Well, my mission is accomplished. Perhaps not quite in the way I had originally imagined, but finished none-the-less. I chose to pull out of the race at the 50 mile mark, and I have almost no regrets. I use the word almost because there are always those twinges when you wonder what could have been. Truth is though, I'm extremely pleased with myself. Here is my story:
The race did not really start for me until I arrived at leg 3. Leg 3 is known as death valley because it's hot. It's almost always run in the afternoon when it's hot, and the heat zaps the strength right from you. Leg 3 is open for almost the entire leg. Trees provide little shade, and the heat radiates off the trail so you get it from the top and the bottom. It's also known as Satan's Sack because it's shaped like a giant testicle. :).
Leg 2 was amazing, but also tough, so I began to hit a low spot when I headed up for leg 3. The advice "slow the pace and you will rebound in time" is correct, but I had no idea the time required for me to rebound. I did not until I was finishing the 36 km that leg 3 required. While running an ultra, nutrition and calories are extremely important, so I was using "Hammer Perpetuum". It's a drink that provides not only complex carbs, but good fats and protien. I drank lots of it, but eventually, my stomach became upset. I became bloated, and eventually had to start walking, suffering through the cramps and heat. The whole experience was completely miserable. By 25km into leg 3, I realized I had better duck into the forest or I would be sorry. I was in the forest for about 15 minutes before I felt like I was good again.
Once that ordeal was over, I was dehydrated and weak. I began to drink, and then gradually introduced pertetuum again. Over time, it's true, my strength began to rebound, and I began to fell better. That's when I met up with Virginie, the Kids, and my parents.
At that point, I suggested that we modify the goal, so it's actually achievable. Then, I have something to rejoice in. I've not done many 50-milers, and it's a good starting point on ones way to a 100-miler. Running without Virginie was harder than I imagined. I love that Woman dearly, and as a result, being with her strengthens me. I suggested, that I would run a 50-miler, and that everyone should cheer like I am actually finishing. Everyone was on board.
Leg 4 was tough, but I felt strong and satisfied. When I arrived at the transition area, I arrived running strong, but I was slowing down. Each leg was requiring more time.
I admit, I was sitting on the fence somewhat about continuing on. I felt strong again, but I was going on into the night, and I was so tired! Most of running ultra's is the mental game. Keeping ones mind in check. This is always the hardest part of my game. By stopping, I was choosing to stop on a high point. A good experience at a race will provide such motivation for the next one. By continuing on, I ran the risk of not finishing, and becoming totally defeated. Something I'm a little vulnerable with right now. It's been a tough year of training (or lack thereof). I'm proud to have set a new goal, and achieved it.
The great thing is, is to see the congratulations of people on Facebook. People didn't to say comments like "maybe next time" or "so sorry about...". Everyone was proud and congratulatory. That means a lot to me. Frankly, I realize some of my running was about "people pleasing" and trying not to be broken. As I combat this paradigm and choose to pick a goal that works for me, and still see acceptance and admiration from peers, I come to realize the inherent good in people. Little by little, I am learning to trust people more and more.
How about the fund-raiser? Well I've made my offering and I did my best. Nobody knows suffering like those boys, but they never complain about it. I don't think they know how to complain. At least none of the ones I met, and I can tell you, what kind of offering would a battered runner be? I whole heartedly believe too, that they would want me to do by best, and end when I'm all "funned out" :).
I want to thank my Wife for believing in me, and for all of those friends out there who have followed my blog and been with me through this whole experience. Even though it's just a day later, I can tell you that my story is not complete yet. I'll still continue to run and do my best. Especially the ultra distances. Each experience we have carves us, and makes us who we are. This one has added to my depth as a person, and especially my compassion. I will relieve this day with fond memories for the rest of my life.
Finally, thank-you the Muscular Dystrophy Alberta and Rachel Chan for all her support in getting our message out. Virginie and I could not have done this without you.
Until next post,
Stephen
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
To the one who holds my heart...
I have been off the radar for quite some time now, lost in the darkness, disoriented by the storm clouds brewing inside a bleeding heart but I've found a shaft of light and I'm ready now to follow it through.
When I first started on this fundraising journey my intentions were to repay my brothers for all the love and compassion they had given me throughout my short life with them. But they had big shoes to fill and I kept tripping over them until I was so battered and bloody that I couldn't find the strength to stand up again. That's when I realized that I will never be able to fill their shoes. They were giants stuffed in frail human frames and no one will ever be able to come anywhere close to measuring up to them! I have discovered that I am better suited to wearing shoes in my own size but I can still follow in their footprints.
