Caught Up in the Numbers?

Just 43 days until our wedding and 30 days until my first marathon, I can't help but to be obsessed with counting, right? Over three months ago, I began the journey of training once again for my first marathon. So throughout my training, I am constantly counting and feeling a tad bit obsessed with numbers. I track my miles, pace, calories, carbs, protein, and fat and try to ensure that I am following my training schedule. How many miles did I run? What was my pace? What were my splits? How many days did I run this week? What was my carb, protein, and fat intake for the day? How many reps did I do for stretching and strengthening? I am constantly logging my miles in Dailymile and tracking all of my workouts. Numbers, numbers, numbers!!!

Also, during the last two months, my fiance and I made the decision to change our wedding date from June 25, 2011 to October 30, 2010. No, I am not pregnant and yes, we are a little crazy. The bottom line is that we are both beyond ready to say our "I do's." Next summer just seemed too far away. As I plan all of the wedding details, it's back to numbers. How many are on the guest list? How many have sent their RSVP? What's our budget? How much is that cake topper? How much are those flowers? How many tables will be in the reception hall? How many centerpieces do we need? What are the measurements for the sweetheart table? So, here we are in the midst of it all, fanatical about numbers and of course, I can't help but count down the days to two of the most epic events in my life.

As I've become obsessive compulsive with counting, I can't help but wonder if I am missing the bigger picture. Fixated on the details, am I forgetting to enjoy the moment?? Yes, I am thrilled that we are becoming husband and wife. I look forward to the day that we express our love and commitment among our family and friends and truly began our lives together. I also can not wait to cross the finish line of my first marathon, a lifelong goal of mine. I am beyond excited to reach this running milestone. Yes, let's be honest here, there are days that I simply want to fast forward to October 17th and October 30th because the anticipation is torturing me. However, shouldn't I be savoring each day?? Well, absolutely. It reminds me that life is a journey not a destination. It is essential to live in the present and cherish each and every moment. Time is not promised to anyone...

Over Labor Day weekend, we planned a trip home to visit my mother. We spent a few days at home helping my mother around the house and just enjoying our time together. As we plan for my bridal shower and the wedding, we have been going through old photos of when I was younger. As my mother was searching for photos, she found a bag of old pictures of my father when he was in the military and stationed in Vietnam. Some of the pictures were dated from 1966 and 1969. It was so nostalgic and sentimental to get a closer look at my father's life. These were pictures that neither my mother or I had ever seen before. It was an opportunity to not only learn more about my father's life but to also honor his life and legacy. His time on earth seemed to end so suddenly and I often wonder why I didn't treasure more of the time we shared together. We often think we simply have more time but so often we don't.

Within the past week, we lost a close friend of ours who was 34 years old and married with 3 children. She went in for a minor surgery and later suffered a seizure, went into a coma, and abruptly passed away. We were shocked and saddened by such a tragic loss. Once again, we realized that time waits for no one and tomorrow is never promised.

This past week, I spent a couple of days on the southeastern coast of NC for a work trip. I oddly enough brought two right shoes and decided not to join the barefoot running craze so I didn't run while in NC. I have to admit that I was angry about my oversight but it truly was a blessing in disguise. I spent two days with 3 fabulous ladies and spent my "running" time just walking on the beach enjoying conversations with women I came to appreciate and admire. While I did wear my Garmin to track our miles during our walk, I had to remind myself that it wasn't about numbers. I wasn't counting down to anything, I wasn't training, I wasn't racing. I was merely enjoying the moment as we watched the sun rise above the ocean. As I walked down the beach, I felt the sand in between my toes and the waves crash upon my feet. I smelled the salt water and collected a few seashells while taking pleasure in the companionship of some remarkable women. This is what life is all about...

With all of this rambling, what's my point you ask?

Well, I wholeheartedly believe that life is about setting and achieving our goals, believing in ourselves, and accomplishing our dreams. It's often about transitioning to the next phase of our lives. There is always something to get to...there are details each step of the way that we must tend to. However, when it is all said and done, life is about letting go of it all. Forget the numbers and merely take delight in this very moment...remembering the true meaning of it all.

