A Word on Personal Bests (PBs)

Joy here…Back in 2010 when Nomi and I had this crazy idea to get over our December holiday gluttony by signing up for a 10km race, I started reading sporting blogs and looking at running magazines to see what I had gotten myself into.

The gym where I workout twice per week.

Many of them had this thing called "PBs" that would be listed, followed by a number.  In my world, "PB" means Peanut Butter.  And any number following would be how many peanut butter sandwiches I may have consumed.

Me deadlifting a new Personal Best.

Somehow, I figured that wasn't what each of these articles referred to.  In fact, I now know that PBs are Personal Bests, and athletes tally them up like notches on a belt.  They try to best their Personal Bests; they try to set new Personal Bests; and they rate their performance in races in reference to their Personal Bests.

Now when I started running with my running coach, he asked me what my PBs were for some distances - 10km, 5km, that sort of thing.  And, well, I was like "um, I've only ever run one 5km race, so I guess that's my personal best, but doesn't 'best' imply comparison?"

I think I liked it when PB meant Peanut Butter better.

My computer at the top of the hill with
my new Personal Best time climbing.

But as this week has unfolded, filled with its holiday cheer and gluttony (the kind that usually has me feeling fat and out of shape at this time of the year), I have hit my workouts and set some new PBs.  For the first time in memory, the holiday season hasn't left me bursting out of my pants.

I've squatted 70kgs (a new PB);
I've dead-lifted 67.5kgs (a new PB);
and I rode up that damn hill in under 53mins (a new PB).

So while I have a ways to go before I find my tenacious stick-to-it-ness, I'm dedicating this post to the notion of Personal Bests, whatever they may be.

I think that I (like many people out there) have a tendency to be rather hard, to see the failings and flaws rather than the strengths and gifts, and I find it waaaaaay easier to judge or criticize myself than to pay myself a compliment.

But this idea of Personal Bests isn't just about sport, it's about always striving to improve, about gauging one's efforts and testing one's limits.

Take time to remember all PBs!

We all do that:  we want to be a better mom today than we were yesterday; we want to be a better friend; we want to achieve our professional ambitions; we want to be better to our partners; we promise ourselves we'll keep a cleaner house; etc. etc.

So while I'm taking a moment to tally some of my PBs this week in the realm of sport, I'll also remind myself of some of my other PBs in life this week, like the lovely dinner I made for friends on Friday night, or that I stayed up late to be able to chat on Christmas with my nephew in Canada, or that the kids' books I write are starting to pick up steam sales-wise, or that even with mailing all the way from Malaysia I got our holiday newsletter in the post early enough for most people to receive it before Christmas, or that so far over the holiday season I've kept my holiday cheer to a minimum and not gotten blisteringly drunk (as usual), and I could keep going.

But you get the point.

Every now and then, it's worth taking some time to think about PBs outside of sport and pat ourselves on the back!

Over and out,
Joy

Finding My Tenacity...

Joy here…When I was growing up, I had quite the reputation for being stubborn.  My childhood nickname was "Bull Head" because of this trait, and even now as an adult, my husband tells me that I sometimes suffer from "dogwithabone-itis," in not being able to just let things go.

Was that "bull head" or "bowl head"???
(c. 1977)

I am, in a word, tenacious.

But somewhere along the way to adulthood, I've kind of lost some of that tenacity.  I've become a lot softer in my old age, a lot more relaxed, and a lot more chilled out.

Which also means that I'm a lot more prone to failure.

Over the last year or so, I've grappled with these failures within the realm of sport, but it is my firmly held belief that sport is a metaphor for life and it is a way for us to come face-to-face with the things that we need to grapple with in other aspects of our life.  Put simply, if something is going awry in our sporting life, then there's a good chance that there's something we need to explore a little closer in the rest of our life.

In my case it has been my failure to commit, my lack of tenacity.

I've whinged and whined, moaned and complained, and generally come up with every excuse in the book to explain my lack of sporting and training prowess of late.  I've been too busy.  I've switched sports.  I've moved to a different country.  I've travelled too much.  It's been too hot.  While each individual excuse may hold water, when I look at them all strung together like that over the course of 2013, I can't help but see the many cracks and leaks, causing a bit of a deluge.

So as 2013 comes to its close, I've had to have some good, hard conversations with myself about this issue.  My coach and I have identified it as the most crucial thing to work on over the next 3 to 6 weeks.  And let me tell you, for someone who has 4 university degrees and who has spent a quarter of a century in school (not counting when I've been a teacher/professor), it is rather humbling to realize that the problem here isn't my fitness or my body, but rather my brain.

Hmmmm…I don't think I can share the road with this guy!

