I’ve been fairly committed to running for two years now, since the birth of my second daughter. I’ve run two half marathons, one full and various 10 and 5k’s. I’ve logged hours and hours and miles and miles. Running shakes the noise from my head; it brings me peace. I run alone, by choice.

The route I choose varies on my mood that day. Trails through the park are the most peaceful, but routes beside the blue glittering ocean take my breath away. After four years of being a mom and struggling with maintaining an identity outside of my children’s lives, I can honestly and proudly say that I am a runner.

Then I went and signed myself up for a triathlon. My first bike ride was, in a word, humbling. A 20k run? Sure! A 20k bike ride? Different story entirely. 30 minute run? I’d eat that up! 30 minute swim? Oh my.

Stepping outside of your comfort zone is frightening, and I’m realizing that the older we get, the more intimidating it becomes.

Every time I think about July 25 (race day) I get butterflies in my stomach. I’m worried I’ll be last, or that (worse) I’ll make a rookie mistake and that… well, that everyone will laugh at me. I’m afraid of swimming face first into a jelly fish and I have no idea what to wear under my wet suit. The list of minor and major concerns goes on and on and on.

Last week I was considering not doing the race. I spent a lot of time thinking about exactly how important this triathlon is to me. It’s not about pride or speed or bragging rights. I realized that it’s not really about the triathlon at all. This is about finding strength in myself, physical, yes, but mostly mental. This is about confronting meekness and throwing it out the window. This is about showing my daughters that there is nothing they can’t do if they really want it.

There will be no one to swim for me, no one to bike for me, no one to run for me. I know the taste of my own sweat, the feel of my own muscles burning. I know the satisfaction that comes with the culmination of training. I know how good it feels to burst across that finish line, legs wobbling underneath me. I know that once I finish I’ll probably say that I’ll never do that again, and I know that I probably will do it again.

This is about strength and resolve and faith and determination.

This is about breaking down the walls of my comfort zone.

This is about me.

“You don’t have many ways to jump. You can be an athlete. Athletes are very, very big in Coos Bay. You can study, try and be an intellectual, but there aren’t many of those. Or you can go drag the Gut in your lowered Chevy with a switchblade in your pocket.”
Steve Prefontaine

VICKY: Alright folks, let’s get down to business. Back to the reason why we’re writing this blog. Let’s get back to Steve Prefontaine and our current book selection…PRE.

GRANT: Finally! You finally finished it?

VICKY: No.

GRANT: For the love of gawd woman!

VICKY: Listen, I’ve been busy with life.

GRANT: Ok fair enough. Can you at least tell me what’s your first impression of the book?

VICKY: First of all, every time I pick up the book or even think of PRE, all I can see is his mustache.

GRANT: His mustache?

VICKY: Seriously, it bothers me. I know it was cool back then or even now on men over the age of 40. But honestly, no man under 40 should EVER grow a mustache. That’s all I’m saying here people. Thank goodness times have changed and today’s runners don’t have mustaches. In fact, most of them don’t have much body hair. They’re like swimmers, they shave it all off nowadays. Anyways, that’s a topic for another day.

GRANT: Tell me there’s something more to the first chapter…*sigh*

VICKY: Yes, yes. The first chapter talks a lot about his roots. At page 5 for example, the author says:

“To understand Steve Prefontaine it is necessary to know something about Coos Bay, Oregon. The town and the man find themselves similarly described: blunt, energetic, tough, agressive. Coos Bay is a mill town, a fishing town, a deepwater port. Longshoremen, fishermen, and loggers are not given to quiet introspection. Coos Bay endures its difficult life in the woods, on the boats and docks with a vociferous pride. The working men insist on a hardness in their society. Youth must be initiated, must measure up.”

GRANT: That explains a lot of his quotes about running being a pure guts race and if somebody beats him, they’ll have to bleed to do it.

VICKY: Exactly. You know how some people say you shouldn’t be defined solely by where you come from?

