I’m done letting my college running failures define my ability

At 17, I was a senior ending my high school running career on a high note. After years of hard work, I was at the top of the section in my event and for the first time I had the opportunity to compete at the New York State Championship meet (as an individual). My last two races of my senior year were the fastest races I’d ever run. I was lucky enough to finish up my high school athletic journey in the most ideal way. I could close that chapter of my life and package it up neatly with a ribbon on top.

I got to college with big goals of improving upon my high school successes and those around me shared those dreams and expectations. But the success I had in high school didn’t follow me to college. After a decent freshman year I began to feel the pressure to perform and the joy of running started to slip away. I was used to being the best; my senior year of high school had conditioned me to believe that winning was easy. But I wasn’t winning anymore and to some, if I wasn’t winning I wasn’t successful–a belief I started to internalize.

By the winter of my sophomore year burnout was setting in. I was tired and overtrained.  Stepping on a starting line brought me more and more anxiety each week. I no longer felt the butterflies-in-my-stomach type of nerves that most athletes experience before competition, now I just felt pure dread. I hated running but I stayed on the team because I was a runner and running is what I did. I had no identity outside of running and I felt that if I stopped competing I wouldn’t know who I was.

Running was my enemy for the next two and half years.  It seemed like the harder I tried, the slower I got. Somewhere in the back of my mind I always felt like my breakthrough was just around the corner and I would formulate some great comeback, so I kept slogging away despite my misery. Spoiler alert: there was never a comeback. 

For years after, I allowed my college running experience to define who I was as a runner. I went into college thinking I was above average and left believing I was below it. My mindset for the next three to four years was that because I didn’t run well in college I must be a bad runner. I created this idea that a runner could only peak in college and now that college was behind me, I would never get any better.

Fortunately, with the help of some great running friends (shoutout badass lady gang) and an incredible coach (shoutout badass lady coach), I’m turning this idea upside down.

I’ve finally realized the notion that everyone peaks in college is bullshit. We refer to our high school and college athletic careers as glory days and when we graduate we refer to ourselves as NARPS (non athletic regular people) and joke that we’re washed up, but that doesn’t have to be the case. If you’re not a successful runner in college, it doesn’t mean you can never be successful and it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve missed out on your peak. 

If you’re a runner, whether in high school, college, or beyond and you’re struggling, take comfort in the fact that your underwhelming performance right now does not define you as an athlete. Maybe you need a break, maybe you’re dealing with other stressors, maybe you’re struggling with mental health, maybe you need to change up you training or work with a different coach. A lot of these scenarios applied to me in college and for the most part, I’ve figured them out. It wasn’t right away and it certainly wasn’t easy but now, 5 years after ending my collegiate running career, I’m doing things I never would have thought possible.

Don’t be afraid to set new goals and go after them. Don’t let past failures lead you to believe your potential is limited.

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This morning, I ran 18 miles, a distance that would have been unthinkable to my college self. Not only did I run that distance, but I ran it faster than I ran most of my 6-8 mile runs in college. These days my tempo pace is faster, my 5k pace is faster, and my marathon pace is fast enough to put me in the top 5% of finishers at the Chicago Marathon. Five years ago, if you tried to tell me this would be the case I would have laughed in your face. It hasn’t been an easy road, but I’m finally done allowing my collegiate running failures to define my potential. I’m not sure what I’m capable of but I’m sure that I’m ready to find out. Running is fun again and I’m back to feeling those butterfly type nerves before races, not dread. And I’m not necessarily working harder than I was 5 years ago but I am working smarter and running happier.

Stop defining yourself by your failures and maybe you’ll see what your potential really is. 

Ready to Compete

I always assumed my competitive running career had an end date. Run for four years in high school, run for four years in college, and then become a recreational runner. I was fine with that. College robbed me of my joy for racing, leaving me anxious rather than competitive. Leaving the competitive running scene was exactly what I wanted.

