In Praise of Sleep and Soup

Sleep and rest. 

I'm starting to give myself full weekends, or at least trying.  When most of what you'd do for work is really fun, work and leisure get a little mixed up.  So, I'm starting to build in "easy" days before and after long days of travel.  I'm trying to give myself something the marvelous Linda Holmes of my favorite podcast, NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour, calls "Stay in Bed Saturday." 

And soup.

This part is for my friend, Deborah Sue.  We share busy over-scheduled days, and when we're on the road all day, it is easy to slip into meals with poor nutrition.   I love cooking a big batch of soup and then putting individual servings in the freezer.

Today, we've got snow on the ground and I finished off my last frozen tupperwared portion of this yummy recipe. 

Frank and Glinda

 

 Last month, I had the chance to hear a remarkable story about self-doubt, a story about finding power and inspiration from within, and it came from one of my heroes during my high school days, 1972 Olympic Marathon champion, Frank Shorter.

Rod Dixon (l) and Frank Shorter (r) at the Rock N Roll San Antonio Marathon Expo

Standing in Munich's Olympic Stadium watching the American flag rise for his victory, listening to the Star Spangled Banner, he felt lost, wondering to himself, "so now what?"


And taking the bus back to the Olympic Village, he was the last to squeeze onboard.  Standing right behind him was his college coach, and Frank told him, "I'm not sure what I'll do next.  I guess I'll have to train myself now, without a coach and a team."


And the coach replied, "Frank, you already know how to train yourself; we taught you how to do it years ago, you've been able to do it all along.  Now go do it."


And so, the most human doubts affects champions too.  And, as Glinda the Good Witch told Dorothy, "You don't need to be helped any longer. You've always had the power to go back to Kansas."


So how many times has life turned on a dime and you're casting about for "what's next?" 


With all the traveling and long, long workdays this year, I've been in a cloud of doubt.  Have I reached the end of forward progress with fitness?  Have the months I've let weight-training lapse completely voided the gains I made in all those years of hard work?  Am I just getting old?


Even after riding 40 miles in the Marfa 100 in October, the doubts remained.


But then, at Thanksgiving we went mountain biking in Big Bend Ranch State Park, it clicked...to train well, you need to keep it fresh, you need variety.  You need fun.


I'd been having a hard time finding the fun, I realized.  I'd been measuring myself too much, expecting diminishing returns and it had become a burden.

And then in the middle of a tumbleweed-blowing dust storm, I came up with a 5K time in Marfa's Turkey Trot that was slower than my first 5K in 2004, but was respectable, enough to win 3rd place in my age category.  And I was very happy.


So Sunday morning, I ran up the rocky trail behind Fort Davis, a 300 foot gain in a mile, and then back down again, in cold fog.  It was something I'd tried last November, and it was HARD then.  Powering up a year ago was tough; I had to stop too many times and catch my breath.  But this time it felt relatively effortless and completely joyful.  I may not be logging faster runs all the time, but I still have the ability to get stronger, to tackle new challenges, and to still have fun.  That has not gone away.  And I'd always had the power to do it.  Frank and Glinda would have been proud.

Of course, stretching expectations is not accomplished alone...thanks goes to those who inspire...to Frank, to Arthur and the Houston running gang, the young fast Marfa crowd, and of course, Monte who has been there with a push, a nudge and always encouragement.

Things that make me happy

This  morning's trail run at Fort Davis National Historic Site

The view from the top of  my trail run, 300 feet above the trailhead

Finally, finally we're 10 trail directors strong!



Though we're more than a week from Thanksgiving, there are many thing for which I'm thankful, and things that make me very happy:

Living in a beautiful place, where I can catch a Sunday morning trail run in the mountains

A terrific Thanksgiving, where cooking and working out were equally important and equally fun (mountain biking!)

The trail program is 10 directors strong!

The thing that helps me sleep also makes me happy...my ipod loaded up with podcasts like NPR's Pop Culture Happy Hour  (thoughtful and joyful commentary), the Tobolowsky Files (at times, truly extrordinary storytelling), New York Times Review of Books, Two Gomers Run a Marathon  ("Dude!" Two goofy guys set running goals and report on them.  Very goofy guys.)


A thoughtful partner who looks for opportunities to make the everyday special...who offered to set a table for two on my patio, and with an old family picnic tablecloth, thank you (and Happy Birthday!)

The Relief of Vulnerability

Yes, it has been more than a year since my last post.  Yes, I've missed this.

To quote Queen Elizabeth, "1992 is not a year on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure.  In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an annus horribilis." 

I won't elaborate, except to say the past 12 months have been among my most exhausting, where self-talk seemed to be on an endless loop, "Buck up, Beth and DEAL with it."  There has been joy too, and many, many blessings.  But mostly this has been an adult year with adult challenges, where a gritty strength was needed; a year when even kind and caring friends looked at the challenges ahead and counseled me to give up and move on.  And yet, stubborn as I am, I'm still here fighting.  And we won--a big "Round One" anyway.

And yes, things are better now.  I learned that democracy does work, even if people use it to be truly truly mean to each other, sometimes just for sport.  I learned that I am part of a team, a sometimes invisible network of people who believe in what we're doing.  And while they may approach life with a completely different view of things, they still may support me if I let them.  And I need to let them.

I'm fortunate enough to have two more years of employment ahead of me, while living in a safe and gracious space in a truly remarkable town with nice people.  And I still believe in the work we're doing, and know I have the energy to look forward to considerable challenges ahead.

So, I took it as a blessing to have a 15 hour train ride ahead of me when I boarded in Alpine almost two weeks ago.  And although there was an electrical outlet right by my coach seat and I could have worked onboard, I didn't.  Instead I watched my region pass by.  Sections of dark burned land gave way to the dry--but still intact beauty--of the region.  And as we pulled further east, more and more green.

I just let the experience and the scenery wash over me...not thinking, not working, just being for a change.

I saw the sun setting over Lake Amistad, dogs frolicking in an orchard after dinner, a large family enjoying a barbecue under trees covered with balloons.  And since we were moving east, the delicate choreography of a shadows pulling day into night happened more quickly than if I'd been standing still.

When it came time for bed, I stretched across two seats, eager to get comfortable.  As I watched Texas go to sleep, I knew I could finally relax.  The year had been spent steeling myself against my own vulnerability, now I was releasing into it.  Willingly, easily I fell into it with relief.