Run For Joy

2008-09-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

Run for Joy is Running to A New Site!

The all new LucySmith.ca is up and running. Please visit my new site @

http://www.lucysmith.ca/

Very soon, this blog will be taken down and will be located @ www.lucysmith.ca/runforjoy.

Postings will continue soon,

Lucy

2008-08-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

It Runs in the Family: Brother Dan Finishes 2nd in his Age Group at IM Canada

My knee injury has kept me from competing for most of the season this year, but the rest of my clan is keeping up the Smith family tradition of excelling at outdoor pursuits. Dad, at 73 is racing his bike in the BC Senior Games this fall. Jo, while finishing up her Ph.D, just rode 100 miles to raise money for MS, and Dan just qualified for Hawaii IM on his first attempt. And that was not just his first attempt at qualifying; it's was his FIRST IRONMAN!

I may have been the sibling to pursue a career in competitive sports, but I certainly share competitive spirit with my family members! Growing up in our house was not for the faint-hearted. We turned everything into a competition, even dish washing (doing them in record time etc). If it was Mastermind, Boggle or ping pong, then you better be prepared to take it seriously. Scores counted and and were recorded. We actively searched for things to do where we could try hard and compete. Even if we were hiking, there were rocks to climb UP, and if there was ice on the pond there was an excellent opportunity to have a slide-off. I did a lot of racing around trying to keep up. There was no easy win when playing games with Dan. But I always came back for more.

After years spent racing Lasers, Windsurfers and mountain bikes (with a little triathlon in the '80's: Dan did triathlon long before I did. My running-only training regime was not to be messed with when I was younger), Dan decided to train for Ironman. The day after cheering me on to my 9th place finish at IM Canada in 2007, he signed up. (It gets them every time. Watch the race and you feel compelled to do it).

And did he ever do it. His 2nd place age group finish and Hawaii spot were cause for celebration in the family. His 5 hour bike split made us all proud. We've always been the kind of family that values honest effort and hard work as much as results, and when it comes together for a great day in sport, we can celebrate with joy.

Way to go Uncle Dan, we are proud of you!

Lucy, Maia and Ross

2008-08-25T13:57:00.000-07:00

Gold Medal Winner, Open Water Log Kayaking, Ross Watson

It's All Over for another 4 years

Maia and I watched all 3 (or was that 4?) hours of the closing ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics. It was fascinating and fun as CBC had countless athletic music video montages of the games, day by day, medal by medal. Then all the dancers and gymnastics stunts came. I remember being 9 and watching the Montreal Olympics in 76 and that was the first time I remember being moved by the whole Olympic passion, so I sort of know how she felt when I saw the flame extinguished. We both felt sad and emotional. "We have to wait four more years?" she asked.

I got up on Monday morning and noticed the absence of Olympic fever...I couldn't just pop on the TV and watch some cool sports, and some amazing athletes performing their skills. I love the Olympics and the endless parade of interesting characters, events and athletic skill. I love this 2 weeks where you can see diving, gymnastics, volleyball, white water kayaking, swimming, rowing, triathlon, women's distance running and anything besides guys playing hockey, baseball football and racing cars.

Both kids were excited to watch the Olympics, and I don't think was only that the TV was on A LOT and they got to watch A LOT for two whole weeks. One night, while I watched the whole women's triathlon, Maia put out three yoga mats and gave Ross a gymnastics lesson. After Emma Snowsill won the race, Maia asked if there were any more kids triathlons to do this fall. After every gymnastics competition Maia asked me if I had registered her in gymnastics yet. Watching diving made Ross do somersaults. The Olympics are like that; they get you all fired up to do something great. It's like being at an Ironman event. I can't watch an Ironman without wanting to start training for the next one 'right now.'

Here then, are our top highlights of the Olympics this year, as seen through the eyes of a young family:

1. Phelp's 2nd Gold medal in the 400IM relay and when he went ballistic celebrating. Ross loved that part, and called him the 'Puff up man' because of the way he pumped his arms and all his muscles and veins popped out.

2. The commercials are great during the Olympics! There were several good ones, but we liked the Bell one with the baton passing through all the sports, the RBC one where the muffin man builds an empire, and of course, Nike "Courage".

3. Watching Simon in the last 800m of the triathlon. Wait a minute....in 2000, Maia was a tiny baby and I watched Simon do the same thing in Sydney and grab the Gold. Eight years later he does it again and she'll remember his wicked kick this time!

4. Every time any Canadian won a medal or even got close. Maia cheered so hard for all the Canadians.

5. The almost insane clockwork quality to the logistics. Matching rain coats at the outdoor volleyball venue when the typhoon blew through. I swear it was part of the planning. How could everybody have the same pastel blue, yellow and green raincoats and umbrellas that matched the venue so perfectly? This was just one small example of the almost robotic perfection of the games.

Yes, it was a fun two weeks. Despite the controversies and conspiracy theories, the hypocrisy and the commercialization that now comes with high performance sports, some things remain constant about the Olympics and the quest for personal best. I saw it when I was 9, I attempted to attain it when I was 26 and 30 and 34, and I still love it now. I actually don't know what it is called, besides life.

Lucy

2008-07-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

Mount Munson, Penticton

Almost Back to Normal

At least I can run around with the kids now, as seen in this photo taken on our family trip and LifeSport triathlon camp in Penticton. That's Ross, flying down the gravel beside me. At this point, I can see that I will be back training by the end of August, just in time for....next year!

10 Minutes of Running for Joy x 4

I remember doing a half Ironman about 2 years after Maia was born, and all I can remember from that run was that I was running without pain. I was so noticably pain free that it was all I could think about. I had spent a year recovering from back and pelvis pain, so just to be running was something to be happy about.

Right now I am up to 10 min run intervals with 2 min of walking, and while things are not perfect with my knee, running for 10 minutes feels pretty good, and the funny thing is...that the two minutes of walking are not bad either. I can look around, breathe, relax and appreciate the surroundings.

Lucy

2008-05-27T12:35:00.001-07:00

Slow Bikes and Fast Bum Shorts

The Most Useful Birthday Present EVER

This is my prized purple Mongoose. Lance gave it to me. Lance has given me many useful gifts over the years, many that I still have and use all the time, like my first set of nice Lagostina cooking pots. Lance gave me this bike for Christmas in about 1994. I think he sold his first carbon fibre bike frame in order to buy it for me and I clearly remember how he surprised me by hauling it onto our king sized water bed on Christmas morning. I think that at the time, Lance figured we might get some mountain biking in, but I don't think he could have foreseen just how useful this bike would be.

I have probably logged more miles on this bike than any other bike I have ever owned. This would be owing partly to the fact that I've owned this bike longer than any other bike, and unlike my sponsored Cervelo and Orbea racing bikes, you just don't replace your beater bike every year; then it wouldn't be the beater bike.

It's an ordinary old 35 pound mountain bike with great heavy fenders and a cool bell. I can tow kids on it, and I can ride it in the rain, and I can tool around town with it. I can hop on and off trails, and I can ride it to school with Maia (though she really hates it when I show up in my spandex and colourful jerseys. "Why can't you dress normal, like the other mums?"). I rode it when I was pregnant because I could stay safely on bike paths, and I used it post childbirth as the position is easy on my back. It doesn't get flats and although they are getting old now, it has enough gears to get me up and down hills without too much stress.

Today I rode my 35 pound beast for one whole hour and forty five minutes. My longest ride since Ironman Canada last summer. My purple Mongoose is now the Official Bike of my Knee Injury Rehabilitation, and until I can ride several 2hour pain free rides, I won't even think of getting on my carbon fibre Orbea. If I get on my road bike, then likely I will feel too much like an athlete again, and will try to train, instead of the spinning and strength therapy that riding is fulfilling right now.

Back when I was a 3000m runner I used to train with a woman who fluctuated wildly between being one of the fastest runners in the world, and so injured she would get fantastically out of shape. We always knew she was back in racing shape when her racing suits came out of storage. We called our skimpy little racing shorts 'bum shorts' and for the information of the bikini wearing triathlon masses, track and field athletes have been competing in public in bathing suits for years.

I realize I feel the same way about my mountain bike

I can ride incognito on my mountain bike; meaning other road cyclists don't feel they have to compete with me, as all they see is this nerdy purple bike with a 40 year old woman motoring along. I am left in peace to ride and enjoy the scenery, concentrate on form and getting my leg better. So far so good.

Lucy

2008-05-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

What Exactly is a Tomboy: Have You Ever Thought About It?
by Lucy Smith

Copied from the May 2008 Issue of Island Parent Magazine.

When I was a child I was called a tomboy. I remember processing it as a compliment, not a taunt, and took it as praise for being athletic, a fast runner, interested more in the outdoors than talking about dolls and boys. I was naturally athletic and I loved competition. I ran and played soccer and basketball at school. I sailed all summer, loved camping, hiking, rock climbing and back country skiing: anything that tested my physical limits. I took pride in being brave and fearless and tough. As the third and youngest child in an active family, I no doubt got positive feedback for having an independent attitude, and early success in sports only served to encourage my athletic interests. I had boys that were good friends, and all through high school had more boys that were ‘chums’ than boyfriends.

As a child, I felt happy identifying as a ‘tomboy’, and during my adolescence, I believe my athletic abilities gave me inner strength to weather the high school scene. As I became a young woman, however, I gradually came to wonder how the boyish label fit with being a girl: I also liked nice clothes and shoes and had heartbreaking crushes on countless boys. I home permed my hair (with disastrous results) in grade 12, experimented with make-up, and stared at fashion magazines, all the while training for the Provincial Track and Field Championships.

By the time I had reached University and my first women’s studies classes, I had outgrown the tomboy label and was a bona fide elite athlete, starring as a distance runner at University and going on to travel the world competing on national teams. At 23, I knew I wanted to be an Olympian and carve out a career as a professional athlete. I had forgotten all about the word tomboy, until I got to that inevitable crossroads in early adult life, where I had moved away from home and was trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted from my life.

Over the next few years as I became aware of the forces of sexism in our culture, it slowly dawned on me that tomboy was a strange sort of expression to apply to girls. Why would we label an active girl to be ‘sort of’ male? It seemed a little confusing to me, as the messages that I saw around me, mainly through the media, seemed to suggest that being a girl and a woman, had a lot more to do with choosing the right eye shadow and preparing for the perfect dream wedding. Tomboy seemed to be a good thing when I was little; now that I was growing up into a woman, what was I?

For a while in my late twenties I lived in Paris, racing as a professional triathlete on a French women’s triathlon team, but still mainly training with, and hanging out with male athletes, as women professionals were pretty scarce. While I loved the adventure of being in Europe, nothing could have felt more glaringly odd to me as a young woman than being a female athlete in the city of breasts, fashion and fragrance. I looked around at the billboards displaying airbrushed photographs of women without muscles, wrinkles or body hair. I knew that no amount of cream would melt fat or cellulite. I decided that someone was delusional, and it wasn’t me.

Like a lot of women born after the start of the feminist movement I had learned to be wary of media images of beauty, and had learned to be a critical reader and observer of popular culture. Nevertheless it was hard to be an athlete and a young woman and to never, ever see myself reflected in those popular images around me. I didn’t know what to think for many years. I felt so strongly that I needed to reject the ‘girly girl’ image that seemed so false (and dangerous, as I noticed eating disorders, low self esteem and disempowerment) that in a very concrete way, I was rejecting the ‘buy in’ to the culture of beauty that I felt was so demeaning to women because it refused to celebrate who women really were. In rejecting female stereotypes, I did in turn embrace a lot of characteristics that are part of the gender roles of males. And that is the essence of being a tomboy by most definitions.

