Never Crushed By, But Totally Crushed Out On

October 31, 2009 · Filed under Race Report

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Dreads, wind, medal.

Lakefront 50 miler this morning. I planned to use it as a training run to jump-start my training for the Rocky Raccoon 100 miler I want to do in February. I didn’t train for this 50 miler as intensely as I have for the other 50’s I’ve done. Which is why I figured if I could do it in about 9 hours, I’d be happy with myself. I just wanted to go the distance, and see what happened.

Mentally and logistically, I was in no way prepared for this race. It wasn’t until last night that I actually considered how many Gu’s I should bring, if I should bring a water bottle full of an electrolyte drink, what I was going to wear, or what I needed to pack in my drop bag. I’ve been so busy with my new work schedule that I haven’t really had the time to think about it, and so for the past 3 weeks I have just been saying to myself, Eh, it’s only a 50 miler. Whatever—I’ll just run it. As if I’m some super-experienced ultrarunner who has been doing this shit all of her life. While I have been running long distances for a relatively long time (hey, 5 years of ultrarunning and 8 years of marathon running is a good chunk of life experience when you’re only 26), with only two 50 milers and five 50k’s under my belt, I wouldn’t call myself an expert. And, since I wasn’t planning on trying to win it or anything, I thought my projected slow pace would be easy, and thus lacked the need to really prepare.

Well, apparently I have a hard time running slow. Especially in ultras, which is weird, because that’s what ultrarunning is all about—going really slow in order to cover a really long distance. I did the first 25 miles in 3:40 (about a 8:48 min/mile pace). That’s almost an hour faster than I had thought about doing. I knew I was going to fast, but I kept telling myself, Shit, Chelsey, run good while you feel good. In this fast-paced-ness I failed to do one very important thing: eat. I think you can run a 50k without really eating anything but Gu and maybe a handful of pretzels to get some salt into you, but when it comes to anything over 31 miles, you really need to replenish your body. It’s just a good idea. (An idea that helps you to avoid needing medical attention, might I add).

My friend Toney met up with me at mile 25 and ran the second half of the race with me. She became a lifesaver. Due to my lack of eating, as well as my incredible ability to forget about the whole electrolyte-replenishment thing, I started to get SO dizzy around mile 35. My eyes were having a hard time focusing, my hands were numb and swollen, and my body started to do this very fun digestive-fucked-up thing in which I started shitting blood. I know, too much information. But when you’re an ultrarunner this is the shit you (literally) might have to deal with during a race. Toney kept me at a good pace and became my incredible crew person. She picked up and feed me bananas, chips, pretzels, and dried fruit at the aid stations, all while keeping my spirits and my pace up, as well. Eventually, around mile 40 or so I started to feel my body kick back to life again, and I ran (and power-walked) the rest of the race.

The results: a got my fastest 50 mile time! 7 hours and 45 minutes. I came in 3rd overall for the women, and am pretty sure I won my age group.

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My festive-vampire-pacer Toney and I after the race.

How the hell did that happen?!?

I had wanted to run slow and steady…to just finish the 50 miles in whatever comfortable pace I could do it in. Well, I guess my body felt like doing a good ol’ 9:18 min/mile pace today. Aside from the bloody shit, the dizzy drunk feeling (and not a fun dizzy drunk feeling) that lasted for a good 5 or 6 miles, the swollen and numb hands, and the few moments when I felt like I was having a hard time breathing, I had a lot of fun! (This is also surprising to me, because I thought running up and down a 6.2-mile section of the lakefront path 8 times was going to be boring as hell). And thanks to my awesome pacer Toney I was able to survive those tough moments!

Note to self: if I want to run a 100 miler, I really have to learn how to eat while running, as well as remember that an electrolyte imbalance can totally fuck up your body in a number of ways.

When I got home and showered today, I couldn’t help but giggle. Right now, I feel so post-run euphoric and giddy. My blood and skin feel really hot, which is kinda uncomfortable, but my brain and emotions are just so damn happy. I realize that when people ask me why I do this, I have no way to explain to them how incredible my body feels post-long run. There aren’t words for this. You just have to do it yourself and experience the surge in self-confidence, the euphoria, as well as the sort of peaceful and calming feeling of being so humbled by your own accomplishments. That’s what this is about.

I’m so in love with this sport right now, especially as I think back to the start of the race. It was cold in an annoying way (about 40 degrees), rainy, and dark at 6am. All of the 50 milers huddled together under an awning, as we gave each other body warmth, joked around about running, and waited until 1 minute before the starting time to emerge from our cave. Once we were lined up, the race director said, “Alright, GO!” And that was it. No fancy bells, horns, or whistles. No chip timing that lets your loved ones track your progress online. Just a group of people huddled together, excited about the pain they are about to endure, and waiting for some dude to say go.

I think this sport can bring out some of the best characteristics in people. It’s like, we’re all in it for the long haul, so let’s tell each other bad jokes to keep everyone awake until the sun comes up, let’s race against ourselves (well, and maybe try to chase down the person ahead of us)—but at the end of it all tell we seek out that person we were “racing against” to tell her how strong and awesome she is, and then let’s hobble around afterwards and eat homemade rice and beans while we cheer in the other finishers. Everyone is awesome in this sport simply for wanting to be a part of it.

Damn, I’m so crushed out on ultrarunning right now.

And PS: Toney, I couldn’t have done it without you.

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Running Me Down

October 27, 2009 · Filed under Thoughts While Running

Hello there. It’s been awhile. And it’s funny, because in this time apart I have been running a lot, and I’ve been writing a lot, too. I just haven’t been writing about running. I also haven’t been running in any sort of a poetic way. Lately, running has just been that thing that I do. It hasn’t been something that I necessarily enjoy, but I do it because I know I really won’t enjoy myself if I don’t.

