Let Your Soul Guide You

About 13 years ago, I stood very near the shore of the Sea of Azov in Taganrog, Russia as an orphanage worker put a 13 month old baby boy in my arms.  I was to spend about a half hour with him and decide if I wanted to keep him or not.  Well, in my mind that was never a question, but went through with the exercise to make the adoption people happy, but the fact was I was more worried about how hard it would be to give him back when our visit was over.  He was perfect.  A round faced blonde Russian cherub who clearly needed to be mine, and two months later we would board a plane and bring him home forever. 

As a mom of five, I can attest to that each child is unique.  This child though, he is apart from the rest.  He approaches his interests with a laser like focus.  Early in elementary school he was into animals.  He could spout off what kind of ears an Indian Elephant had verses an Asian.  Later, he got so into airplanes he could tell you the name of every control on the panel and what they did by the time he was 8.  More recently, he decided to play the piano.  YouTube and practice and suddenly after a month or two Chopin erupted from my front living room.  That's just him.  Takes his brilliant mind and grabs hold and becomes a master in no time. 

When you're down and they're counting
When your secrets all found out
When your troubles take to mounting
When the map you have leads you to doubt
When there's no information
And the compass turns to nowhere that you know well

-Sting,"Let Your Soul be Your Pilot"

That is, to clarify, a master in his interests.  By fifth grade, I would find myself in IEP meetings as he could not seem to focus on school the way he did other things.  He could tell you how to calibrate an altimeter yet without a lot of support could not pass fourth grade math.  It didn't make sense.  He was not a lazy child.  He did not seem to have learning problems, but for whatever reason, he just couldn't do it.  School was not his interest like planes were, it was a stressful unchartered territory for him that led to failure after failure.  

When the doctors failed to heal you
When no medicine chest can make you well
When no counsel leads to comfort
When there are no more lies they can tell
No more useless information
And the compass spins
The compass spins between heaven and hell

To the doctor we went.  He was anxious.  He didn't sleep.  He had headaches and vomited from time to time.  He would get so overwhelmed with school he would literally shut down.  My little brilliant man could somehow not see his own abilities and apply who he was to this big hairy beast known as school.  Medications were tried, each with it's own side effects.  There were tics from the stimulants, vomiting from the norepinephrine uptake inhibitors and sleepiness from the clonidine.  He was given lots of diagnoses,  none that really fit him well.  Nobody seemed to know how to help him other than adding more staff to his team to literally pull him along, so he could advance to the next grade.

Let your pain be my sorrow
Let your tears be my tears too
Let your courage be my model
That the north you find will be true

As a mom, I can truly say there is nothing more painful than watching your child spiral around with no real answers when all you truly want is success for them.  Last year, finally, a special teacher would enter his life.  She met him exactly where he was.  She shared his love of music and used that as a spring board to apply to his day to day school activities.  She helped him to see the victories and realize that although he was not like most kids his age, he was wildly special in his own right.  She helped him to find direction and a way out of the spiraling mysterious maze that had held him hostage for so long.  Little successes led to bigger successes, and the confidence snowballed as he realized he needed none of what was offered before, only the ability to count on his own soul to pilot his way.  A month ago, he entered high school.  My little Russian cherib suddenly more grown up than I care to admit, has been texting me from school regularly excitedly reporting the A on his math test, or the A on his French quiz, all without special education support or medications.  

Let your soul be your pilot
Let your soul guide you
Let your soul guide you
Let your soul guide you
Upon your way

This whole experience with my middle son has made me wonder how many times we enter difficult situations and shut down because after a few stumbles, as we don't seem to believe we have the right skills to navigate through?  How many times do we give up and let outside forces try to pull us along, as fear has blinded us to our own abilities?  I think the challenge is to find those people who are willing to help us see who we really are and allow them to introduce us to own own skill set so we can truly learn to trust our souls to pilot us upon our way.  As for my middle son, despite growing like a weed at 14, I can honestly say, he walks a little taller these days.  He speaks with confidence about school and helping other struggling students learn from his journey.  When his face lights up after all he has conquered its easy for me to see, the best is truly yet to come.

