The Space Between

May the space between where I am and where I want to be inspire me. ~Tracee Ellis Ross

Not sure a more fitting quote could have popped up in my Twitter feed today. Hard on the heels of this doozy:

It wouldn’t be out of line to caption this image The story of my life

I don’t know how not to compare myself to others. My competitive streak is a unique blend. I don’t like outright competition. I don’t like declaring goals publicly. Discussing raises and promotions is extremely uncomfortable, and I would much rather show you how well I can do something than tell you about it. This isn’t to say that I don’t want to be first place, faster, stronger, fitter, higher ranked, higher paid. This isn’t to say I don’t get a thrill when I look at my watch and realize I have met or exceeded a goal. (whispers) I just don’t want to talk about it.



I could tell half a dozen stories about boys I liked who would rather talk to my friends, people with far less experience than myself being hired for jobs I know I could blow out of the water, or about the time I almost cried learning to water ski because I was so bad at it. I don’t like being bad at things. I don’t like the look on people’s faces as they think of something to say that is encouraging without being patronizing.

If this were the Biggest Loser, it would come down to this pivotal moment when Jillian terrorizes me with questions and burpees and there is a breakthrough moment to reveal that I have a fear of failure (duh-duh-dunh!) Since this isn’t Biggest Loser (New season starts in two weeks. I have a reason to turn on the TV again!), I’m going to re-visit something I used to tell the parents when I taught parent-child classes:

In order to teach your child to succeed, you must teach them how to fail.

Can we put taking my own advice in the “not my favorite things” column?

If we want to see our kids walk across that balance beam all by themselves, we have to teach them not to be afraid, and to maybe fall off a few times. If we want them to want to do their best, knowing what it feels like when they don't is a powerful lesson. If I want to hear “Yes.”, I have to A.) Ask the question. B.) Learn to accept “No” and keep plugging. If I want to pass people, I have to try to pass people. I get it.

So my commitment for today is that I am going to choose to be inspired by the space between where I am and where I want to be, rather than intimidated or discouraged. I am going to get excited about how far I will have come when I reach my goals, and how wonderful it will feel to look back and say “That’s where I was. Look where I am.”

I’m not going to say I will stop comparing myself. (Baby steps.) I’m not going to tell you what my goals are for this program. (Yet.)

I am going to wring every last drop of joy, growth, and sweat possible from this experience.  



What's In A Name?

A simple name for a simple reason- after great debate and many attempts at being creative, punny, and unique, Birds Words won as title for my blog. I am Bird and these are my words.

I'm taking their word for it, but my parents tell me that they started calling me Leigh Bird as a baby for no particular reason and it just kind of stuck. We also have a 'Bear' and a 'Bug' in our family. It could be genetic.
There are probably fewer than 10 people who call me Bird, but it is as much a part of my identity as my last name, and probably slightly more so than my first name. (Leigh is actually my middle name.) When talking was still a relatively new trick for my niece I asked her what my name was. She said "Birdie." It was precious. 

It's a little crazy how much it soothing it is to hear "Hey Bird." It's like hearing "I know you, I love you, I like you, even if you do like to microwave cauliflower and stink up the kitchen, and I don't care if running turns you into a salty sweaty pink-faced, stinky shirted being with all the grace of a one-eyed goat."

There is pretty much nothing about me that is birdlike- not my appetite, my bone structure, my singing voice, or my bathing techniques. I'm a full on, deep-clean shower kind of girl. My hair isn't feather-like and the only worms I'll approach come in a Brach's bag.

But.

I have two colorful bird prints in my living room, hung in frames my grandfather built. They remind me that I am home, that I am me. No matter how many people I didn't get back to today, no matter how much dust there is on my dresser, no matter how incapable I am of doing an un-assisted pull-up, I am Leigh Bird. I am my parent's daughter, my brothers' sister, and 50% of Team Ramrod. (There is no clever way to combine our names.) 

Enjoy the words.

The things we do for love (and running)

I'm long overdue for a running post. Here it is.

