Tag Archives: Training

The Second Lap

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The shoes in the image above are mine. I’ve run more than 1800 miles in them over the last three years. I’ve learned much on the journey. My skill as a runner has increased significantly. But there is still room for improvement. My Ironman training regimen is designed to help me finish stronger than I start. The workouts tend to have tougher components toward the end. Such was the case Sunday afternoon. I was scheduled for a two hour run. The first hour was to be run as a warm up with low intensity just to get good and tired. The second hour was split into three, twenty minute intervals at race pace (or faster) intensity. I started at 1:30 PM in the afternoon on a mid-80’s degree day to simulate the race day run timing. The Texas humidity made sure I was warm right from the start.

I kept my pace measured and easy as I clicked through the first hour, marked off by my regular refueling every fifteen minutes. Then came the work. I laid out my run to have more hills in the second hour. That’s how the course is in Chattanooga in September. Just as I hit the first twenty minute interval, I was heading up one of the steeper hills of the day.

When you’ve been moving at a slow and steady pace for an hour, your body adjusts and kicking it up to a fast gear pushes everything out of whack for a bit until your body acclimatizes to the new pace. But I held it; I hit my pace goals during all three intervals. My software tells me my fastest kilometer of the day was my last one. I was speeding up as I finished! Yes! Real progress! But that second hour, that second lap was tough and demanding on my body and concentration.

Now that I look back on it, the first year after Kristi died was all about survival. I was thrilled just to get to this date last year. So much change. So much hurt. So much adjustment. I wasn’t sure I could do it. But I made it. We made it. Together and smiling! I knew we would be OK.

But as this second year without Kristi has drawn to a close, I realize that it has been much like the second lap of my run. This year wasn’t just about going through the motions just to make it to a certain date on calendar. This year was about making real progress toward thriving again. And we have. But it has been hard. The pace has picked up and life is churning onward. We’ve had to adjust to the new pace and the reality of the new normal has settled in. This isn’t a sprint. Its about endurance. However the path to thriving again is in moving forward, not back. I know it. Its exciting to have progress. But there’s a price to pay. I’m willing to pay it. My goal is not survival. My aim is to thrive!

To Move Forward

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In the finish chute at the Pflugerville TriI train to race. I race to move forward. Its that simple.

Life went sideways the day Kristi was diagnosed. A sideways life is out of sync. It requires WAY more effort to simply complete each day than synchronization did. After eighteen years of marriage we had our processes figured out. We moved in synchronization. Our processes and methods may not have been the most efficient and certainly not the best, but they were ingrained, they were habitual (in the best use of that word). Two parents, two mates, two lives working as one, raising four more made a lot of forward progress.

But then there was just one. One trying to survive. One trying to keep all the old processes in motion but finding out that one cannot do what two did. One trying to keep the other going. But one ending up just trying to make it to the end of each day. One trying to keep hope alive in the other four. One trying to keep hope alive in himself. And then hope died.

One found himself adrift, floating sideways. But there was a race coming for the one. Because there was a race, one got up before the dawn to run and swim and bike. When the gun went off, one found he was racing, not to survive, but to thrive. The reality of the forward movement captured the spirit of one and rekindled hope that life could be synchronized again. Each finish line was more than just the completion of a race. It signified forward momentum.

The race demands the focus of the one be kept looking forward, to live in expectation of growth and new achievement. The race instills discipline in the one to rise and train. And one has found that in the rising, in the training, in the racing, life moves forward, not sideways. Forward movement provided a rebirth of hope. And hope does not disappoint.

I race to move forward.

 

 

Just a Recovery Run…

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My quads are sore! That was the predominant thought on my mind as my feet hit the floor at 5AM yesterday morning. It was time for my post-race recovery run. I was headed to run with the tri group. I knew I needed to do it, but it sure didn’t sound fun. My legs were sore after all from the general thrashing I gave them on Saturday during the race. Its just a recovery run I thought. No biggie. Not much to learn here. Hobble through, move on.

As we started off at a very easy pace I figured we would go for 15-20 minutes and turn around for an easy 3 to maybe 3.5 miles. Left to my own devices I would have put in two miles and called it good. But each of us had raced 70.3 miles over the weekend and we had stories to share. Trotting along at a slow gate, our breath was easy and we chatted it up. Next thing I knew it was time to turn around.

“Wait, we’re at the low water crossing?! This is 2.5 miles in. That means a five mile recovery run! I’m gonna pay for this!” We had gone much farther than I expected. I actually felt good. The longer I ran, the better I felt.

I woke up this morning and my quads were almost entirely pain free. Wow! It worked! The five miles actually paid off; they didn’t cost me!

Three years into endurance sports and I’m still learning, still growing. I’ll tuck this nugget of experience away for future post-race and heavy training session recovery. Go a little farther than you think you need. Do it with friends if possible.