I graduated college and ran my first marathon the following fall. Being a bucket list item, my marathon plan was ‘one and done’. My only goal was to make it to the finish line without injury, a lofty goal considering I’d just healed from a stress fracture and my longest lifetime run was 12.5 miles, but I did it. I still remember the pain I felt after crossing that finish line, I legitimately feared I had done irreparable damage to my body. But I hadn’t. I was healthy and once the pain subsided, I decided I needed to do that again. I had more in me and I wasn’t going to sit back and accept that race as my marathon PR.

I set my eyes on Boston. A goal that seemed insane, but I thought maybe with some actual training, I could eek out the BQ. A year later, in a 27 minute PR, that’s exactly what I did. Looking back at the lackluster training [in comparison to what I’m doing now], the failure to fuel during my race, and the surely inadequate amount of water I consumed, I’m still not sure how it happened. I had literally no idea what I was doing, but with some combination of ability and luck, it happened. I continued this [strongly not recommended] method of training and racing, improving upon it only slightly, for four more marathons. I was running some decent times on some OK training, but after finishing three marathons within 3 minutes of each other I began to crave a breakthrough.

Last spring, with 6 marathons on my Garmin, I decided I wanted to up my game a little. I wasn’t quite ready to compete again, but I wanted to get a little faster. I hired a coach, started working harder, and set a goal for the Chicago marathon in the fall. I wasn’t going to race per se, but I was determined to run fast.

For many, setting goals and trying to run fast is the same as competing, but I was scared to call it that. I was terrified to let my competitive side take over. In college, my competitive side destroyed me. My drive to be the best came above all else and manifested in a very unhealthy way (and caused me to never actually become the best or reach my potential). I worked myself to the point of overtraining, I lost my period, I suffered injuries, and I struggled with an eating disorder. I wanted to get fast, but racing again seemed out of the question.

 

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2017 Chicago Marathon

 

But today, as I finished up my long run, the desire to compete was strong. My run in Chicago went better than I had hoped, but I didn’t toe that line with the mindset that I was going to compete. Instead, I thought, “let’s see what happens”. I didn’t want to set my expectations too high because I was so scared to let myself down. For so long in college, I was left feeling disappointed and ashamed after races. I didn’t want to do that to myself anymore. But I am sick of being afraid. Five years after graduating college and leaving my competitive running career behind, I’m ready to reclaim it. I want to race again.

I have no intentions of setting unrealistic goals of winning big races, I know where my abilities lie. But I am ready to set big, scary goals, that may be a bit crazy while remaining just inside the realm of possibility. I’m ready to toe the line at races and be fearless. I’m ready to start a race with the confidence that I will do what I set out to do rather than to just see what happens. From now on, I refuse to let myself be comfortable in the last miles of the race. I will no longer allow fellow runners to pass me in the last mile without a fight because I’m content with my projected finish time. I’ve spent the last five years teetering on the line of giving it my all and holding something back but I will not hold back any longer. I am ready to test my limits. I am ready to see what my best really looks like.

I’m going to compete again. I’m going to race again.

Competing isn’t for everyone, people run races for different reasons. But I feel like I’ve been robbing myself of my true potential for years and I’m ready to see where my limit really is. 

Another New Year

A year ago, I started this blog. Blogging was something I had told myself I would do for some time but never got around to actually doing so. Finally, as my 2017 resolution, I started this blog. Although I don’t write here that frequently, between this blog, my Medium page, and other outlets, I’ve written over 30 pieces this year. To someone who blogs daily or even weekly, that may not sound like much but for me, someone working full-time, marathon training, and finishing grad school, that feels like quite an accomplishment.

When I began this blog my goal was to use it as a personal reflection and as a way to spend some time writing, an activity I enjoy that also feels productive. What I did not expect is for writing to become a passion of mine, something that I hope plays at least a small part in my career one day. Throughout the year writing has become more than just my personal reflections and a significant amount of my writing is now about sharing my personal experience with disordered eating in order to help others. In 2018, I will continue to use my writing in this way and I look forward to continuing to grow as a writer this next year. For today though, I will do some of that personal reflection I started this blog with.

I didn’t think too much about the year as a whole being an eventful one, but as I look back I realize it was easily one of the most eventful years of my life. In March, I co-founded Lane 9 Project with two badass ladies and the community we have grown has made a tremendous impact on my life. Lane 9 Project has given me an outlet to share my story, help others, and strengthen my own eating disorder recovery. Lane 9 has shown me what I am truly passionate about deep down and made me realize that I hope to eventually spend my career working in the field of eating disorder recovery.