Of all things, I have been delightfully surprised and inspired by the posts my husband has shared. I had no idea he could write so well and so eloquently describe the inner chambers of my heart kept secret for so long. I guess that's the attraction of blogs; the social permission to write more intimately, more vulnerably. A blog often contains an inner conversation that could never be shared in any other social situation. And with that certain anonymity, that delicate balance point where a fragile heart can open just wide enough for others to catch a glimpse, those who have responded have touched our hearts so deeply.
Today marks our 15th wedding anniversary. I think of all the figurative miles we have put in together and I can't help but be amazed that after all that, I am even more in love than the day we said "I do!". Despite, or perhaps because of all the mountains we have had to climb and the valleys we've had to hike together, our hearts no longer have anything left to hide. When one gets to this point, it truly becomes a divine masterpiece!
In a previous post, I had mentioned that I quite often need to measure my worth by my actions. When my calves became injured and I could no longer run, I dropped out of this whole adventure, feeling that I no longer had a right to post or participate since I felt that donations coming in were based on the exchange of dollars for miles. Having run for over 10 years now, I definitely felt that I was mourning the loss of a very dear friend. Running had become my identity, my bosom buddy, my mantra, my connection with the divine. But my body (injured calves) had betrayed me, yet again and was further proof that I cannot trust ANYONE! Not even myself! The past few weeks have been a time of intense darkness and emotional pain for so many more reasons than just running. And in the past, running was what had kept me sane. I was now a shipwreck about to happen, swallowed by the tidal waves of a raging sea...
A few days ago, my family and I spent a lazy morning watching family running videos and reminiscing about the glory days. We came across the Canadian Death Race video from last year and my heart ached so much, I thought it would burst! So many emotions tumbling together in my mind that only a runner can truly relate to. I have always felt a sense of belonging in the trail running community. Whether one has taken 100 steps from the couch or a 100 miles from the starting line, every runner has a story to share. The courage it takes to lace up one's shoes and step across that line is the foundation of the running community, no matter what age or shape or size. That is what I missed! My heart ached to belong to something bigger than myself, to belong to a camaraderie of people who welcomed you in, no question asked, to stand under a flag of unity where one's position along the journey was discounted because we were all in this together.
My thoughts turned to our solo finish last year where I had unexpectedly come third in my age category. "Solo" is a wholly inadequate word. I could never have successfully finished if that word is to be properly respected. The support of Stephen, his parents, our children, dear friends and countless others who may not even know it... and my brother Mathoni, who's picture I had pinned to my hat; all contributed to my accomplishments and yet most will never be awarded their proper credit. A runner's support crew often remains in the background, in the chaos of transition areas and in the countless hours and toil of training during the many months leading up to race day. The similarities to families affected by Muscular Dystrophy are so similar, it would be ludicrous not to make the connection! I propose that they be counted as full members of the running community because without them, a runner will truly be running solo and setting themselves up for failure!
With only 2 days away from the finale of our fundraiser, I thought I would share some words of advice by Jack Cook, owner of Fast Trax Run & Ski Shop. His words ring true, not only on the trail but wherever life may take us!
Of all things, I have been delightfully surprised and inspired by the posts my husband has shared. I had no idea he could write so well and so eloquently describe the inner chambers of my heart kept secret for so long. I guess that's the attraction of blogs; the social permission to write more intimately, more vulnerably. A blog often contains an inner conversation that could never be shared in any other social situation. And with that certain anonymity, that delicate balance point where a fragile heart can open just wide enough for others to catch a glimpse, those who have responded have touched our hearts so deeply.
Today marks our 15th wedding anniversary. I think of all the figurative miles we have put in together and I can't help but be amazed that after all that, I am even more in love than the day we said "I do!". Despite, or perhaps because of all the mountains we have had to climb and the valleys we've had to hike together, our hearts no longer have anything left to hide. When one gets to this point, it truly becomes a divine masterpiece!
In a previous post, I had mentioned that I quite often need to measure my worth by my actions. When my calves became injured and I could no longer run, I dropped out of this whole adventure, feeling that I no longer had a right to post or participate since I felt that donations coming in were based on the exchange of dollars for miles. Having run for over 10 years now, I definitely felt that I was mourning the loss of a very dear friend. Running had become my identity, my bosom buddy, my mantra, my connection with the divine. But my body (injured calves) had betrayed me, yet again and was further proof that I cannot trust ANYONE! Not even myself! The past few weeks have been a time of intense darkness and emotional pain for so many more reasons than just running. And in the past, running was what had kept me sane. I was now a shipwreck about to happen, swallowed by the tidal waves of a raging sea...
