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The Joy of Movement & Race Entry Giveaway for TSFM

The Joy of Movement & Race Entry Giveaway for TSFM

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COVID-19 got ya down? 

Yeah. I feel you.  

I live in Santa Clara County, in “the capital of Silicon Valley,” according to our trash and recycling cans. In the past few days, the county banned public gatherings of more than 1,000 people (exempting schools, malls, and airports), which meant that literally overnight, a good number of races, swim meets, parades, professional sports teams’ games, you name it were wiped off the calendar for the next three+ weeks. 

It’s hard to enumerate everything that has gotten canceled or postponed, but suffice it to say that it’s a lot. Add to all those changes the increasing number of people being asked to work remotely for the first time (and perhaps for the foreseeable future), and all the change and frenetic pace at which it is being thrown at all of us … it’s understandable to feel a little overwhelmed and dizzy.   

In my world, this ban, intended to mitigate COVID-19’s reach throughout our county (2 million+ people strong, with over 1 million here in SJ alone) meant that a race I’d be volunteering at on Saturday morning was cancelled (Shamrock 5k/10k), in addition to a handful of my eldest’s swim meets over the next few weeks. We haven’t yet gotten notice that schools are shuttered temporarily, but it seems it’s just a matter of time, especially since so many of the local higher ed institutions have moved to online learning. When SCC announced the ban was extended through early April, the Silicon Valley half marathon, the singular race I was planning to run in early April in advance of the Big Sur International Marathon, was postponed to a later date. 

At the moment, because Big Sur is in Monterey County, the BSIM appears to still be on as planned for its late April date, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it were also canceled or postponed. The same goes for Mountains to Beach down in Ojai and Ventura in May. I’m mentally prepared for either or both race to not happen this spring. I’ve been through the experience before of races having to cancel for forces beyond their control (NYC due to Superstorm Sandy, PA races due to the fires a couple years ago up north), and while it sucks for sure, as important as this stuff is to me (and swimming is to my kids, and so on), it’s so not a big deal in the big scheme of things. It’s hard to argue with extenuating circumstances, especially when the health and well-being of a lot of people’s lives are at risk.    

I have no interest in getting into the scientific particulars or ramifications of COVID-19 because I’m not a scientist, nor do I pretend to be an expert on infectious diseases. That said, it took my breath away on Monday night when I learned that SCC had its first fatality to the disease, someone close to my parents’ age who likely had some sort of preexisting condition, just like my parents and I imagine just like your parents, too. The number of confirmed cases in our county is small — relative to our 2-million-plus person count — but it’s reasonable to predict that the numbers will continue to grow as testing kits become more available. I think of seniors in my life whose health would be seriously compromised by this, and I think of the immuno-suppressed kids I know whose health would also be upended by this stuff, and it’s all a little unnerving, to say the least. 

My original plan for this week’s entry was to write about that Kelly McGonigal book I mentioned last week, The Joy of Movement. I’m not so naive to think that all we have to do is go for a run or walk and presto! we’ll all feel like we have all the answers to this COVID-19 business. However — there’s always a however — I will claim, much like McGonigal does throughout her work, that more likely than not, if you’re feeling any sort of overwhelming emotion surrounding all the uncertainty and fear that is consuming social media and news feeds, one of the best things you can do for yourself is simply move your body. 

seeing this type of stuff is good for us always (and I imagine especially right now). we can’t get enough green stuff in our lives. we’re hard-wired for it.

Walk. 

Run. 

Ride. 

Swim. 

What or how matters less than simply doing. Bonus points if you can do it in some real-deal green space because that confers even more benefits. 

cheesin in the perc ponds. the hills are still green, which is a bit remarkable since we haven’t gotten much rain this winter.

I’m not promising that you’ll find the secret to solving this pandemic or decipher the best ways to mitigate this dilemma in SCC (or wherever you are). 

However — there’s always a however — I can all but promise that in the time you spend moving your body, connecting with nature (ideally), disconnecting from your phone and notifications and everything else that’s making us all feel so on edge about all of this, you will likely feel better than you had in the moments prior. 

When it’s so easy to fret and ruminate about the future and the uncertainties swirling around, feeling enveloped in our worries, there’s peace to be found in the right here, right now.

As contradictory as it sounds, moving is a wonderful avenue to get there. 