It's Time

                                                    

Last weekend was long run weekend, as marathon training waits for no one.  Fifteen miles this time.  It is the furthest I have run since my first full marathon in January.  Admittedly 14 was rough the week before and I had serious doubts about 15 being any better.  Yet, I had a special medal to work for the coveted Helderberg to Hudson Half/Mohawk Hudson Full medal.  I decided it was time for strategy.  I was able to rally two of the runners I admire most to join me, or at least start with me, as they had their own runs to do.  We picked a new venue, a different trail across town I had only been on one other time.  Clearly, I partly struggled with 14 the week before because the trail I have run on all summer had grown stale.  That must be it.  I would arrive to the Rail Trail last week to a perfect day.  The sun was shining, my friends were there and off we went.  We would all take off at our own paces, but I would catch one of my friends on her way back in.  I was on mile six and feeling decent and she would run for a time with me just to encourage me.  Ah yes.  The beauty of belonging to an amazing tribe.  I would catch the second friend around mile 7  on her way back for a fist bump, and keep myself rolling.  I had enough water this time, and it already seemed better than the 14 I did the week before.  

So this is what you meant,

When you said that you were spent,

And now it's time to build from the bottom to the top

-"It's Time"                                                                 

Imagine Dragons                                                     

Oh yes, that is run was going great, until it wasn't.  There was a problem with this trail, the seven and a half mile jaunt out was a gradual hill.  Slow and steady gain in elevation like Chinese water torture.  I would hit the turn around realizing I was more tired than I should be at this point, suddenly worried about my real ability to finish.  Well, that and my irrational fear of snakes in that moment, elevated my heart rate when I ran into, what I would learn later was just a garter snake, right there on the trail at the turnaround.  My heart pounded, I felt winded and terrified, as my irrational brain made this thing out to be an 8 foot king cobra ready to strike right there on the Rail Trail in upstate New York.  The good news is, I was able to run ridiculously fast for a little bit late in mile 8.  Later, my friend would inform me she too saw it and was reasonably certain it was deceased.  No danger at all really, just a further energy sucker.  Nonetheless, I hit the next miles already spent, to where I finally had to, at mile 11, attend to the nagging voice in my head that had been present for weeks.  The one that said, "if 15 was this tough now, could I really do 26 in a month?"

I don't ever want to let you down

I don't ever want to leave this town

'Cause after all

This city never sleeps at night

                                           

It was time to get real.  Backing away from a marathon I signed up for months ago seemed like such a disappointment to me.  It would mean admitting to my motivational clients I was not ready.  Backing away from a challenge was generally not something in my inspirational wheelhouse.  However, I was not totally prepared for my first one.  As I slowed to a walk on mile 12, memories of mile 20 in Disney came back.  The moments I said out loud,"I just can't do this."  My feet hurt.  My back hurt.  My hips hurt.  I was miserable.  I was blessed with an amazing team that would never let me walk off the course.  This race was different though.  It was just me on the course.  Other than two faster runners doing the full, my whole crew was doing the half.  In that moment, I realized this question has fueled my chronic insomnia for some time.  What was I losing, outside of another medal, if I dialed it back to the half?  Well, I was risking the disappointment I would feel in myself plus running the risk of my clients' disappointment in me.  I finally bit the bullet right there on mile 12, took a deep breath and texted my accountability partner.  This was the hard part.  After weeks of pushing me through training I did not want to have this conversation.  

So this is where you fell,

And I am left to sell,

The path to heaven runs though miles of clouded hell,

right to the top,

Don't look back,

Turning to rags and giving the commodities a rain check

As I tend to do when I get nervous about talking about difficult things, I would text his ear off with my justifications for doing the half.  I wasn't letting down our accountability arrangement.  I was doing a half and doing it better. A Spartan Beast hovered around a half and it would make me a better Spartan racer.... I had a million comments....  see, my theory was if I kept talking he couldn't tell me I a being an idiot and should go for the full.  However, that diatribe was met with something totally different.  It was met with absolute support for changing trajectory to match the training I am currently doing well, rather than risking injury or taking on the misery that would surely accompany the full.  I would get the same response from my amazing tribe.  Honestly, I got nothing but support which made me wonder why I let this keep me up at night for so long.   So, in the end, without looking back, I have given the full marathon a rain check.  Not never, just not now. 

It's time to begin, isn't it?