A few days ago, my family and I spent a lazy morning watching family running videos and reminiscing about the glory days. We came across the Canadian Death Race video from last year and my heart ached so much, I thought it would burst! So many emotions tumbling together in my mind that only a runner can truly relate to. I have always felt a sense of belonging in the trail running community. Whether one has taken 100 steps from the couch or a 100 miles from the starting line, every runner has a story to share. The courage it takes to lace up one's shoes and step across that line is the foundation of the running community, no matter what age or shape or size. That is what I missed! My heart ached to belong to something bigger than myself, to belong to a camaraderie of people who welcomed you in, no question asked, to stand under a flag of unity where one's position along the journey was discounted because we were all in this together.
My thoughts turned to our solo finish last year where I had unexpectedly come third in my age category. "Solo" is a wholly inadequate word. I could never have successfully finished if that word is to be properly respected. The support of Stephen, his parents, our children, dear friends and countless others who may not even know it... and my brother Mathoni, who's picture I had pinned to my hat; all contributed to my accomplishments and yet most will never be awarded their proper credit. A runner's support crew often remains in the background, in the chaos of transition areas and in the countless hours and toil of training during the many months leading up to race day. The similarities to families affected by Muscular Dystrophy are so similar, it would be ludicrous not to make the connection! I propose that they be counted as full members of the running community because without them, a runner will truly be running solo and setting themselves up for failure!
With only 2 days away from the finale of our fundraiser, I thought I would share some words of advice by Jack Cook, owner of Fast Trax Run & Ski Shop. His words ring true, not only on the trail but wherever life may take us!
Mental Game
If you can focus on the positive and turn any set backs into positives you will be so far ahead come race day you cannot imagine. Focus on the positive completion of your leg or race and use every set back along the way as a reminder of how hard you have worked and nothing stands in your way.
Once your run begins take each moment as it comes and stay in the moment not focusing on the outcome and your event will be enjoyable the entire way. Once you focus on the outcome that is when things become overwhelming.
There will be moments of weakness and fatigue but if you slow the pace and focus on working through, the period will pass and you will rebound in time. The disappointment of stepping off the trail is far harder at the end of the day than working through a rough patch and waiting for your energy to return.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
You inspire me!
It's been a journey, this time training for an ultra marathon. To recap, we started out methodical and strong, but quickly frustrated. Virginie struggled with trying to find her place in our running relationship. This went on for months, and before long, became all we could see in front of us. Running became a chore. It became a frustration, and it became demotivating. We stopped talking, stuck behind the paradigm that we were ultra marathon runners, and without the label, we were in and of ourselves, of no worth.
It's okay, self worth has never been my strong suit, and I can imagine all these people responding to my post, ensuring me that I'm an inspiration and to not listen to negative self talk. I can imagine me wondering how to reply to them, not knowing what to say. Consumed by the self imposed requirement to respond with perfect eloquence.
Perhaps there are those who can relate to my struggles. Those who know what it was like to be bullied while young. To feel helpless and alone. To learn to not trust anyone, and to isolate myself from people, because in the end, they would only use me to advance themselves socially, and that requires them to demean, insult and ostracize.
Then running came along.
It gave me an identity, it saved me from the chronic depression that runs in my family. I was able to get off medication, and felt I had something to offer people socially.
But I wasn't social still.
I could see that the changes were only skin deep. My running served as a means to prove to the world that I am not broken. That I have worth. I began running hundreds of kilometers per month. Literally thousands per year. There were people who told me that it was unhealthy, but I was too vulnerable to listen. I felt that their solution was to deprive me of the one thing that was providing me hope and healing. I felt they wanted to take away my running.
This past weekend something wonderful happened as I watched my one and only best childhood friend push beyond his own limits to conquer a difficult 100 mile course. His efforts, and enthusiasm for the sport have been an inspiration for me. I think my kids get annoyed hearing me talk about him. Seriously though, I had one friend until grade 9. That was him. Our friendship was something that held me together as a child.
The last couple of weeks, I have decided that I really do love to run. I love the sport, and I love the people. I started running intervals with the Fast Trax run and ski shop the last couple of weeks. The friendship, comarderie, and enthusiasm brings to my mind one word in particular.
... Healing ...
Nobody will ever know this, and sometimes I hope nobody does, because I don't want to be treated differently, because I have been so insecure in the past, but honestly, all you folks from the shop are restoring my faith in friendship. Something I have denied myself all my life.