From a pure etymology angle, tomboy is a word with an interesting history. At first a derogatory word to describe women who dressed like men way back in 1590, it gradually came to mean, as fashions changed and most women started to wear trousers, a women who acted more like a man than a woman, and by the time I was 10, it was considered cute to be called a tomboy.

Or did it only serve, for a while, to give me permission to be less like a stereotypical girl? One has to wonder, why should a girl or a woman who is athletic, sporty, strong, confident, competitive, competent, brave and smart be compared to a boy?
Women, like me, who are athletic and who like to wear mascara off the playing field, are just that: women who like sports among a whole host of other passions. I also like reading and writing and cooking and looking after my kids. As I reflect on my youth, I see that being called a tomboy was more confusing than helpful to me as it created a barrier to people (and myself included) seeing who I truly was. It would have been so much easier as a kid if I could have just been able to accept who I was as an active girl without having to deal with trying to decipher what being a tomboy meant.

Now that I am forty and balancing my athletic career with raising my two young children, my athleticism and accomplishments are embraced and respected. I am honoured to give inspiring talks to women who are beginning a journey to fitness and I enjoy giving back to the community that supports me by being a role model for kids, talking to them in gymnasiums and racing them around soccer fields. Nobody calls me a tomboy anymore and I see many young women who are fearlessly choosing to be athletes. Girls can play hockey, soccer and golf, though still not with the same opportunities as men. The balance is far from equal—there are far greater professional opportunities for male athletes than female, but girls just don’t need to be called tomboys anymore. And when the word disappears from common use and into the history of the language, that will be a good day.

I have noticed that in the post-feminist “Girl Power” movement, there is a strong reclaiming of the term tomboy amongst girls. I see girls trying to infuse power in the term, by saying they are proud to be tomboys. What I envision is a possibility that girls and women can transcend the whole issue of what their position is in relation to traditional power. Instead of responding to the term, I would like to see girls embrace a reality for themselves and one that embraces the whole of their radiant natures.

I have a seven year old girl. She has girl friends that I care about. I want these girls to grow up happy to be who they are. If they want to play with Barbie, then they should be happy about that need to explore. Barbie is an invitation to conversations about why every single Barbie has such crazy long legs, no muscles, such a tiny waist and big breasts, but I still think that if they want to play with dolls that’s just fine. And if my daughter feels like running, skipping or mastering a skateboard, I would like to think that she feels free and happy about that too, and I would hope she doesn't feel that she’s a little bit of a ‘different’ girl and tomboyish because she exhibits such daring and strength.

Last month, I sat on a small chair at a classroom table with my daughter and her grade 2 teacher. The three of us were in the classroom discussing friendships among a group of girls in the class. Her teacher, a compassionate and motherly woman, mentioned that my daughter might like to find other friends who were into sports. ‘You’re sort of a tomboy; maybe there are some other girls in the class who share your interests,” suggested her teacher.

My daughter paused before answering, glanced at me, then looked at her teacher and stated. “I don’t really like that word, tomboy, as it means that I am sort of like a boy, and I’m not. I’m a girl and I like sports and running and stuff. I’m a sporty girl. The word, tomboy doesn’t exist for me.”

My heart did one of those mother bursts: I felt such respect and love that she could reflect on her teacher’s use of words so well. I was surprised that our conversations about what it means to be a girl in this world had created this kind of awareness in her. I admired too, the way her teacher took the comments. She sat up straighter and opened her eyes in that sort of ‘aha!’ way that people get when they look at something through a different lens for the first time. This is a woman with a daughter too, a girl who is passionate about soccer. “I never thought about it like that”, she said. “I can see how you wouldn’t want to be compared to a boy like that.”

Having a career in sports has been a rewarding life path for me. I have travelled the world, had experiences in different cultures, and have met interesting people: all these have enriched my life. I have overcome obstacles and challenges. I have learned how to live with extremely stressful environments and people. I have learned how to stay balanced and in the moment while dealing with the highs and the lows that sport inevitably brings. The knowledge gained from a lifetime of athletic experiences helped me through childbirth and has made me a better parent and partner. After doing three Ironman triathlons and giving birth twice, I am not afraid of anything physically challenging or stressful. By staying true to my dreams, I feel that I have transcended my early tomboy label, and found true joy in my career path.
I am not a tomboy. I am me and tomboys don’t exist for me either.

2008-04-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

I might be injured but that doesn't mean that life is dull. (Life is never dull with kids around). This little push bike is built for a three year old to learn how to ride, but that doesn't stop Maia from using it as a stunt bike for her after dinner shenanigans.

This one's for you Linsey!

2008-04-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

Recovery for the soul. Build a tower of cups for a toddler.

2008-04-03T13:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I have finally figured out how I can lead the Times Colonist 10k. Yes, I have won the race 6 times, but as the women's leader, I am still usually buried about 20th overall, behind the first elite men. This year I am participating in the TC10k as an honorary Ambassador and I will be the lead bike.

I have had a persistent calf injury since January, and this one has been a doozy. I have been fortunate in my career and had very few major injuries. I had one when I was 22 which required surgery from which I successfully recovered. One in my last year at Dalhousie, which put me out for the entire summer season, but gave me a chance to rest after four intense years of university running--I moved to the west coast, lived on Salt Spring ran a sailing school. My next major injury wasn't until 1999, when I was 32. During the rest I got pregnant and gave birth to Maia. Becoming a mother was joyfully life changing: the best thing that ever happened. It also put me out of competition for a total of 2years, after which I was determined to take care of myself and stay injury free for the remainder of my career. I had to make a transition to balancing motherhood and high performance ever since Maia was born, and in 2005 when Ross came along and I was 38 years old, I have know that my elite competing days are coming to an end. And that is why I was so surprised that I let myself get injured this January.

So, why did this injury happen? I don't actually know why, none of us ever really know exactly when or how we get injured through over training: in my case it was combination of getting busy and cutting down on yoga and stretching, doing too much running and not enough cycling, and swimming. Getting older? Not being mindful? The back country ski weekend in Lake Louise? Eating too much chocolate? Who knows.

I haven't been able to run. I love running so this has been a bit of a drag. My sister sent me a research article on how scientists have now proven that runner's high is real. Don't I know it! With two kids, there is nothing like a run in the woods to make me feel all right! My swimming is going OK now, but I don't get the same euphoria from following a black line in the bottom of the pool.

One thing that I do know, and I have been working on this for my whole career, is that while I have been a runner for most of my life, a runner is not who I am. I am the person that showed up at practice ready, I am the person who executed races to the best of my ability, I am the person that found joy in every step along the way. While I identified as a runner when I was younger, now I understand that running is something that I do. When it is taken away from me, either through injury or time constraints (both kids are sick!), I am not a lesser person. I can still be me inside, still be happy and feel peace. I would like to be running right now, I would like to have runner's high every day and feel my legs moving effortlessly, but I am not, and in this moment there is something else to do and to pay attention to.

I'll be back and running again soon, but in the meantime I sense the end of a great story and a new one that will begin soon. And I have that TC10k race to lead!

Lucy

2008-03-18T13:54:00.000-07:00

Dancing While Juggling

I stole this title from another article I wrote about finding a sense of balance in your life when you have lots on the go. 'Having lots of balls in the air' is a common expression you hear, but to me, it has an underlying anxiety to it, as at any time, one of the those balls might drop. So, when I hear than someone is juggling career, parenting, and a passion for training for the marathon or Ironman, it sounds like they are stretched, hopping from one activity to the other without a pause for breath. Determined to keep all the balls afloat no matter what. But oops! They are forgetting to breathe! The focus on keeping all those balls up, means the thought pattern is: better not drop one!

Wouldn't it be great if we could keep all those balls up there, and be thinking only: Isn't this awesome; I love the way these balls keep spinning around!

So I wrote the orginal article, pointing out how, with a few strategies and insights about yourself, it was possible to feeling like you are dancing with your passions, gracefully and energetically, and fully present to the moment. So that when you need to train, your gear is ready, you have a plan to follow, and you are free to enjoy all the moments you are training. When you are with your kids or loved ones, you are fully present with them, giving them the attention and authentic love that they need.

There are times when I really have felt that my life is a dance, usually something like Swing, and occasionally hip hop. I feel organized and on top of things like childcare and schedules, training and racing goals. But here's the reality. Everything is always changing (including my hormones) and I'll be honest that occasionally, it all feels nuts. Something happens and the dancing gets into a kind of crazy tempo, and suddenly I am juggling it all again, desperately trying to keep all the balls in the air. I know that motherhood requires juggling...the soccer, the lunches, the play-dates, the homework, quality time for self and others...but throw training goals in there, and it's a tough dance to master.

I don't know about you, but I don't like feeling maxxed out. I like having a full life, and I will always have passions like triathlon that I want to experience at a high level, but I'm not crazy about stress or anxiety. Anxiety is the little inner voice, always full of drama, that wants some attention. As soon as you wobble on one of those balls, it sees the opportunity to pounce. "HA!" It says, "You might drop that!"

So, what I have found in this imperfectly perfect path that is life, is that sometimes I will feel like I am juggling. One of the kids gets sick, or I lose a valuable babysitter so have less time to train. Maybe it's a ball that changes: an injury that throws me off my plans and mission for a while. when the tempo of the dance changes, I work on accepting the new dance. Anf guess what? The new dance is a good one too!

I have discovered that I can juggle and still carry on the dance, and that is progress!

Lucy

2008-03-10T20:53:00.000-07:00

winning a $1, 000 000 at the Sole Sister's Clinic

Heading out with a Smile on Your Face!

Lately, I've been doing my rounds of the spring running clinics that are held all over Victoria in preparation for the Times Colonist 10k which is held in late April. I love talking at the clinics and watching people's faces light up with understanding when I talk about pre-race anxiety, or finding time to train, or making the most of what little time you have. The run leaders often ask me to come and 'inspire' their runners, to talk about my life in sport, and how I balance training with 2 kids, but what they don't realize is that I always leave inspired myself, and energized by the runners and their new passion for running. They ask me questions about things I take for granted now...like what cross training to do, or how to find the right shoe, what to eat before a race, or whether to drink water in a 10k.

Last week I visited the 'Sole Sisters', a clinic run by Mena, the Energizer Bunny herself, a woman with a past career in professional figure skating, fitness training and coaching, and a present career in Saanich Recreation, as well as mother of 4 boys (1,4,6 and 8!). I went to Mena's clinic two years ago, in the late stages of pregnancy with Ross. I had a ball at her clinic, and remembered some antics she had dreamed up, getting me to 'win' a race in front of her clinic runners.

I showed up at Colquitz School gym, and witnessed the 'signing in' of 70 participants, and noted that several women were wearing sparkly dollar store tiaras and everybody was smiling or laughing. After a brief (and note: the only) silent moment in the evening, in which Mena sat on a chair and led the women in a relaxation excercise while new age music played on the audio system (yes, this clinic had it's own dj--and musicians, I was to find out later), Mena proceeded to hand out draw prizes to diligent participants. It still wasn't my turn.

Then, the women had to take a pop quiz on terms and running terminology covered in previous weeks. Things like R.I.C.E. and then one that was even new to me: B.R.A. Take a guess. Bounce Reduction Apparatus. I almost fell of the bench laughing! But that's not all. Mena then proceeded to sing a song to the tune of Mama Mia, about the perils of not wearing the right running bra, while performing a crazy skit that required her to wear about 8 layers of ineffective apparatus. By this point, I had fallen off my bench.

OK, then it was my turn, and how could I not have a great time when everybody was already smiling and relaxed. I talked about finding that fun in sport, about using your time wisely and well, about setting goals that are truly meaningful and then surrounding yourself with people who will help make your dreams come alive.

I was reminded of a really powerful message as I finished up my talk Mena's clinic, and that was the power of having a great attitude. That, expecting to have a positive experience is a big part of training and racing. I think that sometimes we wait until the end of the race or training session to feel good about ourselves. Starting out with a smile is just as important.