I get a little bit bigger but then I'll admit,

I'm just the same as I was,

Now don't you understand,

I'm never changing who I am

As I walked through those last few miles last week, I felt relieved.  I had done better than a half the last two weekends.  I had the distance in the bag. Suddenly, the river was brighter, and mile 14 of the trail I was on was less like Chinese water torture and more like inspiration.  In the days that followed, I would throw all of my previous training plans away and start on something all new preparing for the half. Speed training, inclines, and suddenly it just was all easier. 

This whole experience makes me wonder how many times we get so caught up in chasing the bling and avoiding the disappointment of what we are not quite ready for, that we forget to celebrate where we are on the journey right here and right now.  Now I can't wait for next month. A race I have done before, on a trail I truly love, with a lot of my favorite people for a distance I can do well. Leaving the marathon on the table for now has done exactly one thing, added one fewer medal to the rack I don't look at all that often anyway.  I am learning that the challenge here is not made up of mileage, fancy medals or racing.  The real challenge is embracing our spot on this journey even if it means giving a  goal a rain check, and choosing to be the best current version of ourselves instead because, after all, the best is yet to come.

                                             

Perfect

Made a wrong turn, once or twice,

Dug my way out, blood and fire, 

Bad decisions, that's alright

Welcome to my silly life

-Pink                                                               

Yep, that's what I would be doing today.  Digging my way out of what feels like a bad decision, which may in fact, involve blood.  I was marathon training, 13.75 miles on tap today.  Further than a half marathon, yet among my fellow marathoners preparing for our races, we are calling it "a training run" like this is no biggie.  For me?  The glory of the marathon sounded amazing.  I did the sister half marathon to my upcoming race back in April.  Do the half in April and the full in October and you get a special medal.  Ugh... my propensity for bling has once again gotten me in trouble.  Now I am saddled with long training runs that some days are not as easy as others. In fact, the only way I do these things is to make a promise to my marathon training group as well as my personal accountability partner, as I am much less likely to let them down.  Left to my own devices, this may not be the case.   As I went to leave the house, I found myself annoyed with said personal accountability partner, freaking 13.75 miles, clearly this was his fault.  

As I went to leave for the trail, I passed through the family room to the door, the kids were watching some action movie and I found myself saying what I always do,"turn it down, that thing is screaming." Which, in my state at the time, probably came out a little harsher than I intended.  But seriously, why is it in recent years movie makers have found a way to make the dramatic sections of the movie so much louder?  I find I have to watch movies, remote in hand, ready to turn it down for these parts so my ears don't bleed  The whole thing is just annoying.

I would hit the trail at Lock 7 for my run along the Mohawk.  The weather was cool for a change, which was a bonus, but I was still dreading my run. I thought about the group I belong to known as "Fall Marathon Training Group."  The group was formed by a friend when we realized there were quite a few of us training for fall races.  This predominantly female group has helped me to remain accountable but I can't help to be jealous of these seasoned runners.  They are all so much faster than me, and they seem to make these training runs look so much easier.   I suppose it is my history of lifelong obesity, which meant I was last to be picked in gym class, counted out and bullied, that had my brain ruminating over my own inadequacy as an athlete.  Probably not the greatest time for this internal diatribe of negativity while I was at mile one, but yet, here it was.  However, as music often does, at mile two Pink had a lot to say to me.

You're so mean, when you talk, about yourself you were wrong,

Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead,

So complicated, look how big, you'll make it,

Filled with so much hatred, such a tired game,

It's enough! 

It dawned on me in that moment, it's quite possible I was wrong.   I do tend to spend much of my time letting the loudest voices be the negative ones.  The ones that remind me I don't measure up, or the gentle grieving thoughts for relationships that have significantly changed during my four and a half year journey to health and wellness.  Pink was right.  It was time to put this to bed, and focus on a solid run to the best of my own abilities.  I would get through the 13.75 miles that my training app called for, and add another quarter for a nice round 14.  Why?  Because I could.  My paces were pretty even, I was sore and tired, but I did it.  

The whole world's scared, so I swallow the fear,

The only thing I should be drinking is an ice cold beer,

When I finished, there were messages waiting in my private group chat with select members of my tribe asking how I did.  I shared my run there and was met with cheers and congratulations.  Then,  as we do, among our Fall Marathon Motivational group, I posted my run before I even got in the car.  I immediately had the greatest comments from all of the marathoners I admire so much.  Here I was jealous and feeling inadequate when each and every one of them are firmly in my corner, cheering me on.  My paces did not matter.  This was not a competition.  Rather, a celebration of all of our successes.   My accountability partner, who I was way less annoyed with at that point, would send congrats as well and shut down comments where I tried to downplay the parts of my run that maybe were less than perfect.  Fourteen miles.  'Nuff said.  

