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.  

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

One Month Anniversary

Today marks the one-month anniversary of life in Portland.  It has already been an adventure, filled with trail runs along Wildwood, crock-pot dinner masterpieces with the roommate, and some prime time hours at a local French restaurant.

On the running front, I have spent these past weeks running tempos on trails, VO2 max on grass, and even got to put on the blazing red BTC uniform for a local 5k cross country race!  It was a thrill and a first for many things: hay bales, moguls, BTC teammates, and the VooDoo donut food truck.  I look forward to more of the latter two than I do of the former two. 

This past June, when I asked Lindsey if I could move in with her, I don’t think either of us knew exactly what our roommate situation would look like.  I think I can speak for both of us when I say it has been magical.  There is something special about living with someone who shares a similar schedule, lifestyle, and love for chocolate.  We get to carpool to workouts, foam roll in our couch-less living room, and try new “recipes” (sometimes, just throwing in whatever sounds good; e.g. Quinoa? Yes. Avocado? Yes. Fried egg? Double yes).  We quickly established a support system, and I feel incredibly fortunate to have her as my roommate, teammate, and friend.

Although “pursuing the dream” often sounds glamorous, sometimes, there are places where there is a little less “glam” and a little more “grunt.” Life as a newbie elite athlete rarely comes with the hearty paycheck, the complimentary massages, and the comped travel fees.  Thus, I have recently started working at a local French restaurant while I continue to work toward securing a job at another company.  Yes, when I walk in each day I am greeted with the sweet smell of freshly baked croissants and feel as though I have just entered the streets of Paris.  Yet, once I put on my apron, I’m moving and grooving, clearing tables, setting tables, and washing bar mats. I sometimes have questioned whether it’s worth the hours on my feet and the ketchup splashed on my pants, but this is the road I have decided to take.  These little hiccups and not so picturesque bits are part of the journey.  They remind me that I am chasing the dream and I am willing to make some sacrifices in order to achieve such.  I couldn’t be happier.

3…2…1…

One week until take-off!  The summer has flown by, and I’ve reached the one week mark for my departure to Portland, OR.  I have enjoyed my time at home this past month, but am ready to get the ball rolling on this next chapter.

Some highlights from the past few weeks include a whirlwind road trip to Oregon, a new recipe, and a local cross country race. 

A couple of weeks ago, my best friend from high school and I pulled out of my driveway at 9:00 am: Prius packed full of snacks, mixed CDs from our middle school days, and a tub filled with miscellaneous items.  We were set to tackle this nine hour drive to Portland.  Fortunately, with good company and beautiful scenery, the drive went smoothly and swiftly (minus the necessary potty stops every two hours) and we arrived to Lake Oswego just in time for a quick shakeout run in the trails of Tryon Creek State Park and a Chipotle dinner.  

The next day I had an opportunity to visit the Nike Headquarters in Beaverton.  Blown. Away. For the return trip to California, I had arranged to stay the night in a high-tech, bougie tent, a.k.a. “glamping.”  Although we were happy to go on an adventure, I think we both were hoping for a little more “glam” and a little less “camping.” 

Back home in Sacramento, I stumbled upon one of my mom’s Bon Appétit magazines.  I always enjoy looking at the pictures, deciding what looks yummy, and then placing my requests with the queen chef of the house, my mom.  However, I felt like this time I was going to take charge.  As a self-proclaimed foodie, I feel like I should put more effort into the cooking and not just the enjoying.  So, I picked this rather basic black rice recipe.  Black rice doesn’t sound super jazzy but, when you add pistachios, dried cranberries, scallions, sweet potato, a dash of honey vinaigrette, and top it off with a fried egg and microgreens, you get gourmet.  Success!  Even my brother gobbled it up. 

This past weekend, my dad suggested I jump into the local cross country race where he and his team were competing. He said it would be a great opportunity to get in a hard effort and to practice my racing mentality. Warming up on race day, I thought: my legs are tired…I didn’t taper for this at all…my left glute feels slightly tight…better take it easy. Watch removed and trainers on, I approached the starting line. Here, my mind shifted. I had a number on my chest. I was here to compete. The race ended up being a ton of fun, although not nearly as entertaining as the video my father took of the finish.  My brother dubbed it “very cinéma vérité.” Dad accepted his Emmy last night.