Eva Runs Through It

“Like a wet rat”.   That’s the part of the story that he stressed.  “Like a wet rat, that’s what she looked like when I pulled her out of the water.  I didn’t even see her fall it, I just saw her under the surface, and when I pulled her out, she looked like a wet rat”.   It was years later, sitting on his swing, that he told me the rest of the story of when I was a toddler and had fallen off a dock full of people, into our lake, unnoticed.  “No one has ever scared me as much as you did that day.  I kept you close to me, from then on.” He taught me.  I can stack wood like a pro.  It was a weekly chore for my brother Rick and I (Mark used to go hide in the basement---rotten kid).  When I was older, I learned to split the wood, with both an ax and a long splitter.   Earning the right to use the chainsaw was a badge of honor.  I can distinctly picture his face, when he finally let me use it. I can change the oil i...

Each one is different and yet the same--no matter how frequent or infrequent the “get-aways.”   Her last thought before she starts a race is “why am I doing this?” (It always starts with why to power up her happy). Her first thought after finishing a race is “When can I do it again?”   (A restless soul searching for essentialism—the disciplined pursuit of less by doing more). When she tightens her ponytail or puts on her running hat, you know it’s about to go down. She needs her alone time and space. She runs epically, reaching, owning it.   Afterwards, I feel the need to send condolences for the loss of her toenails. These people—you, who call yourselves ultra-runners—are simultaneously blessed and cursed.   You understand what it is to embrace, live and manifest the YOLO mentality of the 21 st century—it is what we ALL crave—to “regret proof ” this life—at one level or another, through the pursuit of our passions of choice. You have found a tribe of like-...

Dear Mother Nature, I'm done apologizing to you.  I have tried to make amends and to appease your whims.  But, enough is enough. You've thrown wind, rain, hail, ice, mud, blizzards, humidity, blistering temps, and more at me.  I've taken it all. Sometimes, it has defeated me, and I've had to seek shelter.   Those times hurt the most.  Other times, I've found a way to persevere and push on.  All while you feign innocence by surrounding the days preceding and following my races with fair temps and boring forecasts.  You seem to relish in hurting me. No more. I am hear to fight. Yeah, yeah, I know this will annoy you, and I'll have to bear the repercussions.   I've already seen the forecast for this weekend:  up to 10 inches of snow, accumulating ice, and wind gusts up to 35 mph. You're getting predictable. You see, I'm on a quest for my final Beast Double Buckle, and I'm not letting you get in my way of getting that job done. ...

“I need to process this.”    That’s my standard line, when I don’t want to respond emotionally.    When, I’m tired. This past week, the alarm would go off, and rather than play that snooze-alarm math, that both lets me sleep until the last possible moment, AND get ready without looking like my morning is happening at light speed, I simply rolled over.    I overslept for work THREE times this past week.   This is NOT like me. I inherited my disposition to keep busy from my mom.   “NEVER sit before noon” is her mantra.   Even at 82.   Even when her daughter tells her to wait for her to arrange plowing vs. shoveling her monster driveway.   “I’ll rest after, Eva” she says.   “It’s better that way”. If you cared to look, on any given day, you would see two emails that I send to myself every morning.   One is a very specific daily delineation of what I want to accomplish and the other is my weekly “Tetris” chart. ...

I've got this sweatshirt. I wear it when I'm building...when I'm studying...when I need to get something done...when I lump out...and, sometimes, as much as it is protested against: to sleep. I've cut off the hoodie. The sleeves are too long. It's stained. It's too big for me. Those I live with roll their eyes when they see it. Noah calls it my "get sh... stuff (edited) done" shirt. I've tried to donate it a 100 times, but I rescue it, every time. It's from Oil Creek, and not from a race I finished. But, it's from a race I struggled with. That shirt and I...we've got history. That shirt reminds me that I know how to get up when I’ve been knocked down. As I sit, reflecting on my running year, I know there are less buckles than I had planned on receiving.      I lost fights with gravity, earned a medical time-out, messed up my wrist; collected a bunch of bruises, both inside and outside, and added a couple DNF’s.    I also ran ...

I had been running for about an hour.    It was dark and although the weather report looked good for the day, my fingers were frozen in the pre-dawn cold.   I could easily see my breath, but struggled to find the trail.    A pet peeve of mine is running in someone else’s headlamp light.   It causes me to cast a shadow into my own light and challenges my footing.    To compensate, I tend to over think what I can control.    I force my thoughts to logistics:   How is my pace?   Did I select the right shoes?    Do I need to adjust the fitting on my gear pack?   Happy I thought to eat some avocado the day before.   Cautious that I am only recently out of my wrist splint. Suddenly, I stepped out of my own head.    I stopped the endless stream of boxes I was trying to check.    Have fun, dammit.    It rang loud and clear.    Have fun.    You love this---let yo...

Train Porter: Please keep your hands inside the train at all time  Mark: You ran THERE (pointing) Porter: Hands inside the train, please Me: shoulder shrug. Yup Mark: Tiggs that’s VERTICAL Me: I told you it was tough Mark: Look there, that is barely a trail Porter: For your own safety, please keep hands inside the train.  Mark: Tiggs, that’s insane. Me: Yup, and I don't think the Porter likes you. This was our conversation during our train ride when we went to visit Oil Creek. Up until this point, all Mark had seen of OC was the finish line into the Middle School. He had no idea. I had no idea. This course has been a part of my running repertoire from the start. It’s one of my go-to training locales and it kicks my butt every time I’m on it. I’ve been cut, scraped, blistered, terrorized by bears, lost numerous toenails, and am currently sprained. I’ve been breathless. I’ve death marched and flew like I was weighless. I’ve hiked it and been enthralled by th...