Heart

“So simple...just move your legs. Because if you don't think you were born to run, you're not only denying history. You're denying who you are.”

-Dr. Dennis Bramble, from Christopher McDougall's Born to Run

My body sometimes feels like an organic machine. Food becomes fuel, providing energy to the strong, slow beat of the engine, which supplies the power to flex and extend the system of pulleys, levers, and gears that in turn exert forces on the hinges, all working in tandem to move my body down the road. All this occurs to the quiet background rhythm of the bellows, faithfully drawing cooling air in and out, and providing oxygen to the entire system. It is a miracle that it works so well, and not surprising when the parts occasionally refuse to cooperate. Because of old injuries, sometimes the gears turn a little rough and the levers and pulleys squeak a little in protest. The bellows often become cantankerous when the dog fennel is blooming.

On days in which the machine is being particularly uncooperative, I wonder if I was ever meant to run. So many people glide down the road effortlessly, putting in more miles in a week than I do in two, or even three. They run, not hindered by pain, or injury, and their bodies hum along like well oiled machines. It seems that they were created for the task at hand, as they literally flow across the earth beneath their feet. They are perfect running machines.

I've been reading a book, Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall. Never before have I been so fascinated with a book. Besides being a great story, I found Born to Run immensely inspirational. I've been thinking a lot lately about running as a skill. Well, not so much as a skill, but as an inborn ability. To be a great runner, or even a mediocre runner, is it necessary to possess some kind of special genetic makeup? If so, must the moon and stars line up correctly to create this “running gene sequence”? Is it purely based on the genetics of a person's lineage? Is it a random trait that somehow appears in some people like a DNA version of winning the lottery? Does the “running gene” exist in all humans, and we must tap into it, activating the sequence like a tiny genetic “on switch”, in order to unleash an innate primal ability we all possess? Or, perhaps the genetic ability to run exists in us all, quietly humming along in the background, always in the “ready”position, and meant to be used daily from the moment we take our first steps into the world of bipedalism.

In reading this book, I have honestly come to believe the latter. The evidence is glaringly obvious that the human race was made for running. We have been given a great gift that unfortunately, for some reason, many of us have to expend copious amounts of energy, motivation, and frustration to tap into. Rather than just slide easily and gracefully into our innate ability, many of us tackle running as if it is a means to an end, forgetting that it could be as natural as breathing if we would just allow it.

For centuries upon centuries, running has been a necessity. Running down food, running away from enemies and predators, running to pass along urgent messages or to find help...running to survive. It has been theorized that one reason we as a species have seemingly “forgotten” how to run is that our brains are always searching out ways to conserve energy, and running has become quite unnecessary. After all, why expend the energy if there isn't a survival enhancing reward at the end of the run?

I believe that there are more than just practical and physical rewards to running. Running can foster intense feelings of joy, camaraderie, spirituality, and pride, which are precious rewards for the energy expended. Tribes of people still exist in which the people no longer need to run down an antelope to survive, but still run ultra distances just for the sheer joy of the run. These people run with joy in their hearts, even running into their nineties! Why? No one has told them that they shouldn't or that they can't. The benefits to body and soul are immeasurable.

We are all indeed born to run, having been gifted with the genetic ability to tear it up if we so desire. The difference is, I believe, heart. Not the anatomical structure with its ever beating ventricles and atria, but the metaphorical heart - the source of our strength, desire, courage, and perseverance. This is the “on switch”. Our ability to run has been preset to “ready”. All we need to do is flip the switch by believing in our hearts that it can be done, throwing ourselves into it, and taking true joy in moving our legs. I am far from being a perfect running machine, but when I run down the gravel road, winding through the Eden Valley pines with the wind in my hair, I feel joy bubbling up from a primal place in my heart, and I know I am doing something I was meant to do. I am a runner.

Dear Snow, you suck. Sincerely, Andi

So it continued to snow all week long. The kids haven't been in school since Tuesday. On Friday, finally it stopped. The problem was that it then started to melt just enough to turn into a gigantic slushy disaster in our driveway. The good news was, the highway was bare! The kids and I could see escape! Wil had plowed out a path for my van that morning before work, and I made plans to take the kids into town to meet another cooped up mama and her chillins for lunch. I started the van, and scraped layers of snow and ice off of it. Morale was high as we looked forward to breaking out of here. Sadly though, my van was sealed to the pavement by slush stronger than the highest grade adhesive ever invented by mankind, and probably even by any being in the entire universe itself.

I worked and worked, digging with a frantic ferocity borne of days cooped up with small children and dogs. I'd get it dug out enough to move it a few feet down the hill, and then it would get mired down again. Finally, with expletives that the saltiest sea dog could be proud of, it broke free....and promptly rotated 180 degrees to come to rest crosswise in the driveway, rear tires firmly planted in a snowdrift. With fat tears of frustration, I texted my husband, wondering if I could use one of our other vehicles to pull the van out. By now, the kids had given up and wandered off, and my friend had aborted our lunch date.