I’ve felt really detached from myself lately, and this has totally played out in the way that I have been running. Now, this isn’t an all-day, every-day thing. In fact, I have a really great piece of writing about pacing my aunt’s partner for the Leadville 100, a piece about how much running long distances inspires me and challenges me to look deeper into my life, and I’ve also written in my journal some bits about getting back into my body through running.

But lately it has felt as if I have been running away from myself.

Or maybe it’s that I’m trying to catch up with myself.

It’s possible I’ve been chasing myself down.

What is the difference between these things?

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Not me. But a cool picture nonetheless.

I had this moment yesterday when I was running. I meant to do a 10 mile run (as part of my “long” run/tapered long run for the 50 miler I’m running on Saturday), but I was hungover as shit (and wiped out from dancing my ass off the night before). I eventually got myself out the door to do a good 6 miles. Hell yeah to an anti-hangover hour long run! There’s nothing like it (both painfully, and in a relieving sort of a way). On this 6 mile “recovery” run, I realized something.

I realized I’m ready to start healing.

Kinda.

Awhile back my friend Riva told me I should treat my body like it’s my pet. I totally agreed with her—that I should love my body, feed it, take care of it, give it some good exercise as well as some good down time, and cuddle with it with all of the love, awe and appreciation I can muster—but I knew I wasn’t in the mental space at that point to do this. My body has been a source of emotional power and control for me. My mind is that jackass of an owner who puts a masterlock on a metal chain around its puppy’s neck in order to make it stronger and tougher. I’m that pet owner that stares down it’s dog…intimidates it with its human resources and plays mind tricks with it to get it to do what it wants.

I seriously hate that kind of a pet owner.

But that IS the kind of owner I have been to my own body in these past few months.

A small (but relevant) interlude:

The one true love of my life is Athena. Right now, she’s a 10-year-old Australian Shepherd/Blue Heeler mix that I got when she was just 8 weeks old. After 8 years of living together, she is now in Austin, and I’m up in Chicago.

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Yup, that's me at 16--happy as hell with my new 8-week old dog!

When I got her, I told myself I would never treat her as a pet, or call myself her “mother.” I wanted to be equals with her—to allow her to roam this earth with a sense of freedom, and only with a little direction from her human resource. That, to me, is the best kind of pet owner anyone can be—to allow your “pet” the freedom to discover this world on her own, and to give her enough loving direction so she doesn’t get run over by a car.

It’s now that I can realize how much I need to be my own pet.

I need really amazing loving direction, and, honestly, at times I need encouragement to not get hit by a car.

So it was during this recent hungover 6 mile run that I finally realized I wanted to be right here. Here, in this moment. Here, as in here in my life. Here as in a life that has a lot of potential. And this was just a moment—I knew it would fly away within a few blocks (or a mile at the most). These sorts of profound thoughts don’t last all that long–they are just glimpses into what could be. And it did quickly depart. But parts of that thought and feeling are here with me now. In bits, this thought stayed with me for the whole day.

What would it look like to love myself?

When I was talking to my roommate about this later on in the day, she asked if I ever had moments when I felt good in my body. Yeah, I do. Those moments are when I am running. There’s something about feeling my body move in a way that it is so used to moving in, to feel my feet strike the ground, my shoulders and back move with my legs, my mind thinking about the most random shit, and my eyes concentrating on what’s ahead of me that brings my whole body into such a relaxed state. I’m still trying to find the words to describe it. I think the main reason why I love long runs, is because I always have this one moment during them in which I realize I’ve been running for over 4 hours, but my heartbeat is calm and steady, my body feels strong, my mind feels clear, and my breathing is relaxed. What does it mean to put so much stress on your body (like, 4 hours of running type of stress), and yet have it be in such a calm and meditative state?
It almost feels healing, in a way.

It’s addicting.
I love it.

And this is when I KNOW that running is such an integral part to my life. While it’s true that lately I’ve just tried to zone the fuck out and run at least an hour every day so I don’t get that manic and itchy feeling, I feel like I’m ready to get back into the space where I love running for something that contributes to my life, not as something that wears me down.

And that’s the other side of all of this: in the past 3 or 4 months, I’ve realized that my body is aching. I worry that this is caused by either a) too much running, or b) a lack of calcium (signaled by no menstrual cycles for a year—which causes bone deterioration, which is also caused by too much running. Hmm). Basically, I’ve been worried about my joints and bones, but not really enough to do anything about it. It’s weird. It’s like I’ve been simultaneously trying to run as much and as often as possible in order to keep up with my ultrarunning habit, and I’ve been trying to run as little as possible in order to allow my aching ankle and knees to heal.

So…I’m running as much as possible while trying to run as little as possible.

How the hell does that work?

Well, it doesn’t. What this means is that I’ve still been running what I always run—anywhere from 40-75 miles a week (depending on what my long runs are for that week), but I’ve been super-paranoid about each mile of it. I think this has probably worn more on my mind than on my body.

It’s funny, though. Because once I started to get back into running for the sake of loving the feeling of running, the pains have gone away. You see, the other moment I had while running that 6 miles is that I want ultrarunning to be a source of healing for me. I want to train for a 100 mile race, and use that training as a way to concentrate on honoring and loving my body. I need that right now. And weird enough, but also in these past few days since that intention has been in my mind, my body has not hurt while running. Even though I know my ankle is a little strained from twisting it on a damn hole in the ground while doing a “hill” workout last week (I mean, really, can any Chicagoan claim to do a hill workout…let’s face it, compared to a real hill workout, Chicago hill workouts are like running back and forth over a speed bump for an hour), my whole body felt good and purposeful while running 8 miles tonight.

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Chicago's treacherous mountain range.

I love this. I love having a goal, a concentration, and just going for it.

