I remember the moment I denounced Perfectionism in my life. During my first term of graduate school, I was sitting on my sofa studying, feeling excruciating stress over a paper I needed to write. I was struggling to understand what the professor wanted, wondering how other students in the cohort would approach the material—worrying about whether I could write the BEST paper in the group.

My living room at the time looked out over Lake Whatcom—still, serene, and sure of its place in the world. I had a sudden thought that went something like this: Wow, I’m stressed out—but not because I can’t understand this stuff I’m studying. I’m stressed over proving myself. Over meeting a standard, like if I don’t get an A on this paper it will mean I’m objectively, truly, irrevocably stupid.

The realization that I was trying to prove to myself (and the world) I was smart, hit me hard. I took some time to look back over my life at the evidence on both sides. Sure, I’d done a stupid thing or two in my life, but by and large the proof pointed toward “smart”—not brilliant, but smart. I didn’t really even know where I got the idea that I wasn’t bright and that I needed to compensate for my obtuseness by getting perfect grades, but somewhere along the line I’d grown to believe it.

Right there in that moment I made myself a promise that I would finish my graduate program striving only to fully grasp the material and suck the experience dry of everything it had to offer me. I would throw myself wholeheartedly into my studies and let the grades be whatever they would be. My heartfelt effort would have to be good enough!

I’m thinking of this now because of my race last week. When I wrote that I was disappointed I hadn’t been able to reach my 10 minute per mile goal, a handful of friends who had read my book wrote to me worried. “Are you being hard on yourself? Are you becoming one of those runners who isn’t happy with running unless she beats her last time?”

Don’t fret, friends.

I wanted to write a word or two about the difference between disappointment and self-loathing. I think disappointment is a natural emotion. It’s not so awfully painful if it happens now and again and is handled with self-compassion and care. Not reaching my goal last weekend made me feel disappointed that my training was still incomplete. I suspected that was true before going into the race, but had hoped perhaps I would have an especially energetic run.

But rest assured that I didn’t delve into Perfectionism’s dark hole of self-loathing. Not for one minute did I feel like less of a runner or fail to feel proud of myself for finishing the Kirkland Half Marathon. I NEVER forget that I come from a family of non-athletes and that the very fact that I run is a victory. I’m loving Brene Brown’s term “wholeheartedness” lately because it describes the abandoned joy with which one can approach something—anything—without the voice of the Inner Mean Girl beating the crap out of us.

I ran the Kirkland race wholeheartedly. I didn’t phone it in; I gave myself to the experience. And my finishing time was quite good enough. It just wasn’t what I’d been training for. And this week I’m back to training so I can do the next one at my goal pace of 10 minutes a mile (because you know, there’s ALWAYS a next one). I know you approach your running with wholeheartedness, too. Sometimes being wholehearted means you feel glee and pride; sometimes it means you feel disappointment and sadness, but it always means you suck an experience dry of all it has to offer.

This week in training:

Carol and I have been talking about how to balance pace training for three different distances at the same time (the 10 K, the half marathon and, eventually the marathon). She suggests that I follow some pace work at my slower paces with a few miles at the faster pace to begin to train my body to put greater energy out at the end of a longer race. My training will reflect this in the weeks to come.

Monday: A walk. No speed work. I was sore (in spite of not reaching my goal pace last week, I ran hard on the course’s many hills so I was more sore than usual).

Tuesday: A walk. Still sore.

Wednesday: Pace work in Carol’s group. We did “the ladder,” in which we ran at our 10 K pace for one minute, then two minutes, three minutes, and four minutes (with a two minute recovery break between each segment) and then worked our way back down.

Thursday: A walk.

Friday: Six mile run.

Saturday: Pace work at the track with Bill. Two miles at my half marathon pace (10 mins/mile), recover briefly, and then two more miles at my faster 10 K pace (9:30).

If you missed my conversation with Coach Carol Frazey today…

Listen to the replay here!