2017 was a big running year for me after an injury-plagued 2016. In April, I ran my second Boston Marathon. It ended in heartbreak when I did not re-qualify for Boston but it taught me many lessons. A few weeks later, I stepped up to another start line and managed to prove to myself what I was capable of and earn my BQ. In the fall, I ran my third marathon of the year (7th total) and despite some rough training in the weeks leading up to the race, I finished the Chicago Marathon in my fastest marathon time yet. Not only did my time improve in 2017, but with the help of an amazing coach, I learned how to truly listen to my body and respond to its needs.  As a result, I remained a happy and healthy runner the entire year.

The summer was filled with amazing things happening. First, Tyler and I adopted Troy Pup and our life has not been the same since. Who knew a puppy could bring so much damn joy? We cannot imagine life without Troy. We also spent a week soaking up breath-taking views of Zion National Park and a week later I headed abroad for the first time. I spent 2.5 incredible weeks in South Africa with One Heart Source, exploring, running, and, most importantly, mentoring an inspiring young woman who hopes to become a doctor. Finally, in August I was lucky enough to move in with my very best friend and I’ve loved every second of it.

The fall was long, stressful, and exhausting, but a lot of good came out of it. I went from teaching kindergarten to teaching third grade and although it has been an extremely challenging experience, I was given some amazing coworkers to help me through it. Additionally, after hours and hours of work for months on end, my thesis was finally published and  I now have my master’s degree.

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As we head into the new year, I look forward to what surprises 2018 has in store. I know this year will bring with it its own ups and downs but I foresee another year of big changes and notable accomplishments. This year I will continue to write, focus on Lane 9, advocate for eating disorder awareness, adventure with Tyler and Troy, and run fast. Wishing you the best year in 2018!

More to Celebrate

5 Years Ago

I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom, painted pink and orange from when I moved in at 13, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My best friend Kiley is curling my hair and we’re sipping a fruity cocktail of some sort, shaken up and delivered to us by my mom. Kiley turned 21 on Wednesday and at midnight, I will join her. About ten of our high school friends are coming over for food and drinks before we head downtown to celebrate. As we get ready, my mom bakes pasta, cookies, my favorite chocolate chip cheesecake, and whips up some magical champagne jello shots.

When our friends arrive we eat, drink, and chat about everything from middle school drama to post-college plans. Most of us are heading into our senior year and won’t see one another again until Christmas. Everyone was enjoying themselves, including me, but there was a voice in my head that I couldn’t turn off:

You shouldn’t have eaten dinner, now you don’t look good in your dress.

Why are you having that cookie? You’re disgusting.

Do you even realize how much sugar is in that drink?

You have no self-control.

My friends were there to celebrate me, yet I was completely incapable of celebrating myself. Throughout the night, the feelings of guilt and shame never subsided. The champagne glass in my hand was filled to the brim with regret. A night that I should remember as pure joy is clouded with vivid memories of self-hate.

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The next morning, while my friends slept-in, I got up early and went for a long run. I ran 12 hard, fast miles. Sure I was training for the upcoming cross country season, but the real reason I ran that morning was an attempt to shed the guilt of the night before. I wanted to burn calories and run my body ragged as punishment for letting go and letting myself live.

The following day, I ate very little, still attempting to purge the guilt. But finally, the lack of nourishment caught up to me and I ate some leftover pasta. I dove into the bowl and with every bite the guilt came back. I quickly felt like a failure and the voice of my eating disorder grew louder and more aggressive.

You are worthless.

Why would you eat that? You’re so fat.

I was angry and frustrated with myself for losing control. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just stop eating. I wished I was better at restricting. I thought, “I’m not even good enough to have an eating disorder right”. So I ran.

I went to my favorite trail and set off for a run on my full stomach, knowing I would feel sick and hoping I would throw up. It was muggy with a light rain when I stopped on the shoulder of the road and cried. I tried throwing up but it barely worked. I felt trapped in my own skin and wanted a way out. I wanted to look different and feel different but I couldn’t find a way. We only get one body.

