I Ran Two Marathons in One Month

Literally it took me a whole month. As in, I ran a couple miles at a time and over the course of a month somehow I managed to run 52.4 miles, the equivalent of two marathons. Could I have run a marathon, or even a half marathon, in one fell swoop? Heck NO. But I accomplished this and it is a pleasant surprise!

I am participating in the Acadia to Katahdin virtual race series to raise money for Acadia National Park and Millinocket, the gateway town to Baxter State Park, both of which are in the state of Maine. It has been a great experience. The race app helps me track not only how many miles I have run, but also where those miles would put me if I were actually running on the roads around Acadia and Katahdin. And, not that it’s a competition (at least for me), but it also tells me where I am in comparison to the other runners who are participating.

My racing stats are far from impressive, logging my progress in one- to four-mile bite-size chunks and averaging about 12 miles per week and about 9 minutes per mile. Some of those miles are walking, some are running. But that’s not the point! The point is that I am doing it. Like anything in life, it’s putting one foot in front of the other and making progress toward a goal. As an RA (Rheumatoid Arthritis) patient, tying up the laces to my sneakers again and going out for even a mile run consistently is nothing short of a miracle. The days of barely being able to hobble around the block are behind me for the moment. Your guess is as good as mine as to why my RA is behaving itself currently, whether it’s diet or exercise or stress management or better sleep or the super perfect prescription cocktail, but I am running with it (literally) while it lasts!

Will I complete the race’s entire 328.5 miles before December 31, 2019? I would say that’s doubtful. Will I run the actual Millinocket Marathon and a Half that will take place this year on December 7, 2019? No, my long distance days are over. I am a short distance runner these days (and a swimmer – low impact is where it’s at!). BUT, I will be there to cheer on the runners, including my husband, as well as that community that is so dear to me. And in October I will attempt to climb Katahdin for the first time in almost two decades, weather gods permitting. And I can’t wait! My heart has ached to walk those trails I used to clamber up like a mountain goat for fun on a day off. I cannot wait to look out from the peak over the vast and serene landscape of the North Maine Woods, to feel the solidarity of accomplishment with fellow hikers, and the peace and calm that comes from being part of that wild world for a short time. I thought having RA had relegated me to only the low-lying, pond-side trails. And I made my peace with that – the view from there is beautiful, too. But, wow, to climb the mountain!??! What an unexpected gift. This hike will be one of deep gratitude, both that I am healthy for now and that I get another chance.

Life is short and life is also unpredictable. Next year is not a guarantee. October is not a guarantee! I am riding the wave while I can. Sometimes you just have to grab a latte, be bold, be brave, and go for it! And, always, always, be grateful.

 

 

 

 

What Does Courage Look Like?

Today is video day. I have two videos to share, both of which show in images versus words what courage looks like – no, check that – what courage IS.

The first is a one-minute video of Vilma Saloj, a young Mayan woman born into poverty in rural Guatemala, giving an empowered and moving speech at the MAIA Impact School annual event in Denver, CO. This video is worth every second of your time spent watching it. For context, most Mayan girls in rural Guatemala are lucky to make it to 6th grade and to learn limited Spanish. Vilma is seen here presenting like a pro, in English, with a bold vision of being part of systemic change in her country. #maiaimpact #wearethesolution

The second is also only one-minute long and features Kendra Smith: kickboxer, stuntwoman, former pro-wrestler, personal trainer, and athlete. She travels to Guatemala every year to teach self-defense and kickboxing to the girl pioneers at the MAIA Impact School. She is currently working on a program to incorporate self-defense as a regular part of the school’s curriculum. #warriors #girlpower #stronggirlsstrongwomen #maiaimpact

Those are my messages of hope and joy for today. I’ll close with a poem written by MAIA 7th grader Wendy Palax:

Indigenous Woman

Fighter and entrepreneur

Strong and capable,

Indigenous woman from the land,

Brave and bold.

 

You are like the phoenix that rises

From her ashes,

Your traditions

Are wealth.