Oh pretty pretty please, don't you ever, ever feel,,

Like you're less than f**kin' perfect,

Pretty, pretty please, if you ever, ever feel like you're nothing,

You're f**kin' perfect to me!

As I write this I am thinking more about the volume problem of modern day movies, and I found myself asking, when does it get really loud?  When it gets good.  Maybe our job is is to have our own remote to dial back the negative and less interesting voices in our heads and lives, and crank that shit when it gets really good.  Maybe Hollywood had it right.  I ran 14 miles today, more than a half on a lazy Sunday September afternoon, a quarter mile further than I intended, and was celebrated with so much love and support.   That right there is a whole lot of perfect and should be cranked til my ears bleed.  I heard a phrase today about looking for the people in your life that pour into you.  I am so grateful to my tribe that shows up for me every single day to remind me I am nothing less than f**kin' perfect, just as I do for them.  After all, we are all in this together and the best is yet to come.  

Getting Higher and Higher, I Go Blind

The Spartan Super.  The iconic midrange race and the second leg of the coveted Spartan Trifecta which is the completion of this race plus a Spartan Sprint and a Spartan Beast in the same calendar  year, something I have completed in both 2017 and 2018.  Advertised at 5-8 miles, but often 9, and 30 "plus" obstacles, with the "plus" left open to interpretation by the good people of Spartan. This iconic race for me is usually done in Chicago with my 1DOS Cofounder, Karl, and my son.  With us, we bring a team of newbies and watch their reactions as the conquer things they did not think possible.  At least it's what we did....until in June, Mother Nature made sure our newbies never jumped the fire, as we were all pulled off the course 3/4 of a mile from the finish due to lightning.  A lackluster finish to say the very least.  A week and a half ago, I would join others of my 1DOS Sharks in a whole different Super, as the thought of leaving an unfinished trifecta on the table this year poked my crazy. This race?  Boston.  I was familiar with the venue as I had done a Sprint there before, and I guess I did mount a little excitement over the newbies attending,  yet at the same time something about it was just difficult.

Every time I look at you, I go blind

In the morning I get up, and I try to 

feel alive, but I can't

-Hootie and the Blowfish                                         

In the days that preceded the event, I would find myself still a bit angry over not finishing in Chicago.  My mind would become a twisted tangle of  worry over several things.  There was everything from Mother Nature winning again with the weather, to conquering this distance again, as 9 miles on a Spartan course was a bit different than 9 on the road, and this course had the colorful nickname,"The Ankle Breaker", to the whole facing the obstacles I struggle with, again.  All of these things led to me having serious doubt about truly doing this whole race over again.  There was the damn slip wall.  One of my main nemeses when it came to OCR racing.  I faced this for the first time two years ago at The Beast in West Virginia. Fifteen feet up a 45 degree angled wall,  with a rope about 7 feet up to "help".  Yeah, well as helpful as it supposedly is, it was always just out of reach for me.  The wall was often wet or muddy, if I am being truly honest, my faith that I could truly run up the damn thing enough to reach the rope was pretty low. So, in the past I would try to run up the incline and grab hold of the damn rope. I would miss and fail. Race after race.  So, gee, hopefully that would be there yet another time. Dare I dream....  This repeating a race I was so close to finishing two months prior suddenly was this obnoxious albatross I was not totally excited about.

Nonetheless, I would put on a smile for my team, as I had made a promise, and take off for Boston.  We would arrive at the usual Spartan festivities. The upbeat music, racers with medals who were rinsing off, racers like us waiting our turn to get our numbers inked on our arms, shaking out the nerves and drinking the final cups of water. There was the traditional start line,”Who are we?”  “We are Spartans!!”  Three loud “AROO”s and it was time to take off. Up and down the rocky hills of the ATV park on a sunny day. It wasn't all that bad, the company was good, and well, at least I didn't see any lightning.

