what i mean is all i need is a little emotion

Funny how I used to despise running on the mountain. Now it's become my little (big?) sanctuary. There's no denying that the 15 minutes STEEP STEEP hilly run to get to the mountain is a pain in the ass--I don't think I'll ever like that one. And the fact that it gets death-defyingly steep at the very end--when your quads are all WTF ARE YOU DOING--is just brutal.

But once you're on the mountain, it's gravel roads, thick greenery and various dirt/rock trails intertwining. It really is something. I run to the lookout a lot--the place near the top of the mountain that gives you the best view of downtown Montreal.

Of course, I look crazy there. It's a place a lot of people go to for dates. It seems really romantic until you make it a stop along your workout path, but whatever.

There's a trail that leads right to the center of the lookout. So everybody's dressed snazzy and smelling nice, making lovey eyes at each other--and every night at the same time I trip and spastically flail my way out of the trail (that last tree root always gets me) red-faced, heaving, sweating, hands-on-knees in short shorts and a tank top. I'm sure it literally looks like the forest just spat out this crazy-lookin', curly haired, gleamin' eyes goon from the deep. They all just cease what they're doing and stare at me while I gasp for air--it never fails. Everytime, I scare the hell out of everyone.

I'm like the creature from the deep. Loch Ness of the forest. Only it's not a forest. It's the Monument trail. But they don't know that.

After a short pause I guzzle some water, inevitably snort because I get some up my nose, and trot off. It leaves everyone quite confused.

I AM GLAMOROUS.

Although I suppose the trail got its revenge on me today. I was pretty fixated on a particularly large tree root and rock about 50 metres ahead. I was doing a tempo run, so I was keeping a pretty fast pace. I was so focused on getting ready to leep over the big rock, that I failed to notice the little one. My toe caught and I went flying ONTO the big rock. I crushed my hand pretty good and my right knee is totally banged up and scraped. Ho hum.

I don't feel very girly anymore. It's kind of depressing me. I'm always in work out gear. My hair never stays nice because I tie it up when I'm running and I'm always running. And because I'm always running I also don't wear make up. My legs are big. My shoulders ache.

Boo.

i am capable of really anything

When did my life become one giant training log? Jeez. Sometimes I look at the upcoming week's workouts and my stomach sinks with dread. It can all get pretty overhwelming sometimes. Nobody enjoys running fast intervals up a steep hill. But then I flip through my actual training diary and see myself getting faster and stronger--better times, higher pace, and I think it's all worth it.


It's strange to think that I'm actually running a lot LESS, distance wise, than I was before-but my runs now are so much more challenging. Hills and intervals and fast fast fast pace. I'm adding stuff to the workout plan, too. I know my coach knows what he's talking about, but when he puts "40-minute jog" on my workout plan, I'm not going to do that. I'm going to do an hour easy jog with a few intervals at the end. It can't hurt.

I came to a realization the other day that I haven't come to in awhile.

I like to run. That thought has evaded me for almost 3 months now. Before I joined the team I got into a pretty serious running rut--I hated the daily drudgery. I lost my will to do it, I no longer looked forward to it anymore. But running in the mountain, listening to my feet and my own rhythmic breathing(I leave my iPod at home now), I've re-discovered my joy for it. Running is fun for me. That's why, 6 years ago, I laced up my shoes a second time. And a third. And a fourth.

A lot of people don't talk about the weird things that happen to your body though, when you run a lot. Like, run a lot. I addressed a lot of these issues with my coach because y'know, it freaked me out. But apparently it's all normal.

And I want to be real so let's TALK ABOUT THIS.

First off, you get struck with sudden, panicky bouts of thirst where you feel like you'll melt if you don't consume a litre of water RIGHT NOW. The thirst gets so bad that it will wake you up at night. I have bottles of water stashed in my car, in my room, and in every purse.

You get wicked cravings for salt. Wicked cravings, and I hate salt. You sweat so much running that a million bottles of Gatorade don't have enough sodium to replenish your supply, and craving salty foods is your body's way of letting you know it needs something.

That's another thing, too. You start to crave weird things, like a pregnant lady. Pickled beets. Sesame crackers--and I hate those darned things glued together with honey. But now I can't get enough. Coach says to always, always let your body have what it craves. Runners have this insane ability to always put mind over matter--running is damn painful--so when your body wants something insane, you have to follow it and heed it's demand. It's your body's way of trying to tell you you're not getting enough of something. For instance--those sesame crackers? Wicked huge sugars in them. But I don't eat dessert and sugars are still a form of carb that your body needs as fuel. Not a good carb to get too much of, but you still need some.

You fall asleep. Everywhere. I used to be an insomniac. Sleep is your body's way of repairing itself--muscle fibers, tissues, everything is regenerated when you're asleep. Train yourself into the ground and you'll have a lot of repairing to do.

