This has been an amazing year for me so far. That is a strange thought considering I have spent more time injured than well and until this week, I was barely able to log even a third of the weekly mileage I was doing pre-marathon (December). Historically, my mental well-being has been strongly linked to my running, and my sanity, in general, has relied on the daily sweat sessions in order to maintain some semblance of normalcy. But, like a heroine addict entering rehab, it was snatched away from me. I ruptured my posterior tibial tendon when I rolled my ankle back in November and the marathon was the last straw before my body asked me to take a break and let it breathe for a second..... gulp! Commence the withdrawal shakes, inner brain wars with ugly demons, and floundering self-esteem. How the hell am I supposed to deal with all the crap inside of me without running?!?!? After several "relapses" and subsequent bodily revolts, I knew the options were quite clear:

1. Take the time COMPLETELY off from running and just heal for God's sake...... and learn a
new, improved, healthy way to deal with your mushy brain. Clearly, the world is not going to
come to an end just because Rebecca Wroten cannot go log miles.....

or

2. Keep pushing it... Go ahead... you just keep pushing your body until the running gods take
running away from you permanently.... I double dog dare ya...

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

I enlisted the help of Dr Frank Shultz to give me someone to talk to about all the swirling junk in my head, but also to help me understand why it was there and how to better deal with it. My friend/colleague/adoptive mother/sounding board, Betsy, tells me almost daily that the hardest change to make is self-change and the hardest person to deal with is the one that looks back at you every morning in the mirror. Oh, how true! This was a scary journey, but a necessary one, and I felt like the timing was impeccable.

I am looking down the path and I see the door to my thirties just ahead. If I turn and look back at my twenties, it is not a pretty sight-- full of bad decisions, self imposed chaos, multiple directional changes. As Dr Shultz puts it, I haven't done anything "wrong," I've just survived and sought answers using the map I was given and the knowledge I had acquired through the years. I was seeking a path the only way I knew how, survival mode, and I was doing a hella good job at surviving..... the problem has been thriving. The map I had wasn't cutting it, but venturing away from what you know, heading off the beaten path requires a lot of courage, humility up the wazoo, and determination. My map was a circle and I was diligently running the loop over and over again in an attempt to somehow end up somewhere else. Maybe you can see what I couldn't..... that was never gonna happen..... huh..... weird.

So here we are, three months later. I haven't written much about this journey... at least not publicly. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done. I have had to become vulnerable, to open the ginormous gate to my heart and break down some pretty thick walls. I do not like to feel vulnerable, it is a scary scary scary feeling. I have had to look myself in the mirror and decide that I'm ok with me, just as I am. I have had to start to learn to love people unconditionally, for where they are right now rather than trying to "fix" them or "save" them. They aren't broken or lost, they are on a journey just like me and all I can do is show them a different map. I have had to learn to be okay enough with myself to accept love rather than trying constantly to earn it, working harder and harder to prove that I deserve whatever love is given to me.

This week I ran a long run. It was a wednesday morning at 11 am. I ran to Betsy's office and I cried. Not a sweat cry (ok, well yes a sweat cry but this one involved tears too). My first real, true, tears and everything cry in 15 months. Tears actually fell from my eyes. My stomach squeezed, my heart flipped circles, my brain stopped working... and then, I ran some more. I ran a hole right through the bottom of my shoe. I blazed a trail until my body ached like my heart and all the pent up emotions fell from my eyes. This was a different sorta run, like a final hoorah, a goodbye to my past. Not that I will never again run out my emotions, but that my emotional well-being will no longer rest solely on that release.

I took a turn.

I stepped off the loop I have been running for over a decade now.

I am heading in a direction for which I do not have a map. It's a little scary, I'm not gonna lie, but it's the only way to move forward....... at a full tilt run, of course! :-)

Broke Ass Human

Once, when I was in my early twenties, I laid on my belly in the back of a Toyota Tacoma pick up truck for three hours. Every few minutes, I would inch forward just a smidge, slowly, methodically. Crouched under the toolbox was a dog that had been so badly abused that his insides no longer functioned properly. He was shaking, scared, and trapped. I was his only hope and his biggest enemy. Three hours. My knees and elbows ached and my back was screaming. But it was totally worth it when I first touched his head. He jumped and snarled baring his teeth and pretending he had any fight left in him. I knew better. I knew how he felt. An hour later, he was out of the truck and leaning against my leg. Ultimately, the thing he feared more than anything- human- had been the thing that saved him.

