poetry – Page 2 – #poetsthatsweat

I DON’T CARE / I LOVE IT

For almost seven hours, I chanted in my head I DON’T CARE / I LOVE IT. I care a lot, which is why it has taken me a month to write a Patapsco 50k race recap. Still, that accidental mantra can summarize the training cycle. Let’s break it down into three parts, like a long poem, if you will. I’m primarily a poet, so forgive me if I focus on the overall vibe, rather than every detail.

Pre-race

A few weeks ago, I was talking about iron infusions with a coworker. She said, “if I get an iron infusion maybe I can run ultras!” And I responded, “I literally couldn’t do this until I got my iron (and other chronic health conditions) under control.” So maybe I will have another training partner soon. I feel like I’m in a liminal space of healthy and sick. Despite a global pandemic, I’ve been able to pursue passions like running without physical limits over the past three years.

This was also the first training cycle in – ever? – I didn’t feel burned out. I reluctantly tapered, but I needed that for some pep on race day. Throughout training, I was able to step back when I was sick or experiencing a lot of life stress. I credit my own maturity, and what I learned from my former coach over the three years I worked with him. Look at that, learning to be flexible. And reasonable. Take the time to rest. I mostly followed this Hal Higdon plan, knowing that I wanted confidence from spending time on the trails over anything else.

During race

I followed my partner’s advice and didn’t stop at aid stations. Keep walking, keep moving. I barely paused through the halfway point; started lap two as the eighth woman overall. Then, my body did not want to go. Sort of the opposite of Tracy Turnblad singing, “The streets tell me go!” I was quite hot at the halfway point, but mostly in a good mental space after spending the first sixteen miles with two fellow Faster Bastards. I also felt like I was going to vomit and had a ginger chew. When I say I was feeling good, that is relative.

I fell around mile nineteen on a smooth downhill. Upon hitting the ground I thought, “Oh, I’m on the ground.” This was concerning – I didn’t feel anything when I hit the ground. Mostly, I was curious about how I got there. Then I decided I should be grateful to not have working pain receptors and kept going. Or maybe the repetitive early 2010s hit from Icona Pop had infiltrated my bones. Either way, I still have a shadow of a bruise on my left arm.

I told running group teammates I didn’t cry during the race. That’s not correct either. I was dry-heave-sobbing through miles eighteen to twenty-six. Ultras are true highs and lows of life! It was a pretty standard fight-your-demons-as-you-want-to-quit experience. Mile twenty-six was a turning point: I knew I’d see my partner, and the last six miles were on very familiar trail. The pace wasn’t blistering by any means, but I had enough pep back in my step to pass a few people.

I ended up twelfth woman overall, 6 hours and 38 minutes, just shy of my top ten goal, which I thought was possible if everything fell into place. I was about 40 minutes slower on the second loop, which wasn’t surprising with how I do in race weather over 50 degrees.

Post race

A little extra reflection here, that I didn’t allow during the race, because I feared crying. Three years ago, I was starting to build back to an idea of a long run, with no idea of what may be possible. Going back through my training journal, I was running with no thoughts about racing. I wasn’t back on trails until December 2020. Back is a generous statement. I started trail running in 2018, but the impact on top of my constant pelvic pain was too much to withstand before my excision + hysterectomy. This is to say: things look rosy now, but it took significant time to build to where I am.

I’m already signed up for a few races in early 2024, that aren’t necessarily pace-based like road races. At this point, I’m exploring possibility. We shall see what happens with some of the big plans in the works for 2024.

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

Three Pianos by Andrew McMahon
Winter Recipes from the Collective by Louise Glück
Golden Ax by Rio Cortez

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

I’m glad I dream

And I say then I’m glad I dream
the fire is still alive

Those are the last two lines to Louise Glück’s latest collection, Winter Recipes from the Collective. I finished the collection, then reread it, while in Maine. Glück has written about mortality her entire career, but this one felt more like a true knowledge of the sunset to come.

It’s been a summer full of travel, writing, and running. It will still be sweltering in Baltimore through October, so this is not an end of summer post. I’ll let you decide what kind of post it is.

