'Change' is the new catch-all word for these times. I'm sure that just about everyone reading this is experiencing or expecting major changes in their life these days. Many of you, like me, have been relieved of their jobs recently. Connecticut ranks third in the uptick of job losses since the economic collapse of last fall and the biotechnology/pharmaceutical industry, which many of you share with me, has been hit particularly hard. Some of you are in the midst of a more blessed change, a new baby arrived or on the way. Many of us are in that famed 'mid-life' roller-coaster of emotions and realizations. In my own home, that will be paired, interestingly enough, with the dawning adolescence of our oldest child. Wow.
Whatever the flavor of change in your life, whether you volunteered for it or it was thrust on you, embracing it is the key. While I learned this early on, due to my father's playfulness with the truth and subsequently being raised on the fruits of Mrs & Mrs Taxpayer ( aka welfare), throughout my life, every time things settle into a comfortable pattern, inevitably colliding with change, I have to learn this lesson all over again.
We moved a bit when I was young; at the beginning of third grade, the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school, and then endlessly throughout college and graduate school. I found that I could recreate myself with each new arrival. They were chances to realign who I felt I was inside with how others saw me on the outside. In third grade it was deciding not to be timid anymore, taking more chances. By high school, it was stepping out of my sister's shadow, not being such a follower and ditching the 'bad' crowd who's fast ways seemed to burn them out before the end of high school. Leaving high school for college I decided to stop being the quiet girl whose name nobody knew and then college to graduate school, maybe I did like sports after all. I could go on (as I'm sure you know) but my point is that change is always an opportunity to re-evaluate who we are and how we want to be in this life.
Why then is change, even when we choose it, so unsettling? Because true change is rife with unknowns. Because even the best planned and tightly controlled changes, once set in motion, cause unexpected effects. Because, ultimately, change changes us! And yet so much of our life expects and depends on our consistency. Consistency is only a virtue in the short term. It communicates to others that we are dependable, we can be counted on, we have made a commitment. But it is not necessary that we be 'constant' to be dependable and committed. As the saying goes, 'The only thing that is constant is change.'
How can we 'embrace change' then? Can you remember, when you were young, the thrill of learning something new? Whether it was something in your world, a new place you discovered, or something about yourself, that you could ride a bike, that you could climb to the very top of a tree, there was always a domino effect to learning something new, a series of unexpected effects from this new knowledge. As a kid, secure with the belief that someone was watching out and caring for you, these changes weren't usually threatening. And the consistency demands on us as a kid were likely very small. We were free to enjoy the changes.
Change is inherently not 'good' or 'bad', but it is valuable. 'Bad' changes are usually necessary changes, they are the inevitable changes that can come from not making a voluntary change long before. Because they are necessary, 'bad' changes are often the most valuable. When things are stripped away from us by change, we can see how much of our identity was tied to those things, and how much value they added to our lives. Then we can evaluate whether our previous assumptions about them were valid. Change often breaks our routine and allows us to step outside of time and sort through our life, reclaiming things that had gotten squeezed out, discarding things that don't fit us anymore. Change allows us to discover what we are capable of and who we are at the core. That knowledge is invaluable.
There are a multitude of ways to think about and describe change and how, the degree to which we accept it determines the degree to which it is enjoyed or causes pain in our lives. Two of my favorites follow;
Do you know why, in a car crash involving a drunk driver, it is not unusual for the drunk driver to walk away unharmed? Their mind was impaired in communicating to their body the imminent danger and they didn't tense up. Like a rag doll, the impact of the crash was spread over their whole body meeting no resistance from muscles, attenuated by no fear from the mind. Quite often the pain we experience from change is due to our rigidity, our resistance to it and our fear of it. If we can consciously let ourselves fall into it, accepting the known and unknown aspects of it, trusting in the intrinsic value of it, its impact will be spread out, the sharpness of it softened. The pain and trauma of it can pass more quickly.
Coming from a more positive angle and almost every one's childhood, remember the allure of the swing, the trampoline, downhill on a bike, falling back into the snow to make a snow angel, roller coasters or just the occasional belly-flop hill, spinning around and around, arms opens until you could barely stand... the addictive sweetness of letting go, of the freefall, of being weightless for an instant and just feeling this life, the breath we are drawing in, the wind on our skin, this very moment. Change takes us out of time, however briefly, and roots us in the present. It allows us to let go of our expectations, our preconceptions. It can open us up to new and better possibilities. And it leads to new knowledge about ourselves and our world and that is a blessing.
When change comes, if we can let go of the past and accept not knowing future, we only have the present in all its weightlessness. And only in the present can we appreciate all that we are, all that we have, all that we have the opportunity to become.