This weekend looks like it will be very hot for the Sinister 7. Perhaps 30 degrees. If that is the case, it will be a very difficult run. But, with that said, I still plan on going out there. It's truly different this time. I'm not going out to impress anyone. I'm going out to take part in an event because I'm not only passionate about the sport, I'm passionate about the people.
Runners: thank you for all you do for me. Seriously. This means anyone who has got off the couch, tied up their shoes and put one foot in front of the other, repeating the process for whatever length of time until you arrive at your destination. I don't esteem myself above any of you. You are all an inspiration to me. This includes all those boys out there who would run, but can't because their bodies simply won't allow it.
I love you all.
Friday, June 27, 2014
The storm before the calm
Virginie and I have often talked about that picture. As avid storm lovers, we both would love having a chance to go to the central States, and have a shot at seeing a real tornado. For now though, it's the storm before the calm for me. All of those questions that naturally pop up prior to a big race.
- Did I train hard enough?
- Will everything go okay?
- Will it be hot? (I'm hoping for cooler)
It's the storm before the calm. Frankly, when I line up and the gun goes off, my energy can finally be directed. Then I feel calm and free. The excitement of race day is contagious. If you can, come out to the crowsnest pass and see for yourself. There is a magical energy.
Really, it's all tapering from here. I'll do a half marathon tomorrow, then intervals Saturday morning. Then next week, only enough to keep me from going stir crazy :) I'm not sure what that will be, I am planning on listening to my body.
Last year at the Death Race, Virginie and I set expectations as: Enjoy the journey, don't go for the finish line. The strategy seemed to work well for us. We did not want to loose the focus that if we stressed about the finish line, we would miss all that happened in between.
As I look at the weather report, it keeps bouncing between hot and cool for race day. Hopefully it will be cool. It's what I am trained up for.
I want Lehi and Mathoni, my brothers in law that have passed away from duchenne muscular dystrophy, to know that I love them. Oh, how grateful I am that you are in a better place. How I hope for Cedric, for Shad, for Nicholas and Benson, even for the healthy Elijah, because he will take on the role of the caretaker older brother, for Spencer, because he's is the protector older brother, and for Sam, dear Sam. If there ever was an older brother to be proud of, who quietly helped, hoped, loved, and protected unconditionally, it is you my friend. I hope that with all of the wonderful technology that we have been blessed with in this day and age, that my offering, how big or small will provide some hope to you, and to your families. I've said it a lot in my blog before, but I know that things will get better. We will have good times and bad times, but as assuredly as the sun sets, and then rises again, so will new hope, new treatments, and new technology. I hope the best of these will find you.
When we love someone, anything is possible
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Define: Failure?
At supper time, we'll often use our phone to search for definitions. It's fun. I'll lift up the phone and say "Ok, Google", and when the voice search dialog pops up, we'll say "Define: <something>". We've defined a whole bunch of stuff. On request, by my Son, we were all enlightened to learn the definition for Poop. The voice on the cell phone read over each word in a semi-robotic voice, while my Son giggled.
If you actually googled "Define: Failure" you would come up with either "A lack of success" or "the omission of an expected or required action". Over this past year, I have been learning that many things are both true, and false, or at least my mind has made them both. Let's take running an ultra marathon... For me, success would require me to run 100 km, or 4-25km loops through a stunning, but difficult river valley course. The course started in Gold Bar park, and snaked it's way through Goldstick park, Capilano park, Strathcona Science park, Sunridge Ski-area, and Rundle park. The weather was perfect for running.
I won't hide it... I did not finish the course. There are lots of reasons, and now that I have had time to sleep on it, I realize how easy it could be to let thoughts slip, and drown myself in failure. It is easy because according to the definition, I did fail. I failed at completing the required 100km distance. I did run 55km though, and that's no small feat. If I had entered the 50km race, I would have succeeded. Another point. There is a difference between failing at the "required action", and being a failure. I am definitely not a failure. Far from it. The road we've taken to try and get to a point where we could run the Sinister 7 has been far from easy. Virginie is still injured, and our runs have been very depressing. Go ahead, read through the earlier posts, it was the same thing every week. I will often tell people that ultra-marathoning is a sport for the mental. It's 90% mental. The other 10% is all in your head. I lived in my head yesterday though. On the first lap, I had for the most part mentally signed out. I just did not want to be there. I made good time though, and almost equally good time on my second lap. There are many "if's" that run through my head:
If you actually googled "Define: Failure" you would come up with either "A lack of success" or "the omission of an expected or required action". Over this past year, I have been learning that many things are both true, and false, or at least my mind has made them both. Let's take running an ultra marathon... For me, success would require me to run 100 km, or 4-25km loops through a stunning, but difficult river valley course. The course started in Gold Bar park, and snaked it's way through Goldstick park, Capilano park, Strathcona Science park, Sunridge Ski-area, and Rundle park. The weather was perfect for running.
