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COVID, week 6 & feeling your feelings

COVID, week 6 & feeling your feelings

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On racing. Thanks for chiming in here and on fb, IG, and Strava last week about my musings related to fall races (particularly, BSIM) being cancelled or postponed. It seems like races being cancelled are just a hot a topic as GPS watches’ distance accuracy. 🙂

Meredith, Austin, and I chatted over the past week and ultimately decided to collectively defer to 2021 for BS. We were all going to be going down together (along with other people), sharing a room at the “romantic lodge,” and making a big ol’ event out of it, and none of us can foresee the event happening in November. Or, even if it does go on, none of us are especially comfortable with the idea of being around hundreds of thousands of people. Maybe we’ll be wrong — which would obviously be fantastic — but I guess time will tell. 

2017 throwback when Austin ran BS

To everyone else who has races, tournaments, and other life events that are being thrown to the wind, I see you, I feel you, I get you, and I get the emotions. Ride ‘em out because — though we’d like to think otherwise sometimes — we’re not robots. We have feelings. 

Pertaining to the rest of my race schedule for 2020, all that’s left is CIM in December, which I imagine will also cancel in due time. Earlier in the week (4/20), CIM announced “worry free” registration, saying that if the 2020 race is canceled due to COVID, “all 2020 CIM registrants will receive a one-time voucher that will allow them to register for free for any one future CIM through 2023,” which is pretty incredible. Yesterday (4/21), Berlin canceled, the first Major to do so, so I think it’s just a matter of time for the other World Marathon Majors to follow suit. And just now (4/22), Mountains to Beach emailed its 2020 runners and are giving us all the opportunity to donate our race registration fees to a local charity beneficiary of the MTB race, defer our 2020 race to 2021, or get a refund. Again: that’s incredible. All these RDs are making some enormous decisions with extremely limited information (and with no crystal ball, unfortunately), and I feel for all of them. I didn’t expect any of this, so I’m pretty blown away.   

I think the 2020 competition year is a wash, and instead, we’ll all be presented with this magnificent opportunity to remind ourselves why we do this stuff in the first place. It’s always a good conversation worth having from time to time, but it’s also one that gets lost rather quickly when the tedium and uber-commitments of our daily lives overtakes us. I don’t know, I guess sometimes breaking from “the motions” can be a fantastic way of asking ourselves why we go through “the motions” in the first place. 

Besides — being honest — even if races were to happen this year, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable participating or competing. (While we’re at it, I can’t foresee my family or me willingly participating in huge public gatherings anytime soon). I encourage you to take the RRCA’s survey about running, races, and the pandemic here, particularly if you had races on your calendar this year. 

On feelings. With all of the death and despair and joblessness and Really Huge Problems going on right now throughout the world, I think it sometimes feels completely selfish or juvenile to think about all the things (the events, the milestones, even the totally vanilla stuff that we’d otherwise not particularly anticipate with any amount of enthusiasm) that we’re missing. I get it; it’s hard. 

In a way, it makes me think of how oftentimes parents, when talking about their children who are driving them crazy, feel like we have to buffer our comments with “I love my child SO much, buuuuuuuuuut…” at the risk of otherwise sounding like our feelings toward our children are anything short of unconditional. The same goes for when partners are talking about each other, when they’re getting on each other’s nerves: “My husband is SUCH a good guy, buuuuuuuut…” In a life defined by COVID right now, I very much feel the same. Yes, absolutely, I feel god awful that thousands of people are dying each day, that literally every person on this planet is threatened and adversely impacted by this insidious disease about which we know very little, and so on … buuuuuuut I’m still allowed to be frustrated that I can’t buy mundane stuff like diced tomatoes or chickpeas or flour seemingly anywhere on god’s green earth right now, or that I am 100% responsible for my children’s education right now with very limited direction, or any number of other issues. 

It’s not a competition; you’re allowed to feel unhappy or annoyed or whatever. 

Don’t feel bad for your feelings.  

On doing the best you can. The whole thing about living in a COVID-filled lifetime right now is that we’re all swimming in uncertainty. There are precious few things that we know about how to protect ourselves and our loved ones right now (prolific hand washing and physical distancing chief among them), but there is a whole bunch of speculation and, probably, wishful thinking about what we should or shouldn’t be doing at any given time. It can be overwhelming, to say the least. Plus, suddenly everyone is an expert and is clinging on to the latest “research” “study” they “read” about all of this. Again: it can be overwhelming (and probably a bit annoying, if I’m being completely honest). 

I guess my only real, unsolicited recommendation here is that if you’re wondering if you should or shouldn’t be doing something — like Lysol wiping-down your groceries each week, or wearing a mask when you’re running outside, or whatever — consult a (real life, medical) expert. Just because you did something last week doesn’t mean that you necessarily have to do it again the same way this week because our knowledge is evolving quickly. 

Unless you’re already a physician or an epidemiologist, our personal expertise on this stuff probably isn’t as top-notch as we think it is. I’d like to think that we’re all doing the best we can, unless you’re purposely flouting the rules right now, in which case, I’ll refrain from my color commentary about your selfishness. 

On occupying time and settling mental unrest:

  • Cooking: the quarantine taco game is still going strong, this week combining a couple black bean/sweet potato recipes that I had read from the NYT cooking app and Budget Bytes. Also, for whatever reason I felt compelled to make vegetarian sloppy joes, so that was also in the rotation this week. 
springing for HL from time to time, too
  • Reading: I finished Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and began The Restaurant at the End of the Universe shortly thereafter. I hadn’t yet finished that book about Mr. Rogers (Kindness and Wonder) before I had to return my e-copy to the library. And for whatever reason, I also began reading Chasing My Cure, a book about a young doctor who was diagnosed with an exceedingly rare condition that took him to the brink of death. Otherwise, the girls and I are on a Beverly Cleary kick, having finished The Mouse and the Motorcycle and Runaway Mouse recently and will soon be starting the Ramona books. I loved these when I was younger. Also, this post is not to be missed. Holy shit.   
  • Listening: Bille Joe’s version of “That Thing You Do!” is delightful. There have been some great new podcasts that came up in the past couple weeks, too, including Lauren Fleshman and Jesse Thomas’ “Work Play Love” (I about died when LF described removing a tampon mid-race), as well as the “I’ll Have Another” episodes with Molly Seidel and her coach Jon Green, and the one with Courtney Dauwalter, Maggie Guteri, and Sally McRae. I’m trying to think of the worst/funniest thing that has happened to me on a run, and aside from many episodes involving mid-run emergency bowel movements, I got nothing. You? 
  • Enjoying: A week or so ago, the kids and I made a ton of homemade bath bombs. I was a little nervous that it’d be a disaster since you never can really tell from the internet what you’re getting yourself into, but it was actually really easy. Plus, they work!! 
  • Running: Still going strong on the streak and really just enjoying the mileage, usually somewhere in the mid-50s each week right now. I finally got a modicum of desire for some fast running last week, so I threw 5 miles of MP effort into the middle of a 12 mile long run. Another day, I had an unintentional progression from 8:4x down to 6:16, and it was a pleasant burn. More than anything, I’m just grateful for the release and the sense of normalcy that mileage and volume brings. The intensity will come when it comes.

Stay safe, and be well. xo

COVID, week 1 & Kelly McDonigal, PhD’s The Joy of Movement

COVID, week 1 & Kelly McDonigal, PhD’s The Joy of Movement

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At the rate we’re going, I’ll have little memory of this all in a week, so I suppose it’s worthwhile to write it out here as much for you — to compare to what’s going on where you live — as it is for me,  to remember how fast life can change. 

COVID-19 seems to have had a similar effect on time as does child-rearing, wherein the days are somehow really long and really short at the same time. It sounds impossible until you’re in the thick of it, and then suddenly, you get it. 

Since last week’s writings — which seem like a lifetime ago at this point — Santa Clara County is one of many counties in northern California to have issued a Shelter in Place, basically barring residents from leaving home except for very specific reasons, like going to a job that’s essential for society or for getting groceries or medicine. Fortunately, leaving home to exercise outside is allowed, though stipulations still apply: maintain the social distance of at least six feet (unless you’re with people with whom you reside), no big groups (nothing over 10, if I recall correctly), and so on. 

It’s a little weird, to say the least. 

not that we usually run while holding hands or anything, but it is weird to run alongside someone while keeping a very specific buffer zone.