Embrace your change. And enjoy the freefall.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Some Sedona Back Stories
Yet more pictures from Sedona, these ones compliments of Danny from Chicago (below) who was the angel that captured any images I have of the race. See, after taking both pictures and video before the race, I decided to leave the camera with Wayde instead of carrying it all 26miles. Wayde, as we joked later, seemed to have brought some of the 'black hole' effect he was looking for on our hike to the vortexes back with him to the race. After his impressive 30min27sec first-ever 5K performance, he promptly dropped his cash heavy wallet in this black hole (likely the parking spot beneath the car). Discovering it only when he hit the neighboring town of Cottonwood to buy a cell phone charger, he grabbed my makeshift wallet, which was actually the camera bag, to use for the afternoon. This too found its way into the black hole before I had even finished the race. At dinner that night, which Danny graciously treated us to, I assured him that it was fate that we met because he had my pictures. And what did I have for him? The poking, nudging and prodding supportive encouragement to start the swim lessons that will allow him to begin his triathlete career. And you've already started looking into it, right Danny? (I know he'll be reading this.) Thank you for the wonderful pictures, they bring back wonderful memories.
Just before gun time!
Just before gun time!
The in-park loop.
Somewhere around mile 4.
Coming back out of the trail section, mile 14?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sedona, Arizona - February 2009
The Sedona Marathon
I awoke at 5am, Mountain time, showered and donned most of my race gear; bike shorts, tri-tank top, yellow bike shell, road ID and triumph bracelet, Nike running hat, Asics gels and camel back waist-belt. Wayde got up by 5:30 and we headed out for breakfast in the dark by 6am. I barely swallowed more than six bites of the oatmeal I ordered but enjoyed the coffee while pumping Wayde up for his inaugural 5K. We got to the race site, the Sedona Cultural Park, by 6:40am and got one of the last on-site parking spots. Dark, chilly, breezy but lots of energy in the air as we walked over to register Wayde and get any last minute info on the race start. The weather was predicted to be cool and possibly rainy or overcast. Cool it was, but beautiful large nimbus clouds dotting a brilliant blue sky once the sun came up just after 7am. They had separate starts for the marathon (first), half marathons (second) and 5K races so Wayde and I said our goodbyes minutes before 8am.
I decided against bringing the camera since I never picked up a decent armband holder for it but I ran into a new friend Danny, from Chicago, at the start and he grabbed a couple of photos just before gun time. It didn’t look like more than 200 runners for the full marathon.
The initial loop in the park goes steeply downhill, around the corner, then back up past the eerie abandoned outdoor amphitheater. Just past the first mile (at a 10:30 pace) we were on Dry Creek Road, away from the main traffic and headed down into the red rock canyons. I decided I did need the inhaler by mile 2, which was downhill but still bringing on a slight wheeze. It was hilly, but gently so until mile 4 which had a 10-15% downhill grade. My out loud comment to runners nearby that this was mile 22 in reverse elicited a few groans. But I wanted to envision the return and manifest my acceptance of this intimidating hill long before meeting it again. The aid-stations were many and well stocked, the temperature, starting out at 38F, climbed into the mid 40’s with a strong happy sun reflecting off the red rock giants to either side of us. It was 1hour 12min for the first ¼ of the run down. People’s spirits were good and the crowd around me became familiar. Curious, I tried to keep a tall brunette in view as the miles wore on. She looked a fit mid-twenty something but was alternately walking and running at 2min intervals, apparently both at a good clip since she pulled away by mile 8. What was up with that? We hit the transition to the trail section with just over 5 miles to the halfway point and turn around.
It was a relief to get off pavement after 8 miles of it and the trail felt remote and lush with pristine beauty. We were running out of the red rock formations but into the desert prairie with looming dark mountains 30 miles in the distance. So much sky out there, you feel as if there’s more air to breath, more sun to soak up. Up through mile 11 was energizing and uplifting. That's about when the fleetest of foot passed by us on their return. The first guy at ~1 hour 27min, the first woman at ~1 hour 42min, me at ten-plus miles, they at 16-plus and mostly looking good for it . Lots of smiles, encouragement and high-five in those passings. As the miles piled up, the footing took some care and the last bit to the turn-around got steadily more hilly. Cresting what looked like the last hill, seeing the aid station at the bottom and the sigh of relief just escaping my lungs, I looked further up to see the actual turn around at the TOP of the next not so small hill another 0.2miles on and dug in for the “Oh yeah, marathons have to be earned” phase. Almost exactly 2hours 30min to the half.
