Reigniting a Fire - An Ode to Fútbol

Sitting in the stands of Providence Park on an unusually warm Portland summer evening, I began to feel something I haven’t felt in almost a decade.  The feeling was stronger than the sweat dripping from my armpits and the stickiness of the stadium seat against my thighs.  I’ve had this feeling before...many times before.  It was kick-off time and the Portland Thorns women sprinted to their respective positions, finishing off their final pre-game rituals with either a knee to chest jump or a slapping of the thighs.  

I felt alive.  Yes, I remembered.  I remembered what it feels like to wear socks that go up to your knees and jerseys that hang on your shoulders.  I remember what it feels like when your feet and blisters burn because the turf is so hot.  I remember the physicality of holding your ground with your shoulder digging into your opponent.  I remember what it feels like right before the whistle blows; that moment when I become more than just a soccer player, I become a warrior.  

Soccer made me the woman I am today.  Through soccer, I learned what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and tenacious.  These three qualities are frequently discussed in relation to grit in New York Times Bestseller Angela Duckworth’s Grit.  Throughout the book, I frequently identified connections between my personal development through soccer and Duckworth’s analysis of what it means to be gritty.

Playing soccer wasn’t just a hobby or an athletic extracurricular; being a soccer player was a part of my identity.  I looked forward to Tuesday and Thursday evening practices and weekend tournaments.  If I wasn’t competing or at team practice, I was attending clinics, summer camps, or personal training sessions.  There were of course challenging times: missing a key defensive tackle, struggling to complete a pass, or sitting on the bench for an entire tournament with zero explanation.  As Duckworth writes, “grit is about working on something you care about so much that you’re willing to stay loyal to it...it’s doing what you love, but not just falling in love--staying in love” (54).  Even after a decade of playing competitively, the day I decided to stop playing soccer, I had not stopped loving the sport.  Winning a national title, scoring a half-field game winning goal, and regional awards were special.  But, it wasn’t just these moments of glory that I loved about the game.  I also lived for the ugly moments.  I lived for getting thrown to the ground by a forward 50 pounds heavier than me and getting back up.  I lived for sprinting up and down the field with salt seeping into my eyes after 90 minutes of play in 100 degree Sacramento heat.  The bruises, the abusive coaches, and the horrible tan lines could not and would not deter my love for the game.    

Even more specific than being a soccer player, I was a defender.  I rarely made any headlines and never received the “most goals scored” award.  But I wanted to be the best defender not just on my team, but in the region.  There were always opportunities for me to be better, including ball control, agility, or first touch on the ball.  I had coaches to evaluate my weaknesses, but I was and continue to be, my harshest critic.  In Grit, Duckworth describes a person of grit as “satisfied with being unsatisfied...chasing something of unparalleled interest and importance, and it was the chase--as much as the capture--that was gratifying” (8).  I don’t think there is a perfect defender.  As someone who strives for perfection, this might sound like a recipe for disappointment.  However, I felt fulfilled from not just competing with others, but with competing with myself.  I wanted to identify my weaknesses and I wanted to be better.   

So, here I am today, no longer kicking around a soccer ball (competitively, that is) and instead pursuing a running dream, career, and heck, adulthood.  Yet, the defender is still within me.  Thank you, soccer.  

Fulfillment

GF pizza + garlic, goat cheese, caramelized onions, spinach,
basil, artichoke heart & chicken sausage - the more the better

Finishing off the last bits of wine and moving on from dinner to dark chocolate, we slowly shift the conversation from the latest King’s draft picks and the successful gluten free pizza crust.  Just like any typical Mickle-Stroud gathering, Mama Mickle and Mama Stroud bring the table conversation to a deeper level.  Mama Mickle asks the table, “What do you need to be happy?”  This question led to a variety of answers, but all responses followed a similar theme: giving back to people and creating meaningful relationships.  This question also forced us to evaluate the difference between happiness and fulfillment.  Can you have one without the other?  Is one more important or sought after than the other?

