Stripped: The Experience and Exposure of Running My First Marathon

Nearly a month has passed since I completed my first marathon.  Since then, I have sat down many times with the intention of writing a post about what I learned through the process of training for and completing the 26.2.  My plan was to make a list and offer up my mistakes and successes as tools for others starting their own marathon quest, but every time I’ve started to do this I’ve gotten stuck.

I’ve gotten stuck because while I did learn many things worth sharing, I keep coming back to one key, core lesson.  So that’s what I’ve decided to share with you today.

I learned, more than any other thing, what it feels like to be stripped down to the very core of my being.  To be raw, exposed, and so completely of my self.

Here is my journey to that place.

At the start of my race, I imagine I was like many other first-time marathoners.  I had about a million and a half thoughts and feelings running through me, many of them contradictory, all of them clamoring for attention.

There was both excitement and anticipation (obviously). There was fear and apprehension (seems typical).  There was tiredness (who sleeps well the night before a big race?!), but there was also exuberant energy (thank you, adrenaline).

There were the voices of logic and reason (“Remember your training.  Don’t start out too fast.”), of pride (“I am so impressed with myself for getting here.  I am a badass.”), and of skepticism (“Who am I kidding?  I didn’t nearly train enough!”).

There was gratitude (seriously, I’m lucky to have two people here today to support me, cheer me on, and believe in my success), as well as anger (also seriously, certain other people didn’t even bother to text me good luck?!).

And more.

Then the ‘gun’ went off and over the course of 26.2 miles, it all got stripped away.

First went the adrenaline-fueled, childlike excitement.  After the first 3-4 miles, I had to let it go.  The realization sets in of what I’m doing and I know I need to be focused on the present moment, the lifting and planting of my Mizuno-clad feet.  There is no room for exuberance that hasn’t yet achieved its goal.

Next the apprehension is shaken off.  I’m here.  I’m doing it.  It’s happening.  There is no sound reason to believe I can’t finish, so get your head in the game, Rose (my last name).  You’ve started this; you’re finishing it.

Another few miles down the road and I could feel the anger slipping away.  It ate up too much energy.  It didn’t make people’s actions (or lack thereof) okay, but I needed my energy for the race.  They didn’t get to have any of it right now.

Further on goes the vanity.  Sweaty, knowing as you pass by those clicking cameras that the look on your face will be anything but attractive, but who cares?  A few bad pictures are absolutely worth the end result.

Further still, deep into the race, when inklings of pain and discomfort begin to manifest, all bravado and lingering facades are dropped.  It doesn’t matter anymore if I’m smiling at bystanders, if I’m exuding confidence, or making it ‘look easy.’  All of that has to go because all that matters is what I’m doing – one foot in front of the other, with as much speed and precision as I’m capable of.  Period.

All of this stuff, these extraneous feelings and thoughts that seem so important on so many days and in so many moments suddenly just.  don’t.  matter.

What’s left then without them?

Well, the simple, honest, and most accurate answer is just Me.

What I learned, you see, is that there is a point in a marathon when all of the expectations, the pressures, the images we create, and the faces we wear, are all gone.

All I was left with – all that I had in those moments – was the truest part of my own self.  Stripped of ego and artifice, I have never been so raw and essentially in tune with my self than I was during those last few miles.

There’s something about that – something incredible about that – testing your limits and pouring the sum of your physical and mental energy into a singular activity, for a sustained amount of time, that strips you of pretty much everything else.

And I can unequivocally say that (despite being pretty generally terrified of being exposed and vulnerable) that state of self-clarity and awareness is amazing. Completely amazing.

It teaches you; at least it taught me.

It taught me about who I am, what matters to me, and what I’m capable of (and I don’t just mean physically).  The wisdom and strength I gained from that experience is unmatched.

And while I may find another time to share what I learned about fueling and training and race day preparation, this lesson is the most valuable one I could have ever hoped to have gotten.

Why Wednesdays? – Why Libraries Are Worth Saving

A Note About This Feature:  Why Wednesdays is a Move Eat Create weekly feature determined to turn the mid-week doldrums upside down and celebrate things I love to do and blog about.  I have completed series on the topics of running, creativity, and food.  Now, I’m being a bit random and discussing whatever strikes me at the time!

 

I come across quite a few blog posts, memoirs, and other stories that reflect back on happy childhoods, filled with innocence, fun, and fond memories.  If I’m going to be honest, my childhood wasn’t really like that.  I wasn’t a happy kid.  I was generally lonely and out of sorts.  I never really felt comfortable with my peers, was often trying to escape gloominess within my home, was all around a bit awkward and entirely lacked confidence in social settings.  Now, lest you think I’m sharing this to drudge up sympathy, that’s not the case.  Rather, I’m setting the scene for you, you see.  Because, though this was the reality of my childhood, it is not the whole picture.  And, it is not the whole picture, because I had the library.

My grandparents lived right behind the library and this was probably the single best thing that could have happened for me as a kid.  From a very young age, I would head over to my grandparent’s home after school, make a quick stop to drop off my schoolbooks, and then march out the back door, hurry through the back yard, hop over the wire fence, and find myself in the parking lot of the local library.  In I went, eager and full of anticipation for the time I would get to spend there.  Forget Disneyland, the library was my happiest place on Earth.

My library had a kid’s area with a sunken floor that was carpeted with game boards.  There was a giant hop scotch laid out, a checkerboard, even chess if you were that adventurous.  My library had tables just perfectly made for leaning over, with my eyes intently flying past words on pages.  My library had a magazine area with shelves of magazines covering news, politics, fashion, and entertainment all wrapped around a fireplace and a sofa.  My library had an atrium that was lined with plants and shrubbery and let the bright Arizona sun shine in on you, without also bringing the heat of being outdoors.  My library had shelves and shelves of books that offered me endless opportunities to feed my busy little head with images and stories and information that I devoured.  And, my library had Cheryl, the librarian, who knew me by name and welcomed me as an honorary young librarian.

It was extraordinary.

I spent hours there.  I read everything.  I read fiction and non-fiction.  I read all the books for kids, but when it became apparent that my reading level and comprehension were advancing rapidly, Cheryl recommended books for older kids, young adults, and adults.  I read those, too.  I got lost in pages of worlds, both real and imaginary, and used them as fuel for my creative fire.  I wrote stories of my own – some which lived only in my head and some which manifested on paper.  Not caring yet that I was a terrible artist, I drew pictures to illustrate the stories I read and wrote.  I let my vivid imagination run wild with ideas of what the world would be like when I grew up.  I could live in any of the amazing places I had read about (New York, London, California, Amsterdam).  I went on grand adventures with Charlie Bucket, learned compassion with Shel Silverstein, survived grade school with Ramona Quimby, made sense of high school with the Wakefield twins, fantastized about love with Danielle Steele, and learned to think abstractly with Vonnegut at my side.

Whether Cheryl the librarian responded to my apparent loneliness, to my ever-growing precociousness, or both, I’m not sure, but she let me at the whole place like it was my own.  When the return bin was full of books, she swung open the half door, letting me come behind the counter where I picked up one book after another, running it’s spine along the machine until it bumped up against the edge, in order to activate the security sensors.  I loved the sound of this process.  Sliiiiidddde, Thump.  Sliiiiidddde, Thump.  She let me wheel carts of books out to the floor and put them away on the shelves alongside her, lining up the spines straight and even as we went.  She gave me old copies of magazines when their time was up.  I carted them home where I lingered over the glossy images and studied how to write copy, imagining myself in the future as an editor, rushing to meet deadlines.

When summer came around, she invited me over to the annex where I helped her put together props and prizes for the youth summer reading program.  She asked my not-so-sage advice on which games to play and what theme to feature each year.  I prepped for the event and had such pride when other kids came to the program and enjoyed the fruits of our labor.

I always felt safe there.  I always felt at home.  I always felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t been able to find anywhere else.  And I firmly believe that it is because of my experiences there, my discovery of the power of words on paper, that I developed my own creative streak.  The joy I find in a good book, in transferring my thoughts to written words, in painting images in my mind, was born in my time at this library.  As I’ve grown up, I still feel a sense of wonderment each time I’m in a library.  It’s easy for me to connect to the fact that in a relatively small, enclosed space, there exists millions of lives and stories, centuries worth of history and an abundance of prospects for the future.  I watched television and I played video games like other kids, but it was the library that taught me how to dream, how to imagine, and how to be at peace with myself (surrounded by books).