When I look back on my 21st birthday, these are the things I remember most vividly.  Unfortunately, this type of memory is not isolated to one birthday. For years, Christmas and Thanksgiving were holiday’s I feared and my memories of them are clouded with anxiety and guilt about food and my body.  When I remember parties with my friends and teammates in college, I see images of certain photos that I once shed tears over because I thought I looked so terrible. It’s painful to recollect these memories but they are an important reminder of just how far I have come.

Now

Tomorrow I will turn 26. Twenty six isn’t really a monumental birthday (other than losing your parent’s health insurance) but to me, it is. I am celebrating more than another year on this earth. I’m reflecting on that birthday 5 years ago when I was at the height of my eating disorder and I am taking pride in how far I’ve come.

It has been a long, slow journey to recovery and it’s a journey that has no end. Everyday I have to make choices to keep myself on the road to recovery. I still occasionally fight the eating disorder voice in my head. Some days are easier than others, but most days are pretty good.

Tomorrow morning, I will run long with great friends not because I want to burn calories or punish myself but to enjoy running and prepare for my upcoming marathon. Tomorrow afternoon, I will celebrate at brunch by drinking mimosas and eating as much Mexican food as I can, surrounded by wonderful people. I will fill my day with laughter, absolutely no guilt, and I will contrast it wil that birthday 5 years ago.

My eating disorder can no longer rob me of beautiful memories.

This year, I am not just celebrating a birthday, I am celebrating the control I have gained over my life. I am celebrating that my eating disorder can no longer rob me of a beautiful memories.

For My Role Mama

This week, Oiselle is celebrating moms and which inspired me to go a little bit beyond the “best mom ever” Instagram post to honor mine.

On this day, an undisclosed number of years ago, superwoman was born. I call her mom. You can call her Cathy.

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Growing up, my mom was always active. I swear, the woman never stopped moving (still hasn’t stopped). By day she’d chase the children she provided daycare for around our back yard and by night she’d instruct countless aerobics classes out of the studio she owned. I’d watch (and try to keep up), as she jumped around the room shouting motivating anecdotes into a microphone without ever stopping to take a breath. Richard Simmons can’t hold a candle to her. From a very young age, my mom has shown me what it looks like to be an active woman, confident in her own skin and in control of her health.

Around the time I was nine or ten, she decided to seek out self-defense training to better teach women how to be confident in the skills necessary to protect oneself from an attack. A year later, I no longer watched her from the back of an aerobics studio, instead, I watched her from the outside of the karate floor. Soon, I joined her. Before too long, my mom had climbed her way through the ranks and I sat in awe as she had a black belt tied around her waist for the first time. For years I trained and competed, side by side with my mother, a unique experience I will always cherish. Now, she’s a master of Tang Soo Do and the owner of her own school. She teaches children and adults of all ages self-defense skills, respect, self-confidence, discipline, and a slew of other hard to come by characteristics. My mom has shown me what it looks like to take risks, be in charge, lead with grace, and exude strength.  

I don’t believe my mom got serious about running until I got serious about running in ninth or tenth grade, but when she puts her mind to something she’s all in. By my freshman year of college, I was standing at mile twenty-five of the Corning Wineglass Marathon cheering her to the finish. Four years later, I was standing at the starting line of the very same marathon next to her. Running my first marathon alongside my mom is something I feel incredibly privileged to have shared. Despite five knee surgeries, she keeps going, winning her division in a 5k just a few weeks ago. She makes the Energizer Bunny look pathetic. Through running my mom has shown me what resilience, pride, and humility look like.

From college track meets to Boston Marathon’s, she’s been my cheerleader for it all. She’s brought me champagne after a marathon PR and tissues after a marathon disaster. No matter what, she always tells me she’s proud. She reassures me when I call her crying stressed about work, school, money, friends, or running and she threatens any guy who ever makes me feel worthless. I cannot think of a time when I turned to my mom and she wasn’t there ready to support me unconditionally. My mom has shown me what it looks like to be a dedicated, loving, and selfless mother.