I don't know what it is

Something in me just won't give me a chance

Then we saw it about 6 miles in. The slip wall. Well at least it was not muddy. Then again it wasn’t muddy the first time I saw it in WV either and I still couldn't do it. Switching into Mama Shark mode, I would put my fears on hold and cheer my teammates on, as one by one they ran at full speed and grabbed the rope, up and over. To be honest, yes I was cheering them on, but more accurate was I was procrastinating for what I knew would be my own failure. Watching each one nail the obstacle I thought great. I was going to be the only one here who couldn't do it.  Why did they make this look so easy, when it seemed so hard for me? I found the,"I can't" that I thought was only in my head suddenly audible  Not only that, my teammate heard. Great. Failing as a motivator too.

Little child, did you know that there's a light,

And its gonna shine right through your eyes

Trying to shine a little light my way, I would hear my teammate say “No!  Your shoes will totally grip this.”  Really? Cleated obstacle shoes on a smooth wall?  Seems legit.  Not.  Lost in the sea of negativity between my two ears I would suddenly realize my teammate ahead of me had paused at the top of the wall and was yelling to me. She threw me the rope. "You got this!" She was not going down until I gave a shot. Afraid of disappointing my team, I found myself running straight at the thing I was so afraid of. The thing I failed so many times before, only this time I had it. I  reached down part way up and actually gripped the rope my teammate threw to me, stood up and walked to the top as my team cheered me on. As I got over the wall I paused at the top to yell to my son,”Did you see that?! Oh my God I did it.!”

 He did what he always does. Smiled and said he saw with a simple,”Good job Mom”. Later I would learn he got it all on GoPro complete with my cheerful well placed F bomb the moment I realized the rope was actually in my hand for the first time in 12 races.

Well some where over there there's a purpose

There's a care for free

We would go on to finish the race.  For me it was a total of 16 miles on a super course this year, 7 in Chicago and 9 in Boston to finally earn this medal. A hard fought battle for sure. Looking back at the slip wall, I am reminded of the person who threw me the rope and knew with 100% certainty I would join her at the top, no matter what it was my brain had to say.  There was the other teammate trying to shine their own light my way when it all seemed so hard.  How many times in life are we blind to those in our lives who are always willing to toss us a much needed rope and have faith in our ability to grab on.  How many times are we blind to those who stand directly in front of us who have the ability to shine enough light our way, that our own fire is lit to blaze a path to much greater things?

Hold me, hold me 'cause I want to get higher and higher,

Higher than life

Maybe the trick is to swallow the fear, run full speed at the things we doubt the most, and allow the rope throwers and fire starters to remove our own blindness due to past failure, and start to believe no matter what came first, we all have the ability to scale the proverbial impossible walls of life with a boldness we never dreamed of before. Only then will we see what is truly possible and absolutely know the best is yet to come.

Smash and Grab, Losing the Tools of the Trade

I have been a nurse practitioner for 18 years, and one thing I have learned is as providers we develop a nerdlike obsession with the tools of our trade.  For example, my first ten years in practice was in neurosurgery.  My beloved mentor taught me the only tools for appropriate neurological examination were the 128 cps weighted tuning fork, much longer than a standard tuning fork, and the long handled Queens Squarehead reflex hammer.  The irony of said hammer is that it is actually round.  It was explained to me it was named for the town in England where  it was invented.  Nonetheless, learning to use these specific tools proved to offer accurate neurological exams every time. 

After ten years of neurosurgery, I made my triumphant return to the emergency room, where I had to add to my tool collection, a stethoscope.  Not just any stethoscope.  I did my homework and bought what most medical professionals had, a Littman.  A Littman lightweight II.  Yes, there were others above and below this model, but this is what I wanted.  Longer tubing than the more expensive Cardiology 3, and, well, it came in purple.  The new tool of my trade. That Littman and I have practiced for eight years together.  Tried and true listening to wheezy lungs, bruits and heart murmurs.  An extension of me in my work life. Let us not forget, one more thing in my field, the ever important work bag.  In 18 years of practice, I had received a variety of free bags from vendors and institutions celebrating nurse practitioner week and things, mostly low end bags that needed replacing by the time I was offered another.  However, two years ago, I received the mother of all bags.  The high end back pack with a padded pocket for a laptop, and multiple pockets for my tools.  I suppose I get nerdy over this stuff the way someone who has an actual office would be about the art on the wall.  Yes, I had finally hit the sweet spot in work gear.  That is until it was gone.