Last year, in the city that I live in now, my libraries were threatened.  Apparently, there are plenty of folks out there who don’t see the value in directing tax dollars to such a ‘luxury’.  Fortunately, Portlanders spoke up and voted to support our local library system.  Through news stories and personal accounts, I know that libraries are starting to be seen by some as a relic.  In the age of e-readers, Wi-Fi, and digital downloads, brick and mortar libraries with shelves and shelves of books may seem cumbersome.  But, for this reader and writer, they are comfort, creativity, and contentment personified.  They’re my oldest friends and my strongest inspiration.

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A Sampling of Prior ‘Why Wednesday’ Posts:

Why I Run: Crows and Tortillas

Why I Run:  The Pleasures of a Neighborhood Adventure

Why Creativity Counts: Series Recap

Why Creativity Counts:  It Connects Us

Why I Eat . . . Strictly For Myself

Why I Eat . . . Local

Why Wednesdays? – Why Creativity Counts #3: Self-Sufficiency

A Note about This Feature:  Why Wednesdays is a Move Eat Create weekly feature determined to turn the mid-week doldrums upside down and celebrate things I love to do and blog about.  Currently, the focus is on creating and creativity.

I have no illusions about being a completely independent, self-sufficient person.  I know that I will always rely on the skills and talents of others to get through my life.  When my toilet breaks, I’m calling a plumber.  When I want to travel, I’m putting myself in the hands of a trained pilot.  When my computer breaks, I’m shouting for help from Mr. Move Eat Create.  You get the idea.

But as sure as I am in the necessity of calling upon others for their abilities, I’m just as sure that stretching my own talents is useful, practical, and enjoyable.  I want to be as self-sufficient as possible.  I want to know how to do things and to not be afraid to try, for better or worse.  Drawing upon my creative-self to become more self-sufficient just makes sense for a number of reasons.

Photo credit: Daniel*1977 via photopin cc

I’m a pretty independent woman, don’t you know?  When I don’t know how to do something that (in my mind) seems simple, it upsets me.

No.  Wait.

It pisses me off.  Yes.  That’s more accurate.

So the more creative I get with my abilities; the more handy I become; the more adventurous and clever in my talents; the more independent I am and the less pissed off I am.  It’s simple, really.

When I was getting ready to turn 30 I freaked out.  I had some very serious early-mid-life crisis action going on.  And then it happened.  The big day came and I was still a mess for a bit.  Now I am 32.  In those two years, a lot has happened to change my view about being a woman in my thirties and one of the biggest factors has been reflecting upon how much I know and how many things I can do that I couldn’t do just a few years ago.

And, I undoubtedly owe most of it to finding my creative side and letting it prosper.

Things I couldn’t do in my twenties:

•             Cook. (Okay, I could make grilled cheese sandwiches and mashed potatoes.  Not exactly an extensive repertoire.)
•             Knit.
•             Sew on a button.
•             Organize a useful pantry.
•             Develop a fitness routine that kept me engaged.
•             Make a tasty cocktail.
•             See so much beauty in nature.
•             Make a homemade greeting card.
•             Make my own scented body scrub/bath salts.
•             Put together an attractive outfit from thrift store finds.

Things I can do in my thirties:

•             All of the above.
•             More.
•             Be damn proud of myself for it.

Photo credit: [ henning ] via photopin cc

I used to be envious of my obviously creative friends.  My friends who decorated their homes with their own artwork, wore clothes sewn in their dining rooms, threw beautiful gatherings on their cleverly lighted patios and painted their own furniture.  Now I just recognize that I needed more time to find my creative streak.  I was busy doing other things and that’s okay.  You know why?

I was just saving these particular adventures for this decade.  My thirties don’t look so bad anymore.

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Previous Entries in This Series:

Why Creativity Counts #2:  It Makes You Smarter

Why Creativity Counts #1:  Because It’s So Much More Than You May Think

Why Wednesdays? – Why Creativity Counts #2: It Makes You Smarter

A Note About This Feature:  Why Wednesdays is a Move Eat Create weekly feature determined to turn the mid-week doldrums upside down and celebrate things I love to do and blog about.  Currently, the focus is on creating and creativity.

Exercising the creative part of your brain is a great IQ booster.  I mean, I don’t actually have any research or statistics to present to you today to support my claim, but I’m pretty sure it’s true.  I’m CERTAIN that I could find some if you really wanted me to.

But for now, I will make this claim based on my own personal experience.  Because that’s valid in its own right . . . right?

