"You're from the East Coast. You should be used to this," said Sally, one of my race companions, as she watched me shivering in my thin running pants and shirt.

Pasadena Rock n Roll half marathon. My first race of the year. My second race ever.  

Sally had picked me up at my house at 5:15 and we got our third companion, Suzanne, right after. By the time we got to the Rose Bowl at 6 a.m. it was still dark as night. We found a parking spot about 20 feet in front of the porta-potty row and the three of us alternately huddled in the car, seat heaters on high, and stood in line for the bathroom as the sky turned from black to deep blue to pre-dawn pastels.

Maybe there is something to the "your blood gets thinner out here" thing I'd heard when I first moved to LA six years ago, or maybe I've just gone soft. Either way, I was damn cold on Sunday morning as we waited for the race to kick off. I wore my thin Lululemon running pants (black with a yellow stripe, for you fashionistas out there) and my favorite running shirt (long sleeved, but the wicking material makes it great in any temp between 45 and 70). The forecast was for sunny blue skies, lows in the 40s and a high at noon of 70. I had figured it would be around 60 when I crossed the finish line at 9:30.

In many ways, my experience for this race was different from the half marathon I ran in October. Back in the fall I was scared and excited enough that I tried to do everything "right". I had trained well and felt really strong by race week. In the days leading up to the race, I ate well and got plenty of sleep. My boyfriend came with me and took care of the driving/parking logistics which, for me, can be a prime anxiety-inducing project. 

The main difference between then and now was the prep. I hadn't trained as well for this race. I did a 12-mile training run two weeks ago, but right now I'm just not *as* strong as I was in the fall. My weekly mileage hasn't hit 25 yet, and I haven't run 100 miles in a single month since October. Just considering my lower mileage, I knew I'd run this race a little slower. Also, the course for the Pasadena Rock n Roll is much hillier than the Los Angeles race was in October. I actually like hills, and was looking forward to the pretty scenery, but I knew they'd slow me down a little. I ran the fall race in 1:58:01. I suppose there's a little spark inside me that wants to keep getting faster, but I went into this one hoping I would clock in under 2:05:00. 

Despite going in feeling a little defeated about my anticipated timing, I was excited about the event. It felt like an adventure to carpool down to the race with Sally and Suzanne. They are inspiring to me - both have run a gazillion half-marathons and a few fulls, and have a great attitude about them all. We run at different paces so I hung around with them until it was time to find our corrals and then made a plan to meet up at the beer garden afterwards. I ate a Chocolate #9 and took a last sip of water and then shivered over to Corral 3 where I found a place to stand near the Elvis posse.

The Star Spangled Banner started at 7:20, then the first corral went out at 7:30. I crossed the start line at 7:32 and tried to find my own pace among the runners. Pasadena was a lovely course. Beautiful craftsman houses, canopied tree branches over the street. Curving hills. Shady and quiet with just the pitter patter of running feet, sounding like rain drops on the asphalt under the clear blue sky.

There weren't a lot of spectators out for the first part, but it was so inspiring around mile 3 to see two runners holding hands - one of them with Down Syndrome. I lost my Elvis posse pretty early and only saw them once again on a switchback later on. I saw two guys in No Meat Athlete "Runs on Plants" shirts and spent a mile thinking about making some veggie-fueled running shirts. I'd love to see more people out there on the course showing the world how strong we can be on a plant-based diet. The DJs and bands out on this course were really energizing -- much better than the LA rock n roll race. Yes, I did sing along to LMFAO's "Sexy And You Know It" around mile 4. And in mile 5, for the first time in my life, I enjoyed "Who Let The Dogs Out". Mile 6 had the best band - a Taiko drum band - and I ran to the thundering beats for as long as I could hear them.