I won't hide it... I did not finish the course. There are lots of reasons, and now that I have had time to sleep on it, I realize how easy it could be to let thoughts slip, and drown myself in failure. It is easy because according to the definition, I did fail. I failed at completing the required 100km distance. I did run 55km though, and that's no small feat. If I had entered the 50km race, I would have succeeded. Another point. There is a difference between failing at the "required action", and being a failure. I am definitely not a failure. Far from it. The road we've taken to try and get to a point where we could run the Sinister 7 has been far from easy. Virginie is still injured, and our runs have been very depressing. Go ahead, read through the earlier posts, it was the same thing every week. I will often tell people that ultra-marathoning is a sport for the mental. It's 90% mental. The other 10% is all in your head. I lived in my head yesterday though. On the first lap, I had for the most part mentally signed out. I just did not want to be there. I made good time though, and almost equally good time on my second lap. There are many "if's" that run through my head:
- If I had kept going
- If I had trained harder
- If I had brought more music
- If I had more people to talk to
- If, If, If...
Anyone else go through this ridiculous ritual? Well, I'm choosing not to. I am a unique person, worthy of compassion. I try my best all the time. Unfortunately, due to the activity I've chose, failure is a super easy thing. It's often very easy for me to choose it. Sometimes, it's healthier to find a sport or activity that will give more positive feedback. You can argue the opposite though. So where am I at?
My brother in law "Lehi" passed away almost years ago. He had a reputation for being a very honest person. His older brother Sam told me once "When Lehi says something, he means it." I came to know him as the epitome of honesty. After our reception, I found myself back in the church looking for something. I don't remember exactly why I was there, but I do recall getting cornered by Lehi in his wheel chair. He looked up at me and told me "I love you". The quiet gesture of love and acceptance has touched me to this day. I write it now with tears in my eyes. I go back to our theme, "When we love someone".
Mathoni would call us every Sunday. I admit, some Sundays I just did not have time for him, but the thing that really impressed me is that he was consistent. In his own way, he left a big mark by doing a simple thing. He did not just call us, he called his other Brother and 3 Sisters every week. I remember while visiting him, I would give him the "I'm watching you" gaze. You know, the one you give to trouble-makers by holding to fingers towards your eyes, and then pointing at the person. Whenever I would do this, he would hint that he was going to run me over by inching toward me on his wheel chair. That was our way to kid around. I loved it.
The moral of my post? I choose to not look at yesterday as a failure. I choose to look at it as a success. It was not easy, in fact, it was really really hard. I give it 100% and then some. Today, I choose to love myself.
Now, what of the Sinister 7? I'm still leaning toward running it. Why not? I'm super stiff from yesterday. I must have gotten something out of it. If I give'er really hard for the next week and a bit, who knows? My goal is to raise funds and awareness of neuro-muscular disorders. The next is to run 100-miles.
Perhaps the lyrics of this Toby Mac song summarize it better.
Oh, by the way, we're just over $1000 into our $7000 goal. That's good, but not great. Please, share this post. Let's get the word out.
When we love someone, anything is possible.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Bugs, Sweat and Tears
Last Friday night, I let my fears overtake me. Stephen held me close as I let the tears silently fall on my pillow. I've never been injured before and this is really bad timing with only 6 weeks to go and so many expectations riding on my shoulders. Something has changed, I'm not sure what. I used to take pleasure in running with my husband but now, it has become emotionally and physically painful.
We watched an excellent movie called The Book thief about a young girl who finds freedom in books amidst the horror of war. Her simple acts of courage inspired me, reminding me that courage does not have to be big, bold or even obvious. Any act of courage makes a difference, even if no one else sees it. So my act of courage was to get up at 3am yet again and take that first step. Every step is an act of courage in facing my fears. With my husband's inspirational blog "Defining success" running through my head, I determined yet again to make a go of another run.