Carol covers everything from good running form to the three essentials to improving your running. Take a little time to tune in.

About Carol Frazey: Carol Frazey is the author of The Fit School Newsletter and The Fit School Diet Plan: 1 Year to a Nutritionally and Physically Fit Life e-book and co-author of 26.2 Life Lessons: Helping You Keep Pace with the Marathon of Life. She earned an M.S. in Kinesiology from the University of Colorado while working with athletes who would go on to become Olympians.  As an undergraduate at the Pennsylvania State University, Carol was a member of both the cross country and track and field teams. Carol has worked as a teacher, coach, and healthcare professional.  Currently, she is president of Fit School, Inc. (www.TheFitSchool.com) where she provides newsletters, consultation, and workshops for schools, families, and businesses on exercise and nutrition and balancing life, family, and health.  Her mission is to educate and motivate individuals to make small changes each day to live healthier lives….and to have fun while doing it! She lives in Bellingham, WA with her husband, two children, and a few furry and scaly creatures.

Sign up for a free tele-workshop! Details below:

Running 101: Why and How Running is Awesome for You

When: Monday, April 29 at 11:00am Pacific Standard Time

Cost: FREE!!

Tele-Workshop Description: Are you a runner who would like to improve your workouts and feel better during and after your runs? Or maybe you’re someone who has been thinking about taking up running but you don’t feel you know what you’re doing.
In this interview-style workshop, running coach Carol Frazey of The Fit School will talk about good running form and offer suggestions on running workouts that will take you to the next level no matter where you’re starting.

How to sign up: Send an e-mail to [email protected] Write Running 101 in the subject line. Please include in the body of your e-mail:1. Your full name, 2. Your e-mail address. In response to your e-mail, you will receive confirmation of your registration and the telephone number for the call.

About Carol Frazey: Carol Frazey is the author of The Fit School Newsletter and The Fit School Diet Plan: 1 Year to a Nutritionally and Physically Fit Life e-book and co-author of 26.2 Life Lessons: Helping You Keep Pace with the Marathon of Life. She earned an M.S. in Kinesiology from the University of Colorado while working with athletes who would go on to become Olympians. As an undergraduate at the Pennsylvania State University, Carol was a member of both the cross country and track and field teams. Carol has worked as a teacher, coach, and healthcare professional. Currently, she is president of Fit School, Inc. (www.TheFitSchool.com) where she provides newsletters, consultation, and workshops for schools, families, and businesses on exercise and nutrition and balancing life, family, and health. Her mission is to educate and motivate individuals to make small changes each day to live healthier lives….and to have fun while doing it! She lives in Bellingham, WA with her husband, two children, and a few furry and scaly creatures.

I dropped my husband Bill off at eight o’clock so he could catch the bus to the starting line and made my way to the Riverside T Station to park the car. I’d be meeting David, our friend Lindsay’s father, at 9:30 so we could spend the day together watching the race. This was my third time cheering Bill on in the Boston Marathon so I knew exactly where we should stand to get a good view of the runners between miles 16 and 17.

The weather was perfect for everyone: not too cold if you were standing around all day as a fan and not too hot if you were running. David and I stationed ourselves pressed up against a metal barrier erected to keep spectators off the route, dug out our cameras, and settled in for several hours of shouting accolades.

There’s absolutely nothing like the Boston Marathon with its thousands of runners and hundreds of thousands of fans lining the roads the whole way! I’ve run 25 marathons myself, but since I tend to slog along at the back of the pack, I’ve never hoped to qualify for Boston. My husband, however, has qualified repeatedly, and this was to be his fourth time running the esteemed and celebratory event. I have to admit to a little jealousy as I’ve stood on the sidelines watching the faces of the Boston runners—from the elites to the charity racers—smiling with pride and accomplishment when they pass me. But mostly I’m content to be a fan and feel excitement on their behalf—happy to be one little soul among the throng.