Yesterday, I held a young girl in my lap. She was beaten and abused. Her insides had been ripped out by a monster and her wisdom exceeded her age. When I looked into her eyes, I saw my own reflection and I felt our hearts meld into one. I understood. She knew. In her eyes, I could see the fear, the mistrust and the fight for survival. I held her against my chest and felt her relax against me. She has such a long road ahead, so many hurdles seen and unseen to jump. The demons can destroy her or she can destroy them. Who will win is anyone's guess. Ultimately, the thing she fears the most- trust- will be the only thing that can save her.

I ran today, a real run. A freedom run. A run like I haven't run in quite some time. And I cried today, a real cry. A freedom cry. A cry like I haven't cried in quite some time. Mostly I cried sweat. Who knows if I will ever learn to truly cry tears again? But my heart cried. I felt an ache so deep. I saw that little girl, wide eyed and terrified. I know how hard she will have to fight to see a straight line again and I know that unlike that dog, she may never be able to trust again.

My own wounds seem so deep sometimes that I wonder how much longer it will be before there is no warm, gooey center left. How long before every last drop has just seeped right out? Can they still heal at nearly 30 yrs old? I like to think so. This month is dedicated to that little girl. I will hold her and love her and show her how to trust again. I will destroy the walls before they can be built any higher. I will teach her to fight for herself and how to fight for love because it can exist, just not without trust.

There is some tough stuff ahead, but she is depending on me. I won't let her down.

"We are Broke Ass Humans. Cleansed by His blood and held in His hands, we are safe. We are better for being broken." -Jeff

Every so often, I find myself in a bit of a pickle. Ok, well actually if the truth be told, I seem to always find myself in strange situations. But that is a completely different conversation. It goes sort of like this: I am riding along, just cruising. My tunes are blasting in my ears, my head is bee-bopping side to side. I am, inevitably, belting out some song at the top of my lungs. Life is good and I am carelessly blissful. And then, in an instant, the road is gone and I am wide-eyed with hands on the brakes and the tires squealing...... My heart races, the adrenaline pumps full steam ahead, all my muscles tense, and I am so wound up that the ensuing crash is almost a blissful finale.

Sprawled out, twisted, battered and bruised, spread eagle on the ground. I can't help but to laugh at myself. Hmmm. This view is familiar! I have seen it before!! I have powered forward at full speed so quickly, almost desperately even, focused so fully on the horizon that I didn't even see the gigantic river RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! This isn't the first crash and I can say with full confidence that it will not be the last. It is in my bones, my very nature. Like a 3 yr old running hog wild through the house in an attempt to stay awake, I run at full tilt trying to do anything to avoid quiet and silence. Anything to stay out of my head. I hate that place. Stillness makes my mind suffocate and scream for help. The thoughts and doubts (yes, I have them too) are my dementors and it is so much easier to outrun them than to face them.

And that brings me to January 2010. This will be one of my hardest monthly challenges and I find it fitting to do it from the start. Last night at midnight, I didn't tumble out of 2009 and claw my way to 2010. Nope. Last night, I hoisted my bike on my shoulder and with complete confidence and poise, and not too much fanfare, crossed the narrow bridge into the new year. This month, I face the stillness that I hate so much. It's yoga month. Three times a week, I will shut out the world, turn off the technology, and savor (or hate) an hour that is fully mine. God, help me. I am deathly afraid of the hours to come. I am afraid to commit to these hours that will infringe on my running, my biking, my incessant workload. I am afraid of the shadows looming inside that will only grow bigger and scarier in the stillness. And I am scared sh*tless of a weekend spent in a Yoga Ashram with people so calm and centered (and a bit kooky :P) that I feel my energy will drown everyone there. Just my presence will turn the place on end; I will create enemies just by being there! Unless I can FINALLY learn to control it. I'm not so sure I can but I am going to try. I have no doubt there will be tears, that meditation will be a cacophony of evil voices. I will have to hear them out. I will have to agree with some of them and learn to ignore the others.

My hope is that I can learn to embrace the calmness. That I can find a peaceful blackness inside my head, rather than the cave-like place that is there now. The cave with all the bright eyes glowing from every direction refusing to declare themselves friend or foe. *shudder* My friend of nearly a decade, Kristen, said to me "For as long as I have known you Becca, there has never once been a day when I asked what you were doing next and you said 'nothing.' It's always a list of things that no human could accomplish in a day."