I spent over a week in Estonia in July, mostly in the capital, Tallinn, visiting friends. Travel tip: most cities allow you to purchase a cultural card that gets you heavy discounts to different museums, restaurants, and cultural centers. I purchased a 3-day Tallinn Card and maximized how many places I visited on the days my friends were working full-time hours. In addition to bike-riding along the Bay of Tallinn coast and exploring Lahemaa National Park, I went to over 15 museums. At the last one, the museum staff asked if I was a blogger. Just someone interested in history, I said.

Near the end of the trip, I set out on a long run. I told my friends I’d go around 14 miles. We’d explored part of the Tallinn City Trail on bikes the day before. I ran through the pines feeling the weight of history. Now a bustling recreation center, part of the land was once a mass KGB grave. In the United States, our land has seen horrors as well, like mass genocide of indigenous people, the horrors of slavery, and our current incarceration policies. I thought of Appalachian folklore and the urges to listen to the forest. Conifers or concrete, the land speaks to us if we listen.

August was also full of fire – and because I cannot slow down – something about inertia and forward motion, right Vonnegut? – I have been thinking about what is next for running. After racing a 50k of my own, crewing Eastern States 100, (including driving back to the campground at 4am) – I’m asking myself if I want to go longer. Sometimes I’m thinking about to signing up for a 50-miler, but really I don’t know. Firebird Trail Race was lovely to run outside of Portland, ME, in late August to cap off the New England trip. It was only 13 miles, so we could still stand and enjoy Odiorne Beach and Mystic Pizza after.

What if I continue my commitment to exploration and went with all new races? I ran somewhere new at least once a month this summer. Why wouldn’t I continue to explore?

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

Three Pianos by Andrew McMahon
Winter Recipes from the Collective by Louise Glück
Golden Ax by Rio Cortez

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

Meandering intensity

Time to meander through artistic and athletic identity, as I often do.

I finished a 50k trail race last month. When I think about it, I think about how finishing the helped me turn off arbitrary limitations swirling in my head. It wasn’t as fast as I wanted, but damn it was fun to run and problem solve through ugly terrain with a friend. If I can do that, what can’t I do?

I talk about limits like I haven’t been an athlete since I was in elementary school. An athlete, a writer, trying to figure out where a person that loves both can fit. It has taken me years to understand that I can be an artist and an athlete. Perhaps this shouldn’t have been difficult, but it had been presented to me as an either/or situation. Like curiosity and pushing the limits don’t complement each other.

Circus, and then finding beautiful long form essays in places like Outside, or Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, then the academic & creative writing from Leslie Heywood has helped me see myself as more of a whole person, not fragments of expectations. This is a privileged struggle, but it is also so common in different ways. What have you had to break free from?

A few years of creative work have dropped recently in journals. I’m excited and overwhelmed – since my endometriosis diagnosis, I’ve grappled with how much I want to write about navigating the trauma of chronic illness versus how much actual change the writing can bring. That’s probably unnecessary pressure. Many writers have discussed writing about trauma, and I think often back to a conversation at Charm City Books between D. Watkins and Rion Amilcar Scott: D. was working on new essays (what would come to be Black Boy Smile—go get it, the essays are gorgeous) and grappling with how much he would write about trauma. He discussed wanting to write about simple joys too. What was he writing for?

That why is at the forefront of every word I put down. The question might be why do I write or it might be why is this joy or why is this contributing to a cultural conversation, but it always starts with some sort of searching, and probably thoughts about audience. There is this push online to build social networks with more authenticity, more immediacy. What is more authentic than caring for your community in what you put out there?

Places to find new writing:
Cobra Milk issue 4
Virtual launch party on May 23 @ 8pm EST, Click here to RSVP

Jarnal issue 3: Transitions
Virtual launch party on June 11 @ 12pm EST, Zoom information to come

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

The Sense of Wonder by Rachel Carson
Black Boy Smile by D. Watkins
You Could Make This Place Beautiful by Maggie Smith
Choosing to Run by Des Linden

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

A bit of a GRIT recap

The sorta flash GRIT recap no one asked for, except for myself because I am still shocked I managed 34,000+ feet of elevation in over the month. Well, maybe not totally shocked because I have been quietly working on trails, and we did get perfect mild winter weather in Maryland most of the month. I’ve had a hunch I was always more workhorse than Thoroughbred, and being free of debilitating chronic pain for almost three years now has made it possible to explore that part of me. My dumb enjoyment of going up and down Bob’s Hill solidified my theory.