On October 17th, I hope to run my first marathon. While numbers are an essential part of training, on that day nothing matters more to me than crossing that finish line and accomplishing my goal. It will be a moment of strength, humility, gratefulness, honor, and pride. On October 30th, I hope to marry my best friend. On that day, it won't be about cupcakes, centerpieces, programs, flowers, and all of the crazy details that we get caught up with. That moment will be about our love, admiration, commitment, and partnership.

So as you contemplate the next chapter in your life, remember that life truly is a journey not a destination...

Definition of a Runner

After I finished the half-marathon, I knew it was just a matter of weeks before I would have to begin my official marathon training. I wanted a slight break from my training regime but I knew I needed to maintain my running base. Thus, I continued to run about 4 days a week but turned the mileage down a few notches. During these weeks, I assessed my most recent accomplishment, feeling proud and victorious while simultaneously anticipating my next running journey. As I begun to share with my family and friends that I was once again training for a marathon, some questioned my reasons for doing so. Quite frankly, I began to wonder as well. What is this relentless force that always drives me back to this goal? Why am I so compelled to run a marathon? What if I never run one? Does it really matter when it is all said and done?

For many years, I have defined myself as a runner; yet, underneath it all, I don't feel as though I can wholeheartedly claim that title. While I have been a "serious" runner for years, something has always felt like it was missing. I have tracked every single run for the past 8 years. I have increased my mileage over time and occasionally focused on speed work, challenging myself to go farther and faster. I've even ran some races (several 5ks, a 10k, and now a half-marathon.) However, no matter what running milestone I reach, there's always a craving for something more...

I often hear people designate themselves as runners while their running routine consists of merely a few miles every few months. There are even those people who might occasionally run a 5k or two for a good cause, but otherwise they allocate minimal time for running. They have not accrued enough miles to experience the ultimate highs and lows of a runner. So, are these folks truly runners? Well, who I am to judge? However, this does bring up the question of what is a runner. Is the title based upon quantity or even quality of miles? Is there a specific requirement to compete in races? Is there some type of running checklist that one should reference before placing "runner" in their biography on Twitter or Facebook? Or, is it simply based upon our own personal experiences and feelings as it relates to running? I don't know what the answer is. I like to think that this is based upon our own personal assessments and calculations but this is merely my opinion.

For me, I feel as though I am not worthy of this title until I run a marathon. Some may say this is complete nonsense and that might be the case. However, there's no denying that something is missing in my running memoirs. I truly believe that there is a certain level of satisfaction and delight derived from this accomplishment that one can not find elsewhere. Again, why am I yearning for such fulfillment? Maybe it's the perfectionist in me that is never quite happy with the status quo or that part of me that is always driven to do more. Let's be honest here, how many people can say that they successfully ran a marathon? So, I am just being narcissistic by wanting this triumph?

As I contemplated this next chapter of running, I couldn't help but ask myself, why must I run a marathon and will this be enough? Yes, I can not wait to cross the finish line and obtain that medal that verifies that I completed 26.2 miles and adds substance to my running chronicles. Although, the truth of the matter is that this goal of mine is bigger than any T-shirt, medal, title, or label.

This goal of mine brings invaluable lessons that have not only enlightened but redefined my existence. This goal of mine reminds me that life is way too short. We often live and ultimately die with so many regrets and tomorrow is never promised. Thus, we must truly seize each moment and follow our dreams.

This goal of mine reminds me that life is about pushing ourselves farther than we ever thought was possible. It is through these trials that fundamental self-discovery and analysis can occur. There have been moments in my training that I simply want to give up, but somehow I find the courage and the tenacity to carry on. This perseverance has also transferred into many other aspects of my life.

This goal of mine reminds me that optimal health is not always guaranteed. My father struggled with Prostate Cancer for nine years until his untimely death; my fiance has faced numerous health challenges that resulted in surgeries; my best friend has underwent two surgeries for back problems before the age of 30; all reminding me to be thankful and grateful for my health. Thus, I savor the fact that I can simply put two feet on the ground and run each morning.