Sadly, I puffed the stray hair out of my face, and looked out across the 100 short yards to freedom. It was then I noticed the tractor, plugging along slowly to our house. My neighbor had come to the rescue. It took several giant tugs with the big yellow cat to free my van from its icy prison, but with a huge sucking sound, it finally popped loose and we were free!!! Escape was delightful!



The next day we headed out to a snow party at a friend's place. They had built a huge jump for snowboarders, and a snowmobile was available for rides. There was even a great sledding hill for the kids to burn an exorbitant amount of energy walking back up after each slide. Best of all, a friend brought mimosa fixin's, and we stood around, sipping champagne and enjoying the festivities.

There is an important lesson I learned from all of this, and it really has nothing to do with snow. Snow still sucks, and I still hate it. The lesson I learned, is that champagne (and a shot of jagermeister) may make you feel awesome, but you are probably not as awesome as you think. Definitely not awesome enough to tackle the notorious North/South Palouse River Road Loop less than an hour after indulging in such libations. I know this because after the party, I felt like I wanted to run. I hadn't run since the awful snow run the previous Tuesday, and I had energy to burn.



I put my brand new YakTrax cleats on my shoes for the first time, and happily headed out. The first few miles were amazing. I was clipping along at a fantastic pace, feeling all kinds of on top of the world. Alas, at the top of hill #1, a little over 3 miles in, I felt like I was going to hit the wall. Not just a little bump into the soft carnival bouncy house kind of wall. We are talking that brick wall that they hurtle crash test dummies into with car wreck simulating machines. I hadn't hit it yet, but it was eminent. Apparently I'd burned through the ethanol and was looking for glucose which was nonexistent, as I had somehow managed to forget about eating in all the excitement. Unwilling to admit defeat, I turned the corner into Hill #2. That's about the time the freezing wind hit me full force, throwing me backwards.

Needless to say, I turned around, and careened angrily down the hill back the way I had come. Now I was cold, tired, and crabby about being defeated by my own stupidity and the freezing wind. At mile 5.2 I hit that wall with amazing force. Suddenly my feet felt heavy, my legs wouldn't cooperate, and my lungs simply could not put enough oxygen into my bloodstream. Slowing to a walk, I texted a friend, asking if she was home. I wasn't committing to needing rescue, but I just wanted to make sure I had the option. Since she didn't get back to me after 5 minutes of panting and walking, I decided to cowgirl up and continue my run. Its been hard before, right? Pain is weakness leaving the body, right? "Stop being a princess!!!" I mentally shouted to myself, and ran another 0.8 miles before slowing again. The next half a mile was intermittent walking and slow jogging. I felt a sugar crash coming, and the stupids started to set in. My friend texted back and asked if I needed a ride, and instead of saying "yes, I think I may need a ride before I lay down in the middle of the road and take a small nap in the snow" I answered "I'm ok!".

I jogged the last 1/4 mile to my car, arriving exhausted, defeated, and low blood sugar. At home, my husband fed me Gatorade and a sucker, all the while trying to look sympathetic, even though I know he was thinking "dumbass."

So. Lesson learned. Champagne (and jager) may make you feel awesome, but it is not a power bar. Best left out of the equation. Hardest 6 miles ever. Will not repeat this mistake. Probably.

Cabin Fever

It is still snowing. I feel like I can't remember a time when it wasn't snowing. Over a foot of fluffy whiteness as far as the eye can see. A lonely expanse, desert like in its desolation. Will it ever stop? Or is this the end, the apocalypse in cold frozen form rather than fire and brimstone?

Wil says I'm being dramatic. Ok, so it has only been snowing for three days, but it seriously feels like an eternity! Provisions of beer and bacon are low, thus moral has followed suit. The children have been home from school for days and have informed me that they have played with every single one of their toys and watched all of their good movies. If I hear Spongebob's maniacal laugh one more time I might just jump through the TV and throttle the little bugger.

Apparently I don't do cooped up very well. Friends are merrily posting on Facebook about how much they love being snowed in. How joyful it is to stay in their pj's, surrounded by their loving and well mannered families, playing board games and sipping cocoa, like a sweet Norman Rockwell painting. Me? I am pacing the house like a caged animal, swinging wildly between bouts of extreme housecleaning and melodramatic flops onto the couch to stare mournfully out the window at our road.

While normal people are sitting at the table, playing games, or lovingly perusing family photo albums, this is me:Wistfully staring out, wondering when I will be able to run outside again without a snowsuit.

I'm going to openly admit something here. I love my children, fiercely of course. I enjoy reading to them, letting them help in the kitchen, and doing craft projects. I like to help Lola with her homework, and watch Rowan's little hot wheels car shows. I like to snuggle with them on the couch watching movies, and I like to play outside with them, even in this disgusting snow. That being said, I do not enjoy doing these things all day long non-stop for days in a row. That requires more wine than I currently have stashed in the basement.

