Do not ask your children to strive for extraordinary lives. Such striving may seem admirable, but it is the way of foolishness. Help them instead to find the wonder and the marvel of an ordinary life. Show them the joy of tasting tomatoes, apples and pears. Show them how to cry when pets and people die. Show them the infinite pleasure in the touch of a hand. And make the ordinary come alive for them. The extraordinary will take care of itself.
– William Martin
Reflections from Lake Atitlan
My two month sabbatical ended a few weeks ago. I learned a lot about ME and more importantly how I want to show up for the world.
The decompression culminated with a trip to Lake Atitlan, Guatemala with my friend AJ. While our original plan was to attend a guided retreat, we ended up charting our own course. Seven days on a deep crater lake surrounded by volcanoes and Mayan culture was epic. The experience shifted my mindset in a way that only travel and new experiences can. Things slowed down. Everything was brand new. The ecosystems of plants, animals and landscape, clothes, behaviors, lack of conveniences available in developed countries, family structures, gender roles and community togetherness. The tiny towns we stayed in and visited were a mash-up of third world poverty, an influx of technology, and spiritual expression. Ancient Mayan traditions held a stronghold on the Lake and were filled with energy, literal volcanic magma, right below the surface.
Nights were quiet on the Lake because boats don’t run frequently in the dark and the only other mode of transportation was walking (or tuk-tuk) and not recommended at night. Safety isn’t high on the list of key characteristics in Guatemala. During these dark and quiet nights, my body buzzed with the feeling of fatigue from maxing out my beginners mind like a kid who’s spent the day playing hard and testing everything to understand how they relate to this world. Layered at the edge of this body buzz was my heart so filled with gratitude. Liz had created the space and supported me in taking this adventure. She was home in Colorado giving her all to the kids, like she so gracefully does. In moments of downtime she’d write beautiful stories of the day and complete the details in her funny and loving ways. The girls were also filling my heart in ways that they hadn’t before. Mostly, I felt a sense of peace and somehow managed to shake the constant worry about them that usually consumes me when we are apart. I felt grateful that I am allowed to be me, to be gay and out, to have a wife and two kids. From what I could tell about life in rural Guatemalan towns, this isn’t even a possibility.
In the Lake Atitlan darkness of December 31st when one decade ended and another began, I set my intention for 2020. I wanted to bottle these feelings I found and hold onto them, let them carry me forward in my journey and begin my focus outward. In giving to others and giving my best to my love, Liz and the girls. In my relentless quest for a beginners mind and love of new experiences rooted in longstanding traditions, I attempted to capture the feelings.
For a while I’ve wanted to get a hand poke tattoo. Hand poke is the origin of tattooing when tribes used symbols to tell a story and depict status on their bodies. I met Nico and immediately connected with him. He’s a nomad adventurer who holds ceremony and respect in his craft of hand poke tattooing; he’s an artist and seeker. Nico listened deeply to the stories and feelings I was attempting to capture. Together, we designed something beautiful. We sat together for over five hours while he created art on my hand and arm, leaning into the pain, meditating on the intention of the design and living in the purpose of the moment. In Nico’s words, “it was SUPER beautiful”.
Sabbatical
I’m officially on day seven of my month+ sabbatical. Sabbatical, originating from the word Sabbath or seventh day, a day of rest. I quickly realized that the change to a slower pace was incredibly welcomed and needed. I’m not rushed or anxious and it creates a wide angle view the world around me. I can see and appreciate simple things that would otherwise go unnoticed. I’ve spent a lot of time with the dog and my thoughts.
Hope, our dog, has reminded me how fun it is to run, chase things and play. She frequently brings me different toys throughout the day with the look of excitement. Just a five minute engagement with Hope to throw the ball brings on a smile and sense of joy. If Hope gets in one of her signature springy bounces, it’s even better!
My thoughts are still a bit fragmented, and at times they come in like a flood. I can feel glimpses of them coming together but know this will take dedicated attention. Two themes are emerging and help me set intentions each day.
First, to connect with my girls more deeply. This is a lot easier said than done. We all have our routines and patterns. Liz is SO on-top of their activities and daily needs; she’s owned and managed them for the last four years. Wow - that is a serious job! What are the things that I can bring to Maya and Dena that are different? Connecting with who I am allows me to identify the values and experiences that complement the full and rich lives they (we) already have. My passion for creating through art, building and cooking jump out. Or for listening to them express any emotion and accept it. An early lesson on this journey was the requirement to shed any expectations I have of them or of what the outcomes will be. This seems so obvious but need to hold onto it closely.