Picnic dinner & a view with my dear Eleanor at Skidmore Bluffs in NE Portland

Although there was some disagreement about the differentiation between the two, I believe that the two are intertwined.  Carnitas tacos with copious amounts of guacamole, jumping in Donner Lake, and running PRs bring me happiness.  But, these blissful moments aren’t what fulfill me.  I think more than happiness, I strive for fulfillment.  In a sense, I look to keep my glass full.  There can sometimes be fruit flies or there can sometimes be sediment, but that’s okay.  It’s like I can be in a “funk,” or cranky and hormonal, but still feel fulfilled.  The essence of fulfillment is that it isn’t a moment; it’s a state of being.  It’s a place where you feel nourished even when there is pain and even when there is sadness.   

Popping open champagne with friends in Eugene

The past few months, I have found numerous places and people who have nourished me.  They are what keep my cup full.  Whether dealing with a cancelled flight back to my alma mater for alumni weekend or an MRI result showing another stress fracture, I have had my people in my corner.  They were there to provide champagne bottles to pop and they were there to bust more than a move or two on the dance floor with me, despite an injured hip.  Heartbreak, anger, and disappointment are bound to happen.  

Truthfully, there are bound to be a whole hell of a lot more fruit flies flying in my cup, and likely, some even bigger pests to come.  But, if I can remember to shift my focus away from the crappy parts and see that there are people who are always there to keep me nourished, I think I’ll be more than okay. If I cannot only acknowledge this, but also accept this, I think the next year, and heck the next decade, will be a lot more pleasant.  

I’m savoring the hours of sunshine we have left here in Portland and I’m looking forward to a Fall with less elliptical and more running, less thinking and more doing, and a new change of pace with a new living space!

And, always remember, "Shaka Life" 

Crawling? No, Running Out of My Cave

Limping into the doctor’s office at OHSU, I repeat to myself “Stay positive.  Stay positive.  It could just be a pulled hip flexor.”   However, the realist in me knows this feeling.  I know the feeling when I go out for a test run and I feel a sharp throbbing pain in one specific spot.  I know that feeling when the pain runs deeper than the muscle.  Sure enough, the doctor informs me “stress fracture at your right lesser trochanter and subtrochanteric femur” and points to some place where my leg and hip attach by the groin. Crap.  

Me on an actual roller coaster at the Santa Monica Pier

I manage to keep the tears from falling while in the doctor’s office, but the minute I step outside and phone my mom, I let it all out.  I needed to release my emotions.  I could accept the six to eight weeks off of running.  I could accept the science of how it was not so much an impact stress fracture, but closer to an acute fracture where my psoas yanked too much on my hip due to muscle weaknesses. But, I was overwhelmed with shame. I felt weak. How had I let this happen?  

The mental roller coaster of an injury is significantly more bumpy than the physical.  The physical healing process resembles somewhat of a linear line.  However, the mental aspect follows a more sinusoidal curve.  Throughout the last nine months, I have felt at the very bottom of the sinusoidal curve.  I have also had moments where I was just at the peak, but quickly fell back down due to another setback.  I have had moments where even the positive person in me could not see a light at the end of the tunnel.  

Can't run, but I can trudge through snow melt - Oneonta Gorge, OR

Yes, these months have reminded me of the importance of finding happiness without running.  Yes, these months have forced me to find a sense of worth without being a runner. Yet, they have also proved just how much I love the simple act of putting one foot in from of the other.  The hard workouts, the company of friends, and the competitions are all special.  But, what I am truly head over heals for is the simple act of “the run.”

Let's be real...I relied on countless carnitas-filled
meals to power me through

If I had to choose three words to describe myself, “tenacious” would be one of them.  I was not going to give up on running.  I do not regret all of the money and time I dedicated to the physical therapy appointments, plane flights, blood tests, iron infusions, chiropractic appointments, acupuncture appointments, or naturopath appointments.  I warmly welcomed needles (clearly had to combat my phobia of such), herbs that tasted like dirt, and burns from shock-wave therapy. I was determined to get better and I was determined to run again.

Today, I have the opportunity to run.  Am I still combating a bit of fear of injury?  Sure.  However, just like falling in love with someone, when you conquer self-doubt and you allow yourself to be vulnerable, that is when you cultivate a spiritual connection.  