As I see it, being creative provides me with a huge mental boost.  Making connections, thinking of things in new ways, learning new skills – all of these activities get my little neurological synapses firing away.  As someone who loves to learn and get education in various formats, I’ll also attest to the fact that exercising creativity is one of the best free (or at least low-cost) forms of education we can get. Learning in traditional environments is great, but as we get older, it’s often difficult to continue to get that sort of education.  It’s costly, we have other obligations on our time and, quite frankly, at some point, you may just learn the same things over and over again.

But, being creative – picking up a cook book, following along with an online tutorial, taking a community class, getting a book from the library on DIY – these avenues for learning are generally accessible and provide endless possibilities.  And I have no doubt that accessing these resources has increased my own mental capacity.

You want examples, eh?  No problem.  Here are a few:

Craft

You all know that I’m a knitter.  I bet non-knitters don’t realize how much math can be involved in the craft – I know I sure didn’t!  What happens when I see a pattern that makes a 22-inch circumference hat using size 8 needles and worsted weight yarn, with a cast-on of 96 stitches and I want to use DK weight yarn that I already own and make the hat for someone with a 19-inch head????  Math happens – that’s what!

Being able to make conversions such as these (and this is pretty basic one) is a great exercise in brainpower.  I have oodles of respect for knitwear designers who create complex patterns using an amazing amount of numerical-based talent.  It’s serious business.  I’m quite certain this extends to other crafts beyond knitting, as well.  Sewing, painting, drawing, sculpting, et cetera all can be improved by learning about other disciplines, such as mathematics and natural sciences.

Cooking/Baking

Cooking has taught me so much about the world.  When I’m looking at recipes and whipping up new meals, I often come across ingredients and dishes that are unfamiliar to me.  My curiosity naturally kicks in and off I go to learn about these items.  The tidbits and pieces of information that I have picked up about cultures, history (the history of certain foods – spices, salt, olive oil, etc is fascinating) and societies has enriched my general knowledge base time and time again.  And, you’d be surprised how many trivia questions you’ll be able to answer with what you learn!

Practicing Any New Creative Skill

I’ve accessed various methods for taking courses that have taught me new skills.  I’ve taken community ‘Learn to Sew’  and ‘Learn to Knit’ classes, used the Internet for online craft-related courses, and taken a local pasta making class all in the name of pursuing creative endeavors.  I haven’t become an expert at all of these things and likely never will, but I HAVE put my brain to work during each event.  Practicing a new creative skill, something that is generally unfamiliar to me, makes my brain work in different ways and builds new mental connections.  I may not be someone who enjoys making pasta dough from scratch on a regular basis, but learning about how the ingredients in dough react to one another, to temperature, to manipulation, this increases my knowledge of science.  Chemistry, my friends, was one of my least favorite subjects as a student – but teach me chemistry through food and cooking and I’ll learn more then I ever did in a high school laboratory.

These are a few examples in a whole world of creative activities that have enriched my mental capacity.  A personal goal of mine is to remember that there is always more to know.  There is always more that I can understand about the world and all of us in it.  My creative pursuits constantly help me to both feel smarter and more knowledgeable, but also remind me that I always have more to learn.

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Previous Entries in This Series:

Why Creativity Counts #1:  Because It’s So Much More Than You May Think

Why Wednesdays? – Why Creativity Counts #1: Because It’s So Much More Than You May Think

A Note About This Feature:  Why Wednesdays is a Move Eat Create weekly feature determined to turn the mid-week doldrums upside down and celebrate things I love to do and blog about.  Currently, the focus is on creating and creativity.

I’m not sure if others can relate to this, but for the longest time I was really confused about creativity.  I didn’t actually know that I was confused at the time.  In fact, I thought I had it all figured out.  I’ll take you through it.

When I was young, I learned that there were essentially two types of people.  Left-brained versus right-brained.  A-type versus B-type.  Creative versus not-so-creative.  I easily classified myself as a left-brained, type A, not-so-creative person.  I was analytical, for sure.  I was no doubt a rationale person.  A planner.  I still am.  That piece of my identity, I was not confused about.  The problem was that I had essentially learned that being such a person was mutually exclusive from being a creative person.

And learning this ‘truth’, I short-changed myself.

In elementary school, creativity occurred in art class.  Those that excelled could sketch with talent and paint with beauty.  Those that didn’t (i.e. me) slapped stuff on a paper and waited out the tortuous period, anticipating the bell to ring.

