Learning to Appreciate Life: Thoughts on Boston

Part of growing up means learning to appreciate life. I spent the past two months stressing about something that was largely out of my control. After undergoing a competitive and anxiety-provoking process, I received somewhat miraculous news on Monday morning that I had been gifted the training experience of my dreams for my next year of graduate school. Mouth gaping, hands shaking, I jumped in my car and started driving to school.

And then I heard the news on the radio: explosions at the Boston Marathon.

Suddenly, life was put back in to perspective. All the worries and woes I had experienced in the past two months- and even the joy I had experienced that morning- now seemed irrelevant. People had lost their lives, lost their loved ones.

At one point I had begun to deal with my stress by training for a 10k (see Inspiring Ourselves at Any Age). This new beginning had inspired me and re-awakened my soul, eased my worries. Understanding the significance running had for me, I was heartbroken to hear the news of the dedicated athletes, many of whom might not run again because of the injuries sustained in the explosions.

There are no words to make sense of tragedies like these. For me, however, the bombings were a reminder that life is short, and at the end of the day very few things in life truly matter. So today I am going to thank God that I am alive & healthy, tell the people that I love how much they mean to me, and go for a run in the beautiful sunshine while carrying with me those who can't.

Boston is a tough and resilient town; so are its people. I’m supremely confident that Bostonians will pull together, take care of each other and move forward as one proud city. And as they do, the American people will be with them every single step of the way.

- Barack Obama

Life in Your Early Twenties vs. Your Late Twenties

I recently had a good chuckle looking at this on a friend's Facebook page.

I've been trying to touch on some of the differences between being a young twenty-something and being an older twenty-something or thirty-something in this blog. Sometimes, visuals are so much more powerful.

Inspiring Ourselves at Any Age: My Journey Back to Athletics

When I was in 7th grade, I tried out for and was cut from the basketball team. Devastated, I came to the realization that perhaps I wasn't cut out for athletics; maybe I should stick to theatre instead. And then my gym teacher encouraged me to try out for the volleyball team, and at the ripe height of 5 foot 4, I figured why not? Little did I know this would begin my involvement in a sport that came to define my childhood. It turned out that, while I wasn't athletic, per say, I had the determination and work ethic to train in a sport that I loved. And when I made the varsity team as a freshman at my high school, I came to realize that I was an athlete.

8th grade. Perhaps I had not grown into the mature athlete I was to become quite yet.

Those who commit to a sport know that it can encompass a large part of your identity. At my school, being on the volleyball team meant something: we were the 2nd best team in Northern California for two of the four years I played. Our games against the rival team (the #1 team in Northern California) would sometimes last until 10 or 11pm and would sell out the gym. The majority of the players trained year round, pulling "double days" during the Sonoma summers, sometimes running the track in over 100 degree weather. In addition to my high school team, I played on a club team as well, traveling to other states to play at tournaments specifically arranged for college recruiters to scout players. Some of my former teammates later went on to play professional ball in other countries.

Memorabilia

High school team

Sophomore year club team

When I made the decision to focus on academics in college and not play on the UCSD team, a part of my identity died. It was a decision that I still wonder about today. While I continued to play year round on intramural teams and on the beach, my life was simply not the same without regular teammates, training, and travelling. There was something about those long days in the summer heat, the camaraderie that came with physical suffering and emotional toughening. My teammates were my sisters. Years later I attended weddings, baby showers, and even coached at my high school with a former teammate.

Sisters. The woman on the right just gave birth to her second child.

Coaching at my high school with my former teammate

Some years later, I began to fantasize about the idea of running some kind of race. Despite having been an athlete all those years, the idea of running long distance terrified me. I had never been a distance runner; in fact I was known for my speed in short distance sprints. And the idea of pacing myself has never been a particular strength of mine. So, rather than try running, I simply would picture myself doing it from time to time.

But stress does funny things to a person. This year, while completing my second year of graduate school in the most academically challenging year to date, I found myself engaging in behaviors that were unlike me: compulsively eating, choosing to stay in rather than hang with friends on a Friday night because of pure exhaustion, blowing entire weekends on homework alone. After several months of this, I was running on reserves. I needed to tap into another part of myself, something deep down & non-intellectual to re-energize and re-motivate myself in life.

This is what I looked like at the height of the stress.

The funny thing about inspiration is that it travels via osmosis. As I was going through this non-active period  of my life, I was reading my friends' Facebook pages & blogs, seeing pictures of people participating in Color Runs, 10ks, and even Ironman competitions. One friend wrote in her blog about how she went from "couch potato" to "marathon runner," and even provided tips on how to do this. My best friend, another former athlete who had retired many years ago, signed up for a half marathon with her sister in an effort to get back in shape.

A real life picture from a friend's Facebook. The woman on the right is a former teammate.

At some point I tired of reading about other people's success and began to think about my own. And then it dawned on me: maybe this was the part of myself I needed to tap into- the inner 16 year old athlete who used to win "Most Inspirational" awards, not because she was the best player on the team, but because she had the most heart.

Gotta love the 1980's graphics on these babies.

So I bought some running shoes, strapped my Iphone to my arm, and went for a jaunt around Lake Merritt. Or part of it at least.

...And thennnn I pulled my hamstring.

It turns out that being nearly 30 meant I couldn't get away with not stretching before my runs. While my mind was tapping into my 16 year old self, my body was reminding me that I was nearly twice as old now. Humbling, to say the least.

This is not me, but this woman is demonstrating excellent stretching technique.

I've continued to run and can confidently say that I am ready to complete the 5k I recently signed up for. My real goal, however, is to finish a 10k. And who knows? Perhaps the rush I get after I complete the 6.4 miles will launch me into an even longer race. There's something addicting about this whole running world. But I actually don't care so much about the time or the distance- for me, it's more about the inspiration I feel setting these goals and achieving them. Running has brought me back to life and reminded me that I am, indeed, still an athlete at heart. 

This young buck still resides in my heart.