When running for two hours, every little out-of-the-ordinary thing feels like an adventure. I grabbed water at each station, usually more for the entertainment of trying to drink it than for real thirst. Drinking from a paper cup. Blowing my nose. Eating a Honey Stinger chew (pink lemonade are the best). These were some of the highlights of my morning, until mile 11 when I started to regret digging into the second package of Honey Stingers. Miles 10, 11, and 12 were the hardest. I'd been trucking along okay for the whole time until around that point, and my pace got really slow. Runners began passing me left and right. Although I'd begun the race about a minute before the 2:00 pacer's corral, she and her 2:00 comrades sailed past me around mile 11. I felt a little sick, but I couldn't pinpoint where -- was it my stomach? Or was I just tired? My feet were dragging. I wanted the race to end and I still had another mile or two left. I felt defeated about the 2:00 pacer, and was sure my finishing time was going to be later than I'd hoped.

And then, around mile 12.5-ish, I looked to the left and saw my friend Kelsey with her newborn baby standing alongside the course waving. I looked back at them twice, and somehow that little baby transferred the energy I needed right to me. I looked ahead and could see what I thought was the final bend of the course. I picked up my pace. As I got closer, crowds of people lined the race for the first time since the start. When I caught a glimpse of the finish line I felt another surge of energy through my body. Without thinking, my legs stretched out before me and I sprinted as fast as I could. I felt strong. I felt like an Amazon Goddess. I lifted my arms as I crossed the line in victory. Yes, I actually did do that, just like last time. I'm a little bit of a dork. 

As I made my way through the finish line support, I gathered every water, pretzel, Jamba juice, banana, and Gatorade I could carry. I heard the congratulatory text message bings from my boyfriend, my brother, and my dad's wife. One Gatorade bottle and one bag of pretzels later, with shoes off and jacket (reclaimed from Gear check) on, I met up with Sally and Suzanne at the beer garden. Far East Movement played on the main stage as we stretched in the sun and drank a beer. 

I did it in 2 hours. Well, 2 hours and 45 seconds. I'm convinced Kelsey's baby shaved at least 15 seconds off my time.

Timing breakdown:
Crossed start line at 07:32:35
5k (3.1 mile): 28:46
10k (6.2 mile): 56:51
10 mile: 01:30:37
finish line (13.1 mile): 2:00:45 

In every yoga class I say to my students -- at least once -- something like, "Check in with yourself. Rest if you need to. Push a little harder if that's what you need today. Be in the truth of what is going on Now."

Many times, it seems, the things I say to my students are the words I need to hear for myself. There are days when it's clear as glass that I've got energy enough to power the state of California. Those days I push, run, stronger, harder, faster, and I smile through the whole thing feeling like an Amazon warrior goddess. There are other days when my body and spirit just want to roll out my yoga mat, find some long, deep hip stretches and then lay across a bolster, cover myself in a blanket, and chillax in savasana while the rest of the class sweats through sun salutations.

And then there are those other days.
Foggy days when the inner compass just spins.
Where am I, and where do I want to be?

On those murky days I can't tell my sage from my inner slacker. Is that voice inside me that says "chill out" just some lazy snail that wants to take the easy way? I have a deep fear of being lazy. It comes from too many childhood years spent eating bowls of cereal and watching after-school specials, waiting for someone -- anyone -- to come home. When I left home at seventeen I left television as well. Already I felt like I'd let too much of my life slide by, lost important years of creative activity, passed by my full potential. When I went to college I went with a vision of creating something out of this life -- I wasn't sure what, but it would have a purpose, a vision, a drive. Still, twenty-one years since I left home, lazy feels like a rabbit hole that I could still easily slip down. I have a fear of falling into a state of complacency. Of being pulled into a life of consuming crap television shows while eating crap food and creating a life of nothing-special. Crap.

Or, on those murky days, is it the wise woman side of me who whispers "let me tuck you in, you should rest"? In my fear of lazy I've gotten confused. My window to my compass is covered in condensation. 

This sage versus slacker question also rings with a familiarity from something else. It doesn't just remind me of the cereal/after-school specials years because of the non-productivity. It reminds of the zero-or-ten starvation/binge eating cycle that I bounced between starting around high school, wracked with guilt for dipping into the fundraising candy box and then ricocheting into the vow "do not let anything pass by these lips". I knew how to go too far in either direction. It wasn't just me, though. It seemed at times that eating was a family activity. We didn't gather around meals to nurture our need for community. We gathered around meals to overeat and then go on diets. No wonder I lost signal and then over-corrected.

