100 Miles In March

At the beginning of the month, I noticed a hashtag on Twitter supporting the idea to run 100 miles in March. Considering I was putting in around 20 recreational miles per week already, it seemed a good goal to start tracking.

Even though my job consists of helping others set and achieve goals, rarely to I set something for myself that can't be done in one day. Sure, I'll think to myself "Every morning, I will eat a balanced breakfast with egg and spinach," but I never chronicled anything. By me knowing that others set out on this goal, and that I had publicly announced my plan, I felt that much more compelled to stay on track and to squeeze in miles whenever possible.

The boundaries that I set were:

1.) None of my classes can count.

2.) None of my walks with Charlie count.

3.) Footsteps to and from the train do not count.

4.) All miles must be running or power walking at incline greater than 3.5%.

Not only did I surpass 100 miles before the 31st of the month, I kept going until I hit 115 today. Why? Because it didn't kill me. It felt fun. And I learned that next time, the bar can be set a little bit higher.

Something else I realized though, was I did much more than run this month. Looking back through my progress tweets, I noticed my happy disposition with all the challenges and adventures that took place this month.

We celebrated my nephew's birthday.

I choreographed 4 new songs to great reviews.

Charlie had to go to the vet for a bad ear infection.

We got to spend an afternoon with a friend visiting from afar.

Don't Speak added some new songs to our old set lists.

We played two very solid shows.

I made my first visit to Cleveland; happily it was with my band mates, and we got to play House of Blues.

I fell more in love with my husband, who makes me laugh.

We attended a beautiful soirée at the home of a friend, who reminded me how easy it is to just be a friend.

I was part of the opening team for CAC's newest location and rocked 6 new classes!

We attended the wedding of 2 very lovely people (I thought I would escape without crying, but then I started to say goodbye)!

The band put together even more new songs.

We got to be a big part of an all-day video shoot for Ryan Powers and the Secret Weapons.

https://vine.co/v/MezgBjJ7vel

The SUN came out!!

We hosted a dinner night of our own, and were reminded yet again of the beautiful people we have grown fortunate enough to count as friends over the past two years.

While smashing a goal has made me feel that much more excited to set and achieve a new one, I realized something I did not expect this month. There is so much more to the journey than the mile markers themselves; there are the people and the moments that take every step with you.

Editor's note: This post written from treadmill between classes ;)

Painting a Black Canvas (or read at your own discretion)

I am a child of cancer.

I am an angry child of cancer.

You could say I am a survivor of one of the disease's victims, but that is not true.

I might not be sick, but I am not a survivor because I have not let go of all of the anger and rage I carry every day.

Every day I wonder why we didn't get a second opinion.

Every day I think she might call.

Every day, I hear her cough and feel my heart break with each breath.

Every day, I push people further away for fear they might find out just how mad I am.

I am mad.

I am jealous. Jealous of everyone who gets to talk to their mom on the phone, or take shopping trips over the weekend. I'm jealous about every milestone everyone else gets to experience with their mothers by their side and I do not.

I am afraid. Afraid that if I don't write this, I may never write again. Afraid that people will look at me and think, "that's the girl without a mom. That's the girl who lost her mom to lung cancer." 

I'm afraid that I am next.

I'm afraid that if I don't laugh enough today or fill every moment with people around me, that tomorrow could be too lonely.

I'm afraid to leave. 

Afraid to care.

I am afraid my own voice cold be my undoing.

Cancer makes me feel alone. Cancer is like a black canvas that will not accept any color.

Cancer is why I run; although I don't know if I'm running to or from something. 

Cancer has consumed my mind and made me sad. 

It has left a husband without his wife.

It has left two daughters without their mother. 

A dog without his rescuer.

A mother without her child.

A sister and brother without their eldest sibling.

It gave a father the courage to let go.

Yet I still have not come to accept the fact that she is not going to show up at my door some day. Or greet me after a show with tears in her eyes. She thought I never noticed but I always did. 