Sounds like grief recovery too! The emotions and body are often frayed and worn down after a significant loss. There will be a recovery period. There needs to be a recovery period. The pace needs to be slower, and it probably needs to go longer than you thought. But you’ll survive. Yes, its painful to work those exposed nerves and broken hearts, that’s why you need a friend along for support, but there’s healing on the other side.

Its a choice. How you live each day is a choice. You don’t have to work on those broken and injured spots. But if you just bury the pain, it can’t ever come out and leave you free to live and thrive again.

Yeah, it was just a recovery run. Right.

Taking Steps

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As I climbed out of the pool after this morning’s training session I thought, “Man, my shoulders are worked!” On the way home I could feel the tiredness seeping into my entire body. “I shouldn’t feel this tired after 3100 yards. Fatigued yes, but tired like I want to go to sleep for hours? Nope.” 

After devouring my three-egg omelet I was still feeling as wilted as the spinach I had just cooked. Hmm. I don’t think this chest cold has truly gone away. So I called and managed to get an afternoon appointment with our family doc. He heard the wheezing in my lungs and ordered a chest X-ray to make sure I don’t have pneumonia or any pre-cursor to it.

My first triathlon of 2015 is in two and a half weeks. I need to be better by then. So I’m taking steps now to deal with this. Prayers are fully welcome!

Grief isn’t an illness or disease, but it can sure take you out of your normal routine and cause significant fatigue. To thrive again after loss, make sure to take steps now to deal with your grief. Don’t stuff it, ignore it or pretend you’re good and don’t need to grieve. Talk it out, write it out, get active! Pray. Rest. Take time to nuture your emotions and spirit. You’ll be back on your game soon enough. Give yourself time and grace.

Peace!

What’s Your Choice?

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Up early for pre-dawn training run. 5.25 miles of intervals today. That means you run fast for a bit, then slow down and recover then repeat. Interval training is part of the journey to increase your fitness and speed.

It reminds me that grief is part of the journey of life. Sometimes we move fast, sometimes we slow down and recover.

Today I ran with our club president. She’ll be racing the Ironman Chattanooga course with me in September. Its always good to train with a partner. It keeps your effort honest and provides a source of encouragement. 

The race of life doesn’t have to be run alone. Even if you’ve suffered great loss. Jesus pioneered the way into the Father’s heart, opening it wide so that you and I never have to be alone, so that we can live a life surrounded by love and sharing it with others.

Its a choice. Love is always a choice. Its a willful act to embrace another’s life, knowing that the act of engagement will require much. But Love is always a gift and that gift, when received and returned transforms both lover and beloved. What’s your choice today?

I Decided to Try It

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This chest cold doesn’t bother me much until the afternoon. Today it dropped the hammer at 2PM and I had to shut my eyes for 30 minutes. After shaking off the grogginess I realized Luke had baseball practice this evening. Nice. A perfect time to see if some light training will help push this cold out.

So when Luke trotted off to the ball field, I laced up my running shoes and hit the trail. 45 minutes later I was back after a nice easy five miles. I felt great as the run ended but wondered if I’d crash when we got home and my body came off the running high.

Nope. I did great through dinner and early evening. Looking forward to rest tonight. Hoping I’ll be on the mend now.

So glad I decided to try and push my limits today. It wasn’t vigorous, it was just a gentle nudge to let the body know it needs to get well. Sometimes you just have to push through the resistance.

Should You Pull The Trigger?

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In less than twenty-four hours my father and I board the plane in Romania and head for home. Its been a fantastic week. New friendships started, old friends greeted, new foods eaten, lives shared, encouragement given and received for the journey ahead. As I prepare to leave, I find myself energized and expectant about the future.

Three years ago I was in the same position. My father and I had just completed a similar trip to Romania. I returned home full of excitement about what was to come. One month later, Kristi was diagnosed with cancer and we were plunged down the rabbit hole that is cancer treatment. Expectation was thwarted, dreams crushed and hope smothered.

That was an awful time, not so far removed that the emotions are deeply buried. It doesn’t require much effort to dig them up. If I wanted. But I choose not to. I choose to not burden this experience in Romania with the negative events that followed my last visit. “You are wise, Chad. You would be foolish to live in such a way.” I can hear the comments now. But that choice wasn’t automatic or quick. Loss and grief of this magnitude color all your decisions.

Obviously this trip has brought to mind the previous one and the events that followed. Its been a natural trigger. I knew it would be before I even agreed to come. I knew I’d be faced with this situation again. But rather than cowering in fear of what comes next, I’ve chosen to walk through this trip and the events that follow with expectation of a different outcome.