With all of this in my head, I made another goal for myself. Other than wanting to run the Leadville 100 in next August (that is, if I’m still alive from running the Rocky Raccoon 100 in February), I really want to save up some money, get a good job, move into an apartment with a small backyard/one that allows for 38 pound dogs, and I want to bring Athena back from Texas!

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We. Are. So. Cute.

Honestly, I miss running with my dog. And while I know that running with Athena on the streets of a big city will be incredibly different from running with her on the deserted streets of the Texas country (with seldom a leash on), I still think it will be amazing to have her here.

Maybe one thing I need in order to fully realize how I am able to treat my body like a pet is to have another “pet” in my life. I think we all need feel what it is like to have a living thing to love us unconditionally—and that’s what Athena is for me. She loves me no matter what, and I feel the same way about her.

Maybe eventually my mind and body will also have this sort of relationship.
An maybe that’s what I should be chasing after.

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We would be great together if you changed everything about you

June 24, 2009 · Filed under Space · Tagged ,

Doesn't get much more exciting than dodging shopping carts while running in Tucson.

Doesn't get much more exciting than dodging deserted shopping carts on sidewalks while running in the desert.

I spent four days in Tucson last week at the Society for Disability Studies conference. The conference itself was absolutely amazing. The running situation in Tucson—at least the part of Tucson I was in—was just kind of weird and gross.

I love traveling because I love running in new places. There are only so many Chicago neighborhoods I can venture to from my house, and I’ve probably traversed the northern 7 miles of the lakefront path more than 100 times by now. So I get excited when I’m traveling to a new city—new running terrain! Yippee! Running is also my way to explore a new place. The first morning I wake up in any new city, I intentionally go for a run and try to get lost, so that I have to pay attention to street names and landmarks in order to get myself back home. I learn the layout of a city so much faster, and I always end up finding some cool place that I never would have found if I hadn’t gone on that run.

In Tucson, for example, my last day there I went for an hour long run around the cute college and independent business-thriving part of town—the only part really worth going to—which got me to 4th Avenue (fourth ave, as the locals lovingly call it). I’d been on this street before—with it’s food co-op, feminist bookstore, a barrage of vintage stores, and the good bars with the good local beer, but I had only visited it during prime business hours. Running down a business street early in the morning before the shops and coffee places are open is my own type of waking up. It’s like the calm silence before what is bound to be noisy busy-ness. So I’m running down this street that I’ve been hanging out on while not at the conference, and I run past this sandwich board on the sidewalk that says “Revolutionary Grounds” with a big red star. Intriguing. I put the foot brakes on just in time to stop in front of an independent/activist/anarchist coffeeshop and bookstore, with a vegan menu and free language classes offered throughout the week for anyone in the community. This business is the kind of space that I want to eventually create—a rad coffeeshop/bookstore that serves its community in a variety of much-needed ways. It’s like I found a small part of my soul business-sonified in that little, squat building. How had I not seen this place before on all of my wanderings up and down the short 3-block strip of Fourth Ave?

Revolutionary Grounds invites me to enjoy something about Tucson.

Revolutionary Grounds invites me to enjoy something about Tucson.

So, thank you running, for showing me the cool shit in any city. Tucson, however, I do not want to thank you. Other than the aforementioned Revolutionary Grounds-find, my running in Tucson was completely boring, and, well, just kind of hot and dry. Granted, I didn’t venture out to any of the state parks that have really good running trails. I had to be at the conference by 9 every morning, which meant I had to be ready to leave the place where I was staying by 8:30 at the latest. And, considering I wanted to run between 1 and 2 hours every day, I just didn’t have the time to drive over to the state parks so then I could run around them. Staying away from the good running trails meant that I was left with some gross trail that ran beside a highway for 4 miles, an industrial/strip center part of town that was flat with tilted sidewalks, and a lot of stop lights. But, there were mountains/big rocks to look at, so I can’t complain too, too much. Maybe.

The best part about all of this, though, was that running in the morning gave me such a great mental setup with which to go into a 12-hour day of conferencing. My first morning in Tucson I only ran 3 miles (on account of a really huge hangover from experiencing the Tucson lesbian bar scene the night before—which, while definitely not dry by any means, like the running terrain in Tucson it was just kind of gross, dumb, and boring), and so the whole day I just felt kind of out of it, tired, and not fully awake in my body. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last time I only ran 3 miles in a day. (Maybe this is something for me to think about—but I’m an ultrarunner—I don’t even start to feel warmed up until at least mile 5 of any run, so running 3 miles is like doing a yogi doing half of a downward dog with one leg). I went to bed that night feeling completely run down and uncomfortable in my body.

The next day, however, I got up and did a 15-mile run (part of which was on that highway-hugging four mile trail, ick). Those two hours of running put me in such a great mood. I felt so attentive during the panels, and excited to think about really hard shit. The Society for Disability Studies (SDS) conference always puts me into such a weird mental space at some point during it. I think the constant thinking about bodies, the physicality of life, how I navigate my own illnesses, and how there is so much to change both socially and personally until I, and many others, feel fully comfortable in this world. All of this thinking about physicality inevitably makes me lose my shit on one day during the conference. I’ll break down and cry for awhile at some point, thinking about my own weird relations to my own body, and how crazy I feel for feeling, well, crazy. I’ve gotten to the point now where I just expect this breakdown while at SDS, usually sometime during the second or third day.

But there’s a first time for everything, and this year at SDS I never had my “breakdown.” I think I would have had that breakdown on my second day of conferencing if I hadn’t ran 15 miles in the morning. The run refreshed my mind, and got me into a space where I was so excited and in awe of all of the complex thoughts and emotions I was having. I don’t think the run made me avoid any emotions. In fact, it’s made me wonder about what the meaning of “having a breakdown” really involves. When I was on that run (in 99 degree weather with 0 humidity), with salt crystals forming under my eyes, chafing stretching along my armpit, my water bottle empty, and my concern that it was possible I might have gone out further than I intended to (thus, running 15 instead of 12 miles), did I allow for a part of me to breakdown? Did the worrying, the physical pain, and the 2 hours that I had to think about all of it allow for the same kind of release that a good, hard, 20-minute sob allows for?