GRANT: Yup. And I agree with that. In fact, I believe you are the only person who can truly define yourself. Not your family, your friends and certainly not where you come from.

VICKY: Yes, except don’t ever forget where you came from. You might think that you’re smarter, richer or even better than those who still live where you have since left, but you’re not. I learned that lesson a long time ago. One thing I can say about PRE is that he was who he was because of where he grew up. He had this intensity about him that I think was ingrained in him from a young age. His high school coach, Walt McClure, says it best in the book:

“Pre was the hardest worker in running that I ever had by far. This is the whole thing, his intensity.”

GRANT: While I wait patiently for you to finish the book, I’m reading Bowerman and the Men of Oregon.  It’s a lot about the Olympics and about track and field. I’m getting this feeling that track and field runners are more intense than road runners.

VICKY: I totally agree. In the book, the author gets right to the point from the beginning. There are a lot of numbers in the first chapter. If you are a serious runner, I think you’ll enjoy the book because you’ll be able to relate to his desire to conquer the two-mile record and so on. Personally, I’m not an intense runner so I feel like there is a lot of running data. I hoped that the book would be more story-like. Anyways, I will keep reading.

GRANT: What do you think? Are track and field runners more intense than road runners?

I think that parenting is the most elaborate juggling act I’ve ever experienced. Before I had kids, I thought I was organized, thought I made dinner most nights, thought I could handle chaos. But now, other people depend on me. Small, demanding people.

Sometimes it feels like I have two choices: be organized or drown.

Now, I’d like to state that I am not a “Type A” personality. At all. And yet, it seems that my plate is, at times, overflowing in such a way that I have no choice but do things like schedule housework and obsessively write “To Do” lists.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been taking an Accounting course. It’s been, shall we say, rather intense. I’m no math genius, and though I realize accounting is mostly addition and subtraction, all those numbers is enough to make my eyes cross and writing journal entry after journal entry and trying to balance a budget that I never actually manage to balance, well, let’s just say I can’t wait until the final is over.

I’ve also been in the middle of organizing a conference for a small group of people. It’s been a decent amount of work in itself, and since I was trying to make it a “First Annual” event, I really wanted everything to go smoothly.

Oh right, and then there was the half marathon training.

And these things were all cumulating within ten days of each other.

When I run, I always think that the way I feel at that particular moment defines the entire run. 2k in and weeee I’m flying and thinking to myself “This is the best! Run! Ever!” Fast forward to 15k and it’s more along the desperate lines of “I can’t do this anymore! What’s wrong with me? Why did I ever think this was a good idea? I’m never doing this again.”

That way of thinking infiltrates into my regular life, too. Wednesday afternoon, I had dropped the kids off with my mom and come home to finish packing. Laundry was strewn, literally, all over my bedroom. Instead of focusing on my suitcase and acknowledging that I was feeling more than a little nervous about this conference I was about to moderate, I was freaking out about the laundry. Wringing my hands and bemoaning to my husband about the state of things.

The good news is that the conference went without a hitch and I ran a PB in the Johnny Miles Half last Sunday (2h05m). The bad news is that my room’s still a mess.

We have to make priorities, and it can be a very hard choice to make. I’m not willing to sacrifice time with my kids for time to myself, or vice-versa. I know that taking the time to run, to organize conferences, to go back to school makes me a happier person and therefore a better mother. But I also know that quiet weekday mornings with my kids, some Robert Munsch books and a cup of tea is equally important and equally enjoyable.

As I stroke a satisfying check next to an item on my list, inevitably I add another.
Half Marathon PB: Check. Added: Triathlon in July.
Successful Conference: Check. Added: Coaching a 10k clinic.

I daydream of my next marathon and begin to plan my training, and then later that same day I think of a hot sandy beach, with nothing to do and a cold drinking perspiring in my hand.

The art of prioritizing is a tricky one, but sometimes I wonder if it’s not half as difficult as the art of balancing.

