Puerto Rico!!!

 I am in a BEAUTIFUL hotel room to Puerto Rico getting ready to head over to the track for the Ponce Grand Prix where I am running my first 1500m of the season, and my first professional track meet!! Since arriving on Thursday afternoon, I have been in absolute paradise; our hotel is framed by a spectacular mountain range on one side and the crashing waves of the Atlantic on the other. My balcony is 50 feet from the water, and the waves crashing on the shore, along with the songs of exotic birds, have provided the soundtrack to my trip thus far. I've done each of my runs along a packed sand path that follows the ocean, and the post-run frolic in the waves has left little to be desired. It is hot and humid as expected, and the past 48 hours have made me grateful for my 2 months in Florida this winter, which make the current conditions feel a little less oppressive.

Although I am loving the picturesque views and lovely people, everything about this trip feels a little strange, and puts me rather out of my comfort zone: for my season-opener to occur in the second week of May after not having raced indoors is nerve-wracking (I haven't toed the starting line of a track race in over 8 months). I am travelling solo to a meet for the first time ever (until this point I've been accompanied by my parents, my coaches, my Duke teammates, or a Canadian National contingency). I am going into this meet off of a strong base of mileage and long threshold workouts, but without having done much race-pace speed prep or many track workouts to speak of. I am learning to redefine my goals and approach to racing more generally; I have gone from a relatively large fish in a competitive, but—towards the end of my collegiate career—shrinking pond to a minnow swimming for dear life amongst the whales. No longer can I define success by how I fare within the ACC or where my season best positions me on the NCAA ranks. I have to have a little more faith in my coaches, my preparation, our workouts and periodization, and my race intuition, and remember what it is like to put my body through the shock of that season-opening mid-distance hurt. Ultimately, I just have to jump into this feet first, equipped with the tools I've accrued throughout my 13 years of competitive running (yes, the grade 6 meets in my oversized Bramalea Bullets singlet count) and hope for the best.

Through the uncertainty and little growing aches along this journey of post-collegiate running, there is a small but prevailing voice reassuring me that everything is going to be OK. This voice takes on many identities: sometimes it is my Duke coach Kevin, who knew me so well by the end of my collegiate career that regardless of the situation, his words of advice were unwaveringly accurate and always exactly what I needed to hear to get me in the perfect pre-race head-space. Right now it is Dave Reid, imparting his pearls of wisdom and sharing stories from his era of racing which he endearingly refers to as “the dark ages” when no one knew any better than to run fast and turn left. Then there are the eternal words of Joe Sax, with his easy half-smile telling me that the hay is in the barn, get in the race and never say die, and just let the chips fall where they may. But I've still got a lot of hay to shovel; it ain't in the barn just yet!

We are so skilled at talking ourselves out of good days or strong performances before we even arrive at the track—as they say, racing is 90% mental and the rest is in your head. The reality is, at the end of the day, after the race prep and strategy-planning, the routine pre-race meal, shake-out run and visualization, you just have to step on the line, take a deep breath and tell yourself to shut up and run. Which is exactly what I intend to do at 9:35 tonight at Francisco "Paquito" Montaner Stadium.

And in between the intense running-related foci there are a few other things to enjoy...like the fact that I'm spending the weekend at a Hilton resort on a Caribbean island surrounded by muscular world-class sprinters, before jetting off to Santa Cruz for a few days, then down to L.A. to race the Oxy High Performance meet, marking my first ever trip to California!! I think most would agree, not a bad way to spend 10 days. I plan to come back with a tan, a PB and a lot of experience—and maybe a little Puerto Rican rum...you know, for making gluten-free vegan coffee cake. Let me know if you want to share some when I return :)

http://www.poncegrandprixdeatletismo.com/

This post is inspired by the plethora of tremendous and inspiring performances on the track and the roads that have taken place over the past 2 weeks: Dylan Wykes' 2:10:47 Olympic qualifying marathon, while Lanni Marchant and Krista DuChene both went sub-2:35 in the same event; Wesley Korir winning Boston in remarkably challenging conditions; Cam Levins churning out a :55 final lap to hit the Olympic 'A' standard in the 5000m and Sheila Reid coming within 4 seconds of her 'A' qualifier at Mt. Sac; my teammates Matt Loiselle, Rejean Chiasson and Megan Brown in their respective 10km and 5km races on the west coast, and many more. Spring is in the air and the racing season has begun!!