Maybe that's why I cry now, because I have no one left to cry for me.

Here's to you, Mommy, for always encouraging me to use my voice and to never stop reading and writing. 

And here is to me moving on after writing this. Because honestly, any other time I sat down to write, I had to wear a mask. 

Let's Sweat Together, Yeah Yeah, Yeah

Running has been and remains my way of connecting to myself through a challenge. When 5 miles became easier, I ran 6. When 6 miles got easier, I tried to run faster. Sometimes I'd run 8. Sometimes, I would split up my miles, and run 3.5 then quickly go do 3 sets of burpees with a superset of curls/shoulder presses before finishing another 3.5 miles as fast as I could. Then there would be days I'd get on the treadmill and hate it. So I'd jump off and do intervals on the stairs. Sometimes, I hated the treadmill for weeks. 

The past month has felt great in my running shoes. So great that I feel more like myself and ready to take charge of the day once those 6 miles have been absorbed in my blood. So much so, that this doesn't feel like a workout anymore, but rather what I do. 

Does running make me Me?

Have I become a slave to the weekly mileage log?

I don't think so. Because as soon as I recognized that running was my way of having fun with my free time, I looked for a new challenge that would keep my body changing and progressing. 

Enter Bikram Yoga.

I walked out of Bikram NYC nine years ago and never went back. The balancing frustrated me. The postures that I had to conform to always won the battle and made me feel like a loser. A fat loser. My roommate at the time, of course, loved it so much that she went on to continue her training and become certified to teach. Nine years later, she's still at it. 

Enter my husband. A strong man with an even stronger mind. Someone who loves challenges as much as me - but probably doesn't need to run more than 2 miles at a time. We like to be active together, but since both of our jobs consist of running around the city sweating, we usually end up as blobs in the bed, barely able to say goodnight through our exhaustion.

So I signed us up for an amazingly priced deal at 105F studios. As many classes as one can take in one month for one price. If you take 3 classes, the fee is worth it. So I committed myself to 20 classes this month. No matter what, I WILL go 20 times. I will conquer my old mindset, hold accept the postures that were once the bain of my existence, and DO this.

A few evenings ago, we went to our first class. We were welcomed warmly as soon as we entered, and all nervousness over yoga snobs and being in a new environment subsided. At first the hot room felt great. My husband, being outside for most of his days in Chicago's recent subzero temperatures, greatly appreciated this retreat. It was nice to watch him smile and see a lot of tension melt away.

The balancing postures that I once loathed actually weren't that difficult to hold. I didn't feel fat anymore. I didn't feel like a loser.

I felt beautiful. 

Amidst my sweat (and tears), I felt beautiful.

The first shavasana (dead man's) pose brought tears to my eyes. 9 years later, I had finally done it. My body was healthy. My mind was focused. My stomach was no longer in the way. 

And my husband was next to me. Suffering through this hot, HOT room because he knew how much it meant to me. 

The remainder of class consisted of postures on the floor, which I remembered liking a bit more. It is amazing how much the body can store and recall. The heart rate intervals through bow pose and camel almost felt good - because of my fitness knowledge on the benefit of interval training. There in those moments, I was taking care of ME for the first time in quite awhile. Nothing else mattered. The rest of the world had melted away. I was connected to my mind and body again without being afraid of the outcome. I was safe.

So I went again the next day. This time solo. I wanted my body to know that the night before had not been an accident, and that we were really in this new challenge. I had the same feeling of accomplishment at the end - albeit different moments throughout the class where I felt like quitting or taking a break. 

In the end, it is only a hour and a half of the day. What you do with that hour and a half can possibly make the remaining 22.5 hours even more fulfilling.

Day 3 of my self-imposed challenge is scheduled for tonight at 8.

How do you stay challenged? Is there something you are afraid to try?


Also, here is the song that inspired the title to this post : http://youtu.be/1sWi4_0jycA