Just a young gun with a quick fuse,

I was uptight, 

Wanna let loose

A week and a half ago, I would walk out of the hotel I was staying in for work, headphones on, Imagine Dragons playing, gearing up for another shift when I would see it.  Something was wrong.  My car didn't look right.  As I approached the driver's side, I saw an odd shaft of light on the seats, there was glass, lots of glass.... it took me a minute to get my mind to focus, my passenger window had a hole in it.  My work bag was gone.  The tricks of my trade were gone. I had mistakenly left my wallet in there, as I had a two hour commute plus a ten hour day the day before and was tired.  Yes, that was gone too explaining the "did you try to use your card at WalMart at 3:00 am?" message from Capitol One I had received. I would go back into the hotel in a panic.  The desk person immediately pulled out notebooks looking for protocols or something.  I heard myself saying,"you don't need a protocol.  Put it down and call the police!"  Admittedly, it came out harsher than I planned as did the conversations that followed by bystanders who would ask me what happened as I stood waiting on police. 

Thunder, feel the thunder,

Lightning and the thunder,

Who do you think you are?

Dreaming 'bout being a big star?

 I was flustered and angry, trying to cancel credit cards while I waited for police, getting my head around that these people  had several forms of ID for me now.  My whole identity was now at the mercy of these thieves.  Police would come and try to provide reassurance that these were likely kids who really only want money and not my expired passport they made off with, explaining this is all too common, as with the way the law is they get away with it.  We would finish the report and I would go on to drive to work in a car seat, despite my best effort was still loaded with shards of glass.  I would also have no purple Littman, only a disposable stethoscope from the clinic drawer that had awful acoustics and hurt my ears.  In between seeing patients, I would quickly hop on Amazon and order the first reasonably priced Littman I could find and see about something better later.  

Thunder, feel the thunder,

Lightning and the thunder

The day felt completely out of control.  I was not working in the greatest city that day either. My insurance could not find someone out there to secure the glass.  It was a busy patient day made more stressful by walking to the door every few mins to be sure no one else tried to get into my car.  Then it happened.  The phone call from the sargeant,"Amy.  I have your stuff."  By some stroke of luck, many of my belongings had been recovered in an abandoned stolen vehicle.

Have a seat in the foyer, take a number,

I was lightning before the thunder

Friday, I had to return to the same area for work.  I would find myself at the police department after my shift being fingerprinted in front of the holding cell.  They had recovered my stolen Capitol One card and needed to know which prints on it were mine.  I would then proceed to the crime lab to recover my belongings.  I was presented with contents of my work bag found in a baby seat of the stolen car, the bag was gone.  I was also given all the contents of my wallet including all of my identifying information.  Although, this should have been a relief, the gravity of strangers busting into my space and rooting through all of my things had me suddenly have a deep emotional understanding as to what it is to be the victim of a crime.  

A good night of rest and on to my shift on Saturday, I would find I had to use my fancy bag I use for my foundation.  It has our original embroidered logo, with our original tag line, and references our 2018 race team.  At first, I didn't want to use this bag.  It was a really nice bag I use for my business.  Then again, things have changed.  It is not 2018.  Our logo has changed and we have a whole new tagline.  We have big hairy goals and have grown by leaps and bounds since then with huge events on the horizon.  Maybe, it's time to consider this my "free bag" and order a new one for the business. 

I would pull out my new Littman.  It wasn't purple.  It was a different model, as I was in a panic when I ordered it.  Wait a minute though.  It was bronze and brown.  Super sharp.  I had to admit it had amazing acoustics, with soft tubing as it hung around my neck and suddenly I realized I really liked it.  Tonight, as I finally had the wherewithal to remove my stolen items from my car I would see the purple stethoscope.  It was in a bag with words like "larceny" and "evidence".  The left earpiece is cracked and has been, the tubing is stiff and drying out from being sanitized multiple times a day for eight years, and in areas there is a dingy that will never go away.  