You'll feel enough pain to eventually just go numb. Accumulated tiredness and fatigue is what ends up getting a runner in the end. You can sprint up a hill all you want for two, three days. By the fourth day, you're lucky if you can clear a mile. The fifth day, you don't even know your own name. A constant ache has been ever-present in my quads, hamstrings, shoulders and hips since I started running competitively. It just always hurts. I look like an old lady when I get up from a chair or climb the stairs. Everything is sore and tender--but you learn to get over it. Because in the end, you have two choices: you can dwell on the pain, or you can shut up and pretend it doesn't hurt. It's sure as hell not going away, so why dwell on it?

Saying that you're constantly hungry is an understatement. After my run yesterday, I had two humongous bowls of pasta for dinner. An hour after that, I was hungry again so I had a chicken sandwich. Half an hour later, when I was ravishing, I had a bagel and cottage cheese before bed. This morning, I woke up feeling as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. Food is digested in a half hour flat, and you're starving again.

Your body starts to do weird things, some of which are gross, some are not. That ankle never cracked like that before. Was my pinky toe always blue? My quad never bulged like that. The skin on your toes isn't skin anymore, it's rough, rubbery, leathery callouses that are pretty gross to touch. It's like rawhide. And let's face it--you've got sweaty, techno-fabric rubbing tightly against your skin for extended periods of time in extreme heat. That's going to cause some issues. My sports bras started irritating the hell out of the inside of my arms, where it rubs as I run. You know what I had to do? I had to go out and buy lube. I'm not even kidding. It's called Body Glide. It's a special sports lube. But still. Ew. The guys on my team wear nipple guards.

My muscles twitch like crazy when I sleep. Rather violently, too. A lot of the time my own thrashing will wake me up. It's odd, but it's fast-twitch fibers repairing and cells regenerating and just sheer power and energy trying to expend and rest. I pity the next person I share a bed with.

You start to hear your own heartbeat--and I mean hear it. Anymore, I get kinda nervous when a place goes really quiet because I can hear my own heart beating, and I'm wondering if anybody else does. The heart gets so much stronger when you push it. It beats slower, but it beats with authority. I can feel it in my chest now, and I can often hear it when I lie down at night.

SO, all in all, being an athlete is kind of gross. And I'm trying to say that more. I'm an athlete. I never thought I was one and I still have qualms with saying it, but I think it's good for my confidence and self-image if I stop denying that I am one.

she's gonna get her way

We ran the timed mile tonight.

The mile is one of the toughest distances ever to race because it's too short to pace yourself, but too damn long to sprint the whole way through. It's 4 times around most track circuits. You can sprint one lap. All of a sudden, you're starting the second lap and you're winded. The third lap, you want to die. The fourth lap you run the life right out of you, and promptly heave when you're done.

I have no pride left, so let me just say I got owned again.

Going in, I had a goal not to come in last.

I totally came in last. I came in last by half the damn track--a good 200 feet. It was pretty degrading. We were split into two groups, the faster guys and the "slower" ones. The fast guys went first and were jogging slow laps around the track while we went at it. They kept cheering me on and saying "Keep at it Lisa!" and "You're almost there!" but it made me feel even worse because it was pity cheering.

Pity cheering is really discouraging.

I came in dead last, but man did I run my heart out on that one. I gave it everything I had and held nothing back.

I'm pretty sure the coach has no idea what to make of me. I suck, there's really no hiding that, but at the same time I am damn determined. Usually people that really suck get discouraged enough and quit, go on to something else. I'm still hanging around, getting my ass handed to me on a daily basis and maintaining a semi-positive outlook.

Oh well. I have heart, you have to give me that. It had rained for awhile and we run on a dirt track. By the time we were done, everybody was sweaty and covered head to toe in mud. Running back downtown from the track covered in dirt and grime and sludge, I felt more like a runner than I had in years.

And the good news about this running process is that the more I do it, the better I will become. Barring injury, if I run like this for a few weeks, I am not going to get worse.

The tough part is keeping it up for the next few weeks. It's a really, really tough workout. But I'll get there.I may not have the lungs or the legs or the V02 maxx or the anaerobic capacity--yet.

But I have the heart. And so help me god, that's all I need.

"I may never be the fastest runner, but I can always be the hardest worker."

in between the moon and you

Self realization #287492838:

I love, love, love swanky hotels.

Make no mistake, I can totally slum it. I backpacked across Europe for three weeks, sleeping in overnight trains and youth hostels across Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Rome, France, Austria--everywhere. There's something really earthy and neat about travelling on a penny.

But man, there is something about a ritzy, luxurious hotel that makes me swoon. I've loved hotels since I was a kid, but the really plush ones give me such a thrill that it's shameful. This all started awhile ago, but I think it intensified when I went to Halifax a few weeks ago. After two nights of sleeping on the wooden-board-lke beds in residence at Dalhousie University, I checked into the Marriott all alone. The giant, soft, feathery beds with a million pillows and blankets, the giant rainfall showers...ohhh all of it.