Another familial gift I received was strong muscles. That's from my dad, I think. I was a gym rat since I took the weight-room option for 10th grade Phys Ed. In college I still didn't know how to eat, but I knew how to lift. I knew how to climb. I knew how to put on headphones and sweat the elliptical trainer.

I've gone through different phases of working out since those 10th grade Phys Ed days, but yoga taught me the best. I am still trying to learn how to read my compass for steady. Yoga at least taught me that there is a compass to look for. For center. For body-need. For truth. For compassion. To trust myself and the signals from my tired -- or wired -- muscles.

So here is where I am. Today I ran. Yesterday I ran. The day before I ran. My compass bounced around between inner slacker / wise sage and steady ahead.

Sunday was great, and I was completely in tune with my wise woman after my first rainy 5.5 mile loop around Griffith Park. I've actually been applauding myself that I bailed on the second loop as planned. I just didn't have the stamina for a 12 mile hilly course for my first run after six days of no activity. (Back story: Last week I didn't work out at all due to being sick. My inner compass read pretty clear since my skin was hot and red. I had no interest in anything but rest). Instead I took it easy like Sunday morning and went home, showered, ate, and then had a wonderfully sweaty yoga class with my sweetheart. 

Yesterday's windy 4.5 mile run was harder compass-wise. My body was tired from running and yoga the day before. I wished my old running partner was around. She wasn't fast but she was constant. At least, until she wasn't constant any more. Somehow I managed to mostly run, partly walk it, with a foray into some roadside push ups to keep things interesting. At the end I bumped into another runner whose company helped me eke out another mile or so.

Today was better. I hooked up with the new running partner (Jacob) which kept me moving. It was a new route, new company, new day. As it turns out, it was just his second day running in years, and it was my stamina that kept him going for the 2.75 mile loop we did together. Just busting those first miles with some new company helped me finish off my run of 5 miles. I could tell that if Jacob hadn't been there, my inner slacker would have stepped in. 



SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 27, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Raining, in the 60's.

Run:
5.5 miles
53:54
average pace: 9:45


MONDAY'S RUN/WALK/PUSHUPS: 
Setting:
January 28, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, low-60s

Run:
4.51 miles
44:41
average pace: 9:54

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 29, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Sunny, windy, mid-50s

Run:
4.93 miles
45:07
average pace: 9:09

It's that time of year when half of the office is out on sick leave and the other half sounds like it is rehearsing for an audition with the National Coughing Chorus. Along with that, at least in my world, comes the annual Flu Shot Debate. My dad calls me up to find out if I've gotten the latest flu shot for this year's "worst flu epidemic of all time". I never have, I never do, and as my life stretches out in front of me, I can imagine that I possibly never will.

Not surprisingly, given the number of people we know who are sick, last week my boyfriend and I were talking about flu shots.

Hold on. Have I properly introduced you to my life? As a recap, my boyfriend and I began dating in '09 and now live together in a cute pink and  blue Tudor-style house in a Los Angeles valley neighborhood. He has two daughters, aged 8 and 12, and they split their time almost 50-50 between our house and their mother's which is about five miles away. Between us, their mom and step-dad, their god-mother, and the whole community that makes up our little world, our girls have a village raising them. Mostly it works out pretty well. Sometimes there are "values" differences between our house and their mom's, but we like to think that the differences give the girls a broader perspective on life. Occasionally, we hit upon some issue that their dad and mom try to resolve - usually under the general category of "Health". 

So, last week we were talking about flu shots. The girls' mother is considering getting the girls the shots. At a 60% success rate for avoidance of the flu, and given that the girls are hardly in the risk demographic for extreme flu consequences (death), my boyfriend and I both believe that they should not have the shots.

"Why are people so afraid of getting sick?" I said.

I've been wondering about that lately. Of course, I hate being sick just as much as everyone else. But, I do love a lazy day in bed. I fantasize about a late morning reading, dozing for a bit, maybe watching an afternoon movie. I rarely get those kinds of days, and although I love my life, it is a pretty fantasy, even if the reality comes with a stuffy head and achy body. 

