Tag: trail running

When Depression Glues Me to the Couch
fitness

When Depression Glues Me to the Couch

Mina7 Comments

I’m in my mountains. Truckee, California. I call them mine, because I’ve been coming out here for three months a year for the last 14 years. And, usually, they are my happy place. A chance to slow down, to be more connected to nature than usual. To be on trails—running, biking or cross-country skiing.

But things are different this time.

I’m in the house I own with my ex. Filled with memories and my failure. What’s wrong with me, that I could not hold my 28-year marriage together? The house, with its lovely mountain view, is also a reminder of what I do not have anymore—financial security (I wrote about that back in March here). The house will either be sold, or my ex will keep it. In either event, I will, at least temporarily, lose the connection to nature that has nourished and sustained me for so many years. Yes, I acknowledge that I lived with great privilege. And, I wish I were a better person, a black belt in non-attachment and gratitude, able to move on with ease. I’m not. Instead, this is all depressing.

And there’s my health. A new diagnosis of Addison’s Disease, which continues to involve increases in my medication, as my potassium does not seem to want to settle down into normal range (I wrote about that last month here). My energy has returned, but the ongoing stress of regular blood tests, bad results and worried doctors is also depressing.

And it’s October—normally I would have come out to the mountains in the summer (and then again in the winter), but I couldn’t bring myself to come this past summer. My failed relationship felt too raw. Now I’m here, and I see that I have not healed enough. The grief rushes in, threatening to drown me. Plus, it’s cold (2 degrees Celsius) and dark in the mornings (we did a group post about the challenge of fall dark here). This past weekend was not only cold, but also a drizzly grey.

So, getting off the couch has been hard. I feel glued to the familiar, sun-faded fabric, where I used to spend easeful hours reading with my cat curled up close by. I lost her in April. Instead, now I’m watching endless Netflix, clicking on whatever the next show is that the algorithm proposes to me, too lazy to even choose. Reading feels too hard. My attention flees the page with restless lethargy.

As for getting outside in the mountains? Why bother? All this supposedly healthy outdoor exercise and I still ended up with a disease. An inner critic tries shaming me off the couch. You lazy piece of crap, you’ve got nothing better to do. Another voice in my head tries berating me off the couch. Just get the f*&%#k up. Fruitless.

Except.

Then there’s a quiet, gentle voice, barely audible at first. You will feel better. I promise you. You love the mountains. It’s never been about the exercise. It’s about joy. I retort that joy is impossible. Yes, the gentle voice says, that’s true. I won’t promise you joy. But being out there will be a tiny bit better than being glued to the couch. You don’t have to go for long. You don’t have to go hard. Go outside. Take some breaths of fresh air and be with the trees you love. Netflix will be here for you when you get back.

The gentle voice convinced me on Saturday. I went out mountain biking. My first day of the season, which is barely the season anymore. I felt less tentative than expected, given my sticky bum, so recently unglued from the couch. If I was in a better mood, I might have said that I felt bolder than expected. But I didn’t feel bold. I just didn’t feel scared, as I’d anticipated. There were even passing moments of almost-joy.  Moments I overcame obstacles. Moments of flow. Moments when I danced with my bike. There were the trails, too. Familiar. Beautiful. Peaceful and wild. That’s enough. For now. A glimpse of the possible. In the future.

Given my experience on Saturday, I thought it would be easier to get out on Sunday. It was not. The glue set hard overnight and the couch would not let me go. A new voice in my head had all sorts of excuses. It’s foggy, rainy and cold, it could be dangerous on Castle Peak. There might not even be anyone else out there. Extra risk. It’s a whole different world now if something happens to you. A medic-alert bracelet isn’t much help if there’s no one to find you in the first place. Plus, there won’t even be a view. Why bother?

Again, the gentle voice intervened. She made several deals with me. I could finish my latest television binge first. I didn’t have to run the trail, if I didn’t want to. I’d take extra medication with me. I could listen to my book, Entangled Life, by Merlin Sheldrake, about all things mushroom. I’d turn around if it seemed dangerous, no shame.

Toward the top of Castle Peak in fog and Mina at the summit.

My bum had racing stripes from tearing away from the couch. I worried it would re-affix to the car seat and I wouldn’t get out when I got to the trailhead. Even as I got out of the car, I had doubts. Tears hovering in the wings. The first comfort were the cars in the parking area. The benefit of having been couch bound and coming hours later than I normally would. I wouldn’t be completely alone. I set off at a hiking pace, promising myself that I’d only run when I felt like it. Which turned out to be within 100 meters of starting. Every so often on the first half of the ascent I’d scale back to a hike, only to find that my bodymind wanted to keep running. Running felt better. As I reached the final steeper sections of the ascent, I moved into a fast-hiking pace, which is all I’ve ever really done in those bits, since it’s faster (something I learned when I was doing long trail events). At the top, the fog closed in on every side. There was snow on the spindly trees and shrubs still clinging to the rock at 9,000 feet. Unusually, there was no wind, so I could hear the ticking sound of small clumps of snow falling to the ground. Looking over the edge, the drop down to the valley below seemed even more precipitous than usual, because there was nothing there. I was inside the clouds I’d seen from below.