This goal of mine strengthens that voice inside me that says "I can do this." Struggling with issues of insecurity, self-doubt, and lack of self-confidence for many years, this goal challenges me to believe in myself no matter what obstacle I might face. This goal reminds me of the importance of faith and believing in my ability to accomplish phenomenal things.

So as I venture into this marathon journey, I remind myself that this experience is greater than one might initially perceive. It is a chapter in my book that simply put, allows me to become a better and stronger person with each step that I take...

Mission Accomplished

...and we're off. The half-marathon began and I took off with the crowd. I had placed myself with the 9-minute pacing group at the start line since I was hoping to finish the half-marathon in about 2 hours. Within the first two miles, I felt a sudden urge to use the bathroom. I played it off as just nervousness and anxiety and I refused to make a bathroom stop. Despite the persistent urge to go to the bathroom, the first 9 miles were surprisingly wonderful. I had found a group of runners that I could pace myself with and I was unexpectedly averaging about 8:15-8:20 minute miles. I approached a few hills during the race and I could feel my pace slow down a little but I immediately checked my Garmin and kept up with "my group." During these initial miles, I took stock of the moment. It was the largest and the farthest race that I had ran thus far. I observed all the runners- young, old, small, large, male, and female. Some were running in solitude as I was while others were running in groups. I was simply in awe at that moment. There is a certain level of camaraderie and fellowship that is felt among all runners, whether we personally know each other or not. Without any words spoken, we understand both the joys and pains of running. Thus, I relished in the moment and felt proud and thankful to be present.

Along the way, there were several checkpoints where fans where cheering us on. I noticed small children holding signs honoring and encouraging their parents and loved ones to keep running. I observed residents along the course sitting with lawn chairs and applauding us for our efforts. It was my motivation and inspiration to keep it moving...but then it happened. Around mile 10, I lost the thrill of the moment and my legs seemed to be confused. They must have thought I was running a 10-mile race because they were hastily telling me to stop. My legs literally didn't want to move. I had to fight the urge to stop and walk. In addition, my need to use the bathroom had become stronger and even more prevalent, so I realized that this wasn't just nervousness.

At mile 11, I listened to my body and I had to make the much dreaded bathroom break. I also listened to my legs and the voice of doubt and began walking. My "running group" had left behind so I felt comfortable with taking a brief break from running. (They couldn't see me.) About 45 seconds later as the runners sprinted past me, that other voice of will and determination yelled loud and clear, "you can do this." So, I started running once again, I told myself that there was less than two miles to go. I checked my Garmin and I was back at my 8:20 pace and feeling good. As I approached the last mile, I saw the upcoming hill. My voice of doubt and fear whispered in my ear, "You're exhausted, just walk for a few seconds." So, I did. As the band was playing and the fans were cheering us on, I started to walk. The runners were passing me by with less than a mile to go. Then, I remembered the old mantra that my brother use to tell me, "just 3 steps." He would tell me to just focus on the next 3 steps when I would want to give up during our runs. He said that this would help me perservere through the difficult times and convince myself that I could do it. So, that's what I did. I counted, "1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3..." And there it was...the moment of truth, what I had been anxiously awaiting for, what I had spent the last four months training for, what I had sacrificed for...the finish line. I ran as fast as I could, thinking "you're there." As I crossed the finish line, I thought, "mission accomplished." With a final time of 1:53:13, I had not only survived my first half marathon but I had finished under two hours. Once again, I knew that I had made my father proud...

Keeping the Faith

(Sylvester and I before the race!)

As race day was approaching, I was becoming increasingly anxious for the half-marathon. Memories of my failed marathon attempt began to surface along with feelings of self-doubt and insecurity. Despite my years of running and my most recent four months of training, I was beginnning to question if I could even run the half-marathon. Have I trained enough? Am I really prepared? What if I get sick? What if I trip and fall? What if I can't make it to the finish line? All these questions lingered in my mind.