We all have those moments when we take a step outside ourselves and ask, "What am I doing?" (Depending on the activity, there may or may not be a word your wouldn't say in front of your grandmother in that question.) You find yourself running by the light of the moon at 5:30am to make sure you get that run in before spending a full day in the car driving. You look up as you round yet another switchback on a one mile gravel track and question your sanity. You look up an insanely steep, rediculously long hill and charge it, telling yourself that you only have to run to the top. And then you do it again and again as the 'rolling foothills' become baby mountains.

These moments aren't reserved for running. It's the moment you are on your back porch in your pajamas at 3am, shivering, while your dog makes an emergency trip to the backyard. When you instinctively cup your hands to catch a 3 year-old's vomit, and a beat later, your conscious brain points out that you are in fact holding handfuls of vomit. When you make the meals, do the laundry, clean the house, pay the bills, make the calls, go to bed late, and wake up early over and over again. These moments happen and the answer is always essentially the same.

You do it because you love it/them. You do it because you have faith in the outcome, in the moments after this one. Because you aren't content to live with what happens if you don't. (AKA it just needs to be done). Because you believe in this:

Mile repeats on the Vita course in Byrd Park were some of the least fun I've had with my CVE/Lulu teammates since training began. The loop is a weird shape, it's gravel, my watch wasn't exactly on board, and... it was mile repeats. My mantra for that run was long and not orginal, but it worked: If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten.  Said another way, demonstrated through yoga:

It may be reaching, it may be trying to go too deep when it's all really simple. But whether it's rediculous hours at work to get your business of the ground, spending 48 hours in a van with a group of sweaty people, or spending 2 hours running baby mountains on your vacation, it's all driven by love. Love for what we do, love for our goals, our sport, our friends, our family. When we love them, ourselves, our futures, we will do things that sound crazy when you say them out loud. But when those are the things that need to be done to get where you want to go, nothing could possibly make more sense.



If you give a mouse a cookie... (Or the time I got a new windshield)

If you haven't read the book If you give a mouse a cookie.. who are you?! Kidding. But seriously, where did you grow up?

Just like the mouse who got a cookie and ended up needing a glass of milk, pencil, shaving foam, and a bed, my desire to set out on a road trip with a clean car led to many other seemingly unrelated things.

We're driving to a wedding in Maine this weekend. Some fun stops on the way up and back, really looking forward to our road trip. (Much to my parents' befuddlement) I am not the tidiest of vehicle owners. I see it is as my oversized purse/additional closet space that goes with me everywhere. Pen? Packing tape? Extra running shoes? 3 umbrellas? Re-usable bags? Extra set of floor mats? All right there, easy access.

Knowing how much stuff 2 people will require for a 5 day trip that includes camping, I purged a little and decided to take my employer up on their handy service of mobile detailing. Park your car at work, get the interior and exterior done for 30 big ones. Deal. Love it. Efficiency.

Until the guy cleaning your car calls you to say that he knocked your rearview mirror off while cleaning the windshield and when he went to put it back on, a microchip in your windshield "spidered" and there is now several much larger cracks in your windshield. While the manager is confused as to how the guy cleaning your window turned into a cracked windshield that he now has to replace (get in line buddy), my body temperature went up and I started stress sweating as I realized that not only did I need to convince Captain Confusion that yes, he was going to get those repairs done today since I had no plans to drive to Maine sans rearview (yeah, that was still sitting on my front seat), I needed it to happen by 2:30pm so I could be at my 4 hours, 3pm meeting across town. My life may not be interesting or important, but I can do frantic.

Many phone calls, one regular coke (so. delicious), a little venting, and many hours later, I drove my clean car and new windsheild home. Happy ending.

Nothing like the excitement of wondering if you're actually going to be able to drive your car roughly 12 hours before departure. Almost as satisfying as the high you get from running mile repeats around a gravel track. Another story for another time.

Layers

Training News: Enjoyed a true first long run of Fall today. 60ish degrees, rolling hills on Riverside Drive, first post-run HOT tea of the year. Happy happy happy.