                                     

I was dreaming of bigger things,

and want to leave my old life behind

Thunder, thunder

Thunder, thun', thunder

The glass guy ultimately told me the shatter proof window I had meant someone worked extra hard that day to bust into my world and shake things up.  However,  I am beginning to think that sometimes that is exactly what we need if we are going to stop clinging so tightly to things that do not work as well as they once did, and missing the possibility that something greater exists.  Oh yes, my new foundation bag is on the way symbolizing where we are headed, and I will have the old one with me at work at all times to remind me of where we began and yes, I am  not ashamed to admit that I am enjoying a raging thunderous nerd attack surrounding my sexy new stethoscope.   In all, I certainly cannot say that being the victim of a crime is a great thing, it feels vulnerable and even painful at times, but it has taught me with new eyes to see that the best is yet to come. 

Time

I am a planner.  I have to be.  I manage two businesses, work more than full time hours as a travel nurse practitioner, mange the schedules of the four kids living under my roof and run a household.  Planning is the name of the game.  Even my marathon training has to be placed in neatly among the other pieces of the puzzle that make up my day to day life.  Last week, I would find  myself at the Outer Banks on vacation when what was scheduled was a glorious 2 mile recovery walk. I have recently rediscovered a little old school pre-country, Hootie and spent some time assembling a whole new playlist just for the occasion.  Yes friends, this was going to be epic.

Time why you punish me

Like a wave bashing into the shore,

You wash away my dreams

I firmly believe that athletes come in two varieties.   There is the natural born talent that, with a little bit of training, progresses quickly to be lightening fast.  I have always dreamed of being said athlete, but I am not.  Truth be told, I'm clumsy.  I fall up stairs, walk into counter tops, and as referenced in a previous blog, even break my ankle on a Lego.  So, to be honest, I am not all that graceful and I suppose that is part of the reason my physical gains are slower.  I find I have to be the hardest worker in the room and I seem to make progress at a much slower pace, certainly making time no friend of mine when it comes to this.  Therefore, taking on distance running has been one of the most glorious and frustratingly difficult things I have done to date.   This is why I look forward to the recovery walk so much.  It is that day in my training when I, and other turtles like me, can raise our middle fingers high at the stopwatch and just shake it out.  This particular walk though, this was something I looked forward to long before my arrival there last week.  I planned to walk a mile on the road until it ended at that section of beach in Corolla people were allowed to drive on.  There is very little in the way of housing up there, and I could just enjoy it crowd free as the beach is my happy place.  In fact, screw the app, I planned on three miles.

Time is wasting, time is walking,

You ain't no friend of mine,

I don't know where I'm goin',

I think I'm out of my mind

Ironically the moment I hit the beach, Hootie came on and I would soon realize this was not what I had planned.  It was 7:30 at night, the tide was coming in, there was no sand pack.  I would soon find myself walking at the shore line on a sideways incline, at times my feet going ankle deep in wet sand.  The surf was coming so quickly that dodging it, even at the shoreline, was hard.  There was wind and it was hot.  I found myself checking my watch, 1.2 miles.  My shoes were wet.  They were loaded with sand.  The ground was unstable, my brain was screaming at me to stop, but I made a promise to my accountability partner, and I had a plan.  The negative noise that would exist in my head later would be much worse if I failed either.  

Walking, wasting

You ain't no friend of mine

And I don't know where I'm goin'

Trudging along on the slant of the shoreline my legs started to fatigue, the hip I broke three years ago reminded me it was full of titanium, and the going got harder and harder.  I was pissed off I was missing the relaxation time I had long anticipated, and my very uncoordinated and ugly walk on uneven sand got angrier.  I felt the fear of the real possibility of a face plant in wet sand before it was all over. I was annoyed with the person I promised this to,  I was aggravated with other life trials I had no control over, and before long I would realize my deep thinking brought me well past the half way point as I stopped paying attention to where I was.  Now this journey was even longer.  I would turn around and fight my way back to the road, drenched, covered in sand, and oh yeah.....completely satisfied.

Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow 

and all the pain and sorrow running free

'Cause tomorrow's just another day

And I don't believe in time

Tomorrow did come after that walk.  I was somehow much lighter and had a certain satisfaction in conquering the surf and far surpassing my own plan.  I even quit being angry with my accountability partner, and we have resumed our friendship, which is a good thing as we have a business to run.  However, this experience had me thinking about how many times do we look forward to an event, only to show up and find it is not a relaxing beautiful beach sunset, but extended time spent on a taxing trek through deep wet sand that will test every fiber of our being?  I think the trick is to stay true to those who support us, stay true to yourself by following the plan, and lean into the challenge with determination, because what lives at the end is the ability to see that facing the unexpected hard things only makes us better in the end.  Only in that space can we truly see the best is yet to come.