Through it all, she has never put herself first. I wish she would take the time to treat herself as number one but her heart is just too big. Not only is she my number one fan but she’s the number one fan of my sister, my niece, her karate student’s, and students she works with at school. She gives a little piece of herself to everyone she meets and it’s hard not to feel inspired when you’re around her. I’ve seen her hurt and it kills me, but I can only hope to live my life in a way that makes her proud and brings her joy. I am so honored to have the privilege of being her daughter.
Mom, thank you for dedicating the past 25 years of your life to inspiring me and others. You will never understand how much you have taught me or the way you influence my daily life. I am in constant awe of all you do and I could not ask for a better role mama. I’ll come home soon so we can drink wine and watch Lifetime movies. Happy birthday, I love you.

Love For the Run

On this morning’s long run I was overwhelmed with an intense sense of gratitude. Gratitude for my health, my sport, my people, and my life in general.

I had twenty miles on the schedule today, my last long run before Boston, and although I know I’m capable there’s always some anxiety about running farther than you have in months. Initially, I was bummed and weary because I’d be flying solo today and the idea of being on the roads alone for over two and a half hours felt daunting. Fortunately, I quickly reframed my thinking. I realized today’s run was my first solo long run since my ‘official’ (I use that term very loosely) Boston training kicked off. I’ve been lucky enough to have company for every single long run I’ve embarked on over the past ten(ish) weeks. I’ve had a badass lady gang by my side for the most relaxed eighteen miler I’ve ever experienced, as well as the worst twelve miler of my life (which included two miles of run-walking just to make it back to my car), and for everything in between. I’ve made many new friends on those runs and deepened friendships that were still pretty new a few months ago. Running alone this morning allowed me to appreciate how privileged I am to be surrounded by the ridiculously supportive running community that I have.

 

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In constant awe of the cherry blossoms literring my run with petals

 

This morning’s running offered me a unique opportunity to reflect on the training I’ve completed over the past few months and truly appreciate how far I’ve come since being sidelined for three months with an injury. A year ago I was doing the same thing, running twenty miles in preparation for Marathon Monday but it was a completely different experience. A year ago, I ran every run fast, it didn’t matter how short or long the run was, in my mind, I had to hit a certain pace or I wasn’t working hard enough. This constant need to meet the expectation I set for myself led to overtraining. I vividly remember the pain I felt in my hamstring during those last couple of long runs leading up to Patriot’s Day in 2016. I told myself it was nothing because if I was injured I wouldn’t be able to manage twenty miles. But despite successful (albeit painful) training runs, I was injured. Today I learned what twenty miles on a training run should really feel like and it feels pretty damn good. 

A year ago I may have been training harder but now I’m training smarter and my body is saying “thank you”.

This time last year I had no interest in fueling or hydrating during my long runs. I let myself believe that if I could survive a twenty mile training run with no water and no fuel, that meant I was pretty badass. Now I think it meant I was pretty stupid. Thankfully, I took a nutrition class in the fall and learning the science behind what’s happening to my body during a long run motivated me to take hydration and fuel seriously. To my surprise, I made it to mile twenty today without spasming calves or an intense craving for gallons of fruit punch.

It’s amazing what happens when you give your body what it needs.

Finally, I felt gratitude for the strength I felt in my legs and my lungs. I was intensely appreciative of the ability my legs have to carry me around my city for 20 miles. I never once thought about how many calories I was burning and whether or not my stomach looked flat in the new tank top I was wearing. I was thankful for the Lane 9 Project and the fierce women I’m working with who have encouraged me to be stronger and more appreciative of my body everyday.

Today I felt more appreciation for my sport than I’ve felt in a long time. I finished my run proud, exhausted, strong, and smiling. I was overcome with self-love as I took those last few steps and I cannot think of anything better to gain from marathon training.

November Project DC, Thank You.

November 26th, 2014, 6:29 a.m. (Err, like 6:35 probably)

It was raining. That cold, miserable, one degree away from being snow, kind of rain. Fingers and toes numb as I ran along Constitution Avenue in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial. A few weeks earlier I’d been told about ‘November Project’ and was now headed to my first workout. I thought it sounded fun, but I was hesitant, wary the workout would be too easy (good one, past self).  