Monday was no exception. I signed up to receive text messages to track five different friends, including Bill and Lindsay, as they passed the 10K, half marathon, 30K and finish points. This meant we could stand by watching for them with a decent estimate of when they would be coming through.

For a couple of hours we enjoyed cheering for those who came through early—the wheelchair racers and the elite women and men. Around 1pm, right on target, Lindsay passed us. David and I caught her attention and got a satisfied wave from her. Then came Bill a few minutes behind Lindsay. He knew where I would be standing, so he stayed to the right on the route where he could pause and kiss me as he passed. It was all happening as we’d planned, on schedule and without a glitch.

Shortly after they’d gone by, David and I hopped on the train to make our way to the finish. From experience, I knew we wouldn’t be able to get close enough to watch our runners cross the line, so when we got to Copley Square, I suggested we go find a cup of coffee a few blocks away and let Lindsay and Bill finish and make their way through the recovery zone before we went to meet them. Once I got the texts telling us they’d both crossed the line, we started back toward the family meeting area.

Twenty minutes later, coffee in hand, near where we’d all agreed to meet, we heard a loud BOOM. David commented that someone important must have just finished the race to warrant such a greeting. Wonder who it was? Then there was another BOOM. Briefly it crossed my mind to think, “Could it be a bomb?” but I dismissed the thought resolutely. There could be no reason to bomb a marathon. The blasts must be some sort of planned fireworks or maybe a transformer blew out its power source.

In my pocket, my phone buzzed. My friend Brandon tweeted from back home in Washington State, “Are you ok? What’s going on there?” Then I saw that I’d missed a call from Lindsay. When I dialed her back she was frantic to know where we were.

“Right here in the family area. We’ll stay put. Come find us.”

I left David waiting for Lindsay and went down the road to look for Bill by myself. People were crying in the family area, but I still didn’t know what was happening. Runners often cry after a marathon. It’s a tough haul running 26.2 miles, certainly cry-worthy!

I tweeted Brandon back and asked him what he’d heard.

“Explosion,” he wrote.

My phone buzzed again to notify me of another friend’s pace, but it indicated her time as of “40K” only, and I knew they must have stopped the race for some reason—my friend would never quit a marathon before the finish line. A marathon is 42 Kilometers. They weren’t letting runners finish. I tried not to listen when I heard passersby say words like “blood” and “bomb.”

My heart was pounding as I searched the crowd for Bill’s face. A mother passed by me, comforting her crying child. Then another family passed, tears streaking down their faces. Why were the children crying?

I tried to breathe, the way I do near the end of a race when, tired and ready to be done, I have to rally my resolve to keep going. I had to focus on my belly rising and falling not to give in to my rising alarm that Bill wasn’t yet at our designated meeting area. I reminded myself that he was typically slow in recovering, that he liked to linger over the food, that he needed to get his drop bag, and that he might decide to change his clothes before coming to the family area.

I called David and Lindsay and asked them to come to where I was standing so we could all be together. And then I called Bill’s phone. No answer, but that wasn’t unusual either. Much to my ongoing frustration, Bill rarely remembers to check his phone.

Suddenly, my phone was buzzing incessantly with text messages. Are you ok? What’s happening? Are you near the explosion? I couldn’t answer yet—not until we found Bill.

And then there he was, walking stiffly toward us—obviously confused by the growing chaos. Still, he was just a tired marathoner happy to see his number one fan, and I was relieved to find him.

There was no announcement to evacuate the area; we (and by “we” I mean the four of us, but also everyone else) just knew we should get away from Copley Square. We heard the first siren and knew for sure that someone must be hurt. But soon dozens of emergency vehicles rushed in from every direction; the sound was deafening. Still, the only information we had was coming from family and friends checking on us—incomplete at best—but we knew from the sheer number of emergency vehicles that something big must have happened, something more than an accident or a prank gone bad.