My jumbled thoughts usually come together when I run, as if all the jostling tumbles them into place. I suddenly remembered an incident from my childhood. My father, not knowing that I was sitting within earshot, leaned over to my mother and asked "Wouldn't life be easier if we didn't have the boys?!" (Referring to my two youngest brothers with muscular dystrophy.) My mother angrily silenced him but his words rang in my head. I determined then to prove my value. As I run, I ponder on those words. Yes, perhaps life would have been easier without them but would it have been worth it? NO!!!!!! I think about how those words affected me for all those years. They chained me to a belief that I always needed to prove my worth, my usefulness or else be a burden. For the past few months, I have been a burden on Stephen through my fears, my tears and my inability to improve my running, made worse now through my injured calves.
I think of my brothers, Lehi and Mathoni. They certainly were a burden on our family but aren't we all?! Haven't we all, at some point been a burden on those around us? Does that lessen our worth? NO!! I'm willing to bet that if you were to ask those loved ones if they would have traded the burdens for an easier life, most would say, "Not on your life!" Lehi and Mathoni gave me more that what I could offer them! They taught me what it was to truly love, to live life fully, no matter how short. They touched my heart when it was aching and they cheered with me when I accomplished a goal; big or small. They laughed with me, cried with me and picked me up when I felt I had no strength left. I miss them terribly! But they taught me that worth is value in and of itself. We are all worth it, no matter the burden because we are precious children of God. We don't have to prove ourselves, we just are! Like a twenty dollar bill; it doesn't matter if we're wrinkly or crispy, shiny or faded. A twenty is still worth a twenty!
Stephen's gift to me was running beside me, wanting my company more than he wanted to run by himself. Stephen's gift to me was reminding me of my worth, regardless of my efforts or abilities. And what right did I have to reject his gifts?! Once I accepted his gift, I was running with a little more happy in my step! It was a tough run but it was worth it because we were able to talk about this subject and be reminded of our enduring love for each other.
Even at 3am, the weather was mild, perfect for running! As the sun came up, so did the temperature (and the bugs!), accompanied with a delicious breeze to cool our sweat. I did pretty good for the first few hours, running on Ibuprofen and Hammer Nutrition Perpetuem. We were trying the orange-vanilla flavour but don't be fooled. It doesn't taste anything like orange or vanilla! More like watered-down cornflakes. But I wanted to say "Where have you been all my life?!" I'm sold! When the Ibuprofen ran out, the fire in my calves burned with a vengeance but I was determined to get to the end! Stephen put on When we love and that started the tears because it reminded me of why we were doing this! And that's worth it!! About three or four kilometers from home though, my calves declared mutiny and it was either walking faster than I could run or run slower than I could walk!
Yesterday, Stephen and I traveled to the Sinister 7 course for some training. Within a kilometer, I was in tears again. My calves were once again a raging inferno until the Ibuprofen kicked in. How am I going to get through this?! The hardest part is not the physical, but the emotional. When we first started running, it was a way to spend more time together, to enjoy something together that made us feel alive and deepened our bond together. But something has changed and it feels like a loved one has passed away, a chapter of my life that I can never recover. I will need some time to mourn, to find myself again or maybe discover something new...
Thank you to all those who have donated! Your simple act of generosity has not gone unnoticed and on behalf of my brothers and all those families affected by Muscular Dystrophy, THANK YOU, FROM THE BOTTOM OF OUR HEARTS!!
And we couldn't have come this far without Rachel Chan, Fundraising and Community Development Coordinator. Her tireless efforts and guidance made our idea a reality. Thank you!
Also, thank you to Garry and Linda Sigsworth from HillCrest Mines for housing us this weekend and during the Sinister 7 weekend. They made us feel so welcome and right at home!
Thank you to all those who have supported us throughout this journey! And most of all thank you to my soul mate Stephen for your love, patience and understanding!
Virginie
We watched an excellent movie called The Book thief about a young girl who finds freedom in books amidst the horror of war. Her simple acts of courage inspired me, reminding me that courage does not have to be big, bold or even obvious. Any act of courage makes a difference, even if no one else sees it. So my act of courage was to get up at 3am yet again and take that first step. Every step is an act of courage in facing my fears. With my husband's inspirational blog "Defining success" running through my head, I determined yet again to make a go of another run.
My jumbled thoughts usually come together when I run, as if all the jostling tumbles them into place. I suddenly remembered an incident from my childhood. My father, not knowing that I was sitting within earshot, leaned over to my mother and asked "Wouldn't life be easier if we didn't have the boys?!" (Referring to my two youngest brothers with muscular dystrophy.) My mother angrily silenced him but his words rang in my head. I determined then to prove my value. As I run, I ponder on those words. Yes, perhaps life would have been easier without them but would it have been worth it? NO!!!!!! I think about how those words affected me for all those years. They chained me to a belief that I always needed to prove my worth, my usefulness or else be a burden. For the past few months, I have been a burden on Stephen through my fears, my tears and my inability to improve my running, made worse now through my injured calves.