When dealing with loss and grief, you encounter trigger events all the time. As I wrote here, many of those events are little things that surprise you. You have two choices when you encounter trigger events, especially those you see coming: Avoid or Embrace

Avoidance can be especially helpful, especially when the grief or loss is fresh. I took my children and skipped out on the usual Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations the first year by going to the other side of the world. We still celebrated but in a way that was so new and unique that it didn’t drag us through all the emotions and pain we were still processing.

But this year I embraced all the holiday celebrations. We fully decorated the house, even doing it before Thanksgiving. There were many trigger events throughout the season that I had to wade through and process. But I was prepared this year and we had a wonderful time together as a family. Poignant with loss yes, but filled with joy nevertheless.

As you approach an event that you know is going to trigger feelings of grief and loss, ask yourself, “Is it OK to pull this trigger?” “Am I ready for this?” There’s no shame in saying no. Its your call. Don’t feel obligated to move forward when you’re not yet ready. The time will come. You’ll know it. And then you can pull the trigger, step into the event and live. If you’re not there yet, know that the day will come. There is hope.

If you’re trapped in fear of trigger events, avoiding them at all costs, and have been stuck there for a while with avoidance your only coping tool, try some training. You’ll be amazed at how good a brisk walk, bike ride or jog will make you feel. You’ll feel better prepared to face those events and pull that trigger to get life moving again.

“PULL!”

Designation VS Definition

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My dad turned seventy on Friday. I gave him eight birthday cards, one for each decade he’s lived plus one for his special day. Each card had a title with a prominent name or position he wore for that decade: Donald (0-10), Donnie (10-20), Daddy (20-30), Dad (30-40), Father-In-Law (40-50), Pawpaw (50-60), Personal Trainer (60-70).

Within each card I listed other names and titles he used during that decade of his life. For the eighth card I titled it simply, Friend. Out of all his titles and names through the years, the one I like best now is that one. It’s how we relate to each other.

What started as a cute idea quickly became a profound lesson as I reflected on all his names and titles. I’ve worn many of the titles he has and many of them I hope to wear some day. But right now I’m wearing one he’s never worn: widower.

I never planned on having this title, at least not at this age. This is something that only happens to people my dad’s age, right? Right. But hiding from it doesn’t help. Denying it doesn’t deny the reality of the circumstance. It’s the correct designation. But what does it say about me? Will I let it define me and my future?

There it is. Designation versus definition.

With a life change as significant as Widower, you can’t help but be affected. It is certainly a defining moment. How I choose to handle this will affect the rest of my life. Will it be a designation for this period of my life or define the rest of my existence?

Widow and widower both are terms that grate on the nerves. They portend deep loss, broken hearts and dreams, grief, sadness and fear of the future. Will that be the definition I saddle on my life?

Its a hard place. But in that place I have found resolve. Resolve to continue to love, to expect restoration, to heal my heart, to laugh again and to build new dreams. Where did I get that resolve? Love.

The opposite of fear is not fearlessness, but love. In fact there’s an ancient Jewish saying that says, “Perfect love casts out fear…the one who fears is not perfected in love.” Where do you find that kind of love? Only one place I know. It was demonstrated perfectly in the life of one person. Jesus.

In the tumult of care-giving and fighting Kristi’s cancer and in the wilderness of fresh grief and loss, love is hard to hear and easy to let slip out of sight. Training helped me find it again. Training won’t heal your grief. The love of Jesus can. Training can help you find your way though until you discover it.

I don’t know how long I’ll wear this designation, widower, but it won’t define me. How about you?

This Deserves A Response

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Another benefit to letting go of your anger is you’ll find space to respond to life instead of reacting. A response is driven by thought, faith, and deliberation. A reaction is driven by emotion. Rarely will you regret your responses. However reactions, especially those driven by anger, are often embarrassing and hurtful.

Navigating widowerhood demands a continuous string of responses throughout each day. Life does. But when you’ve been used to sharing the burden of those responses with your wife and she’s no longer there, having to handle them all alone seems daunting, overwhelming and impossible. It tires you out.

Trust me, choosing to react rather than respond will only magnify the burden of choices flowing your direction. And yes, its a choice. Anger is a choice. Many people employ it as a tool in relationships. I’ve found it to yield the poorest long term benefit. But that’s another discussion for another day.

Again, if anger is your go-to coping mechanism, you need to Take Time To Train. #4T. I’ll keep saying it, and don’t mind being stuck on the “Repeat Continuously” setting. Its a key component in living Fit, Faithful and Fulfilled. Anger will derail you. Choose to respond. That’s an action that’s fit for a widower.