So, here we go. I hope you'll come with me. Pick up your bike and cross the bridge with me. Find some balance this month and learn to enjoy stillness.

This is gonna suck....

My Father

Big Al.
Papa-san.
Daddy-O.
L.A.W.-son.

That's my Dad; Perhaps the most amazing and intriguing man to ever walk the face of the Earth. He is my hero and yet I am scared to death of him..... or, at least, I was....

I can remember as a little girl Dad and I used to play this game. He would lie on his back on the floor and lift his legs to the ceiling and, like a little monkey on a tree, I would crawl and climb and clammer my way up to his feet. I would prop my wee little tootsies right on the soles of his behemoth feet and, balancing ever so carefully, stand as tall as I could hands reached to the sky in victory. Perched on the solid foundation of the most powerful creature I knew, I would sing and dance and strike a pose. I would attempt balancing acts that were humanly impossible knowing that if I even teetered, the soft net of my father would protect me from any harm. By his mere presence, my father empowered me to tempt fate, challenge the possibilities, and fearlessly endeavor to conquer the impossible. At 4 yrs old, I knew I could do anything cause Big Al was right there pushing me towards new heights.

My Dad can do anything, fix anything, he knows just about everything and he sees things when everyone else is standing in blackness. Of course, I didn't realize all of that until recently..... sigh.... He is a big guy, towering over pretty much everyone he ever meets, with a face that is stoic and firm. His lips are set in a line and his posture is erect. Mammoth hands and naturally strong arms warn you that he means business and that only a fool would dare cross him. Sometimes, you might wonder if he is imagining just how to crush you. Until he smiles, that is. And then, his eyes twinkle and and his skin crinkles and you suddenly realize how much pleasure he gets out of intimidating the crap out of people. Dad taught me to shoot a gun and to swim. He taught me to fish and ride a bike. He came to every soccer game he could possibly make, even the freezing cold ones. Once, I guess I was maybe 6 yrs old, he snapped the neck of a dove right in front of me. He offered no apology, just the simple explanation that it was better for the bird. Come to think of it, Dad never offered any apologies for any of life's hard lessons. Why be sorry to learn a lesson? And in fact, you might as well learn it sooner than later in his mind.

Twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, Dad and I workout together. I can honestly say, that these two hours have become the most precious moments in my week. We rarely talk about anything important but we talk about everything, even when we don't talk. We explore the people we have become and share the thoughts and opinions that shape our choices. I would love to know my dad better. He fascinates me and I feel like if we were ever to sit and tell the stories of our lives, the unedited version, the true and real nitty gritty of our experiences, we would find that we have so much in common it is scary. I would love to hear Dad's stories of love and loss. I would like to hear about the unmentionables and the secret thoughts, regrets, desires and dreams that float around in the cloud of his life. I am pretty sure Dad never envisioned having children and settling into the life that he lived. But, what did he see? What did he want to do that he didn't? And, possibly most importantly, how did he reconcile those two worlds and become the man he is today?

I doubt we will ever have these conversations and that's ok. You see, I can see the acceptance in Dad's eyes. I can see that from the moment we first battled each other in the Clash of the Titans, he knew. He knew I wasn't destined for the life and mold I continued to try to fit into time and time again. He knew my road was going to be hard as hell and I would have to be tougher than the average person to overcome the status quo and have the courage to embrace my life. My father imprinted me from the first time he challenged me to do something I didn't want to. He stared into my stubbornness and begged me to match his intensity. My father poured a lot of love into me. But from the first time I made the journey to the top of his feet and stood victorious, he gave me something else. He gave me the knowledge that more than anyone else in the world he was FOR me and no matter how many times I toppled, I could always climb back to the top. And no matter how hard the climb to the top might seem, he'd be right there, the firm and steadfast foundation he has always been.

True Knowledge in a world of Information....

I love information. I enjoyed school and I still enjoy school, probably more than I should admit actually. For me, knowledge is power and I seek it relentlessly with classes, certifications, trainings, books, anything. But, in this 29th year of my life, I have come to realize that perhaps I hold knowledge up on too high a pedestal. You see, as I have become more and more educated I find that maybe I am a bit "cocky"... no that's not the right word.... I find that when I share information with others, even though it makes me feel good to help them, I feel like I should just give myself a big ole pat on the back. "Good job Becca! Way to help that person out! Boy, you are one smart cookie!" Aaaah, but how easy that is when you never challenge yourself and purposely enter a situation where you are, the LEAST knowledgeable person. What a perfect challenge for someone who holds her smarts so dear....

