Where is my Speed?

I have been looking everywhere for my speed. Let me clarify right now that I am about as straight edge as they come, so what I am referring to has nothing to do with illicit substances. I am desperately searching my fast pace. Where is it?

I tried to find it in Anaheim recently. With an hour a day for lunch break during a week of meetings, I would dash up to my hotel room, change and hit the streets around Disneyland. Of course, the stoplights proved challenging (city running, ugh!). Also, it was hot, by my far north coast standards. Also, there was almost a constant stream of second hand smoke. Everyone seems to smoke in Anaheim. Excuses abound.

I surely was not going to find it on my run last weekend along the Pacific Crest Trail. This is not a terrain for speed. Switch backs, steep, vertigo-inducing drop offs, 17% grades to climb. Oh, and did I mention my issues with heat?

I looked for it yesterday, but it was not to be found on the steep trails of my forest. It showed me a faint glimpse of itself on the downhill of Fickle Hill Rd, but downhills don't really count. It was like a shadowy presence at the marsh, sometimes in plain view but quickly disappearing when I turned a corner to find 25 mph winds pushing into my face.

Speed Shadow, Marsh, 10/31/12

I strongly dislike whining, and therefore should by all rights delete everything I just wrote. Last night, in between shoveling candy into the hands and pillow cases of other people's children, I was chatting with my oldest kid, also a runner. I told her, "I cannot seem to find my speed." Says she: "Its OK Mom. Plus, you are training for a 50 mile run so endurance is really important right now." This is the same kid who shouted at me as I whizzed past her when we were out biking (she was about 8 years old at the time),  "Remember Mommy! Slow and steady wins the race!"

This is also the kid who could whoop my butt in a road race right at the moment.

Running is my meditation, so speed does not matter.
Running is for my health, so speed does not matter.
Running allows me to gaze upon beauty, to smell the eucalyptus after the rain, to greet my fellow humans without the ton of automobile steel encasing me, to feel my heart strongly pumping and to find bliss in a cold glass of chocolate milk at the end of a hard workout.

It lets me see stuff like this:

Marsh Run, 10/31/12

Still. I want my speed back. 

Where is it?????

Perfection

Running, Moss Beach Cliffs, October 2012

"Here's to the journey ahead. Cheers!"-Morgan Uceny

My idea of the perfect time to run is a fall day, with the sun out but with that crispness in the air that says that summer is fading away. The air smells especially clean in the clear skies after a rain. The variegated leaves crunch satisfyingly underfoot. Geese sing in a V-shaped overhead choir. Slug-dodging season starts in earnest.

Recent runs along the central coast lacked the crispness, but held another typical California autumn gift, with warm and stunning sunshine, not a hint of fog, and the last rasps of wind through golden-grassed hills not yet touched by the winter rains. I found myself on miles of dirt trails with a fog horn blaring for no apparent good reason. I was running above the surf, dreaming of how it will feel next September to be in such a setting but with 50 miles to cover, saying to myself, "well that felt good...only 42 miles to go!"

Perfection in running is a moment by moment thing. I felt fairly perfect for the first 10 miles of the Philadelphia marathon, then my body rebelled, and that was that. For me, it was disappointing but not devastating. I often wonder how the elites deal with heartbreak and the imperfection of bodies, race conditions, psychological well being, and dumb luck. Morgan Uceny should have medaled in the 1500m in the olympics. But she fell. Again.

Life is hard right now. As hard as I've seen. Perfection isn't even on the radar. I'm not even sure it would qualify for the seconds pile with an "as is, no returns" tag attached.

My coach once said running prepares you for the hard things in life. I used to think this meant the pain of running makes you tough. But I now think he meant that all you can do is lace up your shoes every day and do your best.

I guess if you are one of those barefoot runners, those will have to be metaphorical shoes.

Here's to the journey ahead!

Paths, Pathos, Pathology

As I slowly get back into shape after some time away from running, I find myself choosing my paths carefully. Recovering from injury, I am craving softness, not concrete. Recovering from a cold that made my lungs feel like their very soul had been sucked out of them, I find the hills of my forest daunting. It is the thing my coach used to call "sucking air" that has humbled me into seeking straight, flat, gentle paths on which to run. Today, that was around and around the spongy soft green fields of our local community center and gym. It earned me time alone with my iPod, and a nice wave from the groundskeeper, whom I have known since our kids were tykes and used to hang out with each other.

Meanwhile, I also find myself, having recently celebrated my day of birth (in bed, with soul-sucking cold), at a crossroads. Or maybe 5 crossroads, which makes for a very complicated and confusing intersection. God only knows which way I should turn, and although I've asked for maybe just a small clue, so far no mystical road signs have appeared.