Skipped my Saturday run altogether. 24 hours with my mother, the first solid night's sleep in 10 days, a morning with no alarm clock, and a solid day of house cleaning felt like a fair trade.

I swear I'm going to start doing Core work. Tomorrow.

In yoga the othe day, Jen discussed the idea of your innermost being, your most true self, being deep inside you, like the one solid, tiniest of the nesting dolls that lives within larger, thinner layers of herself. The idea that we have layers on top of layers- a breath layer, a mind layer, a physical layer, wasn't a completely foreign concept, but one that feels very relevant.

I love the mental picture, and the notion that I have ability to focus on one or two aspects of myself at a time brought me enormous comfort. It was like permission- that I don't have to hit every single mark in the same day. I don't have to be number 1 runner/worker/daughter/yogi/dog mom every. single. day. I don't have to be organized, well-exercised, home-cooked, thoughtful, volunteering, innovative, and well-dressed at all times. Identifying and acknowledging the layers allows us to be curious, to notice, and to (hopefully?) accept. The idea of having it all, just not at the same time, takes a lot of the overwhelming out of life. In a world where Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and the people around me provide constant reminders of opportunities to engage, get fit, help others, and generally get my stuff together, and all the people out there who are doing it all better than me, a gentle granting of permission to focus on just two or three layers at a time were welcome words. 

(My one caveat is that I think it's important to be kind every day, in every situation.)

Maybe I missed Jen's point, maybe I took in an entirely different direction. In any case, I deeply appreciated the reminder that there is only one deep true me, way down inside- a centering point to true back to when I am feeling overwhelmed and imbalanced.

Wouldn't It Be Nice

Wouldn't it be nice...

if nobody smoked? Anywhere. Ever.

if all humidity could be sucked into giant billboards and transformed into clean drinking water like these amazing smart people did here? Happier hair, better running weather, few bottles of water to buy and recycle.

if there were a valve on your car to release all the hot air before you got in it?

if pimples didn't happen?

if weekends were always 3 days?

if chaffing didn't happen?

if you could get lobster and crab for the same price as chicken?

if the moment you stepped out the door for a run, the clock stopped, and there was always enough daylight/time for the run you wanted and 20 minutes for tea afterwards?

if everyone would just be nice to each other and acknowledge that the person in front of them at the grocery store/next to them highway/on the other end of the phone, is in fact, another person?

if instead of wrinkles, we grew muscles with every year of age?

Facts and Fiction.

(Disclaimer, some facts may in fact be opinion.)

Fact. Running in the heat kills my appetite. Post workout meals in anything over 70 degrees should consist of coke slurpees and Gatorade.

Fact. Citrus Cooler Gatorade is the best flavor ever. You will almost never find it, because it is a liquid gold commodity in extremely high demand. And when you do find it in the sketchy Wal-Mart, you will buy 10 bottles.

Fiction. Running makes you skinny. Running makes you hungry. Some skinny people are born runners and some skinny people become great runners. Other people just get hungry.

Fact. I have not had ice cream in my freezer for nearly 10 days. There is only one person in the world who can attest to what an amazing feat that is, but I'm kind of proud of myself.

Fact. Life is so much better when you get at least 8 hours of sleep. So. Much. Better.

Fiction. There are better things to drink besides lemonade. What are these things? Unless they are iced tea mixed with lemonade, I don't believe you.

Fact. Swedish Fish contain an addictive compound similar to those found in girl scout cookies and crack cocaine.

Fact. Boys are wimps about getting sick.

Fact. I am no triathlete, but my ideal 'brick' is a run-yoga combo. Also known as Thursday mornings. Also known as perfection. Also known as the day I'm always late for work.

Fiction. There is quality TV on in the Summer. If they have played anything besides America's Got Talent since June, I'm not aware of it. Would it kill them to run some Modern Family/Wonder Years re-runs every now and then?

Fact. I am a Gemini, which means I am twins. My twin is a triple-threat rapper/hip hop dancer/surfer. (Hawaii, not California.) I can't wait to trade places.

No, that had nothing to do with running or training. Just felt the urge to put some of my truths out there.