Going back a ways to a slightly less impressive, but still exciting event: Harry's Spring Run Off in High Park on the 7^th was a blast (despite photographic evidence to the contrary: see below). This was my first foray into the Canada Running Series, which has a reputation for high energy, superb organization, and strong competition. The Run Off delivered on all counts, plus competitors and spectators enjoyed the added bonuses of gorgeous weather and early cherry blooms. My most memorable part of the race came at 5km, just after we made the turn off the of the main upper loop and began our descent down the steep, east facing hill that leads to Grenadier Pond. I remember vividly barrelling down the path, trying to focus on form—tuck in the arms, don't over-stride, let gravity and momentum carry you down comfortably—but all I could think about was how beautiful the sun looked sparkling through the blossom-laden cherry boughs that lined the road. It made for a thrilling paradox of tranquillity and exuberance, which I basked in for about 3 seconds before hitting the bottom of the hill, losing some of my momentum, and realizing that I still had 2.5km to race. One of the great things about road racing, however, is the aspect of mixed gender competition. I was so grateful for the support of a few keen men who I packed up with and who helped me through the toughest parts. The final hill was gruesome as expected, but the roar from the enthusiastic crowd made the last 400m push so worthwhile. Tarah McKay and I both broke the previous course record, although my competitor bested me by about 15 seconds, showing that her months of training in Kenya with her speedy hubby are certainly paying off! Overall an awesome experience, and a race that I hope to keep on the calendar in future years.

Something has happened since I returned from Florida two weeks ago. Maybe its the crisp, invigorating Ontario spring air; maybe its that the racing season is officially in full flight; maybe its the return to Toronto, my favourite city in the world. Whatever the reason, over the past few weeks I have rediscovered my complete and total addiction to running. I find myself finishing my morning run, and almost immediately fantasizing impatiently about my afternoon session. I even run in my dreams, and wake up with the restless desire to put on my shoes and get out the door. One of the benefits of the warmer weather and high mileage is that I am having so much fun exploring the city on my feet; Toronto has shrunk in size and intimidation (although never in grandeur or excitement) since I began measuring distances between destinations in miles and running minutes rather than subway stops or highway exits. Trying to manoeuvre along the sidewalks of Yonge or Spadina or Front requires courage, quick reaction time, and a reduced fear of contact with strangers. And while the Lakeshore and Beltline trails are by far the superior runner-friendly options, there is an exhilaration that accompanies a sprint past Yonge-Dundas Square or dodging stressed-out suits who stare at you with a mix of surprise and envy. Plus, its hard to justify coughing up the $3 subway fare when you're only a 20 minute run from work/physio/groceries.

Compounding my excitement about downtown running is the rapid approach of the Yonge St. 10Km taking place on Sunday (tomorrow!!) at 9am. This will be my debut not only at this event, but at the race distance more generally and I'm charged up for it! I write this as I finish my ice bath, and the hour for bed is now upon me. Tomorrow is calling for cool but clear conditions, a tail wind, and lots of excitement. I've often marvelled at the fact that I do a good deal of my track training at a stadium in the middle of the city, with a clear and impressive view of the CN Tower; barrelling down Yonge tomorrow with that same iconic Canadian tower in my sights is sure to make for a magical morning. To those of you racing this weekend, in Toronto or elsewhere: run fast, fun and fearless, my fine-footed friends!!!

The BLOG

I have been considering launching a personal running blog for several months; since ending my collegiate running career at Duke University in June I have been flirting on and off with the concept of creating my own cyber chronicles of my athletic adventures, but never fully committed to the idea. This desire intensified over the past 2 months as I trained and lived “the runner's life” in Clermont, FL—I certainly write enough about it; coming up with material was never the issue. But every time I went to post my thoughts, fears, hopes, experiences, letdowns, struggles, joys, etc online I caught myself feeling like a bit of a fraud. 

I myself am an avid fan of several blogs—particularly those of Lauren Fleshman, and my absolute favourite, Sally Meyerhoff. My predecessors outshine me in seemingly every way possible, and I long counted myself out of their fine company. Until very recently I hadn't raced in over half a year, didn't have any sponsorship to speak of, was agent-less, worked 3 part-time minimum wage jobs, lived with my parents, and was going through a seemingly never-ending streak of injuries and sub-par workouts; frankly, I wasn't convinced I had the cojones to survive--never mind thrive--in this jungle.

Recently, things have taken a positive turn: I received product sponsorships from the generous folks at both Brooks Canada and CEP Compression, established a promising connection with a renowned agent, began noticing vast improvements in my workouts, and on Sunday I broke my 7-month racing abstinence by finishing top woman at the Around the Bay 5km in Hamilton, Ont, accepting my first ever prize cheque, and thereby allowing me to (finally!) officially call myself a professional runner!! 

This is all very exciting, and I feel like my athletic career is on the upswing. However, I realized that while each of these prospects is hopeful and positive (I am extremely grateful for each, don't get me wrong), they aren't particularly compelling. All of us can research (and by research I mean google search and facebook stalk) a fellow competitor; anyone can look up race results or note the brand associated with a given athlete. These things are interesting, which is why we keep tabs on one another in the first place; all of us, athletes and fans alike, tend to develop a fervent addiction to every detail and facet of our sport. But having finally begun to attain some of the highly desirable and sought-after benefits such as sponsorship, representation and prize money, I have grown simultaneously aware that these are not necessarily markers of great athletes or audience-worthy stories. Those things lie within the expressions of fear, hope, struggle, and joy to which I formerly gave only a passing nod.