I do notice that my desire for truth and clarity is at an all time high. Otherwise put, my bullshit threshold is at an all time low. Doctors (and piano students) are notoriously people pleasers. We live for being told we are doing well. Ironically pathological, if one stops to think about it for a moment.

Things I have learned in my 43 years:
-You can't please anyone, particularly between the ages of 11-15 and if their name is followed by the letters "M.D."
-Heartbreak abounds
-Music, running, and good company helps
-If you stand up suddenly or do the Valsalva, the murmur of Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy will be accentuated.

I cannot seem to find exactly the most pleasing path in life, so I might choose more than one, such as:
a long walk in France
a long trail run
a long shot

One thing for sure: next week I am taking a long vacation.
Well, really only 5 days, but with my husband, to celebrate 20 years on this path together.

"Wing": is it about not needing people at all or is it about not needing people to validate you? Or is it about life after death? Or freedom in the moment of letting go of all that ails you?
These questions would leave Patti Smith in hysterics, I am sure.

Oh, something else I HAVE learned:
Johnny Depp can play the guitar. And he has nice forearms.

Balance, and Other Windmills

My Dad (right) and friend, circa long ago

"I have nothing to say
 I am saying it, and that is poetry,
 as I needed it."
-John Cage



I am not now, nor will I ever be a minimalist. I believe I am a romantic. I am unreasonably expansive between moments of painful introversion. I think if one can run a mile, they can run 100 miles. I think Beethoven is sublime and Shostakovich subtly rebellious. I state the obvious, then say it again. I read books multiple times and I nag my children over and over about the same things. My bedside is piled high with books, and my desk with papers. I detest clutter yet cannot function without it. And I believe barefoot and minimalist shoes runners have some kind of magical superpowers. However, it turns out I need Shoes, with a capital S.

I was going to run the Prefontaine 10K this weekend, as I will be in Coos Bay anyway driving XC kids to their meet. But thanks to my Nike frees (super cute, super light) I am sidelined with injury. Oh, I will run again and soon, but this being the 3rd time I have tried minimalist shoes and hurt myself, I am starting to wonder about my judgment. Though in my heart I think it is more a sign of my undying devotion to this sport and my belief that deep inside I am really an 85 pound Kenyan marathoner.

Recently a friend of mine took up running, and has become quite good at it. He has invited me to share my running data on Strava. My quest for simplicity may not mesh with strapping my Garmin watch on and keeping track of every detail, then sharing it on line. Also, I get roped into running faster than intended when my watch keeps telling me my current pace, looking at me with its cold, judgmental, heartless watch face. It punishes me whenever I stop to tie a shoe or snap a photo with my iPhone, telling me my pace is slower than molasses, prompting me to speed up until it looks like I am running reasonably fast, only to find out when it recalibrates at the next mile that I am now breaking the world record marathon pace. Which is both maddening and reassuring, because:
1) I am using the watch to try to keep my pace in check, not push it to the point of ridiculous
and
2) I was starting to wonder if I was having a heart attack.

I do suppose I will sign up for Strava. For one thing, I am a sucker for data. Also, I love having goals. Plus, I am repeatedly humiliated by this particular friend when playing Words with Friends, and running is something I might actually have a prayer in as a competitor. Though at the rate he is going, that may not last long.

I am not a minimalist. I make things too complicated and I worry much too much. But I thrive when my family and friends and workmates are near me and doing well. Balance in life is a Quixotic quest, but I do think the reason I am attracted to the romantic composers and the ultra long running is to counterbalance the extremes found in my work. It is a little like carrying a pail of water on a long stick: center the burden in the middle and find a good friend to share the load. In some ways, it is kind of simple.

A Job to Be Done

Banana Slug by Moonlight. Van 2, PTC relay 8/2012

The kids are back in school. Ambivalence meets excitement meets mourning a summer gone meets the widening of the social circle, that last thing being highly beneficial for the teen of the species. And, of course, it is fall, thus cross country season.  Cross country season! CROSS COUNTRY SEASON!

I ran today, just easy for 45 minutes. I am calling it my official first day of training for the 50 mile ultra next year. Here's my plan: run far, and get faster. While running today I did not devise anything more definitive than that. But I did contemplate the thing I did/witnessed this weekend. This thing was on my top 10 list of the most memorable, inspiring things I have done in my life. And I didn't even run.

This is what I am talking about:

With 12 teenagers, 3 adults and me. Also 2 banana slugs (see above picture), named James and Marlene. Locals will know why.