I watched those women head out of the gym for the training run, laughing and chatting, big smiles on their faces, and I thought to myself: those women get it!

About the music: after I had given my talk, Mena made me put on a number bib (in this case, a baby 'bib') and asked me to run a lap around the gym pretending to win the Times Colonist race so people could see what I do when I win. Always game for a bit of fun, I complied. Soon, I was running around the gym to the music of 'Chariots of Fire' being played on trumpets by two women! After, I 'won' a cheque for a million dollars. If I had a penny for every time this running life has made me smile, I would be a millionaire!

Lucy

2008-02-11T11:59:00.000-08:00

Run For Joy: 10 ways to energize your life and sport.

1. At the start of the season write down your goals. Write down what you want to achieve, not what you think you should do. This is important to ponder. If your goals do not line up with what you really want, then you will be far less committed than if you embrace your true desire. If you sign up for Ironman because your buddies did, but you really want to test yourself over short course, those long rides are going to seem endless and even pointless.

2. Once you have your goals written down (and you should write them down) then you need to look at your priorities in life and decide whether your goals match your priorities. I have coached several people to Ironman who were clear about it being a 12-month commitment that they had worked out with their families. If you have chosen Ironman, yet you know you will only be able to train on a very limited basis for the distance, it is worth adjusting your outcome goals to match this. If your priorities do not line up with your goals, then you will be frustrated and grumpy about your progress. It is ultimately more enjoyable to be fully emotionally present at your daughter’s Saturday afternoon soccer game than to be worried about the training miles that you aren’t getting in.

3. Decide to be flexible and adopt an easy-going attitude about your sport. Plan for your goals to happen by setting short-term goals, a training schedule, or at least a weekly plan that includes time that you can train. Having a personal coach and finding workout partners are great ways to make your training happen and to make the most of limited time. At the same time, busy people with demanding jobs and especially parents with small children, need to be flexible with their lives. Being able to accept that your children are sick and need you, or that you have to travel to a business meeting is an easier task if your priorities are clear and you know that over the long haul, you are being consistent with your training.

4. Be consistent about sleep. For instance, if you have an infant, or do shift work, you likely do not get enough sleep, so you need to make the most of the sleep that you get. Going to sleep and waking up at the same time on a regular basis will ensure you are as rested as you can be. Be aware of the things that will interfere with a good sleep too: alcohol, caffeine and chocolate in the evening, though they may be part of your daily treat schedule, can detract from a good rest.

5. Understand your energy patterns and organize your day and train accordingly. Most of us have energy highs and lows in the day, parts of the day where we feel most alert and energized and those where we just want to take a nap. If you can, schedule your training around the times when you feel you are at your best, especially if you do only one workout a day. If you routinely train at night and have trouble getting to sleep, change your workout time and notice how it affects your training and your sleep patterns. Getting into a working routine with your sleep and your physical activity is part of optimal training.

6. Go out and play. Participation in sport is playtime: adult fun in a life of responsibility, jobs, mortgages, and other such seriousness. Be one of the athletes who have tapped into their inner strength—competing with a sense of happiness as well as determination is how you perform at your best.

7. Eat well and stay hydrated. Learn as much as you can about good sports nutrition, including what to eat and when, and what proportion of your caloric intake should be protein, carbohydrates and fats. Without being obsessive with your diet, make choices that feed your body and your soul, providing you with adequate energy to support your active lifestyle. Instead of those empty calorie junk foods, replace lost calories with a high nutrition alternative. A Power Bar Pria with your morning coffee provides treat factor with a healthy doss of nutrition.

8. Take care of your toys! Be proactive about your equipment and be as organized as you can so that you are always ready to go. There is nothing more aggravating than finding a flat on your bike when you have an hour to ride. Stock up at the bike store with spare tubes and any equipment you may need and keep it on hand by your bike. Have a race day equipment list and print it out. Organize your gear the night before a race. Have a spare pair of your favourite runners on hand.

9. Stretch your hamstrings and breathe! Take a Yoga class and reap the many benefits for athletes. Through yoga you can learn to tap into and increase your core strength, the strength that you need to initiate all other movement in a balanced and efficient way. You will stretch out tired muscles and strengthen and lengthen your back after all the pounding of running. As a refreshing change from competing there are no performance incentives in yoga besides having a stronger more flexible body, a suppler spine and more relaxed mental outlook. Learning how to really breathe will help in your racing and in your busy life, and most athletes feel rejuvenated and enriched by the mind and body connections of yoga.

10. Be gentle with yourself. Look at your life and your sport as a work in progress. Each challenging opportunity opens the door for further growth. If your time and energy are limited, make every moment count. On a day that you are tired, give yourself credit for getting out there, savour the sunshine, the forest, the camaraderie of your peers instead of focussing on how slow you feel. Some specificity is better than sitting on the couch. If your current training routine is not working for you, if your life feels unbalanced or hectic, accept that and move on. Re-frame the problem into an opportunity. What would work better now? What would you change if you could do it again?

Participation in sport is a rewarding path in life, especially to those who view their training as a process of self-discovery and personal achievement. If you have clear priorities and intentions and are living out your responsibilities to yourself and the other people in your life, then your training and racing is something that will add joy your life.

Lucy

2008-02-08T15:17:00.000-08:00

Memories of Yokohama 2004
(first appeared in Her Sports 09/04)

From the moment my daughter was born, my priorities in life have gradually shifted. As an elite athlete balancing my life’s joys of running and parenting, I have to choose where to put my valuable energy resources. I stress less about various trivial details, while other broader issues have come more into focus. I have been fascinated by the paradox of athlete/motherhood: how to take care of my own needs and commitment to being in top form while at the same time feeling an organic compulsion to give up everything for the adorable child that I love so much. I don’t know if it’s motherhood, maturity or a combination of both, but when I travel to races these days, it is a with a real sense of consciousness and purpose.

It was serendipitous that an e-mail asking me to be a part of a National Team for the Yokohama Women’s Ekiden came across my desk. At the time, I was only four weeks into the new year of training: the tiring volume period of endurance running, and getting back into the swing of balancing my active three year old with my own training schedule. The chance to go alone to race in Japan, to stay in a luxury hotel, to train, write, walk, stretch, practice yoga and just “be” was just what I wanted. I said yes, and took care of the important childcare details afterwards, knowing that my husband loves to be the “go-to” guy when I am on the road.

The Ekiden is a road-racing format run frequently in Japan, and not so frequently elsewhere in the world. Ekiden means "relay”, and a team of six runners race between 5 and 10k in a leg to complete the marathon distance (42.2km). Runners pass a brightly coloured sash or “tasuki”, which loosely translated means "circle of friendship". I have been racing Ekidens on Canadian teams since my early days of international competition over fifteen years ago and the event is a special one, where runners from across the country are invited to be team-mates and to race together overseas. Being a relay there is a sense of shared responsibility and teamwork not found in other solo running events and there is the added opportunity to adapt and learn while preparing for personal excellence in an unfamiliar environment.

In Yokohama, we stayed at the Yokohama Intercontinental. Shaped like a wedge of Gouda, and with eight bars and restaurants, we were not roughing it at this race. The hotel is in the modern neighbourhood of Minato-mirai 21 (ports + future). The area is anchored by the solid and soaring Landmark tower, the hotel, and adjacent to that, the enormous Cosmic Clock 21, a sky high Ferris wheel that takes fifteen minutes for one revolution and goes around so gently that it doesn’t even stop to let passengers in out of the gondolas: the doors open and people just hop out onto the platform and several seconds later new passengers hop in.

On my first morning in Yokohama, I woke at 5AM and forced myself to lie in bed for another hour before making some green tea and stretching. When it was light enough I eagerly headed out for my run. I had stayed in this same hotel for the Ekiden in 1998, before Maia was born, and being a sentimental person, I love to revisit places from a different time of my life. Since arriving at the hotel I had felt in a fog of déjà vu, as if someone had erased some of my memory but not all of it. This memory lapse could be due to that childbirth phenomenon, although jet lag could account for some of it too. I did remember that to get to Yamashita Park, the compact park where we train, we used to have to thread our way through a construction zone, old warehouse sites, past chain link fences and across vacant lots besides the bay. Since my last trip an amazing transformation had taken place: the whole area is now an open network of walking paths and spacious squares.

From the boardwalk in front of the hotel, I ran across a restored train trestle, “Kishamichi Promenade”, past the Yokohama “World Porters” (This odd name stumped me until I ventured inside one morning: food and clothing and furniture shops galore!), around the Shinko Circle Walk and past the restored 100 year old Red Brick Warehouses, where our race was to eventually start and finish. From there I ran up and across the Yamashita Harbour Railroad promenade, then down a ramp into Yamashita Park. Yamashita Park is not big, but it is next to the sea and there is always a fresh breeze, it has wide boulevards, beautiful trees and marvellous sculpture. It was wonderful to come to Japan, and to be able to run beside the sea without having to cross a street once. In the days leading up to the race, it was common to see groups of six or seven foreign athletes, running back and forth along these pathways by the bay, and stretching in the small spare parks.

By midmorning on the first day, I was sitting at a Starbuck’s writing. I had a vague sensation of cheating: travelling halfway around the world should have precluded me from sniffing out my comforts of home. Interesting difference though, there is no Venti in Japan. Short, Tall and Grande are your choices, reflecting the smaller portion sizes characteristic of the country.

For most of my life, the day before race day has been a challenging mixture of anxiety and impatience: a desire to just get the show on the road! This year, I felt calm and relaxed the day before the race. I missed Maia and her lovely loving spirit, but it was with a sense of gratitude. For the first time I didn’t feel guilty or sad about being away. I thought about my home, my husband and my daughter and I felt lucky to have the life that I do. It filled my heart with peace and courage and in there I found the desire to run and perform, to make my own magic on the racecourse the next day.

Race morning was gloriously sunny, warm and very windy. My leg would be ten kilometres straight into the wind. We were briefed by the coaches again about the check-in process, reminded at how the Japanese officials would be strict about the formalities, our race numbers and the busses to our legs.

An hour and a half before my start, my bus parked beside a small dusty park that was already filled with people and officials in green coats. Some families were there playing on a playground and I had to suppress an urge to go and climb with them, to make friends with the children. The other runners on the bus, women from Japan, Yugoslavia, Ukraine and Russia, were all so serious. This is such an adventure and I smiled at them, but athletes have their game faces. Have I become less serious about sport, I think to myself, knowing what I do about family and children?

During my warm up I felt excited and suddenly nervous--nerves mean that I want to succeed and I became aware that I felt the pressure of running well for the team. As the first runners approached we were rounded up and hustled by officials to the exchange zone on the road; we heard the helicopter drawing closer and Japanese chattering with increasing tense and excited voices. For the athletes, we could only think about one thing: seeing our lead runner racing around the bend with the sash, and the start of our own leg.

The first runner appeared and the women jockeyed for position on the road in order to receive their sash. Not far behind the first runner, I saw my Canadian teammate, clearly in discomfort and with a grimace of exhertion on her face. I grabbed the crumpled up sash in my hand and sprinted off down the road after a Japanese woman who was a mere five seconds ahead. The wind on my leg was severe and I told myself how adverse conditions are a reason to rise to the challenge. All along the route, locals cheered and waved paper flags. I will always remember these races, by the rustle of a thousand paper flags and the occasional “Cah-nah-dah!”.

After ten kilometres of racing along pavement beside endless nondescript grey buildings, I flew down a hill towards another park and passed the sash to our next runner and on it went for 42 kilometres, our bright pink circle of friendship travelling through the streets of Yokohama. At the park, locals asked for our autographs, children peered at our racing shoes, our strange faces, and us. And then the officials rounded us up again; we hopped back on the bus to the finish. Hundreds of people crowded the finish area, and the massive Red Brick Warehouses rose high above the scene, historic and solid.

