Race Results

My official marathon numbers:

  • overall place: 204 out of 797
  • position in age division 30-34: 30 of 88
  • chip time: 3:43:50

So while it still wasn’t the race I wanted it does look okay in context.

I’m comforted by the fact that there’s nothing I could have done differently on race day, there’s no mistake I’m kicking myself for, and I know how I need to train better for next year.

Posted in Pragmatism

Race Report: The Marathon

During the race, during the meltdown, I thought I’m going to write a race report and then tell everyone who asks about the race I don’t want to talk about it.

I won’t do this chronologically, I’ll get to the part that matters: I melted the fuck down, my legs gave the fuck out.

Up to the halfway mark and beyond it was my race, I was loving it, legs a little iffy but to be expected. Then the long back downtown from Bowness and I got slower and slower, and sadder and sadder.

And most frustratingly it wasn’t a cardio problem. I could talk, full on converse with people, but my legs were hurting more and more and responding less and less.

Now this part I do have to do chronologically because it’s about the pace bunny I loved and dreaded. John. At the start I knew not to go out too hot so I started behind the 3:30 pacer, John, with my eye on the 3:15. Who I don’t know because I never saw him again. But I did pass John and the 3:30 group no problem and got well ahead of them.

So I was running around 3:20 I guess.

A few times as I was still in the zone but feeling the fight I looked over my shoulder and John was not on my tail.

Until he was. I heard him encouraging his group.

I fought to stay ahead of him but it was just little surges and back falls until we were even after one aid station and I was part of the 3:30 group, thinking I’ll do what I can at the end to get back on my time.

My legs, especially my right in the area around my knee just hurt so much that I was wincing and eventually on the verge of crying, and John got away from me. Everyone got away from me. Because I stopped to take my shoes off for a minute. A cop asked me if I was good and I said yes, he said he saw a medic up ahead and he’d send her back.

I was on my feet before she did though and we glanced at each other quite searchingly. I didn’t want to told that I could or should quit.

…For like 7 more feet then I was limping and looked like I was crying with each step. I tried to step it up to a jog and it was so ginger that I knew, and I confirmed, I could walk faster than that.

This is all over the course of 2k. I had 7k left when it started and I had 5k left 15 minutes later when I was like I’m done. I couldn’t even walk anymore without tumbling forward and grabbing my legs.

But there was no one around. The first race marshal or volunteer I saw was one of the super encouraging cliche types and I almost cussed her out for yelling that I could do it and not seeing how much pain I was in. I just walked passed her and got to the next aid station and had a water, a gel, and a Nuun, and kept walking.

Eventually I tested jogging again and was getting through it.

I picked up the pace steadily for the last kilometers and limped it in for 3:45 and the med tent.

Who were great of course. We worked on my IT band and my hip and it hurt like getting shot but I got some mobility back.

My pride had already started rebuilding itself. If I had quit, if someone had been there to ask me do you want to quit at that one moment after the bridge I’d have said yes and there’d have been no brunch and I certainly would have written this specifically saying I never want to talk about it again.

But I got some strength back and ran over the line. I’m psyched to train up and get better.

It was the hardest thing I ever attempted

And while it was harder than I expected

I did it

And now it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Posted in Pragmatism

Protected: Why I end up resenting the romantic partner I’m with

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Emotional Acceptance

So I’m reading this article from Psychology Today about difficult emotions and how to cultivate emotional acceptance.

As I was thinking about the fact that I don’t personally have difficulty accepting my emotions or find myself trying to block them out, I always feel like others won’t accept them. Then this came up…

Imagine a close friend or mentor who cares about you and feels immense compassion for you.  Picture this friend or mentor giving you their thoughts and guidance about an emotion you tend to judge yourself for experiencing.

And I just don’t have that. When I imagine talking to anyone about depression they’re angrily bored, or taking a fixing approach which is therefore judgemental, or they’re just as resigned as I am.

I imagine being honest about my feelings and it derails an interaction. Imagine responding to someone who asked how you’re doing with anything other than the sarcastic livin’ the dream we all use to convey we’re not happy without saying why…

Imagine saying I’m 5 out of 10, slightly sadder than I’d like to be today. You would instantly be asked to explain and if you didn’t have a narrative reason that justified it the person would awkwardly walk away and you’d feel honesty made both your days a little worse; or they’d offer the most recent diet or self-care solution they’d heard; or they’d give the dreaded yeah, that’s life.

I think this is why depressed people isolate, there’s no map for sincere interactions and we can’t stand to keep having insincere ones. Honestly, shallow people have a bit of a super power that they can have a hundