A Breakthrough

“[Grit] requires turning the ability to work hard, to persevere and to overcome adversity into a source of personal superiority. This kind of superiority complex isn’t ethnically or religiously exclusive. It’s the pride a person takes in his own strength of will.” –Unknown

Grit.  For me, grit comes hand-in-hand with entering the real world, growing up, and adulthood.  Grit is a choice.  Just like happiness is a choice, I feel like there are deciding moments where I can choose to fall into a hole of self-pity, or I can pull up my britches and be gritty.  This decision is not the easy path, and I admit that I do not always take it.

Ga happily celebrating walking without his cane. (Filming credit: Colin Mickle)

The past few months I have been asked to make a choice.  I have been challenged with moments of loss, moments of pain, and moments of disappointment.  The week leading up to the San Jose Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon, which I had been preparing to run sub 1 hour and 15 minutes to qualify for the Olympic Marathon trials, was difficult.  One of my dear friends and fellow elite runner, Cameron Bean, passed away all too soon.  Two days later, my grandfather, who had been battling brain cancer for over two years, passed away.  Both events brought immense amounts of sadness and ache.  They also forced me to reflect.  I felt like the universe was shaking me and saying, “Wake up Olivia!  This is your life.”  How could I possibly have any anxiety about a race, or even running as a whole, when it was my source of joy? Why was I stressing about school loans, never ending to-do lists, qualifying times, when there was so much more to each day?  This morning sunrise, this warm French-pressed coffee, this opportunity to run with a friend--these were the things I had.  These are the bits of life that are precious and what bring value into my world.  Life is so much more than the workouts I do or the times I run.  My Dad once said, “Running is too important to me to take too seriously.”  Yes, running is a huge part of who I am, but it isn’t everything.  It is not only unfair, but unhealthy, to put the weight of my world on my running.  Truthfully, when I feel balanced and relaxed about running are the times I run my best.  Funny how that works.

I kicked off race weekend Saturday morning flying into San Jose and meeting my parents at the hotel.  As someone who is very close to my parents, I was ecstatic about having them with me for pre-race dinner, for expo exploring, for race bib pinning, and for helping me stay relaxed and centered.  I felt at home.

Dad enjoying the perks of Rock 'n' Roll's race expo.

At the starting line, I tried to maintain this sense of centeredness.  I knew the one thing that would hold me back today was my head.  Physically, I could run 5:43 pace for 13.1 miles.  I knew this.  The challenge would be staying positive, relaxed, and brave.  Mile one into the race and I found myself next to a Zap Fitness runner.  We exchanged some words about our race goals and decided to help each other out.  Slowly, we picked up other women and created a solid four-woman pack by mile five.  I felt a sense of camaraderie.  Although our jerseys ranged from Nike to Brooks to Reebok, we shared a common goal.  Yes, we were competing, but we were working together.  Without even thinking about it, I started saying words of encouragement and channeling our focus onto picking up the women ahead.  As cliché as it may sound, we were sisters in sport.  We all wanted to run fast.  We all wanted to qualify for the Olympic Marathon Trials.  Although none of the women in this pack was able to cross the finish line under 1:15, and I was disappointed to cross the line in 1:15:25, the race was a success.  I PRed.  I felt proud of how I raced, which is the first race I have felt proud of in about a year.  I had an incredibly supportive, though unusual, race experience.  This was a moment of rediscovering myself as a runner.

Joanna Thompson, Natasha LaBeaud, Maor Tiyouri and I cruising along

I look forward to carrying this momentum forward into the Las Vegas Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon on November 15th.  As always, I am grateful for my family, teammates, friends, and coach for supporting me and helping me breakthrough.  

Back to Basics and the Beach

A planned dinner with Mom at Wine & Growl!

I love calendars.  I am a planner.  From mapping my training for the next six weeks to crafting a detailed grocery store list for weekly meals, I thrive on planning.  My tendency to plan allows for efficiency, less stress, and organization.  However, with this trait, I struggle with moments that force me to steer away from the plan.  “Whole Foods is out of their olive oil sundried tomatoes? How am I supposed to make my pasta dish without them?” Or sometimes it’s “My legs aren’t responding to training and I am scheduled to race at Stanford Invitational in two weeks; how am I going to do some Harry Potter magic on these legs?”  In the moment, these challenges seem daunting.  However, as I have been forced to face more and more of these scenarios, I have become better at accepting a different path.  I have grown to be more accepting of little bumps along the road, re-evaluating, and making twists and turns from the original plan.  Sometimes it helps if I sit down, rub my belly, and think of the words of Gautama Buddha: “If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.”  

Soft surface lovin' on Ronaldo Field

As an athlete freshly graduated from the NCAA, I still have a hunger to make huge gains in my collegiate event, the 10K.  This past spring, I trained to compete in the 10k at the Stanford Invitational in April.  Mom and Dad had reserved hotel rooms, workouts had been scheduled, and I had booked my flight (Southwest, thank goodness.)  However, with about two weeks leading into the meet, I had to be real with myself.  My body, my head, and my heart weren’t in it.  My body felt worn out.  My head was full of self-doubt and negativity.  My heart wasn’t yearning to get on the track.  I didn’t feel ready and I didn’t feel excited.  It was a different feeling from when you register for a race and you don’t feel at peak fitness and you opt out.  This wasn’t about fitness; this was about the whole enchilada.  Racing is supposed to be the party. Racing is the time to have fun and to show off the miles, sweat, tempo tummies, and chafing that you put into training.  I did not feel like I was going to a party; I felt like I was going into Matilda’s “the chokey.”  After a number of conversations with family, coaches, and friends, I decided to scratch. It was the right decision.  It was time to take a short break, re-evaluate, and get back to basics.

Finish line at Wharf to Wharf
with Jeanine and Clare

After about six weeks of solid training prepping me for San Jose Rock n’ Roll Half Marathon in September, I decided that I wanted to get in a race before my “big show.”  My coach and I pinpointed the 6-mile Wharf to Wharf road race in Santa Cruz as a good opportunity to get my feet wet in racing again.  To be honest, I knew it was the best thing for my training and half marathon preparation, but I initially felt some fear.  Six miles seemed too short for what I had been training for.  I had not done any sort of hill training.  And this wasn’t any low-key local race where I could hide from my result.

Warmly welcomed to Santa Cruz by sunshine, friendly faces, and Chipotle, I felt excited.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t jumping for joy when I finally crossed the finish line.  Although I had not given myself a time goal, I had hoped to finish among the top three or four elite women, so I was disappointed. Thankfully, the Santa Cruz racing community helped me switch my negative mind frame.  Fellow racers came up to me as though we had been best friends all our lives.  Also, a huge plus was getting to meet and spend a weekend with two blonde Brown babes, Jeanine and Clare.  I mean, look at those smiles! Perhaps I came up short in terms of delivering on expectations, but I was far from lacking in love and support.  Huge thank you to my parents, my brother, my coach, my Bowerman Track Club teammates, and my Brown track and field family.  

Mercury Moving Out of Retrograde

Visual representation of disgruntled self

I was late to meet my friend for the morning run, forgot to pack undergarments with my change of clothes for work, and found myself stuck behind the train tracks for fifteen minutes en route to a meeting.  I thought to myself: I can’t catch a break.  This tardiness and chaos had been a regrettable trend over the last couple of weeks.  Whether you are someone who diligently reads your daily horoscope or someone who thinks astrology is a total hoax, the “Astrology World” says that Mercury was in retrograde from January 21st to February 11th.   To be honest, I thought the person informing me of this astrological phenomenon was a bit nuts; I’d not been one to give much credence to the alignment of stars, moons, or any other celestial bodies.  But I researched further and discovered that all retrogrades this year are in air signs, Aquarius, Libra, and Gemini (including yours truly).  Double whammy.  Mercury, the messenger god, controls time and technology.  Therefore, when Mercury goes wacky, the results are tardiness and technological breakdowns.  Great.  So, I have how many days left before I can get my life back in order?  

There were two ways to approach this period.  One, which was my initial reaction, was panic and frustration. I felt I was at the mercy of some hot-headed planet, watching my usual punctuality and trusty iPhone go haywire.  Or, I decided, I could pause and catch up with myself.  I could use this time of flurry as an opportunity to regain perspective.

800s with teammates Carrie Dimoff and Lindsey Drake
with coordinated neon sports bras

At age 23 and creeping up on 24, I often feel like life can spin past me.  I find myself rushing from run to car for a quick change of clothes sans shower, scarfing down my yogurt breakfast, and hustling into work with my post-run-braid to continue the high-tempo pace of making cocktails, taking food orders, and delivering mouth-watering Korean pork sandwiches.  I think sometimes I forget to even breathe, like those deep full-belly inhale and exhale sort of breaths.  But, pause, I must.  I must stop and look at myself.  I am 23 and creeping up on 24, and I am living the dream. Within even the first five months of my life in Portland, I have established a sense of community.  I can go out for a run on the Southeast Waterfront and hear “Mickle!” and turn to find fellow Masters teammate riding up alongside on his bike as we both cross the Hawthorne Bridge.  I receive congratulatory text messages about races I run hundreds of miles away from friends back in Portland.  I come home to a roommate who surprises me with folded laundry and fully stocked dark chocolate.  I have put myself in a place where I can pursue my dream: be happy, have a support network, and chase after my running aspirations.  With the highs and lows of training, races, career hiccups, I have a foundation.  

Mercury, as much as I felt like you were playing a mean joke on me, I thank you.  

On a running related note, I am looking forward to hopping back on the roads this March at the US 15K Championships in Florida and then returning to my favorite oval shaped playground, the track.  Enjoying and thankful for these opportunities, eager for improvement, but also keeping my man Apollo in mind:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Jg682PxJmk