In the end, the fleet footed Ethiopians won the relay, beating out the National Team from Japan, and they were crowned with wreathes of ivy and flowers in front of the crowd. Not on the podium, we milled about with the locals in the square, getting photographed with children and smiling a lot.

The morning after the race I went for a quiet run by myself. There had been a strong wind and rainstorm the night before and Yamashita Park was wet and covered with bits of leaves and twigs. Running in the fresh sun and wind, relaxed, I noticed a small, statue “The Girl with the Red Shoes”. It reminded me of my own little girl and how much I love her. Racing and travel has always been about adding dimension to my life, about coping and finding peace and joy in foreign places. More than anything on this trip, I felt connected once again to these gifts of my running career.

Lucy Smith
March 2004

2008-01-11T13:12:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading No Shortcuts to the Top; Climbing the World's 14 Highest Peaks by the American climber Ed Viesturs. I love climbing books. I'm not sure what the pull is as I am not a big mountain climber. I have tackled huge physical and mental challenges in my life, but none of them put me out of reach of the daily lifeline like high altitude climbing does. I'm fascinated by the all consuming passion to get to the top, the drive, teamwork and organization that defines an expedition and the dreams that are fulfilled literally one step at a time.

As an athlete, and as one who has been pursuing dreams and goals for over 20 years, I relate to the all consuming passion to climb, for while I have never been the most obsessed runner out there, my life has been running and training for almost as long as I can remember. When I hit 40 last April, I thought that maybe some magic age-related psychology would kick in and that I would start to feel less passion. Maybe I could kick back a bit, eat more potato chips and drink more wine. All that happened is that as time has gone by, and as my children Maia and Ross have appeared and added a dimension to my life that didn't exist before, old dreams have faded into becoming a part of my history. Whereas there was a time that I obsessed about making the Olympics, I now understand that this one goal will not happen and I have gently let it go. So now, at 40, I took a month off after New York City Marathon and was soon training again, building a foundation for another year of racing.

As an elite athlete, the pursuit of high performance racing goals has to naturally run it's course. While I still won races outright in 2007, this year, I have my sights set on not only crossing the finish line first, but having some fun competing within the masters category in which I now find myself. Some athletes find the desire to compete wanes once they can't run as fast as they did when they were 26, or when they stop consistently winning races. When I look forward to 2008 and consider some of the races that I can include in my calendar, I get excited.

My life long dream has been to be a runner and triathlete. I embraced fitness, health, racing and goal setting at a very early age and most of the decisions in my life revolved around these passions. Fortunately, running and triathlon have no age date on them. Competitive spirit and goal orientedness are character defining attributes, and ones that probably become more refined as we mature. I lived my dream yesterday when I went for a 30 minute easy run along Lochside Trail in the pouring rain. I lived my dream when I took off for an hour into the canyon behind the resort in Mexico where I was vacationing with my family. I ran along dusty tracks where huge green cactus sprouted up around me and Vultures soared overhead on their vast black wings. As I ran to the top of one hill I felt compelled to stop for a moment and look back to the ocean that stretched fuzzy and blue far in the distance. I could feel the heat and the dry air and, because I had stopped, I saw the most amazing insect with iridescent blue-turquoise wings and curly black antennae. Taking a deep breath, that moment defined my life as a runner at least as much as the Olympic Trials in 2004.

While many dreams are tangible and linked to specific goals, like climbing Everest or competing in Hawaii Ironman, dreams are also the way we have chosen to live our most fulfilling lives. The dream IS the joy of doing what you love everyday and finding personal meaning there.

Lucy

2007-11-27T21:18:00.000-08:00

Travel Notes: We all have stories. This is from Athens 2004.

I arrived at the airport in Athens jet lagged and dazed after the long flights from Victoria, Toronto and Montreal. My luggage was predictably lost in the exchange from Toronto’s Terminal 1 to 3, after a delay from Victoria and a switch to the Greek Olympic Airways. After the usual rigmarole to report lost baggage, made slightly more difficult with the language barrier (my rudimentary knowledge of French and German was to be of little use deciphering Greek), I left the arrival hall empty handed and joined Lance in the airport. I was officially in Athens, on holiday, reunited with my husband and a spectator at the Olympic Games. Jet lag and lost luggage were not a problem. The sun was hot, the sky was blue, and I was on vacation for the next eight days. I was not racing, which was poignantly clear in my complete freedom from anxiety about my luggage, my accommodation, my hydration or my feelings of fatigue. I was dazed and happy.

My first impressions were not all what I expected. I saw evidence of the Olympics as we drove towards Vouliagmeni, the triathlon venue and place we were staying. The roads were all freshly paved and black and there was a fast Olympic lane to drive in, the surrounding environment was dry, dusty and sparsely vegetated with shrubby silvery green leaved trees (olives). Everywhere was evidence of rubble, the whitish rock that is the foundation of Greece. The road led between storefronts and empty buildings, car dealerships and firewood stores, and everywhere lay the empty shells of half built abandoned structures. Almost every second building was unfinished, as if ambition to build, to start, was all that mattered. Concrete shells of two and three story buildings were littered everywhere, like a bombed out landscape, although these were merely abandoned starts, not fallen down rubble. It was hard to fathom the feeling of looking at all these ugly skeletons of houses, why they are allowed to exist and why people are allowed to abandon such projects, leaving eyesores littered along the streets and over the arid but beautiful Mediterranean hills. As the week progressed and this empty building phenomena became a discussion point, the theory emerged that there was some tax break in starting new house projects, so developers started buildings that they never had any intention of finishing, and also that the huge rush to complete Olympic venues created a massive shortage of builders and tradesman for regular projects. Whatever the reason, the appearance that these buildings gave the area surrounding Athens was a constant source of bewilderment to Canadians I was traveling with.

Lucy

From time to time, I will post excerpts from my extensive travelling journals.

2007-11-18T18:26:00.000-08:00

Today it is two weeks since I ran the New York City Marathon. To mark the occasion I went for a 20 minute unscheduled run. I ran just as it was getting dark, a bright wedge of moon slung in the sky, and I felt great. It's been a good rest. I didn't do much but walk and a few pool runs for a whole week, then I gradually started running a bit this week, keeping it very light and very short.

I don't think Lance figures I can last more that about two weeks without running or training anyway. He almost fell off the sofa when I said I was going to take a big break after NYC. "That'll last about 2 weeks"' he laughed.

But I am not going to launch into full training tomorrow. I am going to be clever and take my downtime from training and racing. It is definitely something I have had to practice. Resting while I was pregnant was easy, but resting for the sake of resting has taken some work. I'm very good at hanging up the bike and extremely good and letting the bathing suit dry out, but stopping running? That just feels plain unnatural.

I won't race for a while and in another couple of weeks, I will start building into longer endurance runs and increasing my volume. I was talking to a young athlete in the triathlon development squad and he mentioned, with a big smile, how excited he was for next season. I thought that was great. Even though the excitement was not focussed at any one race, he felt hopeful and positive about racing after a winter of training.

Sometimes unfocussed enthusiasm and joy for what you do is important. That's why I went and ran tonight. Not because I was training for anything in particular, but because I wasn't training for anything in particular. It's great to have a part of the season where individual training sessions don't mean much, where you go run in an unstructured way (sometimes I leap up steep hills because it's fun, or break into sudden fast strides ), and just relax a bit from performance.

Lucy

2007-11-07T20:56:00.001-08:00

My New York Trip

I didn’t take my laptop to New York. I wanted to travel light, and to record my thoughts and observations with pen and paper, the way I started journaling my running, when I was a young girl. I wanted to pare my trip down to the essentials: my running shoes and orthotics, essential running gear, my heart open to possibilities. Faced with a lot of free time and down time (no kids, no training!) I wrote a lot over the weekend. Here are some of my reflections from new York.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

The TRIP is finally here, the voyage to New York has begun with the issuing of boarding passes. I’m sitting in the afternoon sunlight, in the pleasant international boarding lounge of the Vancouver Airport. I love the silence and the softness of just sitting in a boarding lounge, waiting for the departure to new places. Even before I had children and life became so much more than my own path, I liked leaving for trips.

I have always loved the adventure of travelling and a life in sport has afforded me many such adventures. I chose sport because I was well suited to the training and attention to optimum health, the time spent outdoors and the competition. Life in high performance also means travelling and hotel rooms and strange food and cities. I have come to understand the layers now: that I love the challenge of having to arrive at a starting line many time zones away, and be prepared and ready to execute a perfect race or as near to perfect a performance as I can. In my career I can honestly say that I have enjoyed and felt grateful for the privilege that my hard work has given me; the chance to race as an elite athlete, the bonus of hotel rooms and flights to new cities, the opportunity to toe the front of the line.

One day I will miss the racing at the elite level, and can already appreciate the richness that it has brought to my life.

I said good bye to the children this morning, already missing them and already looking forward to my time to be a professional. The irreconcilable emotions of motherhood.

Friday, November 9, 2007

The lobby of the Hilton is like Grand Central Station: huge and noisy. It is a circular room, and lined with rose coloured marble. It is busy and bustling and not cold at all. People are friendly here in New York this time, maybe excited, like I am for the start of the marathon. Walking across the Avenue of the Americas, someone holds the door of Starbucks open for me, people make small talk in the elevator. My room is on the 39th floor and from my room I can clearly hear the continuous intermittent honking of horns, the rush of traffic, the sirens, the blasting whistle of the bellman as he calls in a never ending demand for taxis. When I look down I see the tops of yellow cabs, stuck at intersections, moving right and left again. It’s all fabulous. it's a world away from my home in Victoria, where all we here is the wind. It’s New York.

I am being treated very well. The New York Road Runners are adept and practiced at putting on events and taking care of elite athletes. The best in the world come to race here and to win, and all their needs are anticipated. Before I even raced, I was given gifts. A shoulder bag filled with goodies that I shall cherish, inlcuding an engraved pen from Tiffanies. You’d think that by now I wouldn’t care so much about getting race gear, but I still like it!

In the elevator (and I’m in there for a few moments as it rised from the Lobby to the 39th floor), there is a small television screen playing an endless loop of the ING promotional video of the marathon. They have a runner’s eye view of the marathon course, speeded up so that you see the whole course in about 5 minutes. It’s awesome, though it makes some people dizzy; I don’t have time to see the course, but this gives a visual picture of the streets we will run through.

It’s so quiet in my room with the king size bed. No singing or laughing, or wrestling or dancing to music. No Hotwheels cars. I like it, this time on my own, but now and then, from nowhere, a loneliness rises up from deep inside me. Love for Maia and Ross and Lance floods into my heart. I look out the window to the high-rises of Manhattan and I can’t wait for race day.

Saturday, November 3, 2007

A quiet day, trying to find a balance between staying off my feet and resting, and getting a little light activity. I don’t like feeling stiff from lying about watching TV all day. I went for an easy run in the morning, at the tail end of the Olympic Marathon Trials for US men. It was hard to run anywhere. The sidewalks were packed with Saturday morning shoppers and spectators returning from watching the race. Central park was likewise crammed with people and many roads were blocked. I jogged along lightly, dodging pedestrians and trees, trying to get some sense of rhythm. The thing about NYC is that there are so many people in this place, they are everywhere, on every street, in every shop. Nothing, and nowhere seems to be devoid of life. It’s sort of nice really. Humanity.

At breakfast the rumours started. Questions and quiet talk about a tragedy, possibly a death in the marathon that morning. By mid afternoon, the rumours were confirmed that Ryan Shay, one of the promising young American runners, had died after a collapse at the 5mile mark. I did not know Shay, but it was quite shocking and one of those moments in life when you realize, yet again, how precious our time is. We were told to be strong, to race in the morning with life and joy as that is what he would have wanted, but there were close friends of Ryan’s in the race and I know this was not going to be easy for them. It felt strangely familiar to be looking at death while amid such life. Emily Mondor's tragic death last year before the National 10k Championships, Benny Van Steelant passing away right before Long Distance World Duathlon Championships in October.

I spent a long time at dinner, getting my carbs in, but catching up with Bruce and Rosemary Deacon, just chatting and laughing about running and life and children.

Later, I sat in my room, going over my morning routine, visualizing how I wanted to feel when I woke up, checking and re-checking that all the clocks were ready for the time change.

Lucy

2007-11-06T21:23:00.000-08:00

Coming Down from the Runner's High

Well, that was pretty much the most fun I have ever had racing. It was definitely my most fun marathon experience even if it wasn't the fastest. I will have much more to say over the next few days but for now, here are the highlights of my weekend in Manhattan.

1. Riding the bus to the start with a police escort and seeing the Statue of Liberty standing way out in the bay.

2. All the helicopters and motorbikes and fire trucks everywhere. It seemed like every police officer and firefighter in the city was there.

3. Seeing Lance Armstrong's black SUV parked in the elite area and thinking about making funny faces in the tinted windows.

4. Starting on that massive bridge with really really loud music!

5. The music all along the course. All types. Loud and fun.

6. The masses of people everywhere, especially 1st Ave. and Central Park.

7. Running the bridges.

8. Hearing someone call me by my first name and seeing Peter Reid in the crowd at mile 14.

9. Then seeing Malaika!

10. Having the elite men's motorcade catch me from behind and feeling like I was running from the cops. Then watching these incredibly beautiful runners bound by effortlessly.

11. Running the last 2 miles on air in Central Park.

12. The last 400 yards!

13. The elated, bright and joyous feeling I got at the finish. I was moved and overcome with a feeling of life. I wanted to run those last 2 miles again.

14. The feeling of wonder, that at 40, I can still have this passion about running!

Lucy

2007-10-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

Ready for New York City

Starting the run at Ironman Canada 2007. That was hard!

It's been about ten years since I ran my last stand alone marathon. Over the course of five years in the early 90's I ran six marathons, posting a personal best at California International way back in 1992. When I was a young runner, in my teens, I remember thinking that I would run a marathon before I turned 24, so I guess that's why I did my first one in 1992: I was already a year overdue. There's something about having a firm conviction about what you want to do and finding a way to make it a reality.

Since that day in Sacremento, a lot has happened. (For one, when I went back in '94, my boyfriend proposed in the hotel room. That was Lance and that's another story). I turned away from marathons in '96, finding that my body couldn't handle the mileage required of world class marathoners, focusing instead on the wonderful intensity of cross country, the 5 and 10km events, and eventually discovered triathlon as a way to satisfy my desired lifestyle of combining being outdoors, competing at endurance events and cross training. In the last seven years I have raced three Ironmans and have given birth naturally to two children: at each of these events I swore at the time it was the hardest thing I have ever done. (In the moments after each of the first of these events I swore I would never do another--birth or Ironman). Some things just make you tougher.

So, at the beginning of this year, the year I turned 40, I got it in my brain that I was going to do another marathon. I knew it would have to be a fall marathon, after Ironman training was stashed away as foundation. I considered the Royal Victoria in my home town, but then as fate would have it, when I went to race at Freihofers 5k in June, I was invited back to New York for the marathon. Once the seed was planted there was no turning back in my mind. I had to do New York. In my long career, it was imperative to do New York, and to do it this year. I said yes.

I now I find myself staring down the last few days before this famous race. Soon I will be boarding a plane and flying from Victoria to JFK, will be making a room at the Hilton my race headquarters for a few nights, I will be hydrating and stretching and thinking about calories, what to wear and reviewing my pace plan.

Right now I feel excited and yet calm and intensely alive. I'm ready and I'm strongly aware of the poignancy of the occasion--my high performance career is winding down, maybe not with this race, but soon. I feel honoured to be heading out for this famous event that runs through 5 boroughs of the big apple city (I can't wait to hear the Gospel singes in Harlem!). I'm curious to put my endurance to the test--how will I feel now that I have raced those gruelling Ironman events where the discomfort goes on for hours? I have run so many more half marathons, good ones, and my training is light years smarter than it was in '92.

After all those early years of being anxious and nervous, of being worried about being good enough, the gifts that time has given me--the gifts of family and marriage and perspective--are with me now. I am going into this race clear headed and with a strong sense of joy. I can't wait. I've never felt more like a runner than at this moment and I know I'm tough enough!

Lucy

2007-10-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

Cultivating a Calm and Joyful Mind

After twenty years in sport, I have a pretty good understanding of what physiological markers I need to reach in training in order to achieve certain goals in competition. I have never yet tired of the relentless pursuit of the perfect race, nor the simple act of putting on my shoes and going for a run in the woods. My life has changed immensely in the last seven years through the birth of my two children, and parenting has rewarded me with personal challenges outside sport beyond what I ever could have imagined.

What I love to work on now is the rewarding process of becoming an astute and balanced person while continually entering the high stress playing fields of competition. I practice cultivating a continuous calm and joyful mindset, a psychological state that is like happiness and contentment with the current moment, but is also manifest in a mental clarity that creates a stillness whether things are going really well, or very poorly. I’ve been through all the intense ups and downs of sport so many times I find solace in being able to remain confident and centred through everything that comes along. When things go wrong, I feel disappointment and then I move on. When I experience a win (or a 4th, as in my most recent World Duathlon Championships Result in Virginia), I smiled and laughed with the locals, then came home to my family in Victoria and resumed taking Maia to soccer, and watching planes with son Ross, equally important events in my life.

So, a good portion of my training energy is devoted to cultivating the kind of mindset that makes me feel good. How do I cultivate this feeling, this confidence? I use my time well. When I am training, I make a commitment to myself to put my best effort into each day, no matter how tired I am, or what has happened in my personal life. I contemplate how I feel when things are going well and the positive thoughts and attitude I have about myself, the world and my training. I work on eliminating negative self-talk, self- defeating behaviour and actions that sabotage success.

I like the discipline of training my body and my mind, of practicing how I am going to be confident and joyful on race day. The more I practice being confident in training sessions, the more easily that mind-ease surfaces on race day. I like getting to races ready to perform. I expect to be nervous before major competitions as this means that deep down, I care about what I do, but with my well of calm at my centre, the nervousness never becomes debilitating. I work to be free of worry and anxiety, to be able to focus on the process of running well. This practice serves me well, as when I arrive at a big event where the athletic stakes are higher, like a world championships, I have the comfort of knowing that all the strength and courage I need are right there in my soul.

Lucy

2007-10-15T21:04:00.000-07:00

Athletes and Artists: Not So Different!

I just came across another blog--this one about art and being creative. It's called Sixty Minute Artist, and the author has 4 kids and a full time job and needed to find a way to do art to stop himself from going crazy. So he finds sixty minutes each day to make progress on a painting.

hmmmm. Sounds like some other people I know. People who need to train each day to feel normal. hmmmm. Sounds like me.

So I read his latest post and it's about how to be a successful artist. This piqued my interest because I have always believed that there are similarities between athletes and artists and writers (and probably dancers, musicians, environmentalists and a whole lot of other similar people who have a passion for something.

He mentions that there are 3 things that make a successful artist.

1. Curiosity 2. Commitment 3. Good work habits

Now I am smiling. When I gave my Run For Joy talk at the marathon, I spoke about the many things I feel have been a huge part of my success and how we can all find personal success if we know what we are looking for. My top three were:

1. Overcoming personal barriers. 2. Commitment and dedication. 3. Creating joyful opportunities in racing and training.

My 2 is the same as his 2 and my 1 is the same as his 3. I would even say that my 3 is very close to his 1. Just a different way of saying it.

Curiosity, though. I like that word. It has got me thinking!

Lucy

2007-10-09T21:20:00.000-07:00

"What to do with an old box, Idea #546": Make an Alien helmet. (unkl Dan photo)

What does this have to do with anything? The box started life holding the vase that I won for coming first in the Royal Victoria Half Marathon this last weekend. The kid inside is my son Ross. The cool alien helmet was made by his big sister Maia. This photo exemplifies how I balance my athletic professional life with my family.

In case anyone is wondering how I do it, here is the short version. I left the house at 6:30 am on Sunday morning. Ross was already up, and I left him with Janet, our super-sitter, reassuring him with the usual "mummy is going for a run." That always works. It was sort of late for a 7:30 start, but this is my home town and I was pretty sure I knew where to park even on race morning. I love the drive down Blanshard before a race. I get on the highway at Royal Oak, favourite music turned up loud and pretty soon I can tell the other runners' cars: caps, running jackets, people with Ironman Canada stickers on their back windshields. It's like the pre-race rally. I nailed my parking spot, 3 blocks from the Empress.

I was already sure I was going to have a great race. I am not exactly sure why this is so, except that I have never NOT had a great race in the city, and after years of practicing race preparation, my body just seems to go on positive thinking auto pilot on race morning.

Nevertheless I was a little nervous. I was a little nervous because I had set myself up with some extrinsic goals on top of my usual run out of sheer joy and fun attitude. I want to break my course record, and I had publicly stated that I want to break that Canadian Masters record. I want to win (I always want to win, I admit. I have felt this way since I was 5 and it just doesn't go away, even though I am 40, have kids and should know better).

I was nervous, because I had a pretty strange week as far as preparing for a race goes. After three easy and moderate weeks post Ironman Canada, I built into two very strong weeks of training, and felt awesome. At the end of that 2 weeks I performed an excellent training session consisting of a 2 and a half hour run with 80 minutes of strong tempo in the latter half of the run. I had to really commit to that run. It was hard but I was determined to make it happen. I was tired for a week after that training block and had to modify most of my sessions leading into the Half Marathon.

I had a busy week with the kids too, with Lance away at the Hawaii Ironman (catch his commentary on http://www.triathletemag.com/). They don't sleep well when he first goes away, and with soccer, swimming and everything else I was in full on kid mode most of the time.

In fact, I took the last 4 days before Sunday so easy that I knew I would be OK. It's one thing I know about myself, I race well when rested.

Despite the weather warnings, the morning was not cold, the wind was calm and the day was perfect for running. (that changed at about 10:30am, halfway through the race for the poor marathoners).

I can honestly say that after the horn sounded, I just ran. I ran as hard as I could and when it started to get uncomfortable at 11k, I told myself to be tough. With Ironman still fresh in my mind (that's 10 hours of tough and at least 5 hours of really really tough), I knew I could hurt for 40 more minutes, or 30, or 5). At one point I felt my right shoe slipping a little on my heel. "Oh rats, I thought. I didn't tighten my laces enough. Now my Achilles is hurting. What if I have to drop out so I don't injure myself?" I decided to stop thinking about it, as even thinking about it was slowing my pace down. I decided to cross that bridge when I got there--if it really did start hurting. Guess what? I forgot all about it. Though I will make a mental note to check my laces before longer races next time.

Coming back through Fairfield I ran past all the participants still heading out. Wow. The young guy I was running with began a conversation. I wasn't in the mood for talking but I told him my name was Lucy. He remarked, "I figured that out. It seems like everybody is cheering for you!"

With a kilometer to go, I glanced at my watch and saw 1:13 and change. That was good; I turned it up a notch. Coming around the Wax Museum into that finishing straight, I saw 1:15 on the clock and as I approached it turned over to 1:16. Knowing my course record was close, I just sprinted as fast as I could. I got the record by 1 second.

It was a good confidence booster for Worlds and New York City Marathon. Except that my legs were so sore. I could hardly cool down my legs were so sore. It's Tuesday now and they are still sore. That's another thing I know about myself. My legs get sore.

Well, the rest of the morning was just wonderful. The RVM is a world class event with world class atmosphere. I chatted with the PowerBar guys as I drank my post race recovery shake and watched them trying to enforce the 1 per athlete quota. I joined Silken Laumann, Alison Sydor and the rowers-on-fire Malcolm and Kevin for the kids run. I grabbed a beautiful latte from Mirage on Government, I finally spent my birthday gift certificate at Munroes Bookstore. Then I attended the awards ceremony, where I was graciously given the wonderful trophy vase and the BOX in which to carry it home.

Then I went home and spent the rest of the rainy afternoon indoor with my children.

I can't say enough good things about the organization of this race. Next year I REALLY want to run the marathon. Wouldn't that be awesome...the 2 mums out there. (Suzanne Evans, the multiple time winner of the marathon, has 2 children--and by the way, she deserved an equally large photo in the paper, and that's no slight to Steve O).

Lucy

2007-09-30T07:51:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning.

A silver green sea rolls in under the light gray sky and yellow leaves are scattered over the lawn, remnants of the first of the mild Victoria storms we get each autumn. Dark streaks of massed kelp and seaweed heave in the rolling waves and in the distance, San Juan Island is misted over.

I'm getting ready for my long run of the week, a run of over two and half hours of marathon training. It's been ten years since I trained for my last full marathon, though I have done three marathons in Ironman in this time. This distance training is tiring, more physically taxing on my body than Ironman, which is why, probably, I chose to divert my attention from marathoning back in 1996.

At 40, I feel so strongly that I must train and race this distance again. Running is my roots, it's in my blood, as they say. (Not far from the truth, as endurance running has a lot to do with blood and oxygen.)

It's tiring work, but challenging and exciting and as I run through the autumn trails, the leaves plastered to the wet earth, my mind will be calm and my thoughts will be joyful.

How many millions of steps have I run in my life?

Lucy

2007-09-28T21:11:00.000-07:00

Ironman Canada has faded into the past already. It was a wonderful weekend, an adventure of a race and a true challenge.

I knew on Richter Pass, when Lance passed me, that it wasn't my day. I usually motor up Richter Pass, but that day I was awkward and dragging. The funny thing was, it didn't get me down at all. For the first time in Ironman, I wasn't scared of the distance. I knew I could still race 180k on a tough day. It was still a great day; it's not everyday you get to race 180k on your bike. Training for and executing Ironman is the feat, as far as I am concerned and I am proud of my 2 top ten finishes there.

So, Ironman was over and I threw myself into the last remaining days of summer before Maia started grade 2. Day trips to the beach, the annual fair, camping...we had a ball.

And then during my three week recovery, I dreamed up the remainder of my season. All along I had the intention of making my 40 year a good one.

I have three more races this year, three more races in 6 weeks. A pretty aggressive schedule by any account, but I race with my heart! First I get to race a half marathon in Victoria, my home town. Nothing beats this. Next I go somewhere I never have gone before--Richmond, Virginia--for the World Long Distance Duathlon Championship. It all culminates with the race of all races, an event I dreamed of doing as youngster, the New York City Marathon! November 4th, New York City. I am in the elite women's field, we start 30 minutes ahead of the thousands. I am excited!

Lucy

2007-09-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

Saanich Fair, Victoria

2007-08-30T10:06:00.000-07:00

Dan Smith photo

2007-08-30T06:27:00.000-07:00

Picture by Maia Watson, age 7

By the time Ironman Canada started, I had read and heard many quotes and inspiring comments, sayings that are meant to give us the fortitude to continue when the day gets hard and when outcomes are not meeting expectations. Lori Bowden's basic reality check is one of my facourites: Sometimes you have to finish what you started. There are worst things in life than having a bad Ironman. And we've all seen the hand written signs on the bike course: If it was easy, everyone would do it.

But there were a few other ones out there that made me laugh. The woman holding a sign over her apparently naked body: Looking for a husband. (Like, as if some guy is actually going to stop climbing up Yellow Lake...). And: Smile if you peed on the bike. (You really want to know?).

It's not so much what the signs say, but what they mean. I have never been in a sport where the fans put so much effort into spectating! For a supporter, just getting out on the bike course alone is at least a six hour commitment to driving slowly in traffic, standing in the sun, waiting again in traffic. People are out in the early morning chalking the roads, and some are busy for a week creating signs for their loved ones (and t-shirts!). I love it. And most of them have a sense of humour, as if, despite the intensity and magnitude of Ironman, we all share some secret joke about maintining some sort of perspective. After all, we all choose (and pay lots of money) to put ourselves through the day. It feels a little silly to be having anything but a good time.

After this weekend in Penticton, I have decided that Ironman is really just summer camp for adults. The atmosphere is adventurous, energized, and fun. People are challenging themselves to try something they are either scared or excited to do, or both. After the swim clinic Lance and I gave on the beach, I talked to a woman who was racing Ironman for the first time. We talked about her fears for the swim, and she was crying, she was so scared. Well, she was crying, but also smiling, because she was really pushing her comfort level by being there. I assured her that she didn't have to do the swim perfectly, but just do it as well as she could.

There is something about the challenge of Ironman that really makes people feel alive. There is an intense anticipation for the day, and a lot of the nervousness comes out as humour as people try to alleviated their fears. That's what the underpants run is for, isn't it?

And speaking of humour, have you ever read through the entrants list? I spent a good half hour giggling my way through the 'occupations' section of the list. I had just been glancing through some names, when I noticed the 'Grim Reaper' was entered. After a few moments I felt like a deadbeat for listing my occupation as 'coach, mother, writer'. I was racing with accountants and teachers, but also apparently, a 'soil redistribution engineer', an 'idler', one or two 'sandbaggers', and a 'lifelover'. Yup, people in this sport have a great sense of fun.

coming next....my race day report.

2007-08-21T13:20:00.000-07:00

Getting Ready for Ironman Canada: the BIG Picture

One of my favourite kids books is called A Hole is To Dig. It is a book of simple definitions, written in 1952 by Ruth Kraus and illustrated by Maurice Sendak (most well known for the children's classic, Where the Wild Things Are). It is full of wonderful things that only children can teach us to appreciate again. Things like: "Parties are to make children happy", and "Toes are to wiggle". The answer to "What is a moutain?" is quite naturally, "A mountain is to go to the top...a mountain is to go to the bottom."

As I go into this last week before Ironman Canada, as I prepare for this mammoth undertaking that seems as insanely full of details as an Everest expedition, each one quite important for race day, I am also making sure that once I start the race on Sunday morning, I have my own clear definition for why I do what I do:

What is an Ironman (and why am I doing it?)

Fundamentally, I personally need to know the answer, the real honest reason I am undertaking this trip. Maybe I am too philosophical, but philosphy has always pulled me through.

I have come to understand that my racing involves three levels of preparation:

First there is the obvious physical preparation, training for the distance without which I would not get over Richter Pass. Learning the nutrition and hydration specific to Ironman took a tremendous level of commitment and involvement that will be crucial to my race day success.

Then there is creating the opportunity to race to my physical potential. This is where sports psychology comes in. I use mental preparation strategies to develop a game plan for the week before Ironman, and a lot of positive visualization to tackle the length of the actual race.

When I have completed the training to the best of my ability I enter my taper week and accept that I will be as ready as I can be. I don't waste energy second guessing my training. It's done. I put my energy into taking care of the race details and getting my mind wrapped around the process of executing the race.

In the calmness and confidence that comes from being mentally and physically prepared for a goal, my intentions (intentions that have been hovering in the background of my consciousness) make themselves joyfully known. I race because I love the test of racing. I race because it makes me feel good about myself and my life. I race because it connects me to a community that shares similar values. I race because for the hours I am out there, I can focus on one thing that I do well, my mind free and uncluttered from the paying of bills, the car repairs, the laundry. Finishing, winning, running a 3 hour marathon: these things might be my goals, but my purpose is to race.

After all the calories are calculated, the bags are packed, the tires pumped and goggles adjusted, the cannon thunders into the morning and I enter the zone called 'race day'.

Deep into the race, with so many hours to talk myself through this test of endurance and with so many hours to experience discomfort, joy, agony, elation, pain, and everything else that happens out there, it's nice to know that deep in my subconscious, I am happy that I am where I am. Not only am I happy, but I am sure of my reasons for being there.

What is an Ironman? An Ironman is to race.

We all have different reasons for being out there. Know yours. Know it well.

What's your definition?

See you out there!

Lucy

2007-08-08T07:48:00.001-07:00

To ride the Similkameen Valley, on the Ironman Canada course, is one of the many gifts that make this career rewarding. The dry, mostly bare hills are a fascinating study in the many shades of green and grey that make up this part of the country. In the distance valleys, mountains and rocky bluffs overlap in endless layers. When there is no traffic, you can hear the hanging road signs creaking as they swing in the wind. The squeaking chains reminds me of a ghost town sound effect, something from the remote wild west. I feel totally alone when I hear that sound, and it reminds me of the greatness of my personal dreams.

2007-08-07T08:05:00.000-07:00

Penticton, August 7, 2007

Here we are again, at the playground of Penticton. We rolled into town around 5 o'clock last evening, taking a short pitstop at the Save on Foods for supplies before checking into the Golden Sands on Lakeshore drive. The drive was smooth, Ross slept most of the way from the ferry to Princeton, Maia happily watched a few movies, and all the cars seemed to be going in the other direction. (All the speed traps were west bound too: we saw at least half a dozen tickets being given out).

It's three week to Ironman Canada and this is my last big week of training for another crack on that course. Last year, when I ran in for my 8th place pro finish, I decided I had to come back and do it better. On all accounts, I believe I have done a better job of preparing this year. My long runs have been longer and stronger, I have made major changes to my nutrition plans and electrolyte replacement strategy, and I have been able to race and train over Richter and the long stretch to Yellow Lake several times. Most of all, continuing into a 2nd consecutive season of Ironman training, (it's hard to beleive that it was only '04-'05 that I was in pregnancy mode) has made the sheer volume of miles feels manageable, instead of merely insane.

It has been an eventful summer of training, children, Lance's own training for Ironman Canada, and trying to focus on the task and goal while thoughts of my future career plans continue to grow in my mind. But here I am now, in Ironman country, getting ready for a 6 hour ride, which by all accounts, is one of the most beautiful rides I have ever done. There will be points today where I look around and feel lucky to be able to what I do. There will be points where I think about my long career with wistfulness as I know I am going to be moving on to another chapter soon. But for the most part, I will be riding, mindful only of my pedals stokes, immersed in the moments of pure sport.

2007-07-10T15:29:00.001-07:00

Am I really smiling that wide? It seemed so tough at the time!

What went through my mind while racing the Desert Half Ironman and Canadian Long Course Triathlon Championships, July 8th 2007:

At the 16k mark of the run, I am still in 2nd. I tell myself, you can mix it up with the world’s best at an international 5k road race, you can definitely run your way into first here. C’mon, 5k to go; run like you know you can. Be a runner.

Thinking about Greg Bennett and Brent McMahon and Simon Whitfield and all the great triathlete runners I trained with at the National Training Centre with coaches Lance Watson and Paul Regensburg before Athens. Greg, with his trademark high heels stride, would always be so jovial and funny during warm ups and cool downs, keeping up a running commentary a la Phil Ligget as if we were in the last 600m of the Olympic 10 000m final…. “And here comes Smith, pushing the pace, but Bennet responds, unleashing a confident surge, Smith pushes back with a fury that the mighty Australian can't match”….I’m smiling at these memories and it relaxes me, helping me run more efficiently.

“50 quick steps”. The words of husband and coach Lance Watson, and all of our pre-race talks over the years, things to draw on when the going gets tough. I head into each corner, putting in 50 quick steps, trying to draw out my lead so I can relax.

And then the ridiculous bargaining with myself, which in the heat (literally) of the race, makes me laugh, as it’s so inane. “Finish this one off and you don’t have to do Ironman Canada.” “Win this one last Canadian Championship and you can retire”. Even I, in my fatigued discomfort am not so delirious to believe any of this for one moment, and have to chuckle at the craziness of a sport that makes you start negotiating for pleasure because it’s so tough.

Racing in the Okanagan, Family in Tow

I opted for the Osoyoos race particularly because I wanted to race and attempt a win at a National Triathlon Championships, because the Desert Half is a really good race in a really beautiful part of the country, and because it was a great chance for Lance and I to get away with Maia and Ross on a summer holiday.

In the course of three days, we drove to the Okanagan, ate cherries, played rounds of mini golf (7 year old Maia regularly scores higher than I do by the way), swam in the lake, went out on a motor boat, played on bumper boats, and I raced and successfully defended my title at Joe and Sarah Dixon’s Desert Half Ironman.

On race morning, everyone the whole family woke with me at 5AM, so we had a pre-race breakfast party, with Ross on my lap and Maia and Lance beside me on the sofa. Then it was time to say good bye and head to transition to get prepared.

Not having done quite enough swim training on account of my own unique parenting priorities, and the fabulous May-June road running trips I did, I set my goals in the swim as “keeping my turnover high, my focus steady and to sight smoothly”. I have always had a tendency to need to see too much where I am going in the swim. I am not sure if this is an extension of my own personality to always need to know what’s going on, or as a result of a more specific human need to feel grounded out in open water, even if that means being able to lock onto a big orange buoy 500m meters away. In any case, my biggest challenge as a triathlete (outside of the small detail of just swimming faster), has always been to swim a course well, from sighting smoothly, to drafting efficiently, and staying on course.

I usually feel happy in the swim, especially after the frenetic start is over. I love swimming surrounded by other athletes; I enjoy being in a sport that starts with a swim in a lake while the sun is rising in the sky. During the middle portion of the swim while I am immersed in my own internal focus on swimming well, pulling and rotating and relaxing my shoulders, I become acutely aware of the rhythmical quality and sounds of swimming. 1,2,3 breath, 1,2,3 breath, gurgle splash, splash, splash, gurgle splash, splash, splash. My ears are filled with watery sounds and the athletic world is muffled in the lake.

With the swim completed, I hurried my way to transition, eager to start the bike, eager to start eating into the big deficit that I know I created by a not so fast swim time. Once on the bike, I headed for the hills like a horse, pushing for the first climb up Richter Pass and my chance to make up some time. I love the climb of Richter Pass, the steady cadence of cycling uphill. (Maybe I just love being on my bike period, doing something I know I can do well.)

The bike this year didn’t feel quite as easy or powerful as last year’s ride. I could say it was the wind, which was a big factor in this year’s race by all accounts as we seemed to have headwind both out and back up the hill! I have no excuses, except that I suspect that I am not quite as well trained this year. Last year, Ross was still a little baby, sleeping a lot and fairly immobile and I was keen to get back to racing form. This year he is an active toddler, has stopped his regular naps and I don’t take much rest or recovery time, preferring to explore the world with him when I am not on my bike or laced into running shoes.

I decided to pace myself on the bike, to be careful of doing a 'Lucy' and burning it all up in the first 40k of the course. To take a more tactical and patient approach to the race and use my skill-set well. Seeing Lance and the kids out in the car at various points on the course gave me a boost. I saw him outside a fruit market, holding a bag of cherries in one arm and Ross in the other. After a blustery go of it out to Cawston and the turn around, in which my thoughts wandered occasionally off on the tangent of being a 40 year old woman with two children in a sport that has pretty much redefined what getting old means, I hit the backside of Richter with energy to climb well and to take a bit more bite out of the time between me and the (unknown) competition up ahead.

I came into transition 6 minutes down this year, and I ran out into the heat of the day feeling a little like that was an insurmountable goal to reach. However, in my triathlon memory bank, are all the races that I have won from behind, from patiently and strategically using my run off the bike to pull the leaders back. While I race most duathlons and road races from the front, I relish the challenge to having to make up a gap.

I ran up past Yvonne Timewell first, who gave me tremendous unflagging support on the out and back course. As far as she was concerned I was “Going to CATCH those GIRLS!”. Ok, I said to myself. I was running well, and I wasn’t dead, but my legs didn’t have the ‘fire’ in them that they had last year.

It took 17km of really focused running and a lot of positive mental pep talks to catch the lead woman, with a lot of that time spent wondering if I would catch her at all. All along I knew that I couldn't give up on the desire to reel her in, as everything can change so much in the last half of the race. Lance, and the rest of the field seemed to me sure that I would catch first place as well. It is a 2 loop out and back course so you see the same faces a few times and each time the same people would yell at me, as they ran by.

“She’s just up the road! You’re going to catch her for sure!” Although I never could see her “just up ahead” I figure so many people can’t be wrong and I think that the absolute certainty in their earnest encouragement helped me to believe that I would reel her in.

And there she was, finally, around the 16km mark. I spied Rosemarie Gerspacher’s back, and it was game over. Of course once I took over the lead, a new fear crept in. “What if someone runs up to ME from behind?”. So that old familiar feeling of running like a rabbit came over me, I pulled in my road racing skills—quick corners to get a few steps up, quick feet, fast water stops—and couldn’t relax until I was only metres away from the finish line and that is when and I knew that I had won my 19th Canadian Championship title and my first Triathlon Championships, and that is the end of another great day in sport.

2007-06-16T06:21:00.000-07:00

A little bit about turning 40 and being an athlete.

I wrote this entry shortly after turning 40 on a weekend in April. In some ways it's a dedication to the community in which I live. It is also a celebration of running and being able to do something I love. And the photo above was taken by my friend Geoff. www.geoffwilkings.com.

The Race season has officially begun. I know because yesterday afternoon I was standing in the ocean icing my legs in the frigid 8 degree waters of the Straight of Georgia. There is a set of stairs at the end of our lane, 66 worn and well used concrete steps that leads straight into the ocean at high tide. After hard racing and training days, I throw on my puffy down jacket and shorts, take my recovery drink down there and stand amongts the scuttling little crabs and flotsam and floating shreds of seaweeed.

I wade in up to the top of my thighs and the first 3 minutes are the most excrutiating and uncomforable minutes of all my training. The cold actually hurts and makes my insides constrict with tension. I tell myself to be tough and I stare fiercely at the designs the branchs of the Garry Oak makes against the sky, I watch the diving ducks, I search for eagles, I drink my drink, I drink in the amazing surface of the ocean view you get when standing in the ocean. I grit my teeth against the numbing cold against my legs and tell myself how good this is for recovery, and suddenly the horrendous shock of the cold water dissipates somewhat. I am not so uncomfortable as my legs feel sort of warm and numb and I am able to just relax for the remaining 7 minutes of ocean recovery.

Sometimes walkers come wandering down the steps and see me there in the ocean, standing there with the shorts and big coat. I give them a friendly smile and look back out to the ducks. They usually go back up the stairs then, as if venturing any farther towards this crazy peson standing in the ocaen might be dangerous to their health. I stay there, pacing back and forth, watching the way the rocks look underneath the clear sea, trying not to trip and fall in (oh, that would be so cold) and then my ten mintues is up and I stiffly pull my body back up the 66 steps to higher ground.

Later in the evening, as I sat watching the play off game between the Canucks and the Ducks with my husband Lance and our two children Maia and Ross, I helped myself to a piece of my leftover birthday cake, and I celebrated the end of a great weekend.

The weekend started on Friday night with a celebration for my 40th birthday and ended with my 6th Garden City 10k victory. As one TV reported said after the race, there were three significant numbers to the weekend: 40, 6 and 1. There was something else significant to the weekend: and that is the gratitude I feel for being surrounded by friends and joy in this beautfiful city of ours.

Sunday morning dawned clear and sunny, if a little chilly. I walked from my car to the start line, feeling calm and happy as I passed teams of runners doing warm up stretches and families with baby joggers and vendors setting up for the street festival post race. I passed the ever impressive ivy colured Empress Hotel on the inner harbour and the legislature buildings that face it on the other side of the harbour. I did my warm up routine on my own, jogging easily through the flowers and blossoms of Beacon Hill park.

As the race started, there was quite a crowd lining the streets and I was certainly pumped up. I started quite fast, hitting the first corner tucked right into the lead pack of men. As far as races go, this race was quite uneventful competitively, as I was well ahead of the other women from the first kilometre and had found my group of male runners to race with. I ran hard and found the windy stretches quite a challenge. I stayed relaxed and efficient through the last ten minutes of the race.

What makes this race such a fun one for me, is the energy and familiarity of the crowd. Victoria is a small city and after living here for 7 years I now have a big circle of friends: there are the close ones…the 40+ people who dropped into my birthday party on Friday…and then there are the thousands of athlete and runners who are a vital part of my community. Over the past few years I have spoken to hundreds of runners and walkers in clinics and many many come up to me in the street, at the store or before races and say hello. I have heard people’s stories and listened to their athletic questions and dreams. I have felt inspired by their enthusiasm, as they are inspired by my love of running.

When I turn around at the 5 km mark out at Ross Bay and start racing back towards town, I notice the sea of runners snaking along Dallas Road. While I am running on my own in the whole left lane, the other side of the road is one mass of athletes, a crowd of humans out celebrating life and health.

And then the cheers begin and while I can’t acknowledge every face in the crowd I hear them all. All the way from Ross Bay back to Mile 0 and the Terry Fox Statue I hear, Go LUCY! Way to go Girl! Lucy! LUCY! GO GO Lucy!

No wonder I smile. I feel like the luckiest runner in the universe. Not only do I get to do what I love doing most of all, which is running fast, I get to do it on my 40th birthday, in the sun, along a scenic and gorgeous ocean front race course, surrounded by thousands of friends and an abundance of joy. I feel honoured to race in front of such a crowd of enthusastic people.

I had a wonderful day at the race today....I felt honoured to be able to do something I love so much, again surrounded by friends and joy!

2007-06-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Pictures from early season road races.

Below, finding a groove at the Nordion 10k, Ottawa, May 25th.
1st Canadian, 1st master, 6th overall. 34:45

Moving it up a gear for the 5k, at Freihofers Run for Women, Albany, NY. June 2
1st Masters, 11th overall. 16:32

I've had my eye on the Freihofers race for a few years. I love all-women's events, I love being on the east coast (must be my Bluenoser roots) and I love the feel of the big US road races. Last year was too close to Ross being born, and I didn't feel in shape for a trip all the way across the continent, but this year, things lined up. First, I was feeling strong again after racing a triathlon season in '06, and I just turned 40 which has opened up the whole masters competition for me.

And I have always wanted to take Maia to New York so this seemed like a really neat opportunity for the two of us to take a trip together and for me to share with Maia just what my professional life looks like when I am on the road.

For the first two days of our trip, Maia and I stayed at the Crowne Plaza in Albany, New York, and we met all sorts of great people connected with the race. The morning after we got in, I was scheduled to talk to a bunch of kids at an elementary school. When we arrvied at East Lebanon school all the kids from grades 1-5 were seated in the gym and I spent a lively half hour talking about being a professional athlete and explaining how much satisfaction I get from doing something I love so much. Maia was a great help, choosing students to ask questions. Being around kids is such a rush!

The volunteers in the elite athlete hospitality suite took good care of us and later on looked after Maia while I went for a run with my new friend, Jonh, a local runner. When I came back from the run, Maia had made me a thank you card:

thang you

To Mum

thang

you for bringing

me to Nu ork

if you wor

not a aflyt

we wod not be in Nu ork

You are good to Be a aflyt

Love Maia

2007-06-13T07:24:00.000-07:00

It's now almost the middle of June, the days are long and bright and every morning for the last week, the sand and beach have been beckoning us as Maia finishes grade one.

