Running Into (and through) the Rain

Or is it running into (and through) the pain?  Last Friday, for me, it was both at the same time.

I think a year or more of built up tears and sadness hit me with a sneak attack.  Not that I haven't had the occasional cry, but not as often as you might think.  Fear of sinking too far down has kept me from allowing myself to go there.

There were some contributing factors to my recent meltdown - feeling like there isn't enough time in the day to get it all done, ups and downs at work, financial woes, a more rigorous training schedule than I'm used to, the rain, the gray and dismal day, the holidays rapidly approaching, the picture-perfect Christmas cards, the quiet house - all with underpinnings of grief and an emptiness that is subtle, yet relentless.

But how I faced the meltdown - that's what I want to focus on today.  After giving into the tears for a while, paging through my wedding album, and crawling into bed for five minutes - that's when three powerful influences came to mind: the book I'm reading, a blog post written by a Texas 4000 rider earlier in week, and music.  That's what got me out of bed and out into the rain for an emotional 7-mile run.  My longest, to date, since my half marathon a year and a half ago.

I recently downloaded Chrissie Wellington's "A Life Without Limits" on Audible for inspiration to kick off my Half Ironman training.  Of course I had never heard of her before, but Chrissie's story sounded like one of personal triumph, so I gravitated toward it.  She is most widely known for showing up on the Ironman scene, practically out of nowhere, and taking it by storm.  Not much of an athlete as a child and haunted early on by eating disorders, she surprised herself and the world when she quickly rose to four-time Ironman world champion as a young adult.  

In case you don't know, an Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, and a 26.2 mile marathon - back to back to back.  I will be aiming to do half those distances on April 13th for my first Half Ironman.  I've been listening to how Chrissie trained through painful injuries, times of personal loss, intense weather of all kinds, personal doubt ... all while building strength, endurance, mental fitness, self-confidence, and resiliency.  Something else that draws me to her is her charitable involvement and use of her fame as a platform for social change.  She embodies this Nelson Mandela quote: 

“Sport has the power to change the world.  It has the power to inspire. It has the power to unite people in a way that little else does. It speaks to youth in a language they understand. Sport can create hope where once there was only despair.”

Which brings me to the second reason I got out of bed and into the rain for my run... Courtney Schutze's blog post from earlier in the week.  Courtney is a 2014 Texas 4000 rider preparing to cycle from Austin to Anchorage this summer in memory of her father.  Courtney lost her dad to cancer six months ago, and on that anniversary she shared some powerful thoughts on grief and moving forward that resonated with me:

"(My counselor) helped me realize that everyone grieves in different ways, but you don’t lose somebody and all the sudden become a completely different person. It is not like me to fall and crumble and not be able to get up, so that is not how I am going to grieve. Today as I thought more about (that) I became more and more content with how I am grieving. The pain of losing my father is real and it’s tragic, but I don’t have to also live a life that is completely consumed with pain and tragedy. I want to grieve through joy and happiness; I want to grieve through positivity and light. It honors my father more to be happy and seize the day than to spiral into a sea of sadness focusing on the time we have been apart.  

Grief is not mathematical, there isn’t a formula that tells you how long it will take, how much it will hurt, or how you will react. I do think there is a secret to it though; you have to find a way to create something positive out of all the negatives, to find a way to pick yourself up when there is no reason you should. Texas 4000 has been my secret. Everyday I am reminded of how blessed I am to have a place to give my dad’s fight purpose. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t get to do something that helps in the fight against cancer. Words can’t express how much of a difference it can make in the grieving process when you have something positive to hold on to, to be a part of. Time will go by but there are things that will stay the same: my love for my dad, the immense amount I miss him, and the way I will choose to grieve the loss of him."

I draw inspiration daily from Courtney, her teammates, their stories, and the mission of Texas 4000.  I know how blessed I am to find infinite purpose in my job.  Part of why I'm training 4,000 miles this year and participating in a Half Ironman is because it gives me something to hold on to and to be a part of.  I'm pushing myself physically and mentally while raising money for cancer research, but I'm gaining purpose, sanity, strength, and motivation along the way.  

Which brings me to last Friday when I thought about Chrissie and Courtney and decided to get out of bed, put on my sneakers, and set out into the rain for my long run.  Instead of putting on my usual "pump up" playlist, I turned to my "Remembering Ruben" playlist to accompany me.  Many of the songs are slow, but they are filled with memories and meaning.  While this music evoked tears, it also brought unparalleled beauty to the experience.

I love this quote, but I think that I was running INTO the rain (and pain) as much as, if not more so, than running AWAY from anything.  Trust me, I have a long list of distractions I use when I don't want to hurt/feel/cry/remember.  This was more of a conscious choice to embrace all of that - to bring it with me - to work through it.  As I made my way around Town Lake Trail, I let it all flow through me.  Not surprisingly, it was an emotional run.  But there were moments when I looked up with a smile and a laugh, because that's where the song and the memory took me.  

Another train of thought during the run led me to recognize how much I've changed over the years.  Of course this is true on so many levels and due to a host of various influences and circumstances.  But one particular recollection was of my high school track days.  I joined track because our school dropped the gymnastics team and I didn't know what else to do with my time that season.  I figured I could probably jump, but I hated running.  In fact, on more than one occasion when directed to do a "long run" of a whopping three miles, I went to a friend's house within walking distance to watch TV and eat cookies.  We would splash our faces with water (to look like sweat) and timed our return perfectly so the coach wouldn't be suspicious.  I would do anything to get out of a run back then, and even in more recent years.  It's a minor miracle that I'm working toward tacking a 13.1 mile run to the end of a 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile bike ride.  By choice.  And loving every step in the journey.

I took this photo from the walkway under the Mopac bridge during my run.  You can hardly see them, but there are two swans crossing the lake in the rain.  To me, this symbolizes the fact that I'm never alone, no matter what I'm wading through.  The second swan changes identities in my mind, sometimes from moment to moment - it often starts as Ruben, but changes to a dear friend, a family member, a Texas 4000 rider, a new partner, a power greater than myself.  Whoever or whatever it may be, I am not alone and I am not without hope.

Learn more about my journey to 4,000 miles and how to support my efforts.  I have currently raised $525 toward my $11,000 goal and have trained 341 of my 4,000 miles.  I still have lots of work left to do on both fronts between now and September 30, 2014!