My last day on Castle Peak and I could see no further than a few feet in front of me.

The perfection of the metaphor was somehow comforting. I told myself that I was going to be okay, even if I had no clue yet how that would happen. I lingered on what I could see. As I listened to Merlin Sheldrake talk about the complexity and phenomenal resilience of lichens, I took in the bright green lichen on the rocks, geological time made manifest. My life, a blink of an eye.

Then the chill overtook me and I knew it was time for me to head down. I started at a slow run, re-discovering my agility as I went, recovering my confidence with every step and every misstep I navigated, until I hit cruising speed. Again, there were brushes with joy. Grief rinsed through me, too. I got back to the car with a sense of energized calm. I will be okay. It will take time. I will be okay. It will take time. I will be okay. It will take time.

Back home, the couch was cleared of glue. I could sit and read a novel. I know this is a cycle. I hope it is a spiral, in which each time I’m glued, I can remember sooner that getting outside helps clear a tiny portion of the clouds of depression. And even the itty-bitty-est more ease is something, after all.

In this way, I’ll climb toward the light.

Now That Getting Stoned Is A Legal Training Option
hiking · menopause · running · training

Now That Getting Stoned Is A Legal Training Option

Mina1 Comment

Before I dive into this post, I want to put a caution up front. This represents my personal views. I’m coming from a cannabis-positive direction and will not look at the risks and downsides. Others will represent that perspective, to be sure!

Yesterday the recreational use of cannabis became legal in Canada. As if I needed another reason to miss my homeland! By way of celebration, I considered getting stoned this morning before my run, but I’m only a baby stoner and consuming cannabis straight out of bed (and by myself, since my partner is away) felt more than a wee bit outside my comfort zone.

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lush green cannabis plant

This article in Canadian Running about the potential benefits of cannabis on training might change my mind about running stoned.

By way of background, I consumed virtually no pot until I was into my thirties. Then a few years ago I became intolerant of alcohol, likely related to the onset of menopause. I was never a big drinker, but I enjoyed the social aspect. I miss the festive feel of a cocktail or the last glass of wine around a dinner table littered with the debris of a long meal. I’m glad that I have access to edibles (products like candies or brownies containing cannabis) and enjoy them as an alternative that never gives me a hangover.

Cannabis products didn’t really figure in my athletic life. Sure, there was the marathon I finished where a friend with a joint was at the finish line, touting the anti-inflammatory benefits. I can’t remember if I recovered more quickly from that marathon. Until recently, I had not used cannabis specifically as a recovery tool. Yes, I am likely to consume in the evening after a long effort, but that’s a reward, a celebration. The pain relief is a bonus and I haven’t tracked the efficacy.

Then, about a year ago, I had a period where my hip flexor started bothering me out of the blue. Putting on a pair of pants was uncomfortable. Running got hard and slow, because lifting my leg invoked the pain. My partner counseled me to use the CBD oil he’d bought a while back. I was skeptical. Then I was a grateful convert. Since then we’ve bought a couple of other CBD products for muscle pain, and my acupuncturist uses it. Wow. Nothing topical has worked so well for me. This summer when I was training for a 30k mountain run, I would mix CBD cream with foot salve, to my feet’s delight. I used it on my sketchy hamstring and my cranky shoulder blade muscle. All were happy.

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White plastic bottle labeled Muscle Melt Active Cannabis Heating Rub, beloved by Mina’s muscles

While training for that long run, I did a couple of runs with some younger folk. They were mountain goats with incredible endurance, agility, quite a bit of speed and a lot of good cheer. I also realized that two of the three of them were stoned. That gave me pause. I had never thought about the potential training benefits of cannabis. If anything, I assumed that being stoned would diminish my ability to work out.

The day after one of our four-hour training runs, my partner and I decided to do a 10-mile, steep hike, as a way of being on our feet, without using the exact same muscles. I suggested we follow our mountain-goat friends’ example. We had a cannabis candy as we started up the trail.

I was curious to see how it would feel. Would we be slower? Would we lose the thread of the hike? Would we just sit down and admire the forest? Nope. We charged up the mountain and got to the top as fast, if not faster, than we usually do. We were so jazzed by our ascent that we run-hiked back down. We were so focused on whether we were having a “better” time on our hike, that we didn’t even notice our performance. We concluded that the forest had seemed just as spectacular as always, the view from the peak as breathtaking, and the high meadows of wildflowers as eye popping. With or without cannabis enhancement, we got the same joy out of the experience. It was only afterward that the performance side sank in. Hiking stoned was hiking strong.

That one anecdotal event was not enough to change my training habits. I didn’t overcome years of a strict church and state separation of the workout part of my day and the relaxation part; that prude in me who clucks her tongue at having too much fun when I should be working. I thought of that hike as a one-off. But when I add in the new information from the Canadian Running article about the potential benefits of cannabis during training runs, well, I can feel my no-no stance crumbling.