I guess we showed up late because I don’t remember a bounce (missed my chance to yell “Fuck Yeah” before I’d even had my morning coffee). I soon learned it was ‘PR Day’ and we’d be running 17 Lincoln Logs (up and down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial), as fast as possible. I was awful at running down the stairs (still am), paranoid of tripping over my own feet (again, still am), but my determination prevailed and I was among the first finishers. I stood with the others contemplating whether I’d miscounted, while cheering on those still running, until the very last runner finished. I felt like I was back with my college team, sending my teammates to the finish line, despite the fact I didn’t know a damn soul. When the final runner descended the bottom steps, we posed for a picture before I shiver-jogged my way to the shower and headed to New York for Thanksgiving. Wednesday, earned.

After that first workout I didn’t make it again until a snow day sometime in January, at the time I left for work by 6:30, so even the 5:30 workout was out of the question. I came sporadically when I could but definitely did not consider myself part of the tribe. I felt like a bit of an outsider when I managed to make it, but something kept pulling my back.

 

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Not my 1st workout, but a workout. Photo Credit: November Project DC

 

Fast forward to January 2016. I was in training for the Boston Marathon and no longer leaving for work at 6:30 a.m. I decided I wanted to become an NP regular, rather than the sporadic visitor I’d been for over a year. I wanted  NPDC to be my tribe, I wanted these members to be my friends. So, Wednesday after Wednesday, I set my alarm for 4:45, got my butt outta bed and joined the 5:30 crew. Slowly, I started to learn people’s names and to my surprise, people remembered me too. As the weeks went by, 4:45 became more routine, the workouts became more fun, and I felt an inch closer to being part of the tribe. After Boston, I got injured and was sidelined from June until September, but found myself on the steps as soon as I was back in commission. I finally deemed myself a (Wednesday) regular.

None of this is life altering and I didn’t think I had a November Project story to tell. I didn’t think I was in deep enough or a significant enough member of the tribe for my story to be valid. But as I realized how bummed I was to miss this Wednesday’s workout due to illness and how much I was looking forward to next week, it registered to me that NP is a bigger part of my life than I was aware.

I have not given November Project DC, its leaders, and the tribe the credit it deserves. When I showed up at that first workout, I was still a former collegiate athlete, struggling with disordered eating and grappling with very little self-worth. I didn’t see myself as a strong, capable woman, who also happens to run pretty well.

At the time, I still believed my value was determined by my PR time or my waist size. Now I realize, November Project undoubtedly contributed to and accelerated, my recovery.

At November Project, people applaud your PR’s and celebrate your successes, but the tribe knows you’re so much more than that. If you told a single member of NP you don’t feel fast enough, or thin enough, or smart enough, or whatever enough, without missing a beat they’ll call bullshit and remind you that you’re FUCKING BEAUTIFUL. And they won’t just say it, they’ll genuinely mean it. I’ve finally figured out, this is what kept pulling me back to the stairs before dawn. I couldn’t see it in the beginning, but the tribe was reframing my way of thinking, giving me back my self-worth, and pushing me down the road to recovery.

November Project is a beautiful place. A place where nobody gives a shit how fast your 5k is. No one cares if you run 70-mile weeks or 7-mile weeks. It doesn’t matter if you’re a size 2 or a size 20. If you show up, you belong. If you show up, 10 or 50 or 200 other people that decided to show up that morning will cheer you on until the very last step. The fastest member of the workout and the slowest member of the workout will high-5 each lap because no one is ever more than half a lap of away. November Project is a place to grow, to make friends, to give hugs and strange ear massages, to lose weight, to gain strength, to get faster, to unwind, to socialize, to explore.

November Project is exactly what you need it to be.

For me, November Project is a place to recover. November Project DC, thank you.

 

Words for Women

We live life like there’s an algorithm to determine our value

A formula; weight times pants size, plot it on a graph and there’s your worth

We praise beautiful women for flawless skin and perfect curves

but silence the same women if they dare to open their mouths and disagree

We call little girls bossy but little boys leaders

and teach girls that if a boy teases her, it’s because he likes you

We harass women who bare skin while shaming those who choose to cover up

We teach boys that disrespecting women is an expectation and their right

But we can break the cycle

Honor and uplift the women that surround you

Listen to their words and feel their strength

Thank your mom, sister, daughter, spouse, teacher, or best friend

You are the revolution

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My mom, one seriously incredible woman

Originally published here.