 

With your gown of beautiful colors,

Weaved with the hands of your ancestors

Showing a warrior woman

Dancing to the beat of the marimba.

 

You fight for equality,

Shine among the nature,

Woman dedicated to culture,

Indigenous woman of my town.

 

You care for your traditions

For your customs

For your family

For your language

For your gown.

 

You love and care,

Have feelings

Of joy and emotions.

WE ARE THE SOLUTION

The End is also a Beginning, Right?

I find this time of year to be deeply contemplative.

Summer’s end. Back to school. It’s a time of transition and change. The days suddenly have more structure, the nights get ever shorter, darkness falls earlier and earlier. Eventually there will be a chill in the air and the leaves will start to change color. The trees will suddenly be adorned in vibrant oranges and yellows and reds. And then one day the leaves will all fall.

But I am getting ahead of myself. It’s only early September, after all! Labor Day weekend marks the end of summer officially, but it’s not really over. The weather, at least, will stay nice for a little longer. The world doesn’t end just because school starts again.

It’s just that this time of year is full of so many emotions: anticipating seeing friends again, meeting new teachers, establishing routines, starting up with homework and sports and instruments that have gathered dust all summer. I feel both ebullient and completely overwhelmed. I’m not even the one in school, but there’s a sense of frenzy in the air, as well as a sadness and letting go. This fall is exceptionally poignant. Our beloved Fancy Nancy’s birthday is today. As with summer, and all things beloved, she slipped away too fast. Try as I might, I can’t hold on. My mind keeps searching for her, even eight months later. I am still confused about what happened and where she is. I still wonder when I will see her again.

Similarly, no matter how hard I try to hold onto summer, no matter how hard I try to slow down and absorb it, to make the most of it, to bask in its warmth and freedom, it evaporates ever faster before my very eyes and slips away. I try to hold on, but, like kernels of sand on the beach, it slips through my fingers and becomes ever harder to grasp the harder I hold. I can’t stop the long, glorious, unstructured days from slipping away.

I should note, lest I wax too philosophical and you begin to think that this summer has been one long fulfilling moment, that I recently sent a couple of editors a draft essay I wrote entitled “Losing My Mind(fulness) One Summer Day at a Time.” I’ll publish it here eventually, but I mention it to reassure you that it’s not all roses and summer definitely has its moments that absolutely, 100% drag.

Nonetheless, with its bumps and boredom and sunburns and seriously near-constant interruptions, when it comes to an end, it’s still hard to let go. There is a sheen to hindsight and to time-limited moments. There is an allure to remembering only the good times. And summer is full of good times.

So, what to do?

What if the beauty is the sensation of the sand slipping through your fingers? What if the beauty is in the awareness that it is all fleeting, in the good fortune of having another day? What if the beauty is in the pain, of knowing how much you loved and having to let go? What if the beauty is in the sheer joy of doing a cartwheel on the beach for your birthday, no matter your age? That’s what Nancy would do, and that’s what she always did:

What if the beauty is in celebrating all the memories? Because that’s what we’ve got. Tons and tons of wonderful memories, of summer and of Nancy. And it is beautiful.

Happy birthday, Nancy! You are missed, but you continue to teach me through the example of how you lived your life. I long to see your smile again, to feel your hug, and I miss how special you made me feel. I did a cartwheel on the beach for you, but I may have hurt my neck 😊.

More importantly, I try to see joy in all the little things every single day, like you did. I try to push on when I feel melancholic, a sadness and loneliness and loss creeping up on me, when some mornings I would rather just hide under the covers and skip out on all my responsibilities. I know you would rather see us all living and enjoying our lives, so we have lots to report to you when we meet again!

You lived your life as if it were an adventure every day, curious and compassionate and caring, with an open mind and an open heart. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Life IS the adventure. All of it. The mundane and the magical. The sandcastle and the tide that washes it away. Duck cairns out of scattered rocks. Beauty out of stumbling stones. The difficult endings and the new beginnings.