I’m always curious about new training modes, so why not running stoned? Have you tried it? What are your experiences with cannabis and training?

Book Reviews · running

Review of The Summit Seeker by Vanessa Runs

Tracy I1 Comment

summit seekerMemoir and personal essays are my favourite non-fiction forms.  I’ve studied them, I’ve written them, and, like a good documentary film, if it’s well-done it draws me in regardless of the topic.  For example, John Haines’ collection of personal essays, The Stars, the Snow, the Fire, about his time as a homesteader in the Alaskan wilderness captivated me.  And when I read Valerie Miner’s memoir, The Low Road, about her Scottish family, I couldn’t put it down.

Right now, I’m on a bit of a roll reading memoirs by endurance athletes.  I’ll write more about Rich Roll’s Finding Ultra another day, but today and tomorrow I want to focus on two books written by women: The Summit Seeker by Vanessa Runs and A Life without Limits by Chrissie Wellington.

Women’s stories seem to be less available than men’s.  And since I worry about women’s representation in all sorts of things, from philosophy to sport and in between, I’m always eager to seek out their stories when I can.

I stumbled upon Vanessa Runs The Summit Seeker while surfing around for women’s stories a few weeks ago. She’s an ultramarathon trail runner who has structured her whole life around enabling her running and her writing.  Her story is a series of reflections on her struggles in a difficult childhood, the way a commitment to running helped ease some of the residual damage, and how she fell in love with long distance trail running (and with her partner in life and in ultra running, Shacky). As far as I can tell, it is only available as an ebook.

The reflections are short personal essays, grouped together into an introduction and three chapters. Chapter One is “Growing Up & Learning to Run.” Chapter Two is “Finding Myself & Discovering Trails,” and Chapter Three is “Traveling Far & Running Ultras.”  As she says up front, “My book is about running, but it doesn’t tell you what to do.”  In the Introduction, she writes:

I’m a girl who started running during a time of overwhelming stress and desperation.  I’m someone whose life changed through ultra trail running. These are the stories of how running restored me, how it shifted my perspective, and how it healed my wounds.

This book tracks me from my first 5K all the way to finishing my third 100-mile foot race. It weaves in personal anecdotes from my life, and shows how running transformed all aspects of who I am.

My hope is that it will inspire you to see running in a different light. Not as a weight loss or fitness tool, but as a journey in your own personal growth.

I hope that it will inspire you to experiment with your running. To run more trails, to try an ultra. Or to just let the quiet beauty of getting lost on the side of a mountain supersede the urgency of PRs and race stats. There is so much more to running than what we have often made of it.

The day after I started reading her book, I was out running a trail in the woods of a small, picturesque town on the shores of Lake Zurich in Switzerland.  It wasn’t rugged and wild, and it was nowhere near an ultra, but just reading the first few stories in Vanessa’s memoir prompted me to soak in the serenity of my surroundings and let go of my concerns about pace, stats, and distance.

Each chapter is comprised of short personal essays with titles like, “On Self-Esteem,” “On Freedom,”On Perseverance,” “On Surviving,” “On Destiny,” “On Trail Running,” “On Love,” “On Writing,” “On Ultra-Running,” and even one called, “On Steve Jobs.”  The structure is simple and inviting.  Rather than present a linear story, she offers anecdotes and reflections in a non-chronological sequence, yet in a sufficiently orderly manner that we can find the narrative of her life.

She also has an engaging, humble voice that makes her experience of ultra trail running much more about wonder and awe than about ego and competition.  In fact, I’m not sure if the whole community of ultra-running is as she describes or if she’s just settled into an amazing sub-community, but it sounds welcoming and supportive with a real sense of camaraderie. Vanessa is someone who inspires and is inspired. She as a section on “DFLs,” those who come in “Dead F**’ing Last.” Rather than focusing on the elites, she suggests looking at those at the bottom end of the race results:

Here are the people who are on the course twice or three times as long as the elites. These are the people who struggled.

At some point, these runners knew they were in last place. They knew there would be no glory for them. No prizes. No fanfare. They knew that whey they got to the finish line, the crowds would be gone. And yet they pushed on.

…These are my heroes.

She has a way of making you feel good about yourself no matter how fast or how far you run. She laments articles about running faster by running less—“If you want to run less, you should just run less,” she says. And:

I encourage you to run once a week without logging it as a workout, or thinking of it as training. Don’t track your mileage and don’t time yourself. Pay attention to your surrounding, have compassion for the life around you, and work to protect and preserve your trails as well as the people who run them.

The spirit of ultrarunning must always embrace selflessness, generosity, adventure, and strength.

It’s not clear to me that I’ll ever aspire to ultrarunning. But reading Vanessa’s book has re-framed my views about running and about distance in general. I’m slowly pushing myself to go further. An Olympic distance triathlon is hardly an ultra-anything. But for me, it’s further than I’ve gone at a stretch to this point. And the mindset expressed in The Summit Seeker carries over into nonetheless.

It’s a great read. I recommend it.

Tomorrow: Christie Wellington’s A Life without Limits.