Eva Runs Through It

So….I work with this guy.   He wants to do an Ironman Triathlon.   I know if I see him walking down the hallway, he’s going to ask me about it.   He comes to my office to ask advice…he has my old bike….he’s researched races…I want to be at his finish line…he wants my help to get ready for the starting line.    He swims.   He bikes.   He runs.   He wants it.   The thing is, he hasn’t signed up for one.   Last week he asked me, “okay, what’s the hardest part?”.    Without blinking, I told him….transition.   In the tri world, it’s referred to T1 and T2.   It’s the time between the swim and the bike and the bike and the run, respectively.   It’s those few moments when you are not actively racing, but must prepare for the next third of the event.   The clock still runs.   You are not allowed any outside help.    You don’t have time to think about what you’ve done.   You must solely fo...

I’m just going to say it.   Running around a one mile course over and over again is crazy.   Put that course on a fair ground in NJ, make sure it has no shade, add a rodeo to the center of it all, and put Mother Nature in a bad mood, and it is positively nuts. That’s exactly what my friends and I did, and I couldn’t be prouder of our accomplishments. So, why did I do it?   It’s not about the running.   Well, not as much as you might think. I’ve compiled a list of the top 10 things Ultra Running has taught me: 1.     People who whine, tend not to finish.   Don’t whine, it accomplishes nothing. 2.   It’s a lot of work, but don’t forget to have fun 3.   Actually doing something pretty awesome beats the heck out of those pithy little inspirational         quotes you find on the Internet. 4.    It’s not about the finish line.   5.   Mother Nature hates me.   Screw it, I...

I fill my days.  I don’t write that lightly.  I like to be busy.  I allow for little down time.  I find comfort in to-do lists…schedules…check boxes.   I move, even in my restless sleep.  I’m up early.  I’m up late.  I accomplish a lot. I love the life I lead, and I am blessed.   I have a supportive family that feels the greatest gift I can give is my time.   I give it to the greatest extent I can.   I’ve learned to appreciate those simple quiet moments like playing with my ridiculously obnoxious dog, making dinner together, letting loose a belly laugh, or just being present. I have a fulfilling job, where I can make a difference.   I’m handy.     I know how to use a hammer and nails.   I can cook-well.   I give of myself both in body to the Red Cross and in time to those less fortunate.   I don’t say no when asked to help.   I train.   I train others.   I accept challenges. ...

Mark asked about my blog.  “It’s about comfort zones”, I told him.  “Do you have one?” he asked deadpan.  In the world of ultra-running, there are many things that can take me very uncomfortable.   It’s probably why I am drawn to it.   The night before a 100-mile race is always very lonely for me.   This is compounded when I am at a race site far from home and alone.   It makes me crave a hug…just a moment when I don’t have to be strong.   Not knowing anyone at the C+O Canal 100, made getting that hug out of reach, so I had to put on my big girl panties, suck it up, and take care of what needed to be done.   And, after having a good cry, something I usually reserve for the first few miles, that is what I did. I believe one of the reasons I have such an uncomfortable time before big races is that the race itself is so uncomfortable. I’ve heard it said many times that ultra-running is 90% in your head, and the rest is mental.  ...

I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve taken him to the Emergency Room…how many admissions…the surgeries…the spinal taps…the tests…all the diagnoses.   I do remember the ambulance ride he took, when his blood pressure and other vital signs were so low, that they told us to “prepare for any outcome”.      We weren’t told that he was a fighter, or that he was strong.   Repeatedly, we were told his limitations. Noah had a rough go, and it showed in his personality.   He was painfully shy.   Day after day, I would go to pick him up from school, and he would be at the “crying table” because he said he missed me.   He was afraid of everything.   As I sit in this hotel room now, listening to him sleeping soundly, I can hardly believe it is the same person.   Yesterday, we finished our rim to rim to rim (R2R2R) hike of the Grand Canyon. I didn’t want to take him.   I had planned on it being a solo trek, but he had other plans....

I remember running with Rog at Bond Lake.   We had hit the hills for the gazillionth time, and I wanted a break.   I could see the trails and suggested we move our torture session to some switchbacks.   Our conversation went something like this: R:   You’ll love it.   But, I’ll only take you if you promise me you won’t run there by yourself. E:   Rog, I know what I look like.   I can take care of myself.   I’ll be fine. R:   It won’t matter.   Just promise me E:   Do YOU run there by yourself? R:   Yes, but that’s different Such is the double standard for men and women runners.   Men simply don’t have to think about some of the things that women do when they spend hours and hours alone, in remote areas.   Although I’m sure personal safety crosses their mind, for me, as a woman, I can never let the threat of the Boogie Man wander far from the forefront of my thoughts. I never forget that the bars i...

When I finally got to the starting line of the Rock and Roll Marathon in Washington DC, I reached down and rubbed my thighs, and thought, ‘Okay legs….you know what to do…” My legs.   They aren’t pretty.   I simply don’t think of them in those terms.   They are hard…bruised…scarred…strong.   It is rare for me to have more than six toenails at any given time.   My own husband once remarked, that they are so muscular,   I look like a transvestite when I wear a skirt. But, oh the places those gams have taken me. I get up early, really earl, to run.   It’s my legs that get me out of bed, against all protests from my mind.   I talk to them before I close my eyes at night, “ok girls, tomorrow it’s a long one---hills”, and when my eyes open, they are ready,    mechanically taking me out the door.   On training runs, they run on auto-pilot.   They free my mind to wander…appreciate my surroundings…figure things out…empty. ...