December's Challenge: Sign up for a course in Manual Therapy.

This might not seem so hard to some people but for me, it was. I was signing up for an advanced class and would be in the room with people who had been doing bodywork for YEARS. I have never ever given a massage, much less gone to massage school. Sure, I know anatomy and physiology and biomechanics. But, I was going to be sooooo exposed and soooooo unconfident one we started doing the practicum. I was going to have to ask for help ..... GASP! I was going to have to have someone remediate the lesson for me!! So uncomfortable, so very, very uncomfortable... I went to the three day workshop knowing that this was something I needed to do. I need this to further help my clients and I need the swift kick to my brainy ego, as well.

Day 1 was a breeze! All book stuff, all knowledge. I was a whiz! Ha! Take that!

Day 2 not so much. I had borrowed a massage table from a friend and when the time came to set that sucker up, I could not for the life of me figure it out. ugh. I took a deep breath, swallowed down the bitter taste of ignorance and asked for help..... and so it went for the next 2 days. I asked for help again and again and again. And you know what? It wasn't so bad. I opened up my ears and my mind and allowed people to share their knowledge with me. It was great! I devoured their stories and their real life wisdom drinking it up like water in the desert. And you know what I quickly realized? Something that I already "knew" but often forget. Information does not equal knowledge. I have so much information crammed into every cell of my poor brain. Those cells are firing at 15 bazillion megahertz all day long bouncing around and banging into each other and munching on information like it is the manna of life. But, it's not. TRUE knowledge, I mean the real stuff, the kind that truly and really helps people; that kind of knowledge comes from life experience. It comes from slowing down and listening to someone who has tried and failed or tried and succeeded. It comes from trying for yourself and getting it wrong. Heck, maybe getting it wrong two, or even three, times. It comes when you evaluate what went wrong and then change the approach, or the variables, or even the mindset.

I feel really empowered this month. I went in to begin the process of getting a license in massage and I walked away with so much more. I felt so connected to the people in my class. I sat and I listened and I learned from them. I gathered wisdom way beyond what any book could teach me. And I gained friends.

Granted, it's pretty hard not to become friends once you have massaged someone's uvula, right Robert!!?? :-\ OY!

Grab a shovel! We're gonna have to dig deep...

I like a challenge. If you know me, you know that. I like to push my limits and see what I can do and find new places in my heart and soul that I never knew existed. For a lot of people, that's uncomfortable. It's dark and ugly in there and, quite frankly, it's so much easier just to leave the door closed and imagine the heaping pile of mess inside will just disintegrate into oblivion. It won't. It is one of the few things in life I am absolutely sure of....

This past weekend was filled with opportunities for many of my good friends and clients and myself, for that matter, to dig deep and discover how much inner strength we all possess. The Ragnar Relay is a 203 mile race across the state of Florida. You run as a team passing the baton as you go. You run on grass, on roads, on trails. You run through the heat of the day and the cold of the night. You run in blackness so complete that only the halo from your headlamp provides the only protection from the darkness-- you run and you run and you run some more. This continues through the night with only two very short naps (maybe an hour each) and not nearly enough food. And when the dawn finally breaks through, you can't help but to wonder, for just a moment, exactly why you are doing this. Or more accurately, how you are going to do this last segment.

That was exactly what I was thinking as I stood in the chute ready to take the baton from my teammate and head out on my final segment of the race.

I like a challenge. If you know me, you know this. But, I have never in my life had to dig as deep as I had to dig on November 21st at 1:55 pm. Never. I've been tired before, so tired I thought I could just curl up in whatever spot I was in and sleep for days. I've been hungry before. I mean, the kind of hunger where you're own hand starts to look kind of tasty. I have certainly had my body ache and scream at me. My body has said things to me that would make a sailor blush. I have never experienced all three at once, at top intensity. I will tell you, it was not the most awesome I have ever felt.

