I really didn’t want to.

The idea of racing is exciting when you sign up. There’s a little thrill when you enter your credit card number and hit “register.” And then there’s that period of blissful ignorance when you’re training, but not really thinking about the race. It’s just a date on the calendar.

And then the date comes and you realize, yes, yes, you did sign up for a 10K on snowshoes that has close to 3,000 feet in elevation gain. And yes, you have not raced in seven months. And yes, you only have a handful of threshold effort workouts under your belt. And yes, this is going to be very, very painful.

I said to my husband last night as I crawled my very tired body into bed:

“Why do I insist on liking such hard things? Am I fooling myself?”

He was quiet for a while.

“There’s value in challenging things,” he said. And I believe that too.

I distinctly remember the day that I decided, as a runner, that I was not going to avoid hard things, that in fact, I was going to EMBRACE them.

The whole “Embrace the Hill” mantra came to be because I avoided all hills: I went out of my way to map flat runs where my paces were faster…because it was easier, and also looked more impressive. This was before Strava in the days of my good old Timex Ironman stopwatch. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, except myself.

I saw this pattern (and also got very bored of the same runs) and I realized I didn’t want to be the kind of person who fooled themselves into thinking that they were tough or fast or fit or strong. I started seeking out the hilliest routes I could find and that made me a better runner.

Which is how I found myself standing at the start line of the Race to the Clouds yesterday, not very fit, not very ready, but there nonetheless.

Historically, I’ve done well at this race. I knew going into the race that it was unrealistic and possibly unhelpful to target a place goal. It’s also irrelevant to target a time goal with snowshoe running because conditions are so variable. So I had some decisions to make.

This is an important distinction when approaching a race: you get to decide how your race goes. You can’t decide the outcome, but you can make a decision about your process leading up to the race and a decision about your effort in the race. And those decisions make a difference.

The idea of “showing up and seeing what happens”, is an approach I’ve had in the past. I thought that it was a good way to race because it took the pressure off. But I’ve come to realize it is an unhelpful one. The pressure we want to avoid comes from focusing too much on the outcome. The pressure we want to create for ourselves is healthy accountability within ourselves to give our best effort. Leaving things up to chance gives with an “I’ll see what happens” kind of attitude gives you an out, and it lets you slide away from the edge of your best effort and settle for an OK effort. The biggest lessons, the fun, and the delight of surprising yourself are in our best efforts, not in the OK efforts.

On Saturday, I wrote down my decisions about race and the HOW of executing those decisions. For me, the how is usually a mantra I can repeat over and over when I get distracted.

There were some fast ladies on the course on Sunday and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hang with them and to try would make for a miserable slog. I needed to measure my effort and be realistic about my fitness.

The snow was coming down hard and I could feel all of the 11º as I danced around waiting for the cannon to go off, sending first the nordic skiers, then the fat bikers, and finally the snowshoe runners on their way.

I started at a comfortable pace/heart rate and stayed steady through the nordic sections. There was another woman right on my tail, at the two-mile mark she pulled even with me and asked, “You must be a pro?” (It must have been my matching Kari Traa outfit). “If you call 40 and mom-of-three a pro,” was all I could think to say. If I’d had enough extra breath I would have laughed.

Her presence was the test. Could I stick with my decision to stay out of the part of my brain that can ruminate about what other people think of me, what I think of myself, and be in the part of my brain that stays in my body and in the moment?

I had four miles up Mt. Washington to find out.

With every step I started to repeat in my head: I am here. I am here. I am here. I wasn’t in front of me. I wasn’t behind me. My race was in my current footstep.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I’m drawn to uphill running is that your body isn’t moving nearly as fast as it does running the same effort on a flat road. So in some ways, your brain has to slow down to match the pace. My thoughts, instead of racing, become deliberate and conscious. I become as aware as if I were to sit down and meditate.

For the next few miles, I led, her just a stride behind me. Then, she led for a bit while I took my fuel. Then I pulled ahead again, but only briefly. Sixty minutes into the race I could feel my body fading. I was quite literally at the edge of my fitness. I’ve only had three runs beyond 60 minutes since July and I could feel my lack of endurance.

With a mile to go, she gradually pulled away and I leaned even more into the “I am here” mantra.

When I crossed the line, I knew I’d given my best effort, even if the outcome was far from what I’d achieved in the past. I had made a decision about the race, and that decision was tested and I felt like I passed the test.

There seems to be a tension between doing deliberately hard things (call it hustle culture or ambition) and the idea of radical rest (call it living intuitively, not pushing our bodies to breaking). Often that tension is mistakenly interpreted as a sign that ambition and rest are mutually exclusive. That you cannot be the kind of person who pushes your body to its limit and engages in radical rest. It’s easy for the radical rest camp to criticize the ambitious camp: look how they are destroying themselves! And the ambitious camp to criticize the radical rest camp: look how stagnant they are!

I think, as will all things, there is a dance between these seemingly contradictory thoughts. You can embrace, even chase after difficult situations (like running up a mountain in snowshoes) and engage in radical rest (pulling back despite internal or external pressure) after an effort like that. The dance is best executed when you stop comparing yourself to other people and know yourself.

I’ve found one of the best ways to know yourself is through difficulty. It’s hard to get to know who you are, what you stand for, and why you believe the things you believe if you have not experienced challenge. Which is why it’s helpful to seek out challenge. It prepares you for the moments when life, with far more serious consequences than a snowshoe race, humbles you and knocks you down.

I am here applies to far more than just a footstep in a race. It’s a mantra for life too.

You aren’t in 2019. You aren’t in 2024. You are here.

Right now. This day. This breath.

Find your spot between ambition and rest, and dance.

-Sarah

COME DANCE WITH ME

I’m exploring the dance between ambition and radical rest at the Rise Run Retreat Spring Retreat by bringing in (for the first time!!) a CO-HOST!

I’m so excited to announce that Annie Wagoner of Core Nourishment will be joining me as Co-Host of the Spring Retreat May 19-21, 2023 in Woodstock, Vermont as we take a slightly different approach to the classic Rise Run Retreat model. This weekend is designed to be all about restorative movement through daily yoga sessions, breathwork, a run (yup…just one), and a sunrise hike. It’s the perfect weekend away for runners coming off a spring marathon looking for an active recovery weekend, runners returning to run after injury who can't run back-to-back days, beginner runners who find running intensive retreats intimidating, driven runners who are trying to 'find a different gear', runners who want to experience Vermont at its greenest in the full bloom of spring. There are only ten spots available and rates start at $1900.

Come join us!!