I headed out the door to hit my Saturday 10 X 1min. repeat run workout, and came upon a situation that stretched my newfound desire to reconnect with my tenacious self.

I had planned to do this workout in our neighbourhood, but about 3 minutes into running around the neighbourhood streets that were in the middle of being re-tarred told me that I'd have to revise my plan. The smell of hot tar under the Malaysian sun, the many trucks blocking the roads, and the sticky stuff on the bottoms of my shoes let me know that there was just no way that I'd be able to stick to my workout in the neighbourhood.

Now what I normally would have done is thrown my hands up in the air, admitted defeat, and headed home for a relaxing nap on the couch.

One of 5 tar trucks clogging my neighbourhood.

But instead I grabbed my mace and my iPhone and headed out of our gated and guarded neighbourhood, back to another route that I've used before and knocked off my workout exactly as planned, heading home full of my success and tenacity.

And then the next day when I got ready to head out for my 40 minute easy run, I realized that I had left my running shoes to dry in the sink after trying (mostly in vain) to get the sticky road tar off them and they were still wet.

Again, I would have normally decided that the karmic gods were telling me to accept failure and put my feet up.  Instead, I dug through the cupboard and found my old running shoes, put them on, and out the door I went to knock off yet another workout.

My regular pair of shoes drying out, and me luckily digging
through the cupboard to find my old pair that still work in a pinch!

So while one week's worth of completed workouts does not a tenacious lady make (yet), at least they set me on the path to tenacity…

Over and out,
Joy

Some thoughts on Bodies

Joy here…I was raised on a healthy dose of second wave feminism, the kind of feminism that was angry and frustrated, and my coming of age was shaped by the 1980s where feminism's face was that of Margaret Thatcher, the first woman PM of Britain.  My notions of what it meant to be empowered as a girl and young woman were formed by notions that feminism demanded some pretty sharp binaries:  smart OR pretty.

And it was pretty clear that a body was something that any self-respecting woman hated as she minimized its effect on her life.  There were no conversations about PMS having any effect on one's day-to-day life; tears were a definite no-no (as were pretty much all emotions); and the refrain from "Anything you can do" was to be taken as a guiding principle in my young life.

In those formative years, I saw that in order to be a woman worthy of note, one must not concern oneself with physically, including make up or hairdos.  My mom made sure that it was ingrained in me that pedicures and manicures were the luxuries of women with nothing else going on in their lives, or that leaving the house without a stitch of makeup on was a mark of her strong character (and in no way related to how hectic life must have been raising 4 kids).

Without knowing it, I was steeped in a Platonic duality that kept the body and mind separate, with the body being always and eternally inferior to what was going on in my mind.

So as I grew up, if you happened to say I looked good, you were likely to get a dirty look; and if I knew you well, I might even add on a shrill lecture to go with my dirty look.  As I got older, if you were dating me and made the mistake of telling me that I looked sexy, you were likely to get a nasty tongue lashing rather than an erotic tongue licking for your mistake.

Attention to bodies (mine or anyone else's) made me very uncomfortable.

And this all the while growing up with a guilty love of Barbies.

Please, mom, can I get a Barbie????

My mom, however, had a strict Barbie embargo; she wasn't letting one of those body dysfunctional things in our house!  So, of course, whenever denied something, that something becomes even more important and significant, as as a youngster I longed for and dreamed about Barbies, until my aunt bought me my one and only Barbie.  To my seven-year old eyes, when she married my uncle, she looked just like a Barbie (and to her credit, some 30 years on, I think she's still pretty much Barbie's dead ringer), and I certainly didn't (and don't) think any less of her for it.

But in my feminist desires to eschew screwed up body imagery that surrounds us in everyday media; in my so-called emancipated notion that my brain is what counts and my body can be relegated to second-class status; and in my willingness to equate self-love with shallow superficiality, I have forgotten that my body (and anyone else's for that matter) is this amazing tool, one intimately connected to one's spirit and mind.

The ever-talented Jennifer Lawrence playing
Katniss Everdeen.

As I've been out there hitting every single workout as planned over this last week, I've refound that connection between my body and the rest of me.  I've re-reminded myself that through sport I have to face my demons - my fear of failure, my willingness to be self-destructive - and overcome them.  I've also had to realize that my body is truly amazing.  It is strong; it is capable.

Let me rephrase that:  I am strong; I am capable.

A recent New York Times article lamenting the dearth of female action heroes identified Katniss (the character) and Jennifer Lawrence (the actress) from The Hunger Games as being potentially "transformative" in our culture:  "both princess and tomboy, glamorous and earthly, gorgeous and wickedly talented."