I am so thankful for my family, my friends, Drew Hohensee at Kinetic Integration, the team at Maximum Mobility, Sean Dailey at Therapeutic Associates, Sarah Carter at Vitalize Acupuncture, and my amazing sponsor, Garden of Life, for supporting me throughout this bumpy road.

GOL products that fuel me from the moment I wake up to right before bed!

Fueled By Love

At the Sacramento Olympic Trials post-marathon after-party at the City Tavern in Los Angeles, I made a confession.  Originally a stranger I had admired in the running world, and now a dear friend, Kaitlin Gregg took my confession.  I admitted to her that almost a year ago I had read one of her blog posts.  In her blog, I read a quote that resonated with me.  I decided to copy her words and paste them into a post-it note on my computer desktop that I would see every day.  Kaitlin wrote “Running joyfully is my mantra - I believe that you can reach your potential when you run with gratitude and full of happiness."  Her words are not particularly revolutionary or advanced, but they are simple and authentic.  Although I saved that quote long ago, I think now more than ever, I understand what Kaitlin is saying.  The past month has revealed these words to me in profound ways.     

Logo designed by Reba Brammer and photograph by Andrea Corradini

In my five week marathon preparation, I struggled with fueling.  My sensitive stomach rejected every Gu, gel, or chew I tried to force down.  I approached race day not fully confident in my fueling abilities, but I knew I had a much more powerful source of fuel.  I was fueled by love.  I was fueled by the love from the coworker who never hesitated to jump in on my twenty-two mile long run on his lunch break.  I was fueled by the love from the woman who dedicated her Saturday morning to biking alongside me and two other women providing us water bottles, gels, and encouragement.  I was fueled by the Facebook messages and text messages from people expressing how proud and inspired they were by me.  I was fueled by generosity of the Oiselle woman who offered her water to me when I couldn’t make it to the next fuel station at the trials.  All of these moments and all of these people are the reasons I get to run and I get to run joyfully.  

Running alongside teammates Lauren Johnson and Carrie Dimoff and biking hero Fraiser Opel at Sauvie Island, OR

It may be surprising, but even though I finished far from my time goal and was forced to walk a handful of times due to dehydration, I loved the experience.  I knew going into the race that the marathon would be nothing like the half marathon.  It’s one thing to expect it, but it’s another thing to live it.  The marathon IS a whole beast of its own.  The marathon is not just a reflection of who you are as a runner; the marathon is a reflection of who you are as a person...and that is why I refused to quit.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I definitely considered dropping out and I fully understand why over 25% of the women dropped out.  I fully respect these decisions.  However, for me, I could keep moving.  It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t fast, but I could keep going, so I had to keep going.  When my body shut down and forced me to stop, walk, and regroup, the fans rallied and roared in cheer when I mustered up a stride.  I am thankful for all of the support and encouragement by those standing for hours in the hot LA heat, those hovering over their NBC Sports app tracking my splits, and those who have helped me get to line up with America’s best marathoners.

Side by side with Bowerman Track Club teammate, Carrie Dimoff
Photograph credit: Salty Running

Now, as my mom frequently reminds me, “Hold on to those feelings, Liv!”  Mom, I’m holding on.  As always, thank you to my family, friends, coach, and teammates who helped me reach one of the many significant stepping stones in my running career.  And like my Dad chants (see video below), Pickle is still on the run!

Third Time's A Charm

“Where am I going now?”  I frantically texted my coach after my race at the Las Vegas Rock n’ Roll Half Marathon.  After coming 25 seconds short of the Olympic Trials Qualifying time in San Jose, I was encouraged by other athletes to race in Vegas for a fast, flat course.  At the ten mile mark at Vegas, I was about 20 seconds under pace for the OTQ.  However, Mother Nature came in like a ton of bricks. I hit a 45 mph head wind on the final 5k.  I was hardly able to move.  I crossed the line more frustrated than disappointed.  I had come to Vegas determined, confident, and ready to get the job done.  After San Jose, I knew I could physically run the necessary time, I just needed to execute.  Strike two.  

Rather quickly after the race, it became clear to both my coach and me that Jacksonville was the next place to go.  Richard Fannin, the race coordinator and one of the most enthusiastic supporters of distance running, had reached out to me prior to Las Vegas asking if I had interest in racing in Jacksonville.  He had a mission.  He wanted to create a race focused on helping as many men and women achieve the OTQ.  His mission became known as “The Olympic Trials Marathon Project.”  He brought in elite runners from across the country who already had achieved, or were on a quest to achieve, the OTQ.  He brought in top runners Brianne Nelson and Esther Atkins to help pace a pack sub 1:15.  When I learned about this unique opportunity, I knew this was where the magic would happen.   

At baggage claim in Jacksonville, I met fellow runners and, instead of being eyed up and down, I was greeted with warm smiles and questions about who had the standard and who still needed the time.  My apprehension about sharing a suite with three strangers, let alone three of my “competitors,” eased after meeting roomies Stephanie Dinius, Rosie Edwards, and Rachael Brewer.  It was like stepping into a kennel full of cute, happy puppies.  We exchanged info about our backgrounds, our goals for the race, our foam rollers, and our trail mix.  There is something about sharing a pivotal experience with someone that expedites the bonding of friendship.  A specific memory that stands out to me was the night before race day.  It was going to be a 5:00 am wake up call, which for me, was going to feel like 2:00 am Portland time.  Like many, I often have trouble sleeping the night before races. I lie in bed and my mind wanders to the race.  I begin to think “what if.”  Even an ounce of fear can be a dangerous rabbit hole. Thankfully, my amazing roomie Steph must moonlight as a “Runner Night-Before-Race-Day Whisperer.” With a few calming words, she had me cutting Zzs.  It wasn’t so much what she said to me that proved helpful, but rather the realization that she genuinely cared.  I can’t thank her and the other women enough for creating an energy that fostered positivity.

“Brrrring brrrrring!” went my iPhone alarm promptly at 4:57 am.  The time between waking up and getting on the bus to the start line was a blur.  Gulping down my French press, quickly forcing down a banana and a bar, and making plenty of trips to the bathroom, I completed my pre-race routine.  

At the start line, I met Steph’s gaze.  We nodded at each other.  It was go time.  The gun went off and soon after I heard Brianne Nelson holler “OTQ women here!”  I placed myself exactly where I wanted to be, on Brianne’s left shoulder.  My plan was to stick on Brianne’s shoulder and let her do the work.  I wasn’t going to worry about my Garmin, what the clock showed at every mile, or how I felt.  It was me, Brianne, Brianne’s left shoulder, and a pack of women all working together to chase a dream.  We were individuals, but we were a team effort.  We were in a race, but we weren’t competing so much as we were supporting.  I told myself “this is something special.”  

The pack! (Picture Credit: Wendy Shulik)

There were a few moments during the race where I thought: “This is it.  Today is the day.”  I felt like I was finally going to get the time.  But, I quickly questioned it.  Sometimes, when I want something so badly and have tried over and over again, the idea of actually achieving it seems unobtainable.  It’s not a matter of doubting my abilities, but a matter of doubting the manifestation of a dream truly coming to life.  

Esther, Steph and me under the tent post-race

Turning onto the track with 300 meters to go, I could hear my mom’s voice in my head.  Her voice was so loud I honestly thought she was perhaps standing in the infield.  She was yelling, “Use your arms, Liv! Use your arms!”  Pumping my arms as hard as I could, I approached the straightaway.  For the first time, I saw a clock that made me smile rather than crumble.  1:14:00...1:14:10...1:14:15 and boom! I felt a rush of joy.  I did it. Within five seconds of crossing the finish line, I found myself embraced in Richard’s bear hug.  Then, I started hugging everyone and anyone around me.

As cheesy as it sounds, I truly believe in the saying “it takes a village.”  Yes, it was my body that crossed the line in 1:14:15.  Yes, “Olivia Mickle” shows up in the results.  But, my name is there thanks to a huge list of people.  The result is a reflection of the support I receive from my family, my coach, my friends, my massage therapist, my physical therapist, the guys who happily let me drag them out to help me with my workouts in exchange for beer, my coworkers, and my partnerships with Roll Recovery and Seed Oil Company.  Thank you all for helping me achieve this goal of mine and I line up on February 13th in LA with all of you behind me.  

This is my happy face. (Thank you, again, Wendy, for capturing this moment!)

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.