I have raced in Victoria, Ottawa, Spokane, WA and Albany, New York since turning 40 in April, going 4 for 4 with Masters wins. It's been fun, and going to the Freihofer's 5k in Albany was really superb. (see the news story posted on http://www.lifesport.ca/. Freihofer's is a run for women, with a world class elite field, and 3000 more women, running solo or on sister-sister, mother-daughter and other teams. I spoke to a whole elementary school the first morning I was there, about being active and having a professional career. I had to demonstrate my skills by running as fast as I could around the gym.

Race morning was sunny, humid and exciting. With an uphill start and a flying downhill finish, I had to pull out all the stops to beat the Russian and American women also in the masters field. I was happy with my 16:32 and 11th finish overall in a race won in 15:23.

Maia came with me to New York and after the race in Albany, together we rode trains, took yellow taxi cabs in the rain from Grand Central station, and walked 5th Avenue. We browsed Tiffanies, where we had to ask the price of the diamonds as they are not displayed($1500-150 000), and looked in the glitzy foyer of the Donald Trump tower. Maia played on the expansive floor piano at FAO Schwartz. What I will remember from the trip, more than the images of NYC, is the banana bread we bought each day in the food hall of Grand Central, before the train ride on the Hartford line to our friends in Connecticut, and endless word and drawing games we played while taking the planes, taxis and sitting in waiting lounges.

2 days after coming back to Victoria, Maia turned 7 years old. The birthday party on a rainy day concluded with a fun bout of shaving cream foam in the back yard.

2007-01-11T14:02:00.000-08:00

Snow.

2006-11-10T09:18:00.000-08:00

Halloween: Maia putting the green face paint on a very patient Ross.

2006-11-09T11:23:00.000-08:00

Maia wins Third Place in an Art Contest

Maia entered the BC Days Kids Art Contest when Lance took her camping this summer at Goldstream Park We received the happy news that she had won third place in the kids 4-6 years category when we got home from Hawaii. Maia was thrilled! Her prize was a quite outstanding package from MEC and consisted of a day pack, a compass, binoculars, headlamp, water bottle, a first aid kit and other small items for day trips. Maia declared that the First Aid Kit was her favourite part of the prize.

To see Maia's Art go to the BC Parks website: bcparks.ca and click of the Kids Art Contest Winners. Maia's art is the 3rd place winner in the 4-6.

Here is the direct link: http://www.env.gov.bc.ca/bcparks/kidspage/art_contest_2006/winners_2006.html

Yay Maia!

2006-11-02T21:19:00.000-08:00

Halloween and Pumpkins

I had better post this one, as no sooner had that annual pumpkin fest ended then Christmas decorations went up in the halls of the malls.

So here it is: Halloween and Pumpkins

Well, no sooner had we returned from our annual trip to Kona, then Halloween was here. I arrived home with the kids to cool fog in Victoria, after a week of sunshine, heat and humidity on the big Island. We went from swimming and wearing shorts and bathing suits all day long, to digging out the toques and fleece as winter settles in here on the West Coast.

Ross, who is learning more words everyday was quick to pick up ‘pumpkin’ and by Saturday afternoon we were off to the local pumpkin patch at Mitchell’s Farm to pick put a few good ones. I love Mitchell’s for pumpkins. The field is large and impressive as far as fields go…you can see the orange pumpkins a mile away and as you get closer you can see whole families tromping their way through the dirt searching for the perfect one.

Ross was typically more interested in anything and everything as well as the pumpkins, from the twisty vines running throughout the field, to the wheelbarrows used for transporting the haul to the scales, to the adjacent empty dirt field. Finally Dad and I settled on a few good ones and hauled them home.

When it was time for carve the pumpkins, I cut off the tops and Maia and Ross helped to dig out the seeds, pulp and strings. I tried to keep the goo confined to the newspaper on the kitchen floor but soon there were strings of flesh on the oven, the dishwasher, the fridge and most of the lower cabinets and Ross was using the ladle to whack the lumps of flesh and seeds around the floor as if he was playing hockey. When I figure out how to get video up I might post the video.

For Halloween night we chose to go to my friend Heather’s house as she lives in a great family neighbourhood whereas we live on a dead end street with no kids and no treat action. I decided Ross could be easily dressed as a bean, with his green sweatshirt, green pants and green toque. Maia completed the disguise by applying green face makeup all over his face. Ross quite patiently sat on the kitchen floor for 10 minutes while Maia carefully covered him in with green.
Maia was a sort of dancing Princess again this year for trick or treating but was most interested in helping her 2 year old friend Sylvie with the process of going door to door. She insisted on holding Sylvie’s hand most of the time we were out, occasionally zipping off to get in a quick house when Sylvie was dawdling too long.

Ross spent the evening 'ooooohing' at all the lit pumpkins that decorated the houses, until he figured out that there was chocolate involved and then began exclaiming 'choc-laht' and raiding the cany bowl at Heather's house. At least he hasn't figured out how to open wrappers...yet!

Lucy

2006-10-08T21:51:00.000-07:00

3 reasons why I love being a mum on my recovery days:

1. Being a tourist in my own town: Maia hams it up at the Wax Museum.

2. I love the beautiful park at Fort Rodd Hill and the climb into the Fisgard Lighthouse.

3. Watching Ross with the goats at the animal farm in Beacon Hill.

2006-10-07T15:37:00.000-07:00

Well, I am just back from the race, having walked from the impressive War Museum through the paths to Wellington and passing two weddings on the way.

I had a successful day and another good race, though it did hurt like hell for the last 2k, when I decided I better increase my pace and go through 7 more minutes of pain in order to get to the line first. Yes, I am competitive when it comes to running races, just ask my friends. I won, in 33:52, slower than I thought I would run but there seemed to be lot of uphill from 3-8K. Sort of long gradual inclines.

I started fast, running the first kilometre in 3:07 because I felt like hammering the pace and stretching out the field, and then only Nicole Stevenson was with me at 2K and we ran together, and I could feel that she was rallying hard to stick with me. So at 8K (I had scoped out my 'GO' place as I was heading out) I turned it up a notch and hammered home. I knew I could go hard until 9K (another little crest) and then it was all downhill from there and I concentrated totally on turnover and figured nobody would catch me then. Crossing the line, I won my 18th National Championships.

Well, It was lots of fun and a good pay day. I felt strong and smooth, and I wanted to run the way Emilie would: with heart and a lot of desire. Before the race there was a short memorial for Emilie Mondor, who died tragically in a car crash four weeks ago. It was beautiful and her parents were there and of course I cried. I don't think I have ever been on a start line crying, but it was just so sad. After the race I ran back to talk to Emilie's parents in what French I could muster and although I didn't really know what to say, I just wanted to say hello. I can't imagine what they are going through but they smiled and told me they are just trying to remember the wonderful things about Emilie and they know they have to go on. I guess you just have to be sad, and be sad until it fades as there is nothing you can do when you lose a child this way.

Thinking about Emilie, and also my friend Tori who also died in an accident last year, I feel happy that I accomplished my goal of coming here to perform, and that I get the opportunity to keep racing and running with joy.

Lucy

2006-10-07T09:04:00.000-07:00

Ottawa, National 10k Championships 2006

Friday morning I woke to the beep-beep-beep of my watch at 5:45, instantly aware of and amazed by the fact that Ross was still asleep in his crib, and had, in fact, been there all night, like that: asleep. From 8 PM until now, he was still asleep in his own bed and I had received a full nights' sleep myself. As you can tell by my surprise, this doesn't happen very much. In fact, there was a small part of me that wanted to go lift his little body up over the sides of the crib, to hold his warm soft body close in my arms and feel his silky hair against my cheek and lips. I wanted to hear his soft sighing breathes. Being a parent is so crazy. For nights, he has woken us constantly with his teething fidgeting, wakefulness, crying. Now he sleeps and I have gotten over 6 hours of consecutive sleep and I am wishing he is here with me.

Though. I had to get up and have a shower and leave in 30 minutes for the airport to catch a plane to Ottawa for the National 10k Championships. Ross was still asleep at 6:20. At that point it was a good thing, as I find it unbearably hard to leave the house if he's crying and reaching towards me with desperation like I am abandoning him forever. 6 year old Maia got up though, and despite the early hour wanted me to fix her a bowl of Rice Crispies before I left.

So. I drove out to the airport in the early morning dark, along wet, shiny roads, filled, as I always am, with the inexplicable emotion of leaving my children. As soon as I drive out of the driveway I am free in a sense, free for 48 hours of the responsibility to care for them minute by minute. That freedom expands outwards into the longing that forces its way in. Longing to see them again right now, to touch them and hug them and make sure they are OK, which I know they are, as they are in the capable loving hands of my father (Grandad) and Janet our babysitter.

And. I don't stop thinking about them. Maia and Ross, my shining beacons of love, light and joy. Even in the silence of the aircraft, or the muffled, fabricated serenity of my hotel room here at the Delta, their spirits fill me.

I arrived in Ottawa in the early evening yesterday, and after a short course tour, I went for a little jog before I lost daylight. After sitting all day in planes and busses, I felt surprisingly light (maybe those compression socks really work!) and light hearted as I ran up Wellington along the broad stone sidewalk. I ran beside the historic edifice of the Supreme Court of Canada and entered into the front gate of Parliament Hill. The evening sunlight glowed warmly on the massive building, the sky was blue turning to pink and I had one of those beautiful moments where everything feels just right and as it should be. Right at that moment I was where I wanted to be and I did not wish to be anywhere else. The huge, almost full moon was rising. It expanded into the pink air between two buildings like a glowing balloon. It occurred to me that so much of my running life has been like this. Moments of experiences all over the world.

I slept well last night, after the dog in an adjoining room stopped barking and whining. I don't know what struck me more odd: that a dog was in the hotel, or that a dog had been left alone in the hotel room to feel obviously desperate at being left alone. In any case the dog was quiet after midnight, which was still only 9PM my time so it was OK.

Went out to find Starbucks this morning. I know this section of Queen Street too well after years of trips to our nation's Capital; I knew there was a trusty 'bucks over off the lobby of the Marriot. Then I walked around breathing the fresh autumn morning and took a look at the sculptural waterfalls in the Garden's of Canada. While I was there I decided to memorize all the flowers of all the provinces and territories. After all when I was doing grade 8 geography, Nunavut (Firewed) did not exist. I wondered how long it would take Maia to memorize them?

Lucy

2006-09-29T11:01:00.000-07:00

Someone at my yoga class asked me "When are you going to grow up?"

I laughed out loud.

On the one hand, I feel very grown up. I am married, I have 2 children, a house and car. I am very busy with life. Maia is in Grade 1 and Ross is eighteen months old and on the go from 6AM until he crashes at 8PM. In between taking care of them, I get in my training and my work.

But.....I don't feel very grown up. I live in athletic apparel and Nike running shoes. I trained on my beautiful Orbea time trial bike for 5 + hours all summer so I could race Ironman Canada. I often show up at Maia's school in my running shoes and go for a run when I drop her off. I can do monkey bars with the best of the 6 year olds as long as they are high enough. I spend my Saturday mornings running around trails with people 15 years younger than me. At 39 I am still competing and racing better than I did at 29, and it's WAY more FUN. In fact, the more I stick with it, the more I feel like the kid that raced around the school yard in Grade 2.

I started this blog because family and friends who live far away are always asking for photos of the kids and updates on which race I just did. This blog is for you and I hope you laugh and smile at the photos and posts.

Lucy

photo www.geoffwilkings.com

2006-09-29T10:32:00.000-07:00