Perhaps one of the lessons that I need to embrace on this journey with sport is that I really can have it all, be it all, and do it all.  My body is not the enemy.

2008...

…5 years later, 2013.

That's me…that's my body; and I don't have to hate it in order to respect myself!  

Over and out, 

Joy

Top Ten Random Thoughts

Joy here…After what seems like (and probably is) months and months of having the worst training record that I've had in years and years, I am starting to get back into the swing of things.  First,
it was wonderful to run a 10km race through the ruins at Angkor Wat in Cambodia at the start of December.  It was my first 10km race in over 3 years, and it was my first running race since May 2011.  This race reminded me of all the things that I enjoy about running:  sure there's the fitness and feeling like I'm doing something good for my health, but for me, someone who has spent and continues to spend a lot of time living up in her head, I enjoy the contemplative nature of running.

The face of contemplation that hangs above
my bed in my home in Ottawa.

So as I've gotten back into a consistent workout routine (so far…fingers crossed that I keep it up!!!), I'm able to be a bit more contemplative.  I hit my strength training sessions twice per week, got out there and ran and rode my bike, and have been able to be a bit more contemplative of late as a result.

As 2013 draws to its close, (in no particular order) here is a random top-10 list of some of the things that I've thought about while out there running and cycling:

1.)  The older you get, the dumber you realize you are.
2.)  Being a grown up is really really hard work.
3.)  Living life is not about reaching a certain level and then maintaining it, but about always striving for more.
4.)  Having few really good friends is better than having many not-so-good friends.
5.)  Keep a safe distance between you and toxic people in your life.
6.)  Often silence is better than a pointed rebuttal.
7.)  Don't let the choices other people make in their life have any bearing whatsoever on the choices you make in yours.
8.)  Don't try to change people, but be open to letting them change you.
9.)  Don't look backwards.
10.)  It's almost always better to smile than to punch (even if punching is what you really, really, really want to do!).

The original face that inspired the painting in my home.
From Bayon Temple, Cambodia.

I hope you enjoy the random collection of thoughts that give you a little window into the many things that whirl and swirl in my head as I do my best to hit my workouts and get myself back to where I want to be, so that I can start 2014 the right way!

Over and out,
Joy

Race Report: 10kms at Angkor Wat

The five towers of Angkor Wat rising to the sky.

Joy here…At 4am we awoke to the darkness of a Siem Reap night, the frogs and crickets chirping outside our hotel door, but the birds not singing yet.  The temperature was, in a word, perfect.  It was warm, but with a coolish breeze, and as we got ready for our breakfast with the other pre-dawn runners staying at our hotel the excitement of the upcoming running race through the UNESCO World Heritage site of Angkor Wat was palatable.

Angkor Wat is the largest religious temple in the world, and its construction was completed in the early 12th Century, but still so very little is known about the Khmer empire of the day.  Some of the best information about life under the Khmer rulers is gleaned from Chinese written sources of the day; other information can be interpreted through the kilometres of stone carvings that detail life and religion that meant something to the builders that scholars today can only make their best academic guesses at.

Me and The Man in our tuk tuk on our way to the race.

So as we hopped into our tuk tuk - an open air seat towed by a motorcycle that is the main mode of transportation for the many tourists in and around Siem Reap, the closest city to the many Khmer temples, of which Angkor Wat is the crown jewel - and headed out to the temple site where our race was to be held, we were thrilled to be part of this mass of people - over 7,000 runners - all getting to experience running through a once-in-a-life-time setting, still shrouded in mystery and religious aura.

The roads were lined with other tuk tuks carrying eager runners, each with their number pinned to their shirt, and we could see a never-ending line of headlights spreading the 5kms from the town to the temple site.

Runners gathering as the sun rises.

We were only running 10kms, and we were terribly unprepared and undertrained for our run, but as we drew ever-closer to the site, the glistening waters of the moat appearing out of the darkness and reflecting our headlights back to us, we didn't care at all about how well or poorly we might run.  Instead, we started to get caught up in the vibe.

We arrived at Angkor Wat with the thousands of other runners and their supporters, and we watched the sun rise up over the temple before half-heartedly swinging our legs and trying to warm up.  I, of course, had to spend nearly 30 minutes in a line up to use the bathroom.

With my bladder finally emptied, we made our way over to the start line and jostled our way close to the front.

Ready…set…go!!!

My running coach (who must be super duper annoyed at me lately for my lackadaisical attitude towards training these days), had told me in advance that his main intention was for me to run this race conservatively and get faster as it went on.  He said he didn't care if I had to walk at the start, I wasn't allowed to go too fast.  So as the gun went off and the shouts and cheers roared all around us as the runners headed out away from Angkor Wat towards and through the entrance of Angkor Thom, the ancient king's city and by Bayon, the glorious temple carved with amazing and contemplative faces, I aimed to keep my pace no quicker than a conservative 6min/km.