Early in January, I threw up a little in my mouth when I did the math and realized that if I kept my mileage around 150, I’d have to average 200 feet of elevation a mile. I spent most of my time on Bob’s Hill and Gun Road—I am a creature of habit. Alright, here’s a recap of mostly exclamatory thoughts.

Week 1: 6,647 feet of elevation
My first trip to Bob’s Hill—magical! Patapsco Party! Truly just riding a high, trying to not talk too much about my plans, but bringing it up out of nervous excitement.

Week 2: 9,619 feet of elevation
Went insane on Bob’s Hill (5 x repeats!) & had a really nice little trip to Frederick. I met a female ultrarunner on the trail that regularly does TEN repeats of the hill. Note: My only fall of the month was sliding onto my butt while at Weverton Cliffs. The ancient rocks have seen so many feet, they are smoothed by our journeys.

Week 3: 8,069 feet of elevation
I went hard on the Monday work-day off, and over the weekend again, despite a challenging work week: driving all over the state with a team filming and conducting interviews. I still managed to stop at a Wawa while in to Havre de Grace—very important because most of the month while running up and down Bob’s Hill was in Sheetz territory.

Week 4: 6,302 feet of elevation
Here’s where I really scaled back my weekday elevation. I was feeling *good* but wanted to be conscious of a one-way ticket to injury town. Also, the mental exhaustion from the week before had set in. At this point, I was coasting to the goal but not trying to add any extra flourish.

Week 5: 2,769 feet of elevation
The final week/end of elevation! I’m taking the elevation numbers from Strava so I’m assuming the breakdown is correct. How did we close GRIT? A trip to the finest Sheetz in all of Western Maryland! Partway through the month, I promised my coach I would go easy in February to absorb all the work from January. As I write this, I dream of rocks. This is not new. My dad would take my brother and I to rock shows as kids—fairs in New Jersey where we would look at rocks.

Bonus: Froggy Hollow 5 Hour
I promised I’d go easy after this race…here was a distance challenge on top of ugly weather. Frigid temperatures, unknown territory physically and mentally. I’d never run longer than 15 miles before this day—final count was 22.2 miles. I cried a little watching my Garmin tick over 20 miles. It didn’t help that I decided to skip a handheld water bottle—why carry ice??—and was really feeling the dehydration by the final loop despite extended breaks every time I came through the aid station area.

Bonus bonus because I can’t draft fast enough: BRRC Super Bowl Trail Race
I love this race so much! It was hilly, but every incline was rewarded with a downhill. I took a wrong turn which slowed me down by a tenth of a mile, but overall I was pleased with a much stronger effort than last year. Next year, I hope third time is the charm in terms of following the course correctly.

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers
Finding Ultra by Rich Roll

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

I’m gonna be worse

I saw this meme shortly before the new year, and to put it lightly, flipped out.

What do I mean by being worse?

Melting into me. Relaxing into the lack of chill. Folding into the absurdity of it all. Running up and down Gun Road for fun. Being chalant, wondering about the etymology, then confirming that chalant is indeed slang because the main rule of English is that there are no rules.

I have a bit of a life philosophy, mostly existential, as the former teenager reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being in between lifeguarding shifts. It could just as well be otherwise.

Be worse.

Keep going.

We get to do this.

Themes I can see as I look back on my poetry while editing a full length manuscript and submitting a prize portfolio.

Getting worse. At some point in my late 20s, I stopped having much shame. I’m sending the text, sending the email. I have 18 pages of a Word Doc tracking mostly rejected writing and have an Aquarius moon, I don’t notice the hurt. After doctor appointment on doctor appointment, having to claw my way to an endometriosis diagnosis, what did I have to loose?

It took deeper reflecting after a conversation with my coach about goals for early 2023 to understand more of what I want out of running. I was having trouble pinpointing a “goal” race. Rather, I had a bunch of shit on my calendar that to me, looked like fun trail time with unusual distances. I may shoot for time goals at some point, but mostly I want to go outside and be. I feel the friend I lost in the moon, in crows gliding, in the soft peach of sunrise and sunset.

I am not alone in these haunted moments. A group of us (we all went to an MFA program together) wrote a joint eulogy and wrote through our memories of her.

I am conflicted about writing much about grief on the blog, but like processing chronic illness grief through this venue, I continue to process the loss, even as I’m back to doing things like opening my mail. It seeps into the everyday.

I feel other people carrying their grief as they enter meetings, enter supposedly joyful spaces. So much to think about. To quote what Mandy wrote in i want people to think: I want people to think of the body’s resilient failure, rising from bedspreads of fire and ash screaming “I eat men like air” and then I did.

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

Grief is Pink by Jessica Niles DeHoff
My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

This is just to say grief is hard

Many people I care about are struggling right now, and I am too. Time moves differently with grief. I check the clock often to understand when I am. Yes, when.

Grief has brought feelings of not being enough. I’ve learned over the years (and therapy, please, therapy is the best) this not enough is a vague malaise—there isn’t a specific thing I think I need to do more. I’m getting down on myself without anything concrete, mostly grasping for something to hold. There have been some very wonderful things happening this month, so the grief sneaks in as I simultaneously feel joy.

I’ll keep on running into the new year. In the trees, in the sun, in the rain—I am moving and free and nearly outside of my skin. Specifically, there are 2023 races I’m thinking about. I’m not even sure what my goals are for each race, other than learn something about myself and go long. I’m working to get enough protein and stretch while I work through the grief this way. I don’t need to be injured and sad.

This is just to say, I often write about not wanting to be vulnerable. Sick is not fragile. When I reflect on the past year, I’m not actively sick anymore. I can plan trips and give hard efforts on run and not be flattened for days or weeks. This is still new, and I’m very grateful (again) for therapy and working through this.

Grief is somehow collective and personal. The grief from the loss of a wonderful person will keep coming in waves, but there is still all this future to reach for. They would appreciate all of us keeping up the fuck around & find out attitude.

Books I’m thinking about / recently read:

Please make me pretty, I don’t want to die by Tawanda Mulalu
Minor Feelings by Cathy Park Hong

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

What’s your fantasy?

One of the few things that got me through Wednesday’s workout was fantasizing that I was Molly Seidel in the Olympic marathon. However, I was nowhere near her pace as I jammed out to Ludacris. I was a sight to see. Shoes squishing, wet shorts flapping, and neither from rain. Couldn’t it at least start raining for some relief?

My one year anniversary of back to running happened this week. Other than excitedly texting my coach, I gave it little fanfare. Well, I guess writing about it on the blog is some fanfare.

Pushing through the weather was a test of mindset change. I adjusted my goals and carried on. I checked in with my body—was I feeling faint? No. Was anything hurting? No. Keep going. The workout was not be speedy, but it was work on my feet. My coach reminded me to use the humidity and heat pace chart next time, but I did not dwell on pace in a training cycle where I’ve had so many on point runs. I 100% contribute this to the hysterectomy. Sure, I didn’t test positive for adenomyosis, but something was real fucked up in there. For anyone new to this blog, I had maybe 1 week a month that I wasn’t in crippling pain due to endometriosis and potentially adenomyosis. I quote a common refrain in the endometriosis community: We’re not faking being sick. We’re faking being well.

Since restarting seed cycling in earnest again a few months ago, I didn’t even notice mood swings this luteal phase. I’ve also learned so much about hydration and fueling from the Fuel for the Sole podcast by Believe in the Run with Meghann Featherstun. I started learning about nutrition in earnest from Caitlin Self in 2018. She taught me so much about inflammation and chronic conditions. Now, I’m at a place with limited symptoms, therefore can think more about small tweaks that can substantially improve my running.

All of these things—being able to focus on small bits of health, being very at peace with being uterless—come from the mindset change that exhibited in this week’s workout. In such an uncertain, traumatic year (let me count the ways), I am preparing myself for fall race cancellations. It’s not pessimistic to be realistic. The delta variant is raging. I’m mentally prepared to test my training cycle in a time trial and to pivot to more trail time.

My fantasy would not only to have fall races, but for everyone to get the vaccine. While we wait for those vaccinations to kick in, I dream that people would wear their masks because they care about their community.

Books I’m thinking about/recently read:

Postcolonial Love Poem, Natalie Diaz
Spirit Run, Noé Álvarez

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

Protect Your Mental Health

Nearly every time I feel like I’ve forgotten how to sit silently and read, I learn that all I need is an empty day. The simple time makes me so happy, I know it’s important for my mental health.

There wasn’t much talk about mental health when I swam competitively, over a decade ago. Performance mattered, but it didn’t feel like the person behind the performance did. At this meet, I should have been celebrating how much the team overcame together, but all I could really think about was what I hadn’t accomplished as my swimming career ended.

It’s commendable for Simone Biles to make the decision to protect her mental and physical health—we won’t know more unless she chooses to share. It’s hard enough for an athlete to speak up about struggling when they strive to be the best, to be seen as strong. She’s paving the way for young athletes. Coaches, take note.

Speaking of mental health, I talked about the intersection of mental health and chronic illness with Amatus Health. You can listen to podcast Episode 30 of Share here. Also listen in for the sarcasm I drip on words like *hysterical*.

Summer is supposed to be down time for me, but it hasn’t been. At Lyra Choreography last week, I let my entire body melt into the mat. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I slowed down. It was 9:30pm on a Thursday.

Running is moving along. Despite the level of business, I am happy with how half marathon training has progressed, especially in the extreme heat and humidity in Baltimore. To stay balanced in running, I lean on the creativity of circus arts.

Circus arts take incredible strength and endurance, separate from running. On lyra, my first movement love, you hold on, pretending to be graceful while using different points of pressure on your body to create gravity defying shapes. Add a spin, and no one can tell how hard it is as long as you control your face too. This is all while trying not to fall to the floor.

It’s a safe space for me to explore when my mind and the outside world feel like chaos. Recently, the choreography class was spent exploring emotion and shape. Our coach played a song and asked us to lead with our elbows, then picked another song and asked us to lead with our hips.

There is a foundation in all the movements, but after the foundation, possibilities are endless. As much as I love running, lyra and other circus arts allow more creativity. It’s not like a road race, where strategy still depends on speed.

Books I’m thinking about/recently read:

How Beautiful We Were, Imbolo Mbue
On Juneteenth, Annette Gordon-Reed

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

Consistent, Careful Mileage

I’d like every day to feel like this morning, or to feel like the thrill of new friendships budding. Those are moments I feel like I’ve discovered something about existence.

I knew there was a reason I bought a Koala Clip with Shalane Flanagan’s iconic quote—my first response to Nick after today’s workout was “what the fuck!!!”

In the unreasonable heat, I told myself to just give it a go today. I ended up cruising in a 3 x 8 minutes workout: 7:35, 7:33, 7:24 with 3 minutes easy running between each. I did walk a bit of each recovery rep to bring my heart rate down in the heat, but still. A year ago I was only allowed to walk. Seeing how consistent, careful mileage building pays off has been a real joy.

I struggled to run these paces in good weather before the Cambridge half. I should say something about that half marathon, shouldn’t I? I raced a half marathon in May. About two months ago at this point. I PRed, unofficially by 3 minutes, officially by 2 minutes. The course was .15 miles long for everyone I talked to—unofficial or official, I ran a strong race at a 7:59 per mile pace. Consistent splits and positive self talk are two things I am so pleased I maintained during the race.

However, I do not recommend crying while racing. Around mile 8, I started thinking about where I was a year ago. Desperate for another surgery. Struggling to sleep because of all-encompassing pain. Bleeding through at least 40 tampons a menstrual cycle (I recently learned 8 tampons is “normal”). Always planning an escape plan for unplanned bleeding or pain. Yet here I was, flying through a half marathon. I hyperventilated for a bit, but there were still 40 minutes of running to go. Taylor Swift’s “22” started playing and I pulled it together. Show me someone that doesn’t smile when that bouncy chord opening starts.

More than the time, I am SO HAPPY to have experienced the social aspect of a race again. The chats before, commiserating during, the exhausted but thrilled recaps together after. Saying to each other things like “looking strong” or “we got this” or “I’ve been pacing you”. Overall, the race was a delight. I even threw myself into a group that was from Baltimore and chatted for a bit after the race. It took everything to not say “could we be best friends?” after the year without races.

As Jessica Pan wrote in her book, Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come, “Why can’t confidence and optimism come with a lifetime guarantee?” I would pay for that that. She recommends walking into a room like a tall American man. Are men ever rattled? I’d like every day to feel like this morning, or to feel like the thrill of new friendships budding. Those are moments I feel like I’ve discovered something about existence.

I took more of Pan’s energy into the Baltimore 10-Miler. Dare I say I enjoyed the 900 feet of elevation more than the flat race? What’s this? The scenery changed, no—the scenery rolled in Baltimore County country. Seeing the landscape helped me understand the area a bit more. The greens and blues crackled in the morning light. As the second race of the year, I also felt less emotionally overwhelmed. I’ll probably hop in a few more races throughout the summer while preparing for the Wineglass Half Marathon.

Books I’m thinking about/recently read:

Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come: An Introvert’s Year of Living Dangerously by Jessica Pan
Chesapeake Requiem by Earl Swift
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.

Pre-Race Small Joys

This weekend, I will run my first half marathon since 2018. The last half marathon was 6 days before my first endometriosis surgery. While visiting friends to run the St. Luke’s Half, I spent as much of the day before the half marathon as I could curled up on the air mattress, in agony. I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to finish the race. I did, and the last few miles were full of scream-whispering “f***” and taking a beer from a spectator at mile 11, then immediately regretting it. Will I ever take a beer from a stranger again post-2020?!

A year ago I was prepping to virtually interview Ellen Bass after getting news that I would be able to have a surgery I desperately needed with 5 business days to prepare. I do not recommend such a short amount of time to prepare to be out of work for 4 weeks in a short span of time. Why was I having surgery last minute? The scheduled surgery was cancelled due to COVID-19. So many of us in the chronic illness community lost access to care and procedures during the pandemic. So many of us lost more than the ability to travel.

Here we are in 2021, in a different place. The race is very small, and I filled out the symptom questionnaire earlier today. I have A, B, and C goals for Sunday. No matter what, because as Nick reminded me, conditions always play a factor—I’ve come a long way from the pre-hysterectomy-and-second-excision-surgery crippling pain. I finished up mile repeats in my last big workout, cruising within 30 seconds of a mile time trial in December. As the greats say, LFG.

In honor of all the physical and emotional work I’ve done to live with endometriosis, here are some things I’m proud of in this training cycle:

I adjusted training runs as needed. I haven’t had pelvic pain since the excision and hysterectomy in May 2020, but I still follow my hormonal cues and adjust my intensity depending on if I am in my menstrual, follicular, ovulation, or luteal phase. Alissa Vitti and Dr. Stacey Sims can teach you a ton about exercise and your hormonal cycle. My acupuncturist, pelvic floor physical therapist, and orthopedic physical therapist have all been yelling at me about this for years.

I was able to note small joys in most workouts: the park blooming! Daffodil season! Feeling stronger in the recovery reps during speed workouts! So many doggos! There were definitely still runs with an “ughhhhhh”, so I put on Kesha/Lil Nas X/K Flay/etc. and just did it. Getting in some long runs with my friend Maura helped too.

Caring much less about how much faster other people are in easy paces. I generally run at the “high” end of my easy pace. Honestly, I still have concerns about fatigue and my hormonal balance, so I’ve accepted that I’m not going to crush my paces every time, especially on easy runs. The easy runs exist to build muscular endurance. I enjoyed them!

Books I’m thinking about/recently read:

One Life by Megan Rapinoe
Black Widow: A Sad-Funny Journey Through Grief for People Who Normally Avoid Books with Words Like “Journey” in the Title by Leslie Gray Streeter

Stay sweaty and glittery. Black Lives Matter.