Second, to take care of myself. Months of injuries and signals from my body needing to recover have forced me into a different mindset. My routine for the last two years was an all-out fight/flight pace from 4:30am through 8pm…super powers required at all hours. It started with a 4:30am alarm moving directly into a heart pumping 100% intensity workout -> rushing into work and landing in my office by 6:45am (shower optional/rare) ->pushing hard all day until 5:30pm with no breaks to -> rushing home to cook, clean, putting kids to sleep by 7:30/8pm and prepare my shit to do it all again the next day. Having strength to give fully of myself to my girls, to Liz or even to me was no where in sight. I haven’t quite figured out much on this theme aside from working-out an hour later, taking a shower and sitting down for breakfast. Even this simple change has allowed for more healing in my ankle/hip and more energy at night.
As my journey continues, I hope to share more about the experiences and things I learn. More to come soon…
Running on fumes
It happened on a crisp and clear September morning in Winter Park. We (Liz, my wife, and I) had the weekend all to ourselves. Maya and Dena were enjoying time at home in Denver with our third pillar of kid support, Jade.
We spent the first few hours of our morning run climbing towards the top of the Continental Divide. The snowcapped mountains loomed large in the distance and provided the incentive to reach the top. Two hours into non-stop vert, I started feeling pissed. Why the hell did we choose this route? Was this Liz’s idea - I think it was - why does she pick shit like this? Yes, I love the vert, but I was struggling on this particular morning. Possibly feeling the fatigue of life. I’d been grappling with the question of how my professional self aligns with my passion and purpose. I wasn’t satisfied with the way I was spending my time, knowing I wanted to be my best self as a mom and spouse, but leaving all my energy and passion at work. Blah. Liz was smiling and moving easily up the mountain.
When we finally hit the ridge-line, the views were epic. Vast open landscapes looking out at an alpine lake in the shadows of steep rock faces covered with snow and yellow orange fall colors peaking through. Deep breath of relief.
As we started the descent on our fall mountain morning run, I did my usual fearless hauling ass as Liz gingerly navigated each step. Our long run rule is to stop and regroup when we reach a turn or intersection. Aside from fatigue and my hip pinching (aka “niggles”), I was doing okay. Until … I stepped strangely a tiny rock and the next thing I new I was rolling on the ground yelling in pain. Okay, ankle hurts badly. Just hang on … AHHHHHH…what the hell is this?! My racing mind attempting to process this new feeling which included fear. Meanwhile, Liz hasn’t seen me injured badly ever and she’s wondering what in the world is happening. The intensity of my ankle pain eased and I hobbled my way into a slow and easy trot. Twenty minutes passed and we made it back to the car. Liz was so empathetic, asking what she can do and how I was feeling. Meanwhile, I naively pretended like it wasn’t a big deal and became very focused on breakfast.
In the months, yes shamefully months prior, I started having some weird and new running pains. I kept thinking they were “niggles” and I’m not letting that shit slow me down. One day my calf had a strange pop which forced me to walk home. I ran the next day determined not to let it be a thing…then I started feeling my hip pinch on the same side during every run. And of course my hamstring was getting tight but that was nothing. These are all just “niggles”...
I ran two days after my ankle injury happened. It didn’t feel good but it wasn’t awful so I assumed everything would get back to normal. Was my ankle black and blue and swollen? Yes. But it didn’t hurt that bad.
Two weeks later, no change in my normal running routine, I had to admit defeat. My ankle and hip were feeling far worse, the idea of trending towards health was no longer in sight. I swallowed my pride and made it into the Sports Med. doctor for help. An MRI and many x-rays later, I learned that I have hip impingement bone abnormality (FAI) and a full thickness tear in two ligaments in my ankle (atlf and cfl). And so begins the road to recovery……
I frequently think back to the many opportunities I had to listen to my body. It was screaming and I had in ear plugs. Even on the fateful day of our Continental Divide run, I wasn’t feeling right. How does one find that sweat spot where you know you are honoring your physical body while also staying true to the inherent nature of ultra running’s mental fortitude?