Runners entering the ancient city of
Angkor Thom.

It was harder than you might think.

Even though I'm undoubtedly out of shape and unused to running.  I was getting caught up in the moment.  People were running all around me, and before I knew it, I was running at 5:51min/km.  I did my best to stay no faster than that and watched as The Man ran away from me, finding his own pace and rhythm as I tried to stay slow and steady (he would eventually finish 3 minutes ahead of me).

I had forgotten the wonderful sense of community that you can experience in the middle of a running race.  People surround you, and they all have a similar goal to run their best, to achieve something, to prove something to themselves or to someone else, and a sense of happiness and camaraderie emerges as people cheer each other on, pat each other on the back and generally send out goodwill to the world.

People around me inspire me in a running race.  I see the old people out there running at their own pace as the tropical sun beats down on us, and I smile.  I see the kids running with their parents, and I think of what a gift fitness is for a parent to give a child.  I ran by a man whose lower leg had been blown off by one of the land mines that still plagues the Cambodian countryside, and I almost cried.  And all of this I was feeling as the stone work of a lost civilization rose up around me, inspiring me further.  As humans we have such capacity for greatness - creativity, physical feats, endurance, artistry, compassion - but it is so easy to crush and trample those things under the more powerful forces of greed and animosity.

If seeing that doesn't inspire you,
then nothing will!

So as I ran, I let the good vibes wash through me.  These endorphins (sometimes considered the runners' high) made me enjoy my run.  I still kept my pace as slow as I could until the turn around point by Bayon.

Then I felt strong, despite a bit of a weird shoulder cramp, but I wasn't sure how much faster I should push it.

I mean, I was flush on the success of holding back for the first 5kms, but then I wasn't sure how much I should speed up for the second 5kms.  I knew that I shouldn't just run like gusto, otherwise I'd find myself running out of gas and walking in no time.  So I built my speed up to 5:44min/km and decided to keep it there for a while, figuring that I could speed up a bit more closer to the finish line.

By the time I ran past the 6km marker, I looked at my watch and knew that even if I ran the remaining 4kms at a 6min/km pace, I would still finish in less than 1 hour of running, I was satisfied.  Even though I didn't have high hopes for this race, I still had the notion in the back of my mind that I wanted to run in less than an hour.

The 5km turn around point at Bayon.

Feeling that my goal was within reach, I ran by one of the volunteers, grabbed the bottle of water he held out to me, and dumped it over myself.  I was already sweaty, and at each water station, I drank some and doused myself with some, remembering my last half marathon 2 years ago that I ran in Singapore under similar temperature conditions.

Action shot of me in motion at
around the 6km point in the race
when I started to know I'd finish
in less than an hour (my
conservative goal for this race)

As I neared the 8km marker, I started to think that I should pick up my pace and run the last 2kms as fast as I could.  But pacing is an odd thing to moderate sometimes.  I seem to have only two speeds:  fast and slow.  "Slow" I can last for hours and hours, and "fast" I only have about 50m before I collapse.  So I wasn't sure exactly what to do, and in over-thinking, I ended up going rather conservatively.  Only when I turned the corner to see the finish-line just around the corner from me did I really open up and run; I was almost sprinting, and felt like I could have run like that forever.  I felt strong and fast, and I was annoyed that the finish line was so soon, because I wanted to just keep on running and running into the morning sunlight with the cheers and excitement all around me and the temple of Angkor Wat rising behind my back as I ran on into infinity.

But, of course, I stopped.

I got my finisher's medal and my post-race banana.  I belatedly remembered to turn off my watch timer so that I could check my running data afterwards.

And even though this is my slowest 10km race (and only my 3rd ever), it is my first running race in just over 3 years, and so I feel a sense of accomplishment in finishing it within the time that I set for myself.

More than that, I feel the excitement of racing, and I've re-remembered the fun and enjoyment that I get out of racing, so I'm going to sit down with my computer and find some other races in 2014 to sign up for.

Because, baby, I'm back!

That's me sprinting to the finish line!

Over and out,
Joy

Race Stats:
I ran a total of 10km in 57:21 with an average pace of 5:45min/km, placing 40 out of 865 women competitors.  Most importantly, I ran the first 5km in 29:11, which means I ran the second 5km in 28:10, faster than the first 5km.  I also know that I had more juice in my legs at the end, because in the final 70m or so, I was running a 3:45min/km pace and my max speed at the end was 2:42min/km; so that tells me that I could have/should have run that second 5kms much faster.  So there's always next time! :)