There is a certain amount of guilt carried over this revelation, but it is balanced out a bit by the fact that my kids are a lot like myself when cooped up for too long. In fact, yesterday despite being outside for hours in the snow, making snowmen and riding the snowmobile in a desperate attempt to wear them down enough to nap, they still acted like howler monkeys on crack right up until bedtime. This despite fresh air, making home made soft pretzels, watching a good movie, and taking long bathroom drenching bubble baths.

Apparently the apples have not fallen far from the tree.

Don't worry kids, I am going to bust us out of here. We will make our escape into the free world. And if not? Well, Daddy has the day off so go get him!

Snow.

A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.
~Carl Reiner

Ah, the fluffy white beauty that is snow....blech. I hate snow. I think maybe I used to like it, back when I was seven. Snow at age seven was a wonderful magical weather apparition that meant at the very minimum a two hour delay in school, and at its best the Holy Grail....a snow day. Snow angels, snow forts, snow balls, snow men, and our poor dog hooked up via horse halter and baling twine to a rickety old sled. Snow was excitement all wrapped up in frozen awesomeness. It was bulky snow pants, thick gloves, and boots two sizes too big. It was blue lips, tingly fingers, and steam rising from wet clothes as we backed up to the pellet stove clutching mugs of cocoa. Yep, snow was the bomb at age seven.

Teleport many years into the future and here I am, hating snow. Sure, I guess its pretty. I'll give you snow romantics that much. Its pretty when its falling and accumulating in the fields, where it belongs. It is NOT pretty when its in my driveway, or piling up menacingly on the ledge above my door, waiting to pounce like a cold wet cat onto my unsuspecting warm dry body as I attempt to exit my house. It is NOT pretty when it is on my car, or on my road, blown into drifts taller than the van, and it is certainly NOT pretty when I'm called out in the vet truck to the middle of nowhere at 11:00 at night to sew a cut horse back together.

So this morning, when I looked outside and saw that it had actually snowed more overnight, I sat disgruntled in the window seat, sipping my caffeine and loathing the weather. Alright snow, I see you. I see you and I accept your challenge. I will run outside today, even if it is only a few short miles, I will conquer you and then I will possibly hop around in little circles cheerfully yelling "I win!" to my annoyed husband whom I will make go with me.

That is how my poor, tolerant husband ended up driving us out to my favorite running spot this morning. We thought that since it is a road, it would probably be plowed. How wrong we were. He looked at me, one eyebrow up, questioning my sanity as I dutifully plugged a three mile run into my iPhone and selected a few extra motivating songs. Looking back at him over the scarf triple wrapped around my mouth and nose, I confidently and maturely responded "crazy, schmazy. Let's do this!"

Two miles later, I puffed along behind my husband, who was obviously enjoying watching my short legs and unsteady feet slogging uphill through a foot of fluffy snow. "Come on Babe, its just a little snow!" he encouraged, "I thought you loooovvveeed snow!" He drew the "loved" out in a long, taunting way that made me think that if I could only catch him I would show him how much I loooovvvee snow by introducing it to his face.

Finally, the run was over. I can run, skip, and play for over 13 miles with hardly a hint of distress, but 2.5 miles in the snow nearly kicked my ass. There was no triumphant jumping in circles shouting "I win!". Still, I finished the run, so I feel that my nemesis did not completely best me today. Snow, you may have put up a good fight today, but next time....next time.

Time Flies!!

Woah. Time flies when you're having fun, right? I can't believe I never updated here. So, I completed my first ever 1/2 marathon in Seattle in June 2011. I raised way more money for pancreatic cancer than I ever thought possible, and I totally kicked booty at the race! 2 hours 7 minutes. I thought that was pretty good, considering!

Well, the race was sooo much fun, that I did another one in Chelan just under three weeks later. Unfortunately I had strep throat, but it was still amazing! Time was 2 hours 12 minutes....I blame it on illness....and having to pee half way through. Heehee.

In August, I got invited to run the 185 mile Spokane to Sandpoint Relay with "the Paradise Hoes" a brewery team. That was an experience. Kind of like having a baby...it seemed like a pretty good idea until I got into the thick of it. It felt amazing when it was over, and I was glad I did it, but looking at it now, I'm not sure I'd do it again.

In October, I took a couple of friends with me to Leavenworth for the Oktoberfest Half Marathon. It was my favorite race yet! I was not expecting to have a very good time since much of the race was narrow sketchy trail, but we still did pretty great. I ran with a friend, and was so excited and proud to see her get through that finish line.

Nursing a hip injury, I took time off in November and December, and now I'm right back at it again, preparing for a half in March. Biggest news? As long as this body holds together, I'm aiming for a marathon in October. Yeah!!!

Other big news? I have a new running buddy. Meet Designated Decoy, my wolf protection. Wil thought I should run with a gun, but I'd probably just end up shooting my foot off. Much better running with a Doberman.