Grinding out sweat- and sun-drenched 10-milers on that infamous Orange Grove loop in Clermont; crossing my fingers that there will still be money left in my account when I swipe my card at the grocery store; hanging out with a hilariously cynical Half-Ironman age group world champion; sharing track time with Tyson Gay, Novlene Williams, and numerous other Olympians at the National Training Center; crying tears of utter frustration and bitter disappointment when weeks of training seem to be taking me nowhere, then experiencing the subsequent sense of invincibility and elation that accompany that one amazing, corner-turning workout...

These are the things that keep me coming back to my favourite running blogs, and are truly the most fun to write about. I look forward to sharing them as this adventure unfolds!!


***BELOW is a post that I wrote during early March, while experiencing a particularly lonely stretch in Florida:

Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner

I think that I finally truly understand the impetus behind the runner's blog phenomenon.

It has taken until now, as a recent post-collegiate undergoing the expected growing pains of transitioning from the relatively comfortable routine of a Division I varsity athlete to the life of a “real-world” almost-professional runner to recognize and appreciate how dearly important my athletic community is, both in person and online. Our group of comrades is small, tight-knit and very much in a niche of its own, and I find it ironic that my running community seems to have shrunk and not grown since I left the protective confines of the NCAA. No longer do I have 25 distance women (not to mention 50 other T&F Dukies) at practice every day, nor do I spend 8 weekends of every season at meets with the hundreds of familiar faces belonging to coaches and competitors from the ACC and beyond. I am no longer included in the glorified and relentless world of message boards and interviews that posit college athletics as the centre of the universe, and I only recognized a handful of names on the NCAA Indoor results list this year.

On the flip side, I am doing what I've dreamed of for years: living with other elite runners who are working towards similar goals and aspirations; devoting the vast majority of my time, energy and thoughts to training, racing and becoming a student of the sport; experiencing first-hand some of that romanticized struggle that all runners must endure, and which has for decades been a rite of passage. I am now charged with the task of cultivating my own networks and communities with whom I can share these inherent highs and lows. And while this is a worthwhile endeavour, I have found that it is not always an easy one.

Perspective is a fascinating and terrifying thing; I have spent the better part of my teenage and adult life working towards, dreaming of and waiting—often impatiently—for my time to be a professional runner. Making money has never been the objective; I've had my eyes wide open for a long time to the fact that distance runners, particularly Canadian distance runners, aren't granted the fame and fortune enjoyed by other professional athletes. And while that disparity is often infuriating and stress-inducing, it is an accepted reality for those of us who love this wild and beautiful sport so dearly that we cannot fathom not doing whatever necessary to have it as an pivotal part of our lives.

But despite—or perhaps because of—our passion and obsession, ours is a lonely sport. And although some part of each of us craves the solitude and absolute, single-minded focus that breeds success, progress, and excellence, and is at the very essence of why we do what we do (there is a reason that so many of us list Once and Runner and Into the Wild as favourite works), at the end of the day many of us go to bed early and alone, following and preceding another day of regiment, focus and relative alone-ness, if not downright loneliness. Those of us who are fortunate enough to spend part of our year at “training camp” in an almost solely running-oriented bubble are perhaps even more susceptible to the loneliness of the long distance runner. This is the stir-crazy feeling that comes not from lack of keep-busy tasks (our general neurosis enables us to find something to occupy our time in just about any setting), but rather from the lifestyle that offers little distraction from running, and hence, lots of time to consider, question, obsess over, worry about, and doubt whether this is a worthwhile pursuit. Investing this much time and money, both your own and that of others, into a volatile and highly uncertain venture come with great risk, and is the reason for the ever-nagging little voice that sets up camp in the recesses of your brain and tells you repeatedly that you're not good enough, that you should get a real job, get married, and generally get on with real life.

If blogs in general are self-congratulatory, self-indulgent and cathartic, runners' blogs are borderline narcissistic. We write for a very small audience, and sometimes—maybe often—just for ourselves. But that audience, be it only of one, is attentive, relatable, and, I believe, dearly in need of this outlet, both as reader and writer. Because for all of the doubts, uncertainties, fears, disappointments, and loneliness, one of our comrades is setting a PB, completing her highest mileage week, finally conquering his rival, making her first national team, peaking at just the right time, thriving on an endorphin high, basking in the glow of a rising or setting sun and remembering why this is all so very worth it. And each of these things, whether frustrating or enjoyable, is worth celebrating by those who really get it.

And sometimes we just need to indulge in Lauren's latest home-made, post-workout Picky Bars. Sometimes we need the image of Sally strutting on the beach in her Wonder Woman bikini. Sometimes we need a little break from the mileage logging, the split-taking, the record-keeping. Sometimes we just need to laugh. So if you find this blog self-indulgent or cathartic, I hope you also find it somehow reassuring, relatable or simply a reminder that for all that we do, on the open road, with the wind in our faces, and nothing but our own straining legs and lungs as company, we are never truly alone. And we can always find a way to LAUGH.  

***Love and miss you, Sally Meyerhoff <3***