There are no words, but of course I will need to try to word-paint a picture:
Life changing, exhausting, and hilarious. 2 days in a van with smelly, wonderful kids. Surreal visions, surreal conversations. Chaos. A primal scream at pre-dawn. A sky heavy with stars and the milky way. Fierce competition softened by teenage pop music. Singing children to wakefulness on a field in the cold, wee hours of the morning. Watching children who are really just about adults feel blissful and sure of themselves.
Two quotes:
First, when my iPod was turned on to entertain the van: "Elvis Costello? Did he play with Lawrence Welk?"
Second, and this one came more than once: "This is the most amazing thing I have ever done in my life!"

But my favorite quote is one that could be found in a Zen manual or it could be a quote from Atticus Finch. It moved me near to tears while also making me laugh. I think I will use it in my own life, for night shifts, for tough parenting days. And for 50 mile runs. This quote came after a predawn leg of the relay, from a very tired young woman who left a warm sleeping bag, strapped on a head lamp and ran, fast, into the dark.

"I just told myself: There is a job to be done."

Eat, Pray, Run

Tomorrow I leave with 3 other brave adults and 12 near adults (teenagers, high schoolers, cross country runners) for Portland. For a 129 mile high school relay. More on this later.

Today I did medicine. With a break for lunch in the doctor's lounge. I literally could NOT eat the vegetarian burger puck, nor anything else, except a carton of chocolate milk. Chocolate milk can be the perfect food, but in this case it was like the only actual food in the room.  Meat and meat-substitute pucks play starring roles in doctor's lounges and public school cafeterias. They do not seem to ruffle inspectors and they don't take much preparation. Here's the weird thing: we have an overabundance of food in our society. So why do we eat non-food?

I am reading this book by Scott Jurek called Eat and Run. He is an ultramarathoner. Also a vegan. He runs fast, far. Really, really, really far. Scott Jurek might be over the top. I have not decided yet, though I do not suppose this is for me to decide. I understand his drive and passion.

It seems obvious, how we are what we consume. My patients who eat too much get sick. My patients who drink too much get sick. My patients who eat too little get sick. And it goes beyond food. Good literature and art feeds the heart and brain. Great music is like protein or manna from heaven or that canteen of water after a walk in the desert. Spiritual sustenance is more personal, but for some a turning away from spirit can manifest in scurvy of the soul and rickets of the religious center of balance. And physical motion? Physician is derived from words meaning nature, or the art of healing, or to bring forth or produce or to exist or grow. Fitness is derived from words meaning competence, being suitable, being qualified. Our physical nature and our fitness is essential. Until it isn't, and then thank goodness for good books and good music. And good food. And when we can no longer directly enjoy any of these things, we can feed upon our memories.

Nothing a Music Festival and More Than 5 Seconds Off Can't Cure

"Running prepares you for the hard things in life"-my middle school cross country coach


Like Jack Nicholson, if I don't play run, things can get ugly. I have not, so far, noticed my kids writing messages on the mirror or talking with their index fingers, so I believe their is yet hope. Also, I am pretty sure I have found the cure:
A MUSIC FESTIVAL AND MORE THAN 5 SECOND OFF. warning: side effects include giddiness, sore dancing muscles, San Francisco fog fright, grass stains on your favorite jeans, and fainting when Jack White goes on stage.

The magnitude of suffering I've witnessed in the past 20 days of work is, well, big. Big enough for me to realize how stupid it is to feel sorry for myself that I am exhausted to the bone and that I have not had a chance to run more than once or twice in all of those days. Running is a good way to prepare for suffering but ironically, without it, my own suffering increases.

My fatigue is so deep in the bones that my youngest kid has reversed our roles: each night she has arrived at my bedside to give me a hug goodnight and tuck me in, as I am already half asleep under the covers well before her summer self would consider such a destination. I feel almost sick, and have started worrying maybe I am. This too is a danger in my profession. You can take a bruise and make it leukemia, or a tummy ache and make it carcinomatosis. But I think I have my diagnosis, and did I mention also a cure?

My Mom died 16 years ago this week. I have told several people they have a potentially terminal illness in the past 2 weeks. I touched someone's pulsating brain. I have taken the wrath of stressed out colleagues and the sadness of families bent over in grief. I miss a friend and mentor who recently died suddenly. I resigned one of my jobs, as 3 seemed too many, but I liked it and it was my only source of health insurance. I miss my children and husband. I have eaten way too much doctor's lounge "food".
I could use a run.

And this: