Lost

Human beings like to hold on to the illusion of control. We make our plans. We check things off our lists. We give advice. We seek advice. But really, we don't control anything.

I started this year with a plan. I was going to have the most active, crazy-busy, badass year ever. My plan included an almost obnoxious amount of training and competing. And just to prove to myself, and people who knew me, that I was capable of the tough stuff, I had to do something hard. Completing 3 half marathons, a number of triathlons, and a handful of long, challenging bike rides seemed to fit the bill. What I don't think I consciously knew at the time was that my plan was simply a cliched attempt to control how I and others saw me. I could become the athletic girl. The dedicated weekend warrior. It was my way prove my worth to the world, to prove I was worthy of taking up space.

For nine months, my time was consumed with work (I mean, I had to have a way to pay for the training gear and entry fees somehow), training, hanging out with friends and competing. Sometimes several of those at the same time. I very carefully set up a life that was constantly busy. I was only home to sleep and shower. I didn't have time to think and that suited me fine. Because when I thought, I didn't like what I thought. But for those nine months, I could avoid that. And it was good.

And then my body rebelled. After all those hours, all those miles and all that sweat, my body had had enough. It was tired. It was hurt and it was sending me a clear message: it was time for off-season. After 2/3 of a year of having an almost singular focus, training was not taking up most of my time. I was finding myself with free time. And know what happens when you have free time? You start to think. And it was not good.

When I was suddenly without my security blanket of working towards a goal, I literally wasn't running here and there. I was....lost. I had been on the road to one goal or another for so long, I had forgotten what it felt like to not have a destination.

So here I am 2 months into my off-season, but I still find myself on the road. But this time it's the road to recovery. The road to recovery of myself. It's the road I never chose before. This road is the most difficult one I've ever traveled and I've wanted to get off it more times than I can count. I've tortured myself and I can only hope that the pain I've put myself through on this road makes me stronger in the same way the pain of a hard run does.

I don't know if that will happen but I think I have to try to find out. I'm ready to be found.

Change of Direction

Initially, this blog was supposed to detail not only my exploits in my attempt to run 3 half marathons on 2 coasts and 3 triathlons in half a year but also a little something else too. Well, several months have passed since my only post so far- the introductory one - and I've run my 3 half marathons. I finished one on each coast to earn my Coast to Coast Challenge medal and I finished the one in the middle of the country in personal record time, shattering my 11-year-old PR by 7 minutes. And instead of completing 3 triathlons, I did 4. I didn't make my first century bike ride but I did get a metric century in instead. So after the last 7 months and all the checked goals later, I should be feeling pretty good about myself right? Not exactly and that's where the dual meaning of this blog name comes in.

See the struggles I faced in my training went right along with my struggles to accept myself. To accept that I'm enough. That's a road I've been on for the last year and a half.

Like the physical training you need to do to prepare for races comes with surges and setbacks, I've often felt that my quest to be mentally healthier is one step forward, two steps back. But unlike training for races where you complete the race and are "done", my other struggle - I'll call it my sanity project - has no finish line.

I've begun to see my twin quests as parallels in my life. My physical training is a great way to clear my head so I can focus on the sanity project. But it can also be one heck of a good way to avoid focusing on it too. It's a precarious balance.

The road I'm on has smooth spots and it has potholes. The interesting and terrifying thing is that you never know which section of road you're coming up on.

Crazy

I get called crazy a couple times a week. I've come to see it as a term of endearment. I guess I can't really blame people for giving me that moniker. I do have some lofty plans for this year and a lot of it has me on the road.

I have dubbed 2012 the year of adventure. The way I see it,  you never know when life will be over so you might as well pack as much in as you can.

I've always been an active person. I'm the daughter of a cross country and track coach who won her first race when she was 4 years old. I was the girl that asked for bikes and ball gloves instead of Barbies. (The first and last time I agreed to play Barbies with a friend, I spent the whole time wondering what was fun about sitting there holding a 6 inch piece of plastic pretending to make her do fake things when I could get up and do real things myself.) So it shouldn't be surprising that as an adult I like to keep active.

But there's a fine line between activity and lunacy and according to the people who know me, apparently I've crossed it.

You see, this year I've resolved to run a half marathon on each coast and one in the middle for good measure. I've also planned to complete at least 3 triathlons. And possibly, if I have the energy, I'd like to get in my first century ride (Yes - that's 100 miles. On a bike. All at one time. Your butt hurts just thinking about it, doesn't it?) Here's the thing though. You have to train for these things. That's harder to do when you have a full-time job. So it's not uncommon for me to come to work having already put in couple miles on foot or 20 or so on the bike. Long ago people stopped doing double takes when they walked into my office and saw a bike leaning against the wall or noticed me walking to my car wearing head to toe spandex.

Yes, people have stopped being surprised at my lifestyle. But that doesn't mean they don't still call me crazy.