I understand that getting sick is inconvenient to our schedules, but that just seems so small-minded to me. In the bigger picture, getting sick is part of life, it's part of the balance of health. Most of the time, for a generally healthy individual, getting sick helps our bodies to better combat bugs over time. It's like working out with weights - we break down the muscle in order for it to be even stronger as it repairs. 

"Maybe we get sick because we don't give ourselves enough zone-out time. It's the body's way of saying, hey, slow down." I distinctly recall saying this to my boyfriend last week while we were talking. I distinctly recall believing it to be true.

I distinctly think I may have jinxed myself.

Did I accidentally put that prayer out into the universe? Something or someone must have heard me because midway through dinner on Saturday night I suddenly knew I desperately needed a Claritin. I don't generally have allergies, but I could feel my body begin to react to some mystery trigger that, now for the third time in ten months, has appeared in my life. I've spent the past two days exhausted as my body deals with its reaction to the unknown source that has me all red and splotchy, and hiding from the sun. My normally skinny fingers are swollen like sausages. My gums hurt when I brush my teeth. Even my softest clothes feel scratchy against my skin. I can't exercise right now because I can't stand to be over-heated. I'm bundled in layers because my skin is overly sensitive to being cold. Since I've found daily exercise to be the main thing that keeps me sane (for the sake of us all), I would feel exceptionally miserable right now except for this fact:

On Sunday morning, before the full effects of the allergic reaction settled in, and while Los Angeles was still wrapped in chilly high-40s, for the first time in months I ran almost 11 miles. Even as I groaned through the last few minutes, I could feel my runner's high. Even as I feel pretty crappy right now from this sickness, I still feel cloaked in my superhero cape from Sunday's run.

SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 20, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the high 40's-50's

Walk/Run:
10.6 miles
1:44:06
average pace: 9:49 per mile


FRIDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 18, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 70's

Walk/Run:
4.9 miles
41:22
average pace: 8:26 per mile


THURSDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 17, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 60's

Walk/Run:
3.55 miles
31:54
average pace: 8:58 per mile

It's that time of year when half of the office is out on sick leave and the other half sounds like it is rehearsing for an audition with the National Coughing Chorus. Along with that, at least in my world, comes the annual Flu Shot Debate. My dad calls me up to find out if I've gotten the latest flu shot for this year's "worst flu epidemic of all time". I never have, I never do, and as my life stretches out in front of me, I can imagine that I possibly never will.

Not surprisingly, given the number of people we know who are sick, last week my boyfriend and I were talking about flu shots.

Hold on. Have I properly introduced you to my life? As a recap, my boyfriend and I began dating in '09 and now live together in a cute pink and  blue Tudor-style house in a Los Angeles valley neighborhood. He has two daughters, aged 8 and 12, and they split their time almost 50-50 between our house and their mother's which is about five miles away. Between us, their mom and step-dad, their god-mother, and the whole community that makes up our little world, our girls have a village raising them. Mostly it works out pretty well. Sometimes there are "values" differences between our house and their mom's, but we like to think that the differences give the girls a broader perspective on life. Occasionally, we hit upon some issue that their dad and mom try to resolve - usually under the general category of "Health". 

So, last week we were talking about flu shots. The girls' mother is considering getting the girls the shots. At a 60% success rate for avoidance of the flu, and given that the girls are hardly in the risk demographic for extreme flu consequences (death), my boyfriend and I both believe that they should not have the shots.

"Why are people so afraid of getting sick?" I said.

I've been wondering about that lately. Of course, I hate being sick just as much as everyone else. But, I do love a lazy day in bed. I fantasize about a late morning reading, dozing for a bit, maybe watching an afternoon movie. I rarely get those kinds of days, and although I love my life, it is a pretty fantasy, even if the reality comes with a stuffy head and achy body. 

I understand that getting sick is inconvenient to our schedules, but that just seems so small-minded to me. In the bigger picture, getting sick is part of life, it's part of the balance of health. Most of the time, for a generally healthy individual, getting sick helps our bodies to better combat bugs over time. It's like working out with weights - we break down the muscle in order for it to be even stronger as it repairs. 