I can't wait to get out of this city again and just drive into the sunset. If all things go according to plan and exams don't get in the way, I'll be leaving on Friday.

here comes that sun again

Every once in awhile I let my total fear of success consume me and I stay paralyzed in my comfortable, naive state.

And other times I kick my fear in its proverbial balls and dive headfirst into something that I really haven't thought about adequately.

I haven't decided which is a better way to live. Yet. Maybe I'll learn the hard way.

I bit the bullet and earned a spot on the ConU track & cross-country running team.

Me. A varsity athlete. It's weird to think about it.

I was pretty psyched about it earlier today when I heard back from the coach, but the more I thought about it all day, the more I became consumed with the thought of oh god, what have I done?

I know I can run. I know I can run for long distances. But despite this, I do not consider myself a runner nor any form of athlete.

And the more I contemplate it, the more I am overhwlemed with the feeling of dread that accompanies a person who is now in way over their head.

I am not a fast runner. And now I'm going to be running races. After thoroughly breaking down my current running workout with the coach, he reassured me that I was at the perfect fitness level to start training with the team, and that they'd help me build my speed up.

But still. Pace and intervals and exhausting timed runs Mondays and Wednesdays. 15km jogs through downtown Tuesdays and Thursdays. What if the jog is too fast? What if I can't keep up?

Then again, that's the whole point. The reason I joined the team was to challenge myself in the realm of running. Running was becoming monotonous, boring, and it never felt like I was working very hard.

I fully expect to be kneeled over, barely conscious, hurling into a grabage bin at the end of every workout with the team next week. And I'm a rare breed, because that thought appeals to me.

People are afraid to push their limits anymore. You're always hearing "go easy" or "don't push yourself." Why not? If you push your body, it will respond. What's the worst that can happen? You push so hard that you're physically sick at the end of the race? Okay, there's a garbage bin and a bottle of soothing Gatorade waiting for you. The pain will last a maximum of ten minutes. You run so hard that you collapse and pass out at the end? Okay--your coach will get you to come 'round again.

People are just afraid of pain, and in a way, afraid of their own success.

So I'm going to give it a shot. And a week from now, maybe I'll decide I suck and hang up my running shoes forever.

Or maybe I'll discover another small piece of myself.

it's so hard to do and so easy to say

It figures that as soon as I adopt a love-and-learn outlook, an issue with a boy would arise that has me thinking I'm crazy for believing boys are anything but dumb scumbags. The whole lot of them. Not a one seems to be any different from the dirtbag beside him.

It will pass.

Running over 100 miles a week is as gruelling as it sounds, but I'm trying to listen to my body more. I'm really making an effort.

I'm all for pushing yourself and your limits, defying boundaries and self-imposed limitations. Be better than yourself. Push your body, don't be afraid of pain--the human body is an evolving device. If you push it, it will respond.

But today, one kilometre into my run and my legs felt heavy like cement. My brain said "Yeah, we're done for today" and for once, I listened to it. I stopped and walked back home.

I'm trying not to beat myself up over it. The insane amount of guilt I feel over an incompleted run is something that needs to stop. The world will not end if I only ran one kilometre instead of 20 today. If I'm going to be brutally honest, the world still won't end if I only ran 3 out of 7 days next week. But putting the doomsday tag on the daunting task I complete everyday makes it seem more vital to my existence than optional.

Because if it was optional, I probably wouldn't do it.

Plans tonight include a Dairy Queen drive thru by the water with friends. And I'm not going to beat myself up over that, either.

The world isn't going to end if I indulge every once in awhile.

i want to wake up where you are

I am going to make a conscious effort to not take life so seriously. That's such a weakness of mine because I tend to get so caught up in the whirlwind that I completely forget to take a step back once in awhile and remind myself that it doesn't matter nearly as much as I think it does.

I'm too serious. Too regimented and concerned with the facts and truth in life that I feel like I've lost a lot of the little kid in me. That zest for life and carefree attitude--I need more of that.

Everything is so structured with my training regimen that I feel like I'm a clock sometimes. Eat this an hour before my run, drink this amount of fluid 30 minutes before, run, eat this many grams of carbohydrates after. Food isn't food but it's now fuel for the machine.

That really sucks.

I want to eat a massive piece of cheesecake. And I want to eat just because I want to eat it. I want to indulge more.

I'm going to remember what it feels like to spend hours on a swingset. What it feels like to lick an ice cream cone only to have the big ball of delicious ice fall smack on your foot, and to laugh uncontrollably about it.

I want to prance around in flip flops and play tag and stop worrying so much about the evil, hidden intentions of boys, what they really meant when they said what they said, if they're trying to trick me, if they're really a douchebag disguised as a nice guy who will viciously break my heart.

I want to fall in the fun, kiddie type of love. Not caring about someone's intentions or hidden motives. Taking things at surface value---taking people at surface value--and trusting that what they're presenting is a true reflection of who they are. And if it's not, sour grapes. But why assume that right from the start?

I'm going to stop being so guarded and experience things for what they really are--an adventure. A learning lesson. A stepping stone.

An experience.