Although the temperature didn’t get far above 50, it felt hot and dry the first few miles of the return. And slowly, the optimism and high of the first half gave way to the focused determination needed to get through the second half. Miles were slower, creeping past a 12 min/mile pace, and I was looking forward to getting off the dirt road and back on to pavement by mile 15, three more to go before that would happen. Miles 15 to 18 were a constant effort to conserve energy, focus on form, exit stray thoughts. There were about 6-10 of us keeping the same distance, more or less, passing each other repeatedly depending on which aid stations one stopped at. A woman from Vancouver whose husband had run the half, a woman from Denver who had a support crew of six driving, riding mountain bikes and running beside her in turns. An Indian guy from Boston that decided to walk from mile 18 on. An older guy from Nevada that steadily pulled away by mile 20. Three women that seem to run/walk many marathons, talking the whole way about their entertaining personal dramas.
Once back on pavement with eight miles to go, I was happy but calculated I still had close to two hours at my current pace. All thoughts were on getting out of my physical body any sensation beyond what was needed to keep going. I clung to the idea that the vortex energy I had tried to absorb the day before on our hikes around Sedona would get me through. All hills were walked at this point, race-walking, as much as I could manage. The steep mile 22 wasn’t as bad as it looked going down, especially just walking it. My spirits were good, back among the beautiful red giants. Their timelessness pulling me out of my own telescoped experience again and again.
The steadily increasing headwind from mile 15 on didn’t bother me much, because there seemed to be more down-hills coming back than I remember up-hills on the way out. That's where the ability to hold tenaciously onto positive thoughts becomes priceless in a marathon. I actually ran almost the full account of mile 24 because of its extended down-hill and did get a 12min pace for the distance. That helped put something back in the tank for the last two-point-two miles, happy to join the traffic on Rt89 with less than a mile to go, happy to see the little hills before the last turn, the finish less than two hundred feet ahead, 5hours 33min. Danny got my picture coming in and Wayde met me a few minutes later, patiently waited while I got a much needed massage before heading back for champagne, and ice bath, an in-room Jacuzzi and a chest full of happiness.
A marathon is a journey, both inward and outward, both physical and mental. And at some point you have to relinquish control to see yourself through. You have to enter a state of acceptance for how you feel physically, which is challenged, if not downright awful, and then transcend the physical to keep moving forward, to cross the finish line. Not once, this process, but a dozen or a hundred or a thousand times, quite possibly, as many steps as there are between you and the finish. The closer that line gets though, the easier it is to do, to accept, relinquish and transcend, accept, relinquish, transcend...
And then you’re there, across the finish line and whatever that means for you, personally and uniquely, for whatever reason you first got the idea to run this marathon in your head – you have now made it part of your personal history. And your chest, no matter how ragged, deserves to be overflowing with inner happiness.
Physically, emotionally and especially biochemically, I feel very stripped down and raw the hours and days after the marathon. But this is useful too. This is what I am without my comfort zone wrapped around me. I am open, sensitive and vulnerable. The mightiness of the finish, which was 9/10ths adrenaline anyway, long since faded. But the memory of the run can come gently now and be examined without ego or regret since those take too much energy.
And still, there’s this undeniable satisfaction. This is the feeling I’ll still be able to pull out years from now with the memories of this journey – the deep satisfaction of accepting, relinquishing and transcending until it became as natural as breathing, as putting one foot in front of the other. All in the presence of those sacred red giants that embody this trinity longer than we humans have been walking the earth.
I decided against bringing the camera since I never picked up a decent armband holder for it but I ran into a new friend Danny, from Chicago, at the start and he grabbed a couple of photos just before gun time. It didn’t look like more than 200 runners for the full marathon.
The initial loop in the park goes steeply downhill, around the corner, then back up past the eerie abandoned outdoor amphitheater. Just past the first mile (at a 10:30 pace) we were on Dry Creek Road, away from the main traffic and headed down into the red rock canyons. I decided I did need the inhaler by mile 2, which was downhill but still bringing on a slight wheeze. It was hilly, but gently so until mile 4 which had a 10-15% downhill grade. My out loud comment to runners nearby that this was mile 22 in reverse elicited a few groans. But I wanted to envision the return and manifest my acceptance of this intimidating hill long before meeting it again. The aid-stations were many and well stocked, the temperature, starting out at 38F, climbed into the mid 40’s with a strong happy sun reflecting off the red rock giants to either side of us. It was 1hour 12min for the first ¼ of the run down. People’s spirits were good and the crowd around me became familiar. Curious, I tried to keep a tall brunette in view as the miles wore on. She looked a fit mid-twenty something but was alternately walking and running at 2min intervals, apparently both at a good clip since she pulled away by mile 8. What was up with that? We hit the transition to the trail section with just over 5 miles to the halfway point and turn around.