A better book report is forthcoming — I’m about 20 pages from finishing the text — but in the interim, how about a little positivity for a moment. I have a comped race entry to any of The San Francisco Marathon distance events that’s up for grabs. This may be something to look forward to if your spring race of choice has gotten cancelled (or likely will get cancelled). It’s the first year in a good long while where I won’t be running SF or being a race ambassador (not because of any ill will — I just don’t think I’ll be in town over race weekend this year), so while you won’t see my beautiful face there race weekend, you will see that of many, many others. 

Just throw down a comment below so my girls and I can pick someone’s name out of a hat or something.  Let’s hear something that made you smile today.

Race day is July 26th, and the race features distances from the 5k all the way up to a 52.4 mile ultra. 

Hang in there. 

Two years

Two years

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How January is already behind us and that fewer than 100 days stand between my first marathon of the year and me is mind-boggling. January brought with it a solid month of training, with a handful of days off (most of them while we were in the Dominican Republic with family at the beginning of the month). Since school and life as usual resumed earlier in the month, everything seems to be rolling along at its usual frenetic pace. 

January: ~209 miles; ~10,200′ vert; lots and lots of smiles (PC: Janet)
gang’s all here four time zones away!

In recent history, the end of January/beginning of February transition always leaves me feeling a bit unsettled — equal parts hyperaware and uneasy, like I’m constantly searching for something.  It was on February 4th, two years ago, that I had a stroke out of seemingly nowhere.

To this day, it’s still such a bizarre thing to talk about when it comes up in conversation because the topic brings with it an onslaught of questions that I don’t necessarily feel like entertaining. 

All I can say — rather unhelpfully — is that weird shit happens every single day of the year, to people all over the world, and sometimes without a lot of reason or explanation. On February 4th, 2018, something weird happened to me. That said, without question, I was one of the extremely lucky ones. 

The fragility, sanctity, and gift of life is something that I think has always been at the forefront of my mind, in some capacity, thanks to the media that I regularly consume. Even still, since having that major health emergency two years ago — as well as the truly life-changing experiences of being pregnant, giving birth and raising children — at the risk of sounding super crunchy, there are so many times now in my day-to-day life where I often wish I could somehow capture a moment or feeling forevermore.

Breathing it in isn’t enough; I want to bottle it.

I feel it when I run, regardless of pace or distance, but especially on those special days that Csikszentmihalyi talks about, when it all just flows, and there’s no stopping or limit imaginable. As a runner in my mid-30s now, who has been doing this long stuff for over a decade, I have more mileage and speed in my legs than I could have ever imagined when I began it all in earnest in 2007. Lindsay Crouse’s recent NYT opinion piece really resonated with me (and with so many others), and like she said, there are runs that happen where I finish and all but let out a HELL YEA! I JUST DID THAT! because I’m in disbelief at what my body just produced. Not knowing the end limit of my potential is really exciting and is enough to get me out the door each day to strive.   

I feel it with my children, even in the most inane circumstances of our day-to-day. The best way I can describe it is that sometimes I watch them talking to me — and I hear them, and I see their mouths moving — but it’s as though I’m watching from above. I am just in utter amazement that we created these two beings and that they are growing every day and figuring out the world in their own way, but they still need us in ways that they can’t always describe or ask. I am immeasurably proud of them for who they are becoming as individuals, and watching it unfold some days all but takes my breath away.

I’ve heard it said before that having children is like having your heart and soul on the outside, or something like that, and man, that’s right. Raising children is truly harder than any job I’ve ever had or degree I’ve ever earned. That said, it’s so deeply gratifying (and frustrating at times, of course) that I swear that I can feel it on a cellular level. 

Wanting to freeze time to capture a moment and feeling isn’t limited just to running or to my kids, of course. There are so many instances with my husband, with my own parents and siblings and in-laws and family members, and with my friends where, when we all part to go our own separate ways, the feeling that I have in my chest is just indescribably satisfying.

The shit-eating grin marks and crow’s feet lines just get deeper; I’m okay with that. 

This is all getting way more crunchy and embarrassing than I was going for — my bad — but I guess given the experience that I had two years ago and what I could have had, it’s damn near impossible to not be a little (a lot) reflective at this time of year.

Waking up each day grateful to have woken up at all and to be given another day of life is enough. 

I am one of the supremely lucky ones.