These are the things I’m curious about.

I’m also curious about how ultrarunners, like Pam Reed, don’t get bored training for 100+ mile races in Tucson. There’s only so much dirt that I can look at.

Dear Tucson,
Thanks for allowing me to encounter some great friends I hadn’t seen in over a year, as well as find the cutest independent bookstores and food coops the southwest region of this country has to offer. Next time we meet, however, I would appreciate it if you cleaned the dirt up a bit, dropped the dry attitude, and pointed the way towards your good trails. While I do appreciate your existence in this world, I will never make a commitment to you, nor desire to caress your desiccated terrain with my now-crackling feet or look at your big rocks (which I think you refer to as mountains) with my now sun-burnt eyeballs. I hope you well in the future, and I thank you for giving me the knowledge that I will never live within your vicinity.

Your (hopefully) one-time visitor,
Chelsey

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Cheers, dude. I’m done!

June 4, 2009 · Filed under 1

This dude has the right idea - a celebratory beer for finishing.

This dude has the right idea - a celebratory beer steps before finishing.

That’s right. The aforementioned thesis has been turned in/emailed off! Granted, I still have to defend it and revise it after that, but I’m in the home stretch, the finish line is in sight, and I’m going to go ahead and have that celebratory beer tonight. The final final thing is due July 1st, but tonight – we dance and celebrate!

I have been running everyday while writing of the thesis, and so I have a ton of thoughts that this running-writing process has given me…I want to post them all here. I’m glad that I have this space in my life and I’m looking forward to adding more things to it!

Tons of postings soon to come!

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Abstract is Whack

May 21, 2009 · Filed under 1

I am going to disappear from posting anything for another 2 weeks. I have my master’s thesis due June 1st, and, well, basically I’m living and breathing the thesis writing process right now. This is in no way enjoyable, but eventually it will be done…and that’s enjoyable.

When I tell people I’m working on my thesis, they always ask what it is about. This question is inevitable, but seriously people, the only thing I’ve been thinking about for the past week is this damn thesis, so the last thing I want to do is try to explain it in a few sentences to someone. It just gets complicated and starts to feel overwhelming. But, I’m sure you’re curious. So here’s my abstract.

Enjoy.

And a lady loves some feedback.

Bipolar Bodies:
Trauma, Healing, and The Performance of Crazy

By Chelsey Clammer

This project begins by looking at how feminists have viewed madness in women as a site of resistance. I first show how a patriarchal society is quick to label a woman who defies the social construction of femininity as insane, and then move to how feminists, in turn, have celebrated the “madwoman” as an exemplary figure of social rebellion. But, I question, what are the oppressing affects of using madness as a metaphor for female resistance? And, is it really the madness that is being celebrated, or is it the resistance to social norms? Following Marta Caminero-Santangelo’s thoughts in her text The Madwoman Can’t Speak, I believe that madness is not something to be celebrated, but rather it is the ways in which women have survived misogynist societies that should be honored.

Part of this survival is performance. The second portion of my thesis looks at the ways in which women have performed their own emotions in order to survive in a society that constantly degrades them. I believe there is something to this performance of “crazy” that have helped women to survive misogynist cultures. Furthermore, and for the final part of my thesis, I am interested in not just the conscious performance of madness, but the subtle ways in which our bodies perform our emotions. Using the Alexander Technique, a theory based in Performance Studies, I look at how the body holds the trauma of a mental illness diagnosis, and how we need to learn how to listen to our bodies in different ways in order to more fully understand our emotions.

My project, therefore, has three main points that overlap and inform each other. First of all, I examine how women’s mental illness has been celebrated as a source of rebellion, and point to the ways in which by celebrating madness the voices of the mentally ill are lost. Secondly, I look at how madness—specifically Bipolar Disorder—has become a sort of performance in our society. I look at how madness is performed through diagnosis, how society constructs women’s madness through misogyny, and how madness is both celebrated and shunned in the academia. Finally, and in order to bring these two sections of my project together, I introduce new ways of listening to the body in order to fully understand our mental states. By doing so, I hope to re-conceive the function of the madwoman in our society not as a site of rebellion, but as bodied subject that points to how society treats women. Through different types of bodywork, and by understanding the ways in which the body holds trauma, I conclude my project by presenting different ways to listen to the “mentally ill.” If we can begin to listen to and witness the physicality of mental illness, then we can see that it’s not the actual madness that is the rebellion, but it’s the survival of an unlivable situation—a misogynist society in particular—that is the site of rebellion to be celebrated.

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Keep Moving

May 10, 2009 · Filed under Thoughts While Running · Tagged , ,

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I could try to state why I haven’t written or posted anything in awhile, and the reasons for it would look similar to most reasons why we don’t do something: busy, distracted, tired. But even through the busy-distracted-tired-and-feeling-of-overwhelmedness that has been my life lately, I have still created and made the space to run. It’s just that important and I would never give it up. Like therapy. So other than a set of reasons, the real issue behind my lack of blogging and creating words is that I just wasn’t feeling it. Nothing was being inspired in my head for a need to create this kind of space.

But here I am now.

I feel like the past month or so of running has been more about performance for me than actually about what I love: the feeling of running. Amount of miles per week, tempo, pace, distance, hill workouts–all of it with a goal of going further, faster, stronger. If felt icky. And while I did run a 4 mile race last weekend in which I both PRed and won it (26:49…that’s a 6:43 minute per mile pace. Damn.), I didn’t ever really enjoy myself. I mean, the winning and the finishing was fun, but when it comes down to it I don’t like the feeling of my body running that fast. I’d rather run at an even tempo for 8 hours, than an uncomfortable sprint for 25 minutes.