"Maybe we get sick because we don't give ourselves enough zone-out time. It's the body's way of saying, hey, slow down." I distinctly recall saying this to my boyfriend last week while we were talking. I distinctly recall believing it to be true.

I distinctly think I may have jinxed myself.

Did I accidentally put that prayer out into the universe? Something or someone must have heard me because midway through dinner on Saturday night I suddenly knew I desperately needed a Claritin. I don't generally have allergies, but I could feel my body begin to react to some mystery trigger that, now for the third time in ten months, has appeared in my life. I've spent the past two days exhausted as my body deals with its reaction to the unknown source that has me all red and splotchy, and hiding from the sun. My normally skinny fingers are swollen like sausages. My gums hurt when I brush my teeth. Even my softest clothes feel scratchy against my skin. I can't exercise right now because I can't stand to be over-heated. I'm bundled in layers because my skin is overly sensitive to being cold. Since I've found daily exercise to be the main thing that keeps me sane (for the sake of us all), I would feel exceptionally miserable right now except for this fact:

On Sunday morning, before the full effects of the allergic reaction settled in, and while Los Angeles was still wrapped in chilly high-40s, for the first time in months I ran almost 11 miles. Even as I groaned through the last few minutes, I could feel my runner's high. Even as I feel pretty crappy right now from this sickness, I still feel cloaked in my superhero cape from Sunday's run.

SUNDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 20, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the high 40's-50's

Walk/Run:
10.6 miles
1:44:06
average pace: 9:49 per mile


FRIDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 18, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 70's

Walk/Run:
4.9 miles
41:22
average pace: 8:26 per mile


THURSDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 17, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 60's

Walk/Run:
3.55 miles
31:54
average pace: 8:58 per mile

That in my east coast years I never knew a wind by name makes me wonder if I had ever really known wind at all.

I knew hurricanes well enough. In my south Florida town, Andrew was a good excuse for my ex-1-week boyfriend to grab his surf board and for me to crawl up to Orlando for a few days with some friends to catch Lollapalooza (#2). Katrina hit while I was living in Boston, and we all trolled the internet for weeks for photos of her. Sandy just popped in recently, and although I'm on the left coast now, I've stalked her too.

Wind, singular, was just something that came along with other types of weather. Noreasters, rain. Winds, plural, were not something I was ever introduced to until about six years ago when I moved to Los Angeles with my then-husband. A few sunny blue sky months after we'd finished unpacking our new apartment I was nearly slammed back into the glass lobby of my company's tower by the lash of a blast of air. The next day there were arrow signs on all the front lobby doors, indicating that all entrances were closed due to the Santa Anas, and we should go around back. Nice to meet you Santa Ana.

I don't know if Santa Ana was the name of today's wind, but she was fierce and cold, the kind of wind that fills your ears and you have to turn fully around to check for cars before you cross the street. The liquid amber seed pods littered both sides of the road so that I had to run fairly close to the middle. The branches on the west side of the trees were stripped bare, even when the red and gold of autumn still clung to east side branches. The evergreens bent at impossible angles, even the one with the "thumbs up! keep going, girl!" branch that I always look to on my southbound way up Fulton.

Today, I didn't need a story or number to keep going. My ears and my thoughts were all on the wind, first pushing me along, then whipping my hat, then holding me back for the long curved block back around.

Today, I didn't have a plan. I ran 9 miles yesterday, and according to the schedule I mapped out on New Years Day, today I should have rested. But, by god, I wanted to run. I wanted to run last Monday too, on my rest day, but I held myself back and by Tuesday the mind chatter had returned. Today I just wanted to run as a dog loves to chase. I wanted to run with the wind, hear the exhales of my breath mingle with the wintery cold. Today there were only three sounds -- the wind, my breath, and the slap of my shoes -- and one thought: wind, wind, wind. I ran until I didn't want to run any more. And then I stopped.

YESTERDAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 13, 2013.
LA Equestrian Center and Griffith Park, Los Angeles, CA
Morning
Temperature in the low 30's.