People, most unfamiliar with the city, were moving with a growing sense of crisis, disoriented on the street as they tried to get out of the square. Without the full story, no one knew how much to panic or what the continuing threat might be, but everyone seemed to comply with the unspoken understanding that we should get the hell out of the general area. Down in the subway where we learned that the line we needed was closed down, people seemed eerily disconnected from what was happening above the ground. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

We ended up in a bar in the Italian part of town—the only place we could easily get to on the subway—and waited out the chaos. It was only then, with access to a television that we learned what had happened: The Boston Marathon had, indeed, been bombed. Bill and Lindsay had been no more than 300 yards from where more than a hundred spectators were injured and three people were killed.

Normally,  I’m fond of extrapolating life lessons out of race experiences, but there isn’t anything I want to learn from this terrible tragedy which almost (but didn’t) change my life. I don’t want to learn to be a more vigilant runner or to stay away from big sporting events. I don’t want to decide the world is more dangerous than I thought it was on Sunday or even that I should hold those dear to me closer. I want to go about my business as usual, trusting the odds are on my side that I’ll be safe in this world, running happily in big races, and getting irritated with Bill when he doesn’t answer his cell phone. I don’t know if I can pull it off, but I don’t want a senseless act of violence to change my worldview—one I’ve crafted intentionally and thoughtfully over the years.

There is one thing that has changed for me, though: Next time I won’t be content on the sidelines. I want to go back to the Boston Marathon as a runner and show solidarity and support to a city that hosts one of the most extraordinary events in the world. Thank you Boston. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.

Um, it snowed in Seattle this morning. Did anyone notice that it’s March 22? Snap, snap; I’ll have some Spring please!

Fortunately for me, Bellingham had a lovely (if cold) little window this morning. I took Fuji and we went out for a wonderful, relaxed run that felt like prayer to me.

One thing I’m noticing about training on this new kind of schedule is that I’ve missed the  wandering runs that give me brain-space to think and work things out in my life. I don’t need as much of that kind of time nowadays because I’m not grappling with anything particularly heavy or deep, but I’ve gotten used to “running as spiritual” practice and I do miss it. That’s why today was nice. On the other hand, this directed training (as opposed to what I used to do, which was to just rack up miles each week) is an interesting challenge. It holds my interest because I’m seeing true improvements and feeling challenged.

Here’s what the week looked like:

Sunday: I warmed up and cooled down with a mile each way to the track and while I was there, I ran 4 one-mile repeats at my 10 K pace. Since I wasn’t able to get my pace run in while on retreat last week I was itching to get it done. I felt heavy while I was running for some reason, but I did it.

Monday: Speed work. During our morning track workout (when it hailed on us relentlessly), Coach Carol had us doing one minute at our “faster than a one mile pace” alternating with one minute of resting. We did this for 25 minutes. This is my favorite speed work because it’s manageable. You can do anything for ONE minute, right?

Tuesday: No running.

Wednesday: Pace work (again). I’m back on schedule this week so I followed the group with Carol’s pace workout. We ran 7 minutes at our 10K pace followed by 3 minutes of walking or slow running and repeated this THREE times. Before each one of Carol’s workouts we warm up. After each one, we cool down, do drills (butt kicks, grapevines, high kicks and lunges), core work, and stretching.

Thursday: No running.

Friday: Slow 5 miles on the trails near my house–letting my mind wander and my dog chase birds.

Saturday: Distance run. Tomorrow Bill has to do 20ish miles for his last long training run before the Boston Marathon. I plan 10 to 12 miles total myself, starting with keeping up with Bill and our friends Lindsay on their first few warm up miles. I don’t expect to be able to keep their pace for more than 5 miles max (and still be able to talk), but it’ll be great to have their company.

Here’s my one complaint this week (it’s the same one my friends hear from me daily; can you guess?). I’m cold!!! I want some warmth in the air and bright sunshine. Can anyone do anything about this for me?

At the very least, if you ran in the sunshine this week, can y0u remind me what it feels like?