I did my second 50 mile race Saturday. It was so amazing. Two days before the race I spent a huge chunk of my night in the emergency room. My throat was burned raw from puking, which made it impossible to swallow water. Any fluids I did get down was accompanied by a horrible gag reflex from the burnt throat–which means that most of what went down came right back up. I basically had no fluids in my body. My muscles were in spasms and shaking because of this. I know an I.V. should not be my way of staying hydrated, but it was absolutely necessary Wednesday night.

All of my friends were worried about me. None of them thought I would run on Saturday. The idea of not running my race never even crossed my mind. In fact, for me, I needed those 50 miles more than ever. For the past 6 weeks I have just barely been “functioning”–living outside of my body. I needed to get back in. And running 50 miles is my way of getting back into my body. That sort of distance is an open door to a different type of mental and physical space for me that is so completely necessary, and I have yet to find another way to get into it.

So it worked.

Throughout the 8 and a half hours I ran, I constantly stayed present and aware in how my body felt. I made sure to eat early on–to concentrate on my physical and nutritional needs, (this is something I failed to do during my first 50 miler. In that race, it wasn’t until mile 30 that I realized I would have to actually eat something other than Gu in order to finish, and by then it was almost too late). The focusing on nutritional needs totally worked for me this time around. Not once in the entire race did I hit a wall. I never thought, No, I can’t do this. Or, Stop, please. I just kept moving–even up the rocky, muddy hills that had started to make my legs burn at mile 10.

These are the facts of it all, but there’s something deeper I want to get to.

These past few weeks there has been one thing I’ve thought about and experienced while running that I have wanted to write about. “Keep moving.” At the corner of Greenview and Devon every weekday morning from about 7-9am, there’s this crossing guard that is stationed at that intersection. I imagine her name to be Mary, but that’s probably because the only other crossing guard I know is named Mary (this unnamed one really does look like she could be a Mary, though). I usually refer to her as that Crazy Crossing Guard, and my friends who get up early know who I’m talking about.

She shouts. She shouts to herself. She shouts to herself about the crossing situation at Greenview and Devon.

When I first ran into her, I thought she was shouting into some hidden walkie-talkie, trying to communicate what the crossing situation at Greenview and Devon was like to her fellow crossing guard stationed down the street at Greenview and Granville. Nope. No walkie-talkies. No one that she’s shouting to. And it’s not just that she shouts that is amazing–it’s that the whole morning her shouting is about the events of that intersection.

“Keep moving! If there’s no one in your way then move!”

“Wait your turn then go!”

And my favorite:

“We got a runner crossing! Runner coming! If it’s your turn than move!”

“Keep moving, people! Keep moving!”

I’ve never actually seen this woman help anyone cross the street, but her voice is there, dominating the morning air. I imagine none of the drivers can actually hear her–their rolled up windows and music muffling her commentating.

At first, once I realized she wasn’t actually talking to anyone in particular, I thought she was insane.

Then, as I ran by her every chilly winter morning–all wrapped up in her neon orange ankle-length coat with matching hat and mittens–I realized that maybe this was just what she did to help her get through the morning. To help her to keep moving.

And now, I absolutely love this woman. I look forward to her crackly voice telling the world “We got a runner coming through! If it’s your turn, then go!”

“Come on people! Keep moving!”

I thought about this crossing guard a lot during the Ice Age 50 miler on Saturday. She’s got a good philosophy for ultrarunners: just keep moving. When you have so much distance to cover, it’s true that all you have to do is to keep moving, and eventually you’ll get there.

So I kept moving. Tired, sore, aching ab muscles from keeping my balance on the steep, rocky, muddy downhills–I just kept thinking about how to just keep moving.

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Feeling in my body with a post-race kombucha.

 

This keep-movingness brought be back into my body. It helped me to fill up the space of my body, to breath her in and to go forward with her. I had friends at this race who mostly came so someone could drive me home afterwards, and so they could get out of the city for a second. Of course they were there to support me, but they weren’t there to be my crew–checking in with me every 5 miles to see how I was doing and what I needed. In fact, I didn’t even see them until mile 40–a full ten miles sooner than I expected. It was so amazing to have them there, to have them be present with and witness this part of my life. I could feel their love and excitement (and loving concern) for me in the air that surrounded them.

 

Rose--one third of my "crew". Awake and alive at 5:30am, Saturday, May 9, 2009.

Rose was one third of my "crew." Awake and alive at 5:30am, Saturday, May 9, 2009.

 

 

But it was so different to run this race with essentially no crew. It was perfect, actually. Something that I needed without even knowing it. I felt like I was on a therapeutic adventure with myself. Because I didn’t have anyone to check in with me at each aid station, I was totally responsible and dependent on myself. It felt so beautiful.

I was both constantly aware of what I needed–how I was doing, preparing for what I needed for myself at the next aid station–AND I was able to zone out and into myself–to get lost in my own thoughts, and not really have to talk to anyone unless I wanted to. It felt really different to not have anyone to check in with but myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to be in that situation again, but for this race–this race where my sole purpose was to stay in tune with my body, to listen to her for every step, and to reconnect with her–it was absolutely perfect.

And so I became my own crew, and that crew kept telling me to keep moving. It felt so full and so right.