In the mix of our homeschooling adventure — oh, right! I forgot to mention that A’s school is closed at least through the beginning of April and G’s preschool is right there as well, though it’s quite likely that both children will be out of school for (much) longer. It was around mid-day on Friday, March 13, that schools in SCC began communicating with families that they were closing for several weeks to help mitigate the virus’s spread. Somewhere around that time, late last week, most/a lot of the tech companies here (or whose hdq are here) told their entire workforces to transition to working remotely, and so it seemed nearly overnight, we (my family yes, but California in general) went from a fairly typical go to school, go to work, go to extracurriculars, do life as you know it routine to a screeching, full-stop halt, a life where if whatever it is isn’t happening out of your home, chances are quite, quite high that it ain’t happening at all… or if it is, it’s in a way unlike anything you’ve ever done before. 

can’t help but wonder how their little brains are making sense of all this weirdness

Again: it’s all a little weird, to say the least.   

The kids and I have been diligent about getting outside for fresh air (PE? sure!) because that’s a normal thing to do, even if what we’re doing right now — having school at the kitchen table, led by yours truly– is completely abnormal. (Quick tangent here to say that my mom is a retired public school educator and education administrator, so I’ve grown up knowing first-hand how overworked and underappreciated these souls are. Props, again, to the educators who make the world go round. I spent more time this morning explaining, and re-explaining, to my preschooler the various ways one could make a capital- and lower-cased X than is probably necessary. I know I’m no substitution for Ms. M, but deargod!). Anyway.

fresh air and the outdoors, all normal

We have been following a daily schedule to the best of our abilities because I’m pretty sure most of us (humans in general, yes, but my progeny in particular) do better with routines than they do with chaos — and especially during a trying time like now, with a seeming million unknowns flying around and news (fake or otherwise) coming at us at light speed. My job is to give them normalcy, so even in the utter lack thereof wherein we’re currently residing in Silicon Valley, I am trying to make our days have rhythms and cadence similar to what they’d have at school. 

Trying, of course, is the operative word.

recent rains (finally!) are making the plantlife quite magnificent and that nearby stream quite active

In recent weeks, I’ve mentioned how good The Joy of Movement was, and I still wholeheartedly stand by it. My quick and dirty book review of it is basically that if you’ve ever considered yourself someone who loves to move your body — however you do it — because it just makes you feel good, this book is for you. It backs-up all of those hunches you’ve had about exercise’s effect on you, particularly on your mental health, with all types of research and studies that are meaningful and pertinent.

If the opposite is true — that you’ve never really considered yourself to be someone who quote-unquote LIKES exercise — this book is still for you. I think the author does a solid job of convincing everyone that they have something, a few things, really, to gain from exercising, in terms of their mental health. It’s a solid read, fairly quick, and if you’re in the market for something from which you want to walk away feeling inspired (and chompin’ for a run [or your movement of choice]), The Joy of Movement is for you. 

Finishing The Joy of Movement right before COVID-19 blew up reminded me of how important I deem exercise (and specifically, running) to my health. It’s as natural to me each day as, I don’t know, breathing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, my movement of choice brings me immense joy, regardless of my pace, my distance, how much climbing I did, or any other metric that only runners care about, and I’ve often ruminated on how lucky I am to be able to do it in the first place. I’m fortunate to be able to want to do it and be physically able to, yes, but I’m also fortunate to be in a position where my life circumstances allow me to. My privilege isn’t lost on me. (Another quick aside to say that Nick Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn’s new book, Tightrope, is so, so good and also heartbreaking. Reading it in the midst of the COVID shutdown is another level. More to come, highly recommended). 

Regarding running and COVID: over the past few days, with COVID and shelter-in-place and everything else engulfing everyone’s attention span, I noticed that my running has changed ever-so-slightly. It’s not necessarily because my goal races are out the window, which they absolutely should be — Big Sur announced its postponement last week, the spring PA schedule is decimated, and I imagine Mountains to Beach will make their postponement announcement any day now — but I think it’s because I’ve instinctively needed running to be something other than it was for me in days prior. 

In the past week, all I want is to hear the birds singing, or the cows bellowing, or nothing at all. 

Hearing my breathing is enough. 

Seeing the electric pink of a burgeoning sunrise reminds me that I’m here for this, right now. 

I could tell you what yesterday was like, or I could take a stab at hypothesizing what tomorrow will bring, but in doing either (or both), I’d be missing out on what’s unfolding before me, all the messy and uncomfortable bits of it. 

Or I could just stay right here, in this present moment, and roll. It might be a colossal failure, and it might not be pretty, but trying again and again is the only option. 

If movement has taught me nothing else, it has taught me the value in staying put — uncomfortable as it may be sometimes — and that eventually, a path appears, and the only way out is through.