So, I took the baton and I did the only thing I could do. I ran. One foot in front of the other, one step after another, focused on the person in front of me, the person I had to pass. The distance between us shrank with every footfall. I passed her and I kept running. It hurt, it was hard, but I kept moving. Running, running, running. And then, I fell. I stepped in a hole and the pain shot through my whole leg from the toes to the top. My knees buckled as I fell like a tree, a solid mass colliding with the ground. My face hit the dirt and my nose pushed halfway up to my forehead. I sucked in air and my eyes filled with tears. The tears poured over onto my cheeks mixing with the dirt and the blackness dripped onto the grass. The pain was throbbing and radiating. I couldn't breathe and if there had been food in my stomach, I would have puked. I stared down at the black puddle in front of me and watched another black teardrop fall from my nose and join the others. The blackness inside me: my worst enemy and my biggest motivator, my heckler and my coach. I run because it makes me and I run to get rid of it. I closed my eyes really tight, took a slow deep breath, glanced back and saw the form of the girl in the distance behind me. I reached deep down into my soul to dig out the last ounce of anything I might have inside, and I stood up. Oh God, it hurt. It hurt so very, very bad. But, I did the only thing you can ever do when things get tough. I started moving, I looked to the horizon and I started heading that direction. At first, just a limp, then a walk, and finally a jog. The wind pounded me in the face, taking every opportunity to beat the ever-loving crap out of what little spirit I had left. The terrain was merciless with its ups and downs. Monsters were reaching out of the ground and stabbing my ankle with every single step. The sun taunted and teased me determined to melt away any hope of finishing. I stared at the horizon and my jog became a run.

"One foot in front of the other.... Run with perseverance.... One foot in front of the other.... Run with perseverance...." The mantra rolled through my head over and over. The cadence of my feet carried an awkward off-beat shuffle sound. My mind became a void and my breathing matched the beat of my heart, a breakneck race to see which would max out first. And then I saw the sign. One mile to go. I glanced back. No one in sight. I tucked my chin and I pushed even harder. As I rounded the last bend, I saw my team hands in the air waving and screaming like a bunch of idiots and my whole body felt them pulling me forward. I handed off the baton, squatted down and let the tears fall. This time, they weren't black.

Peaceful Power-- Lessons in SELF from the ocean.

I stood, coffee in hand, on the 24th floor balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. The waves marched in like lines of soldiers bravely moving forward to battle, faces a mix of stoic purpose and confused resignation. The seagulls floated on air pockets, neither still nor moving; a rather strange mix of moving stillness, really. How is that even possible? The breeze nipped at the tiny hairs on my neck and sent a shiver down my back. The ocean was all I could see, miles and miles and miles of ocean. An expanse so incredibly huge I cannot even fathom the distance or volume or power. And then, me- a teensy, tinsy little spec. A mere dust particle in comparison.

Talk about perspective. I couldn't make even the tiniest wave stop it's purposeful march to the shore, no matter how hard I tried. Even if I mustered every single ounce of strength from every single muscle fiber in my body, I couldn't float on an air pocket. I couldn't achieve that perfect mix and create stillness in motion like the birds. Every brain cell in my head working at full capacity, can't understand the magnitude of this view; I can't comprehend how all of this works so perfectly with such ease. The birds don't fret about whether or not they will catch the next air pocket or if the laws of physics will suddenly change and they will crash to the ground. The mollusks don't worry about which direction the current is carrying them and whether or not they will like this new location. How can you be so purposeful? How can you know so well your place in life that you allow it to just happen as it will? How can I be so self centered as to think anything or anyone should revolve around me? Or that I am so powerful that I can fight the natural course of life in my pursuit of anything?

I stood on that balcony and I had to fight every muscle fiber in my body. I wanted to jump so badly. Not because I wanted to die or anything crazy like that. But because I wanted to feel it. I wanted to float on an air pocket, I wanted to just let the current carry me wherever it goes. I wanted to resign and just let life happen and see what comes of it. I fight too much. I struggle and fret and wrestle, and I think it's too much. I need to learn to create change like the ocean, with poise and purpose but also resignation, humility and flexibility. Oceans change shorelines-- slowly, methodically. The ocean can't stop the magnetic pull of the moon or fight the resultant monsoons from volcanoes on the other side of the world. Nope. The ocean creates change silently and gracefully. It works with what it is given. It stays at the task day in and day out understanding that despite the challenge presented on any given day, it must continue its march to the shore creating great change without great commotion.

Hmmm. That's something to think about....