But at mile 45 I got really sad. I got sad because I realized how silent the world was in this space, how beautiful the trail and forest were, how good I felt in that silence/stillness/alone time, and how I didn’t want it to end. I wanted it to continue forever. I was sad to be finishing. At mile 48 I considered running more once I finished. Maybe just a few more miles in the forest to continue to soak it all in. And then I finished, and I was like, “fuck that, I’m done,” but I could feel that there was more in my body. I feel like I’m a (somewhat) good judge of my body’s limits (although my friends and therapists might disagree with this), but I’m an especially good judge when it comes to running. I feel like in relation to running I know what my body can do, and what it’s capable of. And when I finished, I felt like I could easily do another 20 miles, but that 30 miles would make me die from exhaustion. So maybe one day there will be more to come.

In the meantime, I’ll just keep moving.

 

Thanks to Pidge for the amazing photos.

Thanks to Pidge for the amazing photos.

Check out other photos by my awesome roomate, Pidge.

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You’re Only Wet Because of the Rain

April 20, 2009 · Filed under Thoughts While Running · Tagged ,

I intended to run 30 miles on Saturday and 20 on Sunday this weekend. Or maybe a 25/25. Whichever. This was supposed to be my last weekend of intense training before I start to taper for my 50 mile race on May 9th.

Well, lo and behold I got a little too dehydrated on Friday night for various reasons (some of them legal, some of them not so much, but all of them in the name of self care), and even though I was asleep by 11pm with all of my running stuff prepared for 30 miles the next day, once my head hit the pillow it didn’t want to rise for a really really long time–like, until 9 the following morning. And I so didn’t feel like starting a 30 mile run at 9am–it’s just too late for me. Saturday was a BEAUTIFUL day, too. I actually ended up running 4 that afternoon–in my sports bra and shorts. It was that fucking sunny and nice out.

Alright, so we’ll do this double-long run shit on Sunday and Monday. It will be fine.

Insert – Rain. Lots of rain.

Not flooding rain, and not just a drizzle, but a steady stream of slightly more annoying than just light rain, rain. Dumb rain.

I’ve always told myself that it doesn’t matter if it’s raining when I need/want to run–I should just run anyway. After all, come race day, the race won’t be canceled just because of some water. It’s good training to run in the rain, just like it’s good to run into the wind. And actually, I’m not completely sure of what people’s aversion is to running in the rain. Getting wet? Um, hello? Don’t you sweat? Can’t you just get dry later?

I remember this summer when I was training some high schoolers with Team M3 to run the Chicago marathon, we were scheduled to run a 14 miler one Saturday. We were actually supposed to run it the previous Saturday, but it had been lightening, so we rescheduled. This following Saturday, it was still pouring, but no life-threatening lightening. So we ran. I had a 3 mile bike ride to where we started, and by the time I got there, I was completely drenched. Not just sheets of rain–we’re talking fucking quilts. Heavy. Constant. Pouring. Soaked.

It was so much fun. The youth made a game out of it–try to jump into the middle of every puddle. Most of these puddles were calf-to-knee deep. Whatever. They were already soaked. Why not have fun?

So while the youth were having a blast–splashing, shouting, laughing, and stomping around in this 14 mile downpour, what are the adult mentors doing? We’re running in the grass trying to avoid the puddles. Huh?!? Because we might get our soaking shoes soaking wet? And while all of us adult people were smiling and laughing at the youth, not one of us jumped in on the fun.

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At what point does this shift? Does it have something to do with a forced sense of responsibility? Have we lost the sense of why jumping in puddles is fun?

What are we hoping to hold onto by trying to keep dry in a downpour?

So Sunday–it was raining–and I was like, fuck it, I need to do this long run. Plus, I had ran those 14 miles in a downpour this past summer, so why not 30 in a light shower? Or, how about 20? As I set out to do 30, I knew that distance wasn’t going to happen, so I settled on 20 with the thought that I’d do another 20 or 30 the next day.

The first 10 miles were absolutely fun. Running in the rain makes me feel like a bad ass and a free-loving kid all at the same time! I was going a steady pace, and I took to my strategy for how I got through this past Chicago winter–don’t resist the weather, just accept it for what it is and celebrate it with every step.

And that worked for 10 miles.

Then I turned around and headed back up North to my house.

And then I realized there was wind, and now I was running into it. Plus, the wind was carrying the raindrops special delivery right into my face. It was cold, windy, rainy, gray. And hard to keep my eyes open, too.

I change my mind. Running in the rain fucking sucks.

How easy it is to instantly change your perspective.

I finally, finally got done with the 20 in a time of 2:46. Not bad. Besides, I honestly think running 20 miles in the wind and rain is as emotionally taxing as running 30 miles in perfect weather. I’ll take it.

I was so not looking forward to doing another 20 in the rain this morning. So not looking forward to it to the point that I had packed all my shit up in preparation to get to my gym by 5:30am, so I could run 20 miles on the dreadmill. How. Boring. When I woke up (an hour late, but still an hour before the sunrise–as if you could see the sun in this gloomy weather), it sounded like the rain had let up a little.

Yeah!

Just kidding. By the time I got out of the door, it was still raining. I ended up doing 11.5. In the rain. Again.

I’m trying to stay positive about all of this. I was telling myself earlier that I could do another 8 tonight, maybe when it stops raining. After the past two outings, I just can’t handle any more drops in my face. But now I see it’s going to rain (and snow–WTF?) for another two days. This hating-of-the-rain development in my life is something I’m really curious about. Shouldn’t I just be able to do what I do–enjoy myself and be prepared for running in any kind of weather–and not be so affected by the elements?

One thing that I did keep telling myself during the last few miles of the miserable-ish 20, is that at least my eyelashes weren’t freezing together–something I experienced while doing a 26 miler on Christmas this year.

That thought helped me to pick up my pace for a bit, until I thought, “yeah, my eyelashes were freezing together, but at least I was dry.”

Seriously. What is this aversion to wetness? Even when I was soaked and running in the last mile of the 20, I was still dodging puddles–skipping around barely visible pools of water in shoes that were making sloshing noises because I’ve been running in the rain for almost 3 hours. God forbid I step in that tiny puddle.

