What is a vision board? Here’s a Google-fresh definition: Literally, a vision board is any sort of board on which you display images that represent whatever you want to be, do or have in your life.
Last year around this time, I posted about my latest vision board, as well as the one that got me started a year before that. This weekend, ready for a new creation, I invited a group of my closest friends to join the fun. The invite went out about a month prior, so we had time to consider what to include and stockpile magazines to help get the job done.
Before I dive into what my board means to me, I should preface: My resolution for 2017 is to approach life focused on quality over quantity; the word I’ve chosen for 2017 is “thrive”.
My board is more orderly than those before it, and - I think - represents my 2017 themes well. The idea of focusing on quality over quantity, for me, means raising my standards and becoming more selective in all areas - from how I spend my time and who I spend it with, to the things I buy, places I visit, even the way I work out. I am still driven to explore life, the world, and the people around me; I want to spend more time with my mom; I want to prioritize love; I want to leave space for new possibilities, maybe even a new pet.
Though I only have a few vision boards under my belt, I’ve observed some common threads among them:
My New Zealand vacation - a two week whirlwind that included an ultramarathon and backpacking two of the country’s “Great Walks” - took place over two months ago, and I haven’t been able to distill all the activities into separate blog posts as I thought might be ideal - organized by activity, summarized with action items and resource links - you know the kind. I’ve tried several time, but instead, I keep coming back to a journal entry I made at the trip’s end. It recaps my sentiments exactly, and if there’s more to say, I suppose it’ll come later.
One note of explanation - I wrote this as a message to Erin, my best friend and travel buddy. In our two years of friendship, we’ve traveled to more new places than I’d been in the previous five, our wanderlust matched only by a mutual thirst for adventure and desire to explore everything this diverse, beautiful, chaotic world has to offer.
The Tarawera Ultramarathon 50K ends on the rocky Hotwater Beach, not far outside Rotorua, on New Zealand’s North Island. After 7 hours, 59 minutes and 17 seconds of near-solitary running, the cheering crowds along that final narrow track are disorienting but welcome, and I focus carefully on each step as I navigate the rugged terrain, climbing the final steep, but brief, hill to the finish line.
Upon crossing, I immediately enter the open arms of a cheerfully costumed race official. Crowds are cheering, music is playing, but after 8 hours of constant and demanding physical activity, the refuge of an embrace that envelops my entire being is exactly what I need - no matter that it’s from a complete stranger. I exhale deeply, sinking into the comfort, and time stands still as we hold on for a few seconds more. He asks how I feel, and I answer honestly, smiling - I feel great, wonderful in fact. The course was challenging, but I am content with my performance. “You did very well,” he says, placing the finisher’s medal around my neck, evaporating the seclusion of our private moment. I notice my best friend and travel buddy standing closely by, moving in to offer her own congratulations before leading me to find dry clothes and a warm meal.
In actuality, while my performance at the Tarawera 50K was strong and consistent, with only a few minutes’ down time to refuel, it was also my slowest 50K pace to date. With 5,643 feet of uphill climbing - more than any other race I’ve completed - I knew it would be challenging. But the mythical destination that is New Zealand, and its landscape that is like something from a fantasy world, fueled my curiosity to participate. I wasn’t disappointed - the course wound through a towering redwood forest, across vast expanses of sheep-dotted farmland, over several fences (who saw those coming?!), and its many hill climbs offered gorgeous views of the expansive Tarawera Lake.
Just over a year earlier, I signed up for my first ultramarathon (the Patagonia International Marathon 60K), motivated by a quest to achieve something audacious - to see exactly how far I could run and still feel good. It was to be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, so I trained as perfectly as I could, and was, amazingly, the first woman to finish. That accomplishment felt very good, and I decided to maintain a high mileage lifestyle for as long as it kept serving me.
Since then, I’ve completed 4 subsequent 50K races, including the Tarawera, pounding a path to self discovery, making personal strides that had nothing to do with pace or finishing time. The determination that drove me to complete ultra after ultra in quick succession over the past year was as much about testing (ok, pushing) my limits as it was about following my passion. Learning to run through rain and snow, over frozen earth and through ice-cold streams provided perspective and patience. Experiencing a low blood sugar bonk because I failed to sufficiently fuel taught me to respect my body’s signals, and view doing so as an investment, rather than liability. Training alone in the woods for hours at a time taught me to rely on myself in the most fundamental ways and to make calculated decisions quickly. And though ultrarunning can appear to be a solitary sport, ultrarunners look out for each other and are quick to create community among complete strangers. Meeting and racing with runners of all ages and stages of life has been both humbling and satisfying. Those lessons and experiences have given me strength, confidence and perspective that will forever be a part of who I am.
