOT define me. I say again, as should any relationship.

So here I am again reflecting on 2014 and trying to project 2015. I said project, not plan. I will NOT plan anything (we all know how that went in 2013); however, I will commit to goals.

I am told I cannot sit still and I don’t know how to relax. True. It is because I have been drugged by the arrival fallacy and honey, I am severely addicted. If you’re not familiar with the arrival fallacy it is the belief that when you attain your goal, you will be happy. The trouble with addicts, like myself, is that once you taste the sweet nectar of success, you want more. Attaining one goal often reveals another goal or peripheral goals that you want to aspire towards. My running endeavors are a fine example. I ran a half-marathon and immediately after crossing the finish line, I was as high as Seth Rogan and James Franco in Pineapple Express (but with adrenaline and endorphins). I thought it would be a good idea to commit to a training plan for a marathon. Someone should have puff puff passed ME but my lungs were burning with the euphoric shock of finishing a race and I was highly vulnerable to the vapors of the arrival fallacy. And now, with two marathons in the books, and several half-marathon training runs completed, my goals shifted from completing marathons to Boston Qualify. For real this time. I will BQ in 2015. I think I’m still high.

That is my runnerlution in 2015. I have no other resolutions. I have no plans. The trouble with the BQ is that the commitment to training is exhausting, oh but the inebriation…

I had a lot of failures in 2014. Some related to my marriage with running. What relationship isn’t flawed? Commitment to anything is exhausting. The give and the take. The difference in opinions. The way love and compatibility don’t line up as often as you would like.

Love and compatibility weren’t fully aligned during my first marathon in 2014. I ran it just to see how I would do. I had a lot of fuel left in my reserves when I finished and I carried some resentment about it. Nonetheless, I was on cloud 9 and couldn’t come down. I ran my second marathon high on Mucinex while trying to fight bronchitis. Love and compatibility were in line this round but my health wasn’t. I flirted with a BQ. I missed the mark by four minutes. My ego wasn’t bruised but my lungs were. I came up short but I was damn happy for even showing up and racing at all. That’s the perk of the post-marathon glow of high spirits.

I ask you this, what happens when you try and you give it your all and you come up short? Time and again (in life and all of your relationships and endeavors?). Do you keep moving towards the original end-goal? Or does your goal manifest into something else? Do you change your direction to meet new unanticipated peripheral goals? When do you realign your goals to meet your needs and desires? Does love and compatibility drive your ambitions?

I recognize that I am perpetually creating goals. It doesn’t make me unsettled. It makes me thirsty. I am the arrival fallacy. That is life! I am running my life (pun intended) with what I hope is the perfect blend of love (emotion) and compatibility (logic). So far it has been the secret to my healthy affair with running. It keeps me high, baby! Stay high!

Happy New Year Friends!!! May 2015 greet you with a healthy glow, love, happiness, success, and inspiration!!! Stay high on life…get high on the run. Commit to love and compatibility and allow yourself to have both!

What are your runnerlutions?

Thanks for stopping by!

XO

Valgal

Aka Valarina ***(Thanks, Dad! He has requested I remove Valgal and use the nickname he gave me since yay high…oh you don’t see me showing you yay high…newsflash, I haven’t grown. Be it 2 or 29, I’m still yay high but not “high” – if you read the blog)

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