It was a relief to get off pavement after 8 miles of it and the trail felt remote and lush with pristine beauty. We were running out of the red rock formations but into the desert prairie with looming dark mountains 30 miles in the distance. So much sky out there, you feel as if there’s more air to breath, more sun to soak up. Up through mile 11 was energizing and uplifting. That's about when the fleetest of foot passed by us on their return. The first guy at ~1 hour 27min, the first woman at ~1 hour 42min, me at ten-plus miles, they at 16-plus and mostly looking good for it . Lots of smiles, encouragement and high-five in those passings. As the miles piled up, the footing took some care and the last bit to the turn-around got steadily more hilly. Cresting what looked like the last hill, seeing the aid station at the bottom and the sigh of relief just escaping my lungs, I looked further up to see the actual turn around at the TOP of the next not so small hill another 0.2miles on and dug in for the “Oh yeah, marathons have to be earned” phase. Almost exactly 2hours 30min to the half.
Although the temperature didn’t get far above 50, it felt hot and dry the first few miles of the return. And slowly, the optimism and high of the first half gave way to the focused determination needed to get through the second half. Miles were slower, creeping past a 12 min/mile pace, and I was looking forward to getting off the dirt road and back on to pavement by mile 15, three more to go before that would happen. Miles 15 to 18 were a constant effort to conserve energy, focus on form, exit stray thoughts. There were about 6-10 of us keeping the same distance, more or less, passing each other repeatedly depending on which aid stations one stopped at. A woman from Vancouver whose husband had run the half, a woman from Denver who had a support crew of six driving, riding mountain bikes and running beside her in turns. An Indian guy from Boston that decided to walk from mile 18 on. An older guy from Nevada that steadily pulled away by mile 20. Three women that seem to run/walk many marathons, talking the whole way about their entertaining personal dramas.
Once back on pavement with eight miles to go, I was happy but calculated I still had close to two hours at my current pace. All thoughts were on getting out of my physical body any sensation beyond what was needed to keep going. I clung to the idea that the vortex energy I had tried to absorb the day before on our hikes around Sedona would get me through. All hills were walked at this point, race-walking, as much as I could manage. The steep mile 22 wasn’t as bad as it looked going down, especially just walking it. My spirits were good, back among the beautiful red giants. Their timelessness pulling me out of my own telescoped experience again and again.
The steadily increasing headwind from mile 15 on didn’t bother me much, because there seemed to be more down-hills coming back than I remember up-hills on the way out. That's where the ability to hold tenaciously onto positive thoughts becomes priceless in a marathon. I actually ran almost the full account of mile 24 because of its extended down-hill and did get a 12min pace for the distance. That helped put something back in the tank for the last two-point-two miles, happy to join the traffic on Rt89 with less than a mile to go, happy to see the little hills before the last turn, the finish less than two hundred feet ahead, 5hours 33min. Danny got my picture coming in and Wayde met me a few minutes later, patiently waited while I got a much needed massage before heading back for champagne, and ice bath, an in-room Jacuzzi and a chest full of happiness.
A marathon is a journey, both inward and outward, both physical and mental. And at some point you have to relinquish control to see yourself through. You have to enter a state of acceptance for how you feel physically, which is challenged, if not downright awful, and then transcend the physical to keep moving forward, to cross the finish line. Not once, this process, but a dozen or a hundred or a thousand times, quite possibly, as many steps as there are between you and the finish. The closer that line gets though, the easier it is to do, to accept, relinquish and transcend, accept, relinquish, transcend...
And then you’re there, across the finish line and whatever that means for you, personally and uniquely, for whatever reason you first got the idea to run this marathon in your head – you have now made it part of your personal history. And your chest, no matter how ragged, deserves to be overflowing with inner happiness.
Physically, emotionally and especially biochemically, I feel very stripped down and raw the hours and days after the marathon. But this is useful too. This is what I am without my comfort zone wrapped around me. I am open, sensitive and vulnerable. The mightiness of the finish, which was 9/10ths adrenaline anyway, long since faded. But the memory of the run can come gently now and be examined without ego or regret since those take too much energy.
And still, there’s this undeniable satisfaction. This is the feeling I’ll still be able to pull out years from now with the memories of this journey – the deep satisfaction of accepting, relinquishing and transcending until it became as natural as breathing, as putting one foot in front of the other. All in the presence of those sacred red giants that embody this trinity longer than we humans have been walking the earth.
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