I wouldn’t trade my first 5 ultras, or their impact on my life, for anything. I completed them because I was driven to achieve things I’d never even contemplated before, and because some part of me needed to know that I had the toughness it took to do so. And over time, the pressure of training to pass my own tests has fallen away, and the possibility of chasing experiences purely out of desire has replaced them.
When I crossed the Tarawera 50K finish line and melted into the arms of that complete stranger, I knew in my heart that the test I’d somewhat subconsciously set just one year earlier was no longer of consequence. Whatever I’d been trying to prove to myself about my physical ability, stamina, toughness and grit, had been done. I will continue to run distance, and am strongly considering the possibility of conquering a 50 miler in the near future, but I know I’ll do so only when my body is ready for the challenge, when my mind has sufficiently relaxed from the pressures of training, and when the passion in my heart will rest for nothing else.
Standing at a finish line on a remote beach in one of the world’s most beautiful places, the feeling that enveloped me just as reassuringly as that hug was one that surprised and pleased me - it was the confidence of closure, and the excitement of finding out what’s next.
Rest can make a runner anxious. Especially during training season. Most especially when it’s not optional.
Anxiety was one of my first reactions upon realizing I’d need to take a full week of rest to recover from a minor surgery just 6 weeks before my next race, the Tarawera Ultramarathon 50K in New Zealand. Also lumped in with that - a little dread (of sitting still for so long- boring!), fear (that losing a week of training would somehow stunt my ability to perform on race day), and irrational self-doubt (wouldn’t an entire week of rest completely negate all the training I’ve done so far, causing me to start at square one the next week?!).
Having now survived the surgery and dreaded week of rest, those feelings are very much in tact. Sitting still did become painfully boring toward the week’s end - however, that in itself came as a welcome sign of recovery. But though the anxiety is still apparent, I can honestly say that as my week of rest progressed, a few silver linings emerged, and it’s quite possible I’m moving into the remaining weeks of training with a much more positive outlook.
A time to refresh.
Leading up to my week of rest, I’d been in a bit of a slump. Physically, my muscles were the tightest they’ve been in recent memory, and no amount of foam rolling or smashing seemed to help. The frustration was wearing on my outlook for the upcoming race, and once self-doubt creeps in, the very thing you love most (running, in this case) can feel like a burden.
During this week of rest, I slept a lot, gained new appreciation for putting my feet up with a good book, and also did some slow yoga poses each day to stretch and stay flexible. My muscles, tense and tight just one week ago, are much more relaxed. This physical improvement is also a mental improvement. Optimism has returned.
A priority shakeup.
Training for any ultra distance is time-intensive. Each week, the 50K training regimen requires at least 10-15 hours of running and 2-3 hours of cross training, in addition to full time work, staying in touch with friends and family, and managing other everyday obligations. Grocery shopping. Paying bills. Book club. Volunteering. Etc. Etc.
A rest week offers the gift of time and the ability to focus on things that are easy to throw on the back burner when life gets busy. This week I caught up on trip planning for New Zealand, enjoyed quality time with close friends, wrote overdue thank you letters and birthday cards, and spent lots of time reading, writing, and considering personal goals. It was a productive week in a different way, and I though I have no miles to tally, I feel like I accomplished a lot.
A reminder of what’s important.
It’s easy to take good health for granted. Often, and especially when in training mode, we push our bodies hard, and expect them to perform. In the zone of training and physical activity, it’s easy to inflate the importance of an upcoming race, or yesterday’s long run.
When life requires a hard stop to rest - whether for illness, migraines, or a standard surgery - the experience can entirely reframe perspective to what really matters. And this week, the things I observed that really matter are personal relationships, rest and emotional wellness, and engaging in physical self-care to ensure long-term health.
With 6 weeks left to prepare, I’m looking forward to easing back into training for the Tarawera 50K, with these lessons in mind and gratitude for the - originally unwelcome - week of rest and opportunity to reset.