I think of my brothers, Lehi and Mathoni. They certainly were a burden on our family but aren't we all?! Haven't we all, at some point been a burden on those around us? Does that lessen our worth? NO!! I'm willing to bet that if you were to ask those loved ones if they would have traded the burdens for an easier life, most would say, "Not on your life!" Lehi and Mathoni gave me more that what I could offer them! They taught me what it was to truly love, to live life fully, no matter how short. They touched my heart when it was aching and they cheered with me when I accomplished a goal; big or small. They laughed with me, cried with me and picked me up when I felt I had no strength left. I miss them terribly! But they taught me that worth is value in and of itself. We are all worth it, no matter the burden because we are precious children of God. We don't have to prove ourselves, we just are! Like a twenty dollar bill; it doesn't matter if we're wrinkly or crispy, shiny or faded. A twenty is still worth a twenty!
Stephen's gift to me was running beside me, wanting my company more than he wanted to run by himself. Stephen's gift to me was reminding me of my worth, regardless of my efforts or abilities. And what right did I have to reject his gifts?! Once I accepted his gift, I was running with a little more happy in my step! It was a tough run but it was worth it because we were able to talk about this subject and be reminded of our enduring love for each other.
Even at 3am, the weather was mild, perfect for running! As the sun came up, so did the temperature (and the bugs!), accompanied with a delicious breeze to cool our sweat. I did pretty good for the first few hours, running on Ibuprofen and Hammer Nutrition Perpetuem. We were trying the orange-vanilla flavour but don't be fooled. It doesn't taste anything like orange or vanilla! More like watered-down cornflakes. But I wanted to say "Where have you been all my life?!" I'm sold! When the Ibuprofen ran out, the fire in my calves burned with a vengeance but I was determined to get to the end! Stephen put on When we love and that started the tears because it reminded me of why we were doing this! And that's worth it!! About three or four kilometers from home though, my calves declared mutiny and it was either walking faster than I could run or run slower than I could walk!
Yesterday, Stephen and I traveled to the Sinister 7 course for some training. Within a kilometer, I was in tears again. My calves were once again a raging inferno until the Ibuprofen kicked in. How am I going to get through this?! The hardest part is not the physical, but the emotional. When we first started running, it was a way to spend more time together, to enjoy something together that made us feel alive and deepened our bond together. But something has changed and it feels like a loved one has passed away, a chapter of my life that I can never recover. I will need some time to mourn, to find myself again or maybe discover something new...
Thank you to all those who have donated! Your simple act of generosity has not gone unnoticed and on behalf of my brothers and all those families affected by Muscular Dystrophy, THANK YOU, FROM THE BOTTOM OF OUR HEARTS!!
And we couldn't have come this far without Rachel Chan, Fundraising and Community Development Coordinator. Her tireless efforts and guidance made our idea a reality. Thank you!
Also, thank you to Garry and Linda Sigsworth from HillCrest Mines for housing us this weekend and during the Sinister 7 weekend. They made us feel so welcome and right at home!
Thank you to all those who have supported us throughout this journey! And most of all thank you to my soul mate Stephen for your love, patience and understanding!
Virginie
Monday, May 19, 2014
Defining success
Okay, 2 really cool things happened last week. The first is that I had wanted to complete a 100km week. I've been close to a 100km week before, but my body would usually quit before my will would. For whatever reason, when I started death race training last year, I decided not to count my weekly kilometerage that much. I guess in some cases ignorance is bliss? We (meaning Virginie and I) were always very careful to follow the 10% rule, at least when it came to our long runs.
This time around, I've been interested in my weekly kilometerage. A number of weeks ago, I had done 84km for the week. 100 would be pushing the 10% rule a little, but I figured, listen to your body. Remember, 3 strikes and your out (If I feel pain in the same area 3 times, I stop running). Stretch lots, and if a muscle gets sore, strengthen it. This usually means right after the run. It's funny, sore muscles are not obvious sometimes. For example, pain in my hips could come further down my quads. Now, I'm not a doctor, but right now, my hamstrings are really stiff, and I think that's contributing to a little pain in the inner thighs. It's not enough to stop me, but I really want to be careful these days. I guess it's called red-lining, where you push your body to the limit, without injuring yourself. With all that said, the more I learn about my body, the more I'm impressed on how it adapts to longer distances. So long as I'm "mentally there", I'm usually good to go, and my body will albeit unhappily sometimes, adapt.