Walk/Run:
9.1 miles
1:25:56
average pace: 9:32 per mile

TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 14, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the 40's-50's... very windy

Walk/Run:
3.20 miles
29:29
average pace: 9:13 per mile

In an alternate world, spirits are given standard-issue bodies in which to reside for their physical life. Spec-ed to perfection, each body's performance falters or thrives in direct and clear correlation to the quality of their care. Commitment to health combined with daily discipline begets obvious and standardized positive results. Misuse or abuse triggers noticeable imbalance. In this alternate world, there is a standard-issue body for men, and another for woman. There is no airbrush to tweak the natural form. The ideal body is a singular image, and achievable by any who follow the care regimen. 

But in this alternate world, would I notice the sweetness radiating out from the hazel of my love's eyes? Would I cherish how my head rests perfectly in the crook of his arm when we lay down together at night? Would I so admire the tautness of his belly and contour of his chest that I so admire now? Would he say to me, as he notices the lines that have begun to set around my eyes and mouth, that he can tell I will be beautiful old?

If I so love the specificity of my man, recognize him when I see him in a room of people, celebrate his perfect-because-it-is-his body, why should I not celebrate my own?

--------

Today's run was two steps forward/one step back. For days I have looked at my foam roller, sitting in the corner by the closet. Every day since Sunday I have thought "I should use that on my tight calf." And every day I have not. Tonight I will not forget. My left calf was so tight during today's run that I had to stop several times to stretch it out, then walked a bit, then ran. I took so much time in the stretching that I decided to take an alternate route to get back to my office. I missed passing Pauline, an older woman who sits on the front patio of her house and with whom I sometimes chat, but I did catch someone else... 

Despite the starts and stops, it was a pleasant enough run. I will spin tonight, which I've come to really enjoy and find to be great cross-training for speed and endurance, and then go home to my sweet, specifically him, man and my stepkids. He will be working on a new song that he's been writing these past few days, and they will be dancing circles around me while I foam roll my calf muscle (and hey, while I'm at it, my glutes, hamstrings, and IT band as well). After we put them to bed and read another chapter in Anne of Green Gables, I will crawl under our own covers with the cat and a book. Later, when he is tired of working on the song, my man will turn out the lights, place my book on the nightstand, and curl up around my sleeping body.  


TODAY'S RUN: 
Setting:
January 9, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Mid-afternoon
Temperature in the low 60's... a little chilly once I started walking

Walk/Run:
3.78 miles
48:30
average pace: 12:49 per mile

No pun intended, this year has gotten off at a fast pace. It astounds me to realize that I only got back to the day-job office a week ago. It's been such a packed week that it feels like at least a month since Darby, the girls and I went over to a friend's house for a chillaxed New Years Day.

That day everyone piled into the living room and curled up in blankets to watch a movie while I popped popcorn over the stove. I missed the first part of ParaNormanwhile I was in the kitchen, and once I was done it seemed strange to pop in mid-story. In other words, it played out perfectly. Every year since high school I've taken some time on the first of the year to write in my journal. I listened to the laughing in the other room as I brought my own bowl of popcorn (doused with hot sauce) into the quiet dining room. I opened up my new Moleskin journal. Of course I skipped the first 3 pages - I could feel a list coming on.

Without missing a downbeat, by the end of the next day I'd already completed a few of the items. Since last January, running and writing have become major parts of my life. I'm in between writing classes at the moment -- the next one starts on Jan 23 -- and although there are some essays that I want to revise, in the downtime I've been fishing for some...  je ne sais quoi. My running schedule also lagged a little during the holidays, and since they both seem to feed into each other, I decided to create a running blog for inspiration, and later, a place to look back and review my progress.

#7 Create Running Blog
Done.

The main reason for the blog is that running is complicated. Or, rather, not complicated, but for me it's definitely multi-faceted. It's healed me in some ways, and it's shined a light into some corners of my spirit that I hadn't realized were there. I figured it might be interesting to both track my runs and to have a specified place in which to write about my thoughts on / while running.

So here it is - The Written Run. 
(9/27/13 update: I'm integrating all my blogs here on www.ariellesilver.com, so now all TWR posts are tagged here as "The Written Run")