The week of the race I started to check the weather forecast, secretly hoping for inclement weather so I might have a cop out. I was so afraid of failing once again and I didn't know if I had the courage to make it to the starting line, yet alone the finish line. Suddenly, I was reminded of that voice that lives inside me that always loses the faith. It's the part of me that wants to give up, the part of me that is afraid to take a chance and simply afraid of the unknown. I have struggled with this inner voice for years and I vowed that I would never let this voice of fear discourage me from obtaining my goals. Thus, I knew I had to do it. Even it turned out to be the worst race ever, I still had to give it a try.

The morning of the race, my fiance and I along with our Yorkie, Sylvester (named after my father), woke up bright and early and drove to Dexter for the race. The forecast was calling for a slight chance of rain and the sky was full of clouds. Upon arrival, I saw hundreds, even thousands of runners stretching, jogging, and preparing for the course. I was terrified. The weather was a bit chilly that morning, so the three of us sat in the car for a few minutes while I tried to mentally prepare for the race. Sylvester gave me a few kisses telling me, "You can do it, Mommy." My fiance gave me his vote of support and encouragement and took a few pictures to capture the moment. I finally told myself that I had to get out of the car in order to run the race, so I did. We headed to the start line and patiently waited for the race to commence. My fiance took a few more pictures and we casually conversated with a few fellow runners. Within a few minutes, the race officials told us that there was going to be a 30 minute delay to the race due to a fallen tree along the course. Covertly, I was hoping that the race would get cancelled. At least this way, I wouldn't be a quitter. Hey, I can't run a race if it gets cancelled, right? (I would later find out that come hell or high water, most races don't get cancelled.) So, about 25 minutes later we head back to the starting point, much to my dismay. The butterflies were still flying around in my stomach and I felt a sudden urge to vomit. I fought the feelings of anxiety and I reminded myself of the importance of faith. I had to believe that I could do this. I had physically and mentally prepared for this day and I was willing to give it my best effort...

Here We Go Again

With a renewed perspective on life, I was gradually rebuilding my relationship with running. My admiration and love for the sport was beginning to surface once again. I was starting to remember just what running meant to me. It's a fundamental part of who I am. I can't describe myself without including the designation of runner. It's a part of my being. It's a feeling that I can't always translate into words, but it's felt every time I put on my running shoes and put my feet on the ground (despite whether or not that run is good, bad, or indifferent.)

With the commencement of the spring season and a much needed interruption from the horrendous Michigan winters, I was running more outside. As I stepped out each morning in the brisk air, I thought to myself, "Running, I do love you." I had fallen in love with running again and this time, I was determined that nothing would come between us. As we restored our relationship, I decided that we would work on our communication, remain committed despite our occasional disagreements, and focus on some long-term goals. I was still determined to obtain my ultimate goal of running a marathon and I thought we would begin the voyage by completing my first half.

Without much hesitation, I signed up for the Ann Arbor-Dexter Half-Marathon and began my training regime. As my mileage increased, my body started to experience some aches and pains but nothing that shouldn't be expected as one trains for longer races. As the weeks progressed, I was having doubts about this whole half-marathon thing. However, still bursting with motivation and perseverance, there was no question that I would carry on. As I got closer to the race date, I decided to register for the Detroit Free Press Marathon. My initial thought was to wait to uncover the results of my half-marathon, but I decided against it. What if the race was a complete failure? I couldn't allow that to deter me from my dreams of running the full...So I did it. I registered for the race and continued my journey to the half. Just a few weeks from race day, I was experiencing more bumps and hiccups with my training (both physical and mental.) Calf pain, knee pain, fatigue, anxiety, and skepticism all seem to resurface but I couldn't let it hinder me...

Life Must Go On

While I was proud of my accomplishment, the months, weeks, and days that followed the race would be the most challenging times in my life. Each day seemed overwhelming with feelings of hopelessness and despair. Many nights, I experienced nightmares that relived my father's most feeble moments and reminded me of my helpnessness in it all. A place, a person, a picture, a song and even just a word would remind me of him. A constant void remained in my life that no man, woman, object, or experience could fulfill.