Time without courage,

And time without fear,

Is just wasted, 

Wasted time

Suddenly I See

There's something that happens when you make sweeping positive changes in your life.  Yes.  There is positive feedback.  The compliment that comes with fitting in a size four or completing a difficult race.  However, there is something very few successful people talk about out loud. Haters.  I was reading an article recently by Joe DeSena, founder of Spartan Race, that asked a simple question,"Do you have enough haters to succeed?"  He talks about haters being essentially the armchair quarterbacks, sitting back in the comfort of said armchair and watching things unfold, ready to attack whatever they see, yet they never actually enter the game.  This was an article I really needed.  As my organization is rapidly growing, so are the haters.  They tend to crop up everywhere, from social media outlets, to in person comments.  They all seem to subscribe to the "you are doing it wrong, you can do it better or stop doing it altogether" mentality.  I would love to tell you I am good at raising a triumphant fist, telling them off and forging ahead anyway.  The truth?  My 45 years of insecurity and people pleasing has stood in the way of that, leaving me to at times, question the lofty goals I have in front of me, and wondering if I had the wherewithal to continue to collect haters as we rise.  I was mulling all of this over today stuck in traffic.

Her face is a map of the world

Is a map of the world

You can see she's a beautiful girl

She's a beautiful girl

And everything around her is a silver pool of light

The people who surround her feel the benefit of it

KT Tunstill.  I think in that moment I felt anything but a silver pool of light, probably not a great thing for someone in the motivational business.  My nagging overthinking brain was busy working on methods to change people's minds and walk away hater free, knowing that was likely not possible.  However,  I could hold on to the Fourth of July.  I took a team of 31 racers to The Firecracker 4 in Saratoga.  We came in third for the most race registrations, earning a donation to Karl Koelle and my 1DOS Foundation.  One year in existence, and we came in just behind the YMCA.  A win for sure.

Suddenly I see

This is what I wanna be

Suddenly I see

Why the hell this means so much to me

There was the race itself.  Our recipient of this year's fitness scholarship, Deana, it was at her longest race to date, four miles.  She is down 45 pounds and killing it every single day.  I had the honor, after my own finish, to jump back in the race to cross the finish line with her.  Here she was 20 feet from the finish screaming,"I can't!"  I screamed back at her,"You fucking can and you will!  GO!"  She did and we cried happy tears as she knows completing this means she is much more capable than she ever dreamed and that there are bigger things for her on the horizon.  I would find myself sitting in traffic looking at the pictures.  Here is that moment in time I was cursing at her at a family friendly charity event, with the,"Oh my"look on another friend's face as the profanity came tumbling out.  I would love to tell you that had not happened before, sorry Firecracker people, I know her.  I know when it is time to push and what form of pushing fits her needs.  It is then I see it.  There on the far right.  Adriana.  Smiling, head up, Adriana.  

She's got the power to be

The power to give

The power to see

To the outsider, it's just another runner supporting our recipient.  To me, it is so much more.  I had this same finish with her a year ago when she was on her own journey.  When her,"I fucking can't" came out ten feet from the finish at The Heart Association 5k, yet another family friendly event, sorry AHA, to which I responded with the same answer I gave Deana.  Here she is now a year later, the power to see her own vision, the power to be strong and fit, and the power to give back to those behind her.  No, this was a smile of absolute identification with our recipient and pride in how far she has come.  Suddenly seeing this was the A-HA moment I needed to know exactly why the hell it means so much to me.  At the end of both of these races,  I would go on to explain to both of them, as lifelong obese people, we have spent years stopping ten feet from the finish as our brains screamed at us to fail.  I was not letting that happen for either of them.

Suddenly I see

Why the hell it means so much to me

These photos alone reminded me that there may always be outside haters criticizing what we do, but getting in the game,  shining our silver pool of light to benefit those around us, and not pulling back in the finish will mean so much more to all of us. I suppose in time, my insecurities with the haters will lessen, or I will learn to deal with them better, but looking at these photos reminds me that we are just getting started and the best is yet to come.