70.3

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“My left foot is numb.” I hollered to my dad as I ran past him and waved to my cheering children packed into the wall of spectators lining the race course. “Please pray” I managed to communicate before I trotted out of earshot. The front outside portion of my left foot was indeed feeling thick as I finished the first round of the three loop course. I have dealt with foot numbness on the bike in the past, and I can usually ameliorate the tingling by sliding my foot around inside the shoe. But there’s not much place to move your foot while running, you just have to keep going… I was concerned. Would it get worse? Was this going to derail my race?

I had felt good about the day up to this point. My swim time was the fastest I had ever posted. That gave me some breathing room during the bike to let my heart rate come down a bit and refuel for the coming run. The only real issue, up until my foot had given notice it was not cooperating, was my stomach. I had been a little queasy since just after starting the bike course. But after three hours of queasiness I figured it wasn’t going to get any worse. I knew I had a good chance to beat my time goal if I could put together a decent run time. Now my left foot was really bothering me. Not this, I thought, not now. I only had nine more miles to go…

As I passed my dad again on the way out for the second loop he called out with the advice to move my impact point, to change how my foot hit the ground. I adjusted my stride to land a little more on my heel and monitored the results to see if it helped. Winding down the second loop I was glad to report to my dad that though the foot was still bothering me, the feeling had stabilized and I was ok. I could hear him praying for me; his shouts of encouragement buoyed my spirit as I entered the roundabout and began the last lap.

Passing my children for the final time and taking in their smiles, high fives and cheers was priceless. Only 4 more miles to go. I wouldn’t see them again until the finish line. But I wasn’t alone out there. In the throng of runners were two other friends also competing and we were watching for each other, calling out our names and a mutual “You got this!” as we flashed by each other. And then there was our tri club operating one of the rest stops of the course. They were busier than bees offering liquid and food to the athletes streaming by, but they always cheered loudest when one of their own came through. By the last lap I was walking the aid stations so I got to soak in their adulation a little longer than normal. I needed those few seconds of respite from the pounding to take a blow, dig deep, pour a cup of cold water over my head gobble some fuel and then restart my cadence.

Finally the eleven mile marker came into view…only two miles and the finish chute to go! For the first time all day I checked my elapsed time on my watch. I was going to do it! The end, while not quite yet in sight, was close and with that I picked up my pace.

The finish area was inside the main arena building at the expo center. Instead of entering the roundabout to start another loop you veered right and entered the chute which took you down and under the building. I took my shades off as I passed through the dark entrance and then burst into the light and noise, finally catching site of the finish arch, just fifty short yards away. Arms raised like I’d just won the world championship race in Kona I glided along the carpeted path reveling in the moment. I heard my name and turned to see my children and parents pressed to the barrier waving and snapping photos. And then I was through. Done. 70.3 miles completed. Bent over. Hands on knees. Chest heaving. Adrenaline flowing. Five hours, forty-two minutes and six seconds. I felt something hanging around my neck. I opened my eyes and there was the medal that proclaimed, “Finisher”! YES!

And then I was enveloped in love, hugs and tears from mom, dad and my children. I sought out my fellow athletes and congratulated them on finishing and we all hugged and high fived. I was of course euphoric that day. Tired yes but amped up and thrilled to have finished and to have beaten my goal time. The rest of this last week has been recovery. I was extra sleepy on Monday and Tuesday. My legs and hips took a few days to overcome soreness but was this the toughest thing I’ve ever done in my life? Not by a long shot.

Yesterday morning the children and I took time to just rest in the presence of our Heavenly Father. I reminded them that in our study of the book of Exodus earlier this fall, we learned that the Israelites camped around the tabernacle while in the desert. The tabernacle had either a pillar of cloud by day or fire by night that enveloped it. The very presence of God was in their midst. They weren’t just camped around a portable building, they were camped around the living God. Our lives need to have a similar orientation. Our advantage over the ancient Hebrews is that God’s spirit is within us through the life of Jesus! We can freely approach Him at any time to get His input, encouragement and correction…wisdom for life, in fact the very author of life sharing it with us!

With that encouragement I gave the children four questions to ask God. The first was this, “Is there anything You want to tell me about the loss of mommy?” I want them to be able to talk to God about the hurt, about the process, about grief. He’s their source of life, they need to connect early and often. I did the same exercise so we could all share at the end. What I heard was this: “Don’t let this loss define your life. Let my life, my life in you define you. Live full of Me, Chad.” What a needed message! So timely, so full of hope and life.

And with that we all laid back on the trampoline where we had gathered to share, relaxing in the morning sun and soaking in our Father’s presence. We are not alone in this race. My foot may go numb at times, there may be more queasy stomachs ahead. But as we walk the rest stops, taking time to rest and refuel with Jesus while refocusing on the road ahead, His life, His joy will indeed manifest itself in and through us. And that is where I aim to live.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…It’s a way of life!

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Matt extends an encouraging hand!