See, I have always been a Daddy’s girl. From infancy to adulthood, I have always had a special bond with my father. Maybe because I was adopted, maybe because I was the youngest, or maybe because I have always been so emotional. For whatever reason, my father has always been in my corner, my biggest cheerleader if you will. Even through the darkest hours in my life, when even I had lost faith and hope in myself, he never underestimated my potential to transform into something so beautiful. He always believed in me. He encouraged, inspired, and championed me to make the most of my life. He never let me down and he taught me the meaning of unconditional love. I would be lying if I said that his undying love and admiration for me has always been transparent. It took me years to really begin to fathom how much my father truly loved me. I often confused his words of wisdom and guidance as attempts to control my life and repress my independence. As I grew older, clarity and understanding of his love emerged along with a stronger love and admiration for my father. Even during his last few breaths of life, he never stopped loving me. While his physical strength subsided and his health rapidly declined, he continued to show his love for me through his words, thoughts, and actions; displaying to all, his devotion to not only me but to his entire family.

Well, it's been over 15 months since my father's passing and while the pain is not as profound it is still present. I believe the hardest part of my father's passing, is learning to live life again. For the longest, I felt guilty about exepriencing and enjoying life. It just didn't seem fair because my father wasn't present to experience it with me. Through it all, I have learned that life must go on.

Thus, each day, I recall the value of our health and the importance of making the most of my life. I have continued to run races and this year, I participated in the Annual Run for the Ribbon Prostate Cancer Event, again in honor of my father. I raised almost $600 and I actually took first place overall female in the 5k in a time of 22:06. Again, not my personal best, but a fabulous race nonetheless. It was awesome to run for my father and all those who have been impacted by prostate cancer.

As I prepare for my first marathon in October and my wedding just 13 days after the race, my only wish is for my father to be present. I realize that I can not turn back the hands of time, so I try to seize each moment and live my life to the fullest, honoring my father each step of the way...

This Is For You

The donations poured in and the preparation for the race began. I had begun increasing my mileage the previous weeks so I didn't feel the need for much physical preparation for a 5k. However, mentally I didn't know if I was ready to run such an emotional race on my first Father's Day without my Daddy. Nonetheless, I was determined to carry on.

A few weeks later, I had raised close to $400 and it was time to get my feet moving. On race day, I turned in my donations and picked up my packet including my blue ribbon symbolizing Prostate Cancer. I wrote "In memory of Delbert Beard" on the ribbon and pinned it to my shorts. It was a reminder of what this race was all about. It would serve as my cheerleader, my supporter, and even my partner for the next 3.1 miles. As I stood among hundreds of runners and walkers who were survivors of Prostate Cancer and supporters for this cause, it all felt surreal. Never did I imagine that my father would pass away so soon and so suddenly. Losing him only a month ago, the wound hadn't even begun to heal...

Mixed feelings of sadness, excitement, and nervousness began to take surface. I was beyond anxious to start the race. My palms were sweaty, my stomach was turning, and my feet were antsy. I stood among the crowd thinking about my father and his war with cancer. Once again, I recognized the fraility of our lives and how abruptly our health can simply be taken away. I looked above and spoke softly to my Daddy, "This is for you."

When the gun was shot, I took off running. It had been almost 8 years since I ran a 5k and the thought of pacing myself somehow elapsed my mind. The adrenaline kicked in and I ran off with the crowd thinking about those last few days with my father and his illness over the past 9 years. I thought about his numerous fights with cancer (his constant trips to the doctor's office for chemotherapy, radiation, and other treatment; his numerous hospital stays; his loss of coordination and body movement; and his inability to care for himself.) Despite these struggles, his will and determination to stay alive never subsided. While he lost many battles, he never gave up.

As I finished the first mile in rapid time, my breaths became shorter and my legs began to burn. I told myself to slow down, take it easy, don't push yourself too hard. By the time I reached mile two, I simply wanted to quit. The shortness of breath returned, my body was aching and my feet were telling me to stop. I thought about my father and his fortitude. He never gave up, he kept on going. So I continued as fast as I could thinking only 1.1 miles to go. As I crossed the finish line at 23:48, this wasn't my best time but this was definitely my best race. I had ran with a purpose and let me tell you that nothing can quite compare to how I felt as I crossed that finish line with a smile on my face saying "Daddy, this is for you."