And let’s just say that tomorrow’s laundry day.

“Develop an attitude of gratitude, and give thanks for everything that happens to you, knowing that every step forward is a step toward achieving something bigger and better than your current situation.”
Brian Tracy

VICKY: I had a dental appointment last week. So, I parked my vehicle in the pay parking lot and went about my business. When I was done, I went back to my vehicle and sat there for a few minutes. I reflected on how lucky I was to have a job, dental insurance, a vehicle and money to pay for my parking. Then I got to thinking about those who don’t have all these seemingly basic things and how they manage to still go through life flashing those pearly whites. I opened my window and drove to the entrance of the parking lot. There, I sat waiting patiently for the next vehicle to come in the parking lot. I had butterflies in my stomach I was so excited to do something nice for someone else so early in the day. After all, I’d paid for this parking until 11h00 and it was only 9h30. Then, I saw him. A nice man with an old beat up car. He started to pull in the parking lot as I frantically waved my parking ticket at him. I said:” Here you go sir, I’m done with my business here and this is good until 11h00.” He smiled like I’ve never seen anyone smile before. You know, one of those giant heartfelt grins. “Thank you so much. I really needed this. Thank you. Please accept my thanks ma’am.” And there it was. Gratitude.

GRANT: Geez Louise, all of this before 9h30 in the morning?

VICKY: Yup.

GRANT: And how is this related to running?

VICKY: Well, this encounter got me thinking about the many of the people and things I am fortunate enough to have in my life. It made me feel lucky. It also reminded me of the half-marathon we ran at the Ottawa Race Weekend.

GRANT: Oh yeah, I guess we have not written about our recent half-marathon experience at Ottawa Race Weekend yet. Tell me, why did this make you think about our run?

VICKY: Well, it made me think of running and the importance of every little act committed by runners, volunteers, family and friends throughout a race. Without these little moments we share with complete strangers or with those who matter most in our lives, we just might never make it to the finish line. So thank you to the thirty-something man wearing a t-shirt with a picture of his dad and son on his back that said “This is who I’m running for”. You were an inspiration and made me realize that there are people out there who have to endure far worse things than a half marathon. You made me suck it up and keep going.

GRANT: Ah yes, now I see where you’re going with this and I agree. It seems when you run a race, there is always someone or a moment shared with one or more fellow runners that lifts up your spirits or gives you that little push you needed to run just a little farther.

VICKY: First of all, allow me the satisfaction to say that this was my first half-marathon and I think I kicked its 21.1 km  ass. Yup, you heard me. My feet pounded the pavement for a total of 2:16:23 .2. Thanks for starting the race with me by the way. It was nice to cross the start line with a friend and to know you would be sticking by me for at least the first 5K.

GRANT: It was a challenging experience. My favourite part of the race was the finish line when the nightmare ended.  How about you, what’s your favourite memory of Ottawa Race Weekend?

VICKY: Well, I have two actually. The first being the fact that when I had about 2 km left until the finish line and I felt I would be better off walking, I turned around and saw my friend and fellow runner Evélia! She was running the marathon and had a big smile one her face like this was the happiest day of her life. What are the odds of meeting a close friend when you’re running on a course with 10,500 half marathoners and 4,500 marathoners? It was amazing to run my first half marathon and cross the finish line with one of the best people I know. My other favourite moment was when I crossed the finish line and saw my BF waiting for me with open arms and a huge grin on his face (it was his first marathon so I am very proud of him). We had been waiting for this moment for months and now that it was finally here, it was a very special for both of us. And to wrap it all up, we walked 15 minutes down Elgin St. to the nearest Booster Juice for a post-race smoothie. It was awesome!

GRANT: I’m sure many of you have great stories and memories from your race experiences. We’d love to hear about them so tell us your story about the nicest gesture a fellow runner has ever done for you during a race. You will be entered for a chance to win a prize. Good luck!