That was not the case this last week though. I did 24km on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday (well 22 on Thursday), for a total of 94km for the week. It was with this in mind that I found myself running in the green area behind our home in my barefeet at 11:00pm on Saturday. By that time, I was not really motivated too much other than the goal for completing a 100km week. However, when I began running, I felt my feet connect with the soft cool grass. I heard the frogs "chirping" in the small stream beside me. It was dusk, and I could smell a few wood burning fires. It was finally spring, and I was free. I felt as though Mother Earth granted me energy above what I had, because I had chosen not to hide myself from her with my shoes. I started off at a 5:30 pace, but only 20 minutes later, it had quickened to 4:00 min/km, yet I felt in control of my breath. I was relaxed. I was feeling "the flow". I did not bring a headlamp with me, so I had to trust that my feet would know what to do. If I stepped on anything, they would be able to detect, and compensate almost instantly.
We sure do have amazing bodies!!!
Here is our fundraising website.
Please visit. Learn about Duchennes Muscular Dystrophy. Support our cause.
I get a little worried for Virginia, because she's really struggling, but I realize that it's never too late. Last year at the death race, I visited the physiotherapist 3 days before we were to run. Why? because I could not run. My IT band was so tight it was impossible to run through the pain. She needled me, wished me luck. I swore off running until race day and on that cool August morning, I rose with my Wife, checked in at the start line, and began running.
22 hours, 7 minutes, and 45 seconds later we crossed the finish line.
I often wonder what made that day successful. I guess it was a lot of things. The point I'm trying to make though is that it's never too late. It's never too late to try. We only fail, when we fail to try. I guess this is how I'm defining success.
My love and prayers go out to Virginie. My message is: We'll make it. We'll do it!
This time around, I've been interested in my weekly kilometerage. A number of weeks ago, I had done 84km for the week. 100 would be pushing the 10% rule a little, but I figured, listen to your body. Remember, 3 strikes and your out (If I feel pain in the same area 3 times, I stop running). Stretch lots, and if a muscle gets sore, strengthen it. This usually means right after the run. It's funny, sore muscles are not obvious sometimes. For example, pain in my hips could come further down my quads. Now, I'm not a doctor, but right now, my hamstrings are really stiff, and I think that's contributing to a little pain in the inner thighs. It's not enough to stop me, but I really want to be careful these days. I guess it's called red-lining, where you push your body to the limit, without injuring yourself. With all that said, the more I learn about my body, the more I'm impressed on how it adapts to longer distances. So long as I'm "mentally there", I'm usually good to go, and my body will albeit unhappily sometimes, adapt.
That was not the case this last week though. I did 24km on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday (well 22 on Thursday), for a total of 94km for the week. It was with this in mind that I found myself running in the green area behind our home in my barefeet at 11:00pm on Saturday. By that time, I was not really motivated too much other than the goal for completing a 100km week. However, when I began running, I felt my feet connect with the soft cool grass. I heard the frogs "chirping" in the small stream beside me. It was dusk, and I could smell a few wood burning fires. It was finally spring, and I was free. I felt as though Mother Earth granted me energy above what I had, because I had chosen not to hide myself from her with my shoes. I started off at a 5:30 pace, but only 20 minutes later, it had quickened to 4:00 min/km, yet I felt in control of my breath. I was relaxed. I was feeling "the flow". I did not bring a headlamp with me, so I had to trust that my feet would know what to do. If I stepped on anything, they would be able to detect, and compensate almost instantly.
We sure do have amazing bodies!!!
Here is our fundraising website.
Please visit. Learn about Duchennes Muscular Dystrophy. Support our cause.
I get a little worried for Virginia, because she's really struggling, but I realize that it's never too late. Last year at the death race, I visited the physiotherapist 3 days before we were to run. Why? because I could not run. My IT band was so tight it was impossible to run through the pain. She needled me, wished me luck. I swore off running until race day and on that cool August morning, I rose with my Wife, checked in at the start line, and began running.
22 hours, 7 minutes, and 45 seconds later we crossed the finish line.
I often wonder what made that day successful. I guess it was a lot of things. The point I'm trying to make though is that it's never too late. It's never too late to try. We only fail, when we fail to try. I guess this is how I'm defining success.
My love and prayers go out to Virginie. My message is: We'll make it. We'll do it!
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