I shake my head at the absurdity of it all, and yet I smile. Although, I’m probably only able to smile now because I’m dry, drinking coffee, and I won’t be running again until Wednesday–when it’s going to be warm and sunny. At least there’s a smile shining through something.

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After 35 Miles, You’re Still in My Head

April 13, 2009 · Filed under Space · Tagged , , ,

What did I think about for 35 miles on Saturday? Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I do know that I sang “Back In Your Head” by Tegan and Sara for at least 4 hours. And I don’t even know all of the lyrics to that song. But every time I said, “Chelsey, you have GOT to get this song out of your head,” the lyrics “I just want back in your head” kept replaying in my mind. Such a vicious cycle. I wanted to be thinking of something beautiful and grand. Inspiring thoughts that are born while giving myself the space to run for 5 hours and 19 minutes.

But, I just want back in your head!

That’s all I got.

And tiredness. Really fucking tired.

I ran 10 miles yesterday and then worked from 11-6. When I got off of work, my co-worker and I had some beers at a bar while we each read a different April Sinclair novel. It was so calming–pleasant–amazing. But by 8pm I was ready to pass out.

At 9:30 I was dead asleep.

And now it’s 2am as I write this. I’m wide awake. Well, not so wide awake that I’ll go bike riding or something like that right now, (although a night time/early morning bike ride through the streets of Chicago does sound amazing and briefly crossed my mind as something to do), but awake enought to work on writing a personal essay I have due for Make/Shift soon.

So I’ve been writing for the past hour and a half.

And something came up for me.

I’ve been needing to write this for well over 6 months. But I just haven’t found the space that I needed to be able to sit myself down and write this out. I didn’t know how to.

What space does running 35 miles (or 45 miles in two days) do for me? It helps me to create. These are things that I’m constantly thinking about, not just when I’m running. But when I am running, especially for more than 2 hours, I get this amazing mental space in which I can think without having thoughts, sing without having lyrics, and feel my emotions without being overwhelmed by them.

And this is what that kind of space can create:

An Open Letter to My Ex-Girlfriend

(written at 2:51am)

When you didn’t let my best friend support me after I was sexually assaulted, that was abusive and traumatizing.
When you violated my sense of security by logging into my email account while I was at an extra therapy session because I had been sexually assaulted two days ago, that was abusive and traumatizing.

When you told me the day after I was sexually assaulted how horrible of a person I am and how I done you so wrong, that was abusive and traumatizing.

Yes, I broke up with you in a very harsh and traumatizing way. I can own that. I can recognize that that was wrong of me. But skip ahead 10 days from my breaking up with you–10 days in which there were too many hours of fighting, and of course another break-up discussion because once is never enough to end a four year relationship–and I’m being sexually assaulted by a stranger on the street.

When you came over to support me that night, I saw judgment in your eyes. I felt it in my heart.

And yes, during our break up I admitted to you that my best friend and I had talked about our mutual attraction for each other. But you couldn’t understand that while my attraction to her might have been a reason why we were breaking up, it was not because I wanted to ditch you for her, but it was because with her I finally got to understand what it felt like to be seen as a whole person. To be listened to. Honored. Supported.

So to deny me that friend, that type of support after I was sexually assaulted was traumatizing. After someone is assaulted, the most important thing to do is to give them back their power. When you are assaulted, your ability to choose is completely taken away from you. So I don’t care if you don’t like me getting support from my best friend because you see our friendship as threatening to you. I was assaulted. I should be able to make these decisions for myself. And you and everyone in “our” “community” should not judge me for them.

How could you deny me my power to choose?

Where was your humanity?

Where was your compassion?

Can you still identify as a feminist after the way that you acted?

We broke up. You are not able to make these decisions for me any more. They actually shouldn’t be for you to decide in the first place.

The day after I was assaulted, I said that it was okay for me to hear about what you thought about our break up. I broke up with you 10 days ago. And 5 days before my assault we stopped talking. I wanted to know what was going on for you. How you were feeling. What was hurting you. Instead of taking care of myself after I was assaulted, I wanted to take care of someone else. I can recognize this as an unhealthy pattern in my life, and I’m working on it.

So while I did agree for you to tell me what was on your mind, as my initial support person after being assaulted I hoped that you would have supported me and not further assaulted me.

Yes. It was too much. I wanted to hear what you were thinking so I could get my mind off of the fact that I had been sexually assaulted last night. But to have you stand there and tell me how much I had hurt you and how horrible of a person I am is not support. Even if I asked for it.

I need for you to take responsibility for these actions. I can’t sleep until I know that you won’t do this to someone else.

My sexual assault was traumatizing. I continue to have flashbacks and panic attacks.

But the assault that you did to me in the days following my attack have caused more emotional trauma in my life. Worse than panic attacks or flashbacks, I deal with this trauma on a daily basis. And while you are not the sole reason why I am or continue to have this trauma in my life, you are a part of it, even if you are not a part of my life now.

And sometimes I don’t deal. Sometimes I can’t even face it.

I need you to face it.

I need you to look at your actions–your abuse–and be able to name it. To take responsibility for it.

To live with it every day.

Like me.

_________________________

While I didn’t have these thoughts when I ran 35 miles, I did wake up in the middle of the night–exhausted from my exhaustion–and finally had the space to name them.

Maybe I’ll be able to sleep now.

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Woke Up, It Was a Chelsey Morning

April 7, 2009 · Filed under Thoughts While Running · Tagged , ,

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That’s right. I ran my name this morning. The route is a 12-mile spelling of my name, but I ended up doing 14 miles on account of the fact that I had to run from where the 155 bus ended to the start of the C, and I missed my turn on the H, because sometimes maps lie. (FYI–Devon and Central Park do not, in fact, intersect due to a CVS Pharmacy roadblock).