 

View at Medium.com

A Lesson in Recovery

Again and again, I’ve fallen victim to the trap of training too hard and recovering too little. As a result, I’ve succumbed to multiple injuries over the years. I’ve experienced the consequences of neglecting rest and recovery, but until today, I hadn’t truly experienced the benefits from prioritizing it. 

A couple of weeks ago, my long run was a 16-miler. It was nothing to write home about, but it went well. I came home, stretched, had a bagel and chocolate milk, then hopped in the shower. Up until that point, I’d done the right things, after that, I threw recovery out the window. I headed out of town for the night with nothing but a pair of heeled booties, I didn’t eat again until dinner, and I greatly neglected my hydration. The next day I was tired and sore. That morning, I headed out for my easy run, that wasn’t all that easy and later, some unseasonably warm weather and a Monday off led to a few too many glasses of sangria. On Monday, I repeated Sunday’s mistake and ran even harder. By the time the week’s first real workout rolled around on Tuesday, my body felt like garbage.

I felt like crap the whole week; heavy legs and aching joints. When I got to Saturday’s long run of 12.5 miles, far less than the week before, my body was begging for a break, but I pressed on and ran what turned out to be 12 of the most miserable miles of my life. The run was so rough by mile 9 that I walk-ran the last three miles, something I’ve never had to do. At that point, I began to recall the past week and pinpoint why I felt so bad; it quickly became apparent. I didn’t take care of myself in the hours and days after my long run, and I was paying for it. Right then, I vowed to focus the coming week’s energy on rest and recovery, so I’d be ready for today’s 18-miler.

This past week I’ve hydrated and I’ve eaten. I’ve had no more than one alcoholic drink in a sitting and I’ve foam-rolled daily. I ran Friday morning rather than Friday afternoon to increase recovery time before my morning long run. I made little choices every day in hope of maximizing my recovery and waking up with fresh legs.

I didn’t sleep well last night and I crawled out of bed this morning hesitant, worried about how the run would play out. As I began running towards Meridian Hill, where my running buddies would be waiting,  I immediately noticed that my legs felt fresh. I expected to feel this way until mile 8 or 9, but with each mile, I continued to evade the fatigue. Mile by mile flew by and I continued to feel like I’d just started. Finally, at mile 15 I said by to my running partner and headed towards my car. I feared I’d get tired, running alone the last few miles, but I put in my headphones and focused on relaxing. Those last 3 miles flew by and without realizing, my pace dropping significantly. When I was alerted by my phone I’d reached mile 18, I was actually disappointed. I felt great and I wasn’t ready to be done. Runner’s high. 

Last weekend was one of the worst long runs of my life and today, despite running 6 miles further, was one of the best. The difference between the runs was not fitness, motivation, shoes, or running partners, the difference was recovery. Today I was able to experience, for the first time, the tangible benefits of recovery and now, I’m convinced.  I’ve always had an “I’ll believe when I see it attitude” about recovery. Now, I’ve seen it and boy do I believe it. I wish I had this moment sooner, but from this day forward, my perspective on recovery is changed.

It’s Time to Talk About It

It’s National Eating Disorder Awareness Week and It’s Time to Talk About It. It’s time to share our stories and remove the stigma from mental illness and eating disorders. It’s time to talk about our struggles and share our recovery. It’s time to create a sense of community and empower others to embark on the road to recovery.

As I set off for my morning’s extra easy run after a rough week of marathon training, I was filled with inspiration. The Lane 9 project has officially been launched with the goal to educate, inspire, and empower active women about the Female Athlete Triad, amenorrhea, and disordered eating. With the creation of this project, a light has been brought to my life. I am passionate and hopeful about the future for women suffering from body image issues, disordered eating, and overexercising. The badass women I am working with are an inspiration and together we will create a movement that will change the path for so many active ladies. Head over to Lane 9 Project to see what we’re all about, be inspired, and join our community.

You are enough.