In high school, creativity occurred in electives.  There was art again.  But there was also photography, drama, and music.  My vision of what it meant to be creative expanded – but just ever so slightly.  I tried these things.  I really did.  And, I generally failed miserably.  I still couldn’t create anything beautiful from chalk or pencils or paint.  I was way too insecure and shy to get on a stage, and musical instruments were like foreign objects to me.  If it wasn’t a triangle with a little wand to hit it with, I wasn’t going near it.

By the time I reached early adulthood, I was entrenched in the mindset that I was simply not born with creative ability and would never obtain it.

It wasn’t my thing.  When I thought about it, this disappointed me, but it was something I accepted.

But oddly enough, as I moved through the world, met other people, read new things, and took different jobs, I realized just how confused I had been about what it means to be creative.  Creativity is not limited to art or theater.  Creativity is a mental process.  It’s a method of thinking and living that involves exploring new concepts, generating ideas, trying new things, and being adventurous in experimenting with thoughts and actions.

Once I understood this, it became clear to me that I am a indeed a creative person AND a type-a, left-brained, planner, too.

I’m creative when I problem-solve with clients at work about how to make their lives more safe and comfortable.  I’m creative when I wade through my apprehension to see what it feels like to work a sewing machine.  I’m creative when I see a recipe and start thinking about what spices to swap for one another and what vegetables I might want to use that aren’t included in the instructions.  I’m creative when I read a book and let my mind wander into a world of fantasy or when I generate ideas for blog post while out on a run.

I am creative all the damn time.

Seriously.

I bet you are, too. And, you may not even notice it.

My creative pursuits are most evident these days in my knitting, cooking/baking, and writing.  (By the way, I’ve always been a writer, but never thought of it as creative.  Since I generally wrote non-fiction-type things I didn’t think it counted.  Funny.)  But, as I’ve shared, it shows up all over the place.  Some of my most creative moments don’t necessarily have any tangible end-product.  Brainstorming with co-workers and solving problems with clients is a whole world of creative energy in its own right.

Moral of this story?

It took me to practice creativity in my thinking to understand what creativity really is.  Doing so has opened up a whole new sense of self and a fascinating abundance of possibilities.

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To read the previous series in this column, select the ‘Why Wednesdays’ tag in the right side column.  The prior series in this column explored the topic of running.

Updates: The Countdown Continues, Breakfast Greens, and Hooray for Learning!

Hello!  This is a quick post to share some updates on what’s been going in the Move Eat Create household.

* I am excited to say that training for my first half-marathon is progressing nicely.  The countdown is now officially at 57 days until the big event.  For the first few weeks of my training, I’ll be honest that my self-doubt was nagging at me that I may not be able to do it.  I am pleased to report that somewhere over the last week or two, I have turned a corner.  I am feeling confident about my ability not only to finish the race, but to do so with a time that I can be satisfied with.  I am by no means the fastest of runners yet, but I do seem to be continuously knocking off seconds from my average pace times, so things are looking good.  The race takes place 3 days after my birthday, so I’m also getting excited about birthday and half-marathon celebratory shenanigans!

** I recently finished reading The China Study and Eat to Live.  Both are exceptional books about nutrition and the benefits of plant-based

© Ersler | Stock Free Images & Dreamstime Stock Photos

diets.  Focusing as much on what to eat, as what not to eat, they clearly detail the many benefits of greens and have inspired me to make a change to my daily food habits.  Although I already eat quite a lot of vegetables, I have added a large bowl of leafy greens to my breakfast this week.  Simply dressed with a few sunflower seeds, salt, pepper and some flavored vinegar, citrus, or ponzu, I’ve been eating it before the rest of my breakfast items.  It has really been making a difference in my morning, as I used to start to get pretty hungry about an hour before I ate my lunch, but I’m staying more full and satiated throughout my morning.  And, I’m starting off my day with a bowl full of tasty nutrients.  I can’t beat that!

*** Have you heard about Coursera?  Several elite colleges and universities have been moving forward with finding ways to provide some of their courses available for free online.  I am super excited about this movement, as I think creating access to continued quality learning opportunities is a great thing.  Coursera is a fairly new platform for some of these opportunities and several courses are now available for registration.  I have registered for a couple of courses, starting in the fall and winter, and am interested in several more.  Learning, in just about any format, helps me feel nourished and inspired.

**** Finally, Mr. Move Eat Create’s birthday is this weekend.  I’ll be baking a birthday cake, with hopefully a good balance of indulgent goodness and wholesome goodness, too!  I’ll report back on this one, I’m sure.
Happy Friday!