The running back and forth and around and what not to spell my name was actually more entertaining than I though it would be. It wasn’t until I got to the Y that I started to ask myself, Why? Why run my name? Eh, why not? I first mapped this run out with the idea that I would run it on my birthday in celebration of myself. But I had the Lakefront 50k race to run on the 4th (the day after my birthday), and I didn’t think that doing a 12-14 mile run the day before a 31 mile race was that good of an idea. And then I was tired Sunday, it was snowy and gross on Monday (and who wants to wait for a bus to go on a run in that?). So alas, four days after my birthday I finally do my birthday-celebrate-me-run.

When I woke up and checked to see how close the bus was (which, FYI again–CTA bustracker does not track the 155 yet, so I had to resort to looking at the pdf file schedule, which just seems so damn old school now), I debated if I wanted to run with my iPod, because music and public transportation go so well together. Especially at 6:30am. But my iPod was drained of battery, so no music on this run.

But that got me thinking. Which got me singing. I totally should have made a Chelsey playlist to go along with my Chelsey run!

How far can I take this shit?

But what songs have Chelsey in it? There’s the obvious Joni Mitchell one that was immediately stuck in my head before I actually even started running. There’s also that really amazing Belle and Sebastian song, but I couldn’t remember any of the lyrics and only knew that my name was somewhere in it. Which then got me singing “Say My Name” by Destiny’s Child (of which I only know the chorus, and that got real annoying real fast). What else?

So I challenge you, my little blog readers, to come up with a Chelsey playlist, or a “my name” playlist. The length of this list needs to be between 1.5 and 2 hours to cover the whole run (more, if you want to include the bus ride from my house). That’s a lot of songs.

Set go.

Who says you can’t spice up your running? Which brings me back to the question of, Why?

I don’t know. Why not? If I need to run 14 miles, might as well spell something with it. Maybe I’ll start running haikus with my long runs. Would that require a haiku playlist? Now, that might be boring. I wouldn’t really suggest running to audio books, let alone audio haikus.

Then again, I’m pretty much game for anything new.

Ok. Make me that playlist!

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Running Into Myself

April 5, 2009 · Filed under Space · Tagged , ,

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Awake now. Not awake yesterday morning. Felt so dead. Dehydrated. Eyes puffy past recognition. Seriously debated if I wanted to run my 50k race. Had puked all day on Friday. It was one of those days when nothing would stay inside of me.

Get out.

I got up. Decided, what the hell? Could always quit if it was horrible–even though I never would do that, the possibility of it was comforting enough to get me out of bed.

Start. Go. Just go. I’ve said those words before in protection and self defense. To my attacker: You need to leave. Just go.

There’s a feeling of fed-up-ness behind it all. As if going is the only thing there is ever left to do.

Just. Go.

Just go, Chelsey.

I went. I knew I was speeding too fast pass people. But it felt like the thing to do. Didn’t know how long I could keep it up for, so I just kept going. Let two women (one in pink and one in yellow) lead me with their pace of excitement for the first 7 miles. Why stop at aid stations when I can grab the fluid and sip while running?

The pink and yellow women got too slow for me. Guess it was the wind when we headed back north that kept them back and pushed me forward.

I could feel the wind. Feel it pushing against me. Felt strong. I felt strong. Leaning into the wind and pushing through it. No, not pushing–cutting. Something I’ve realized lately more and more that I know how to do in my life. Slicing through the hard to get to a place where I’m numb to it all. Cutting through the pain and possible barriers. Letting go of that fear and just gliding with it. The only thing the wind made me feel was a bit chilly.

And strong. There was no other way to be.

10 miles. Refuel on gu. Keep going.

Thought one of my previous female pacers (the pink one) had snuck ahead of me at the turn-around. So I went after her. Kept pushing. Kept feeling stronger. Knew I was running too fast. But again, there was nothing else to do. I wanted it to be done with, so why not get done as fast as possible?

Seriously.

Serious–felt serious–still trying to figure out if there was even some enjoyment present in the seriousness.

Mile 15. Turned around and realized I wasn’t going to catch up with woman in pink, because she was at least two minutes behind me. What was I chasing after? What am I running against?

Kept telling myself to just Run YOUR Race, Chelsey. This was my race. This was my pace. Not to follow or challenge people, but to run for me. To run in me.

Mile 18. Friends there. Cheering me on. For the 4th time I gave them my little smile, told them I was going to keep going, and sped up a bit.

It felt weird to not stop and soak in their encouragement. But I had to keep going.

At mile 21 I realized I was running an ultramarathon race. Something in me awoke.

Oh yeah.

This is what I love.

I was running an ultramarthon.

This–this right here–is what I enjoy.

And now I only have 9 miles left of it.

Go–but don’t “just go” Go.

Go because you want to.

Mile 22. Friends again! Stopped. Kissed. Smiled. Laughed. I just woke up. And I SO have this shit, I grinned at them. Running hard again because I can. Because I want to.

I’ve never kept a pace up like that. There were no walls. Or, if there were any walls I sped by and through them too fast to even notice their existence in my life.

This keeps happening.

I keep surprising myself with my strength.

Maybe one of these days I’ll start believing in it. In me.

Or, maybe it’s the not knowing it that gives me the freedom to go.

Passed the #2 woman with 3 miles to go. Knew #1 was way ahead. So I kept strong and kicked it in for myself.

Because this is what I do.

This is what I do when I find space for myself and can move in it–with it. Part of me was not there for the first 20 miles.

Or.

Maybe it took 20 miles to find myself. To run into her, give her a big hug, and invite her to open up to me and to kick it in with me. To find and recognize what was in me.

And I think I might have found something new.

Emerging.

Lakefront 50k, 4:02:51, April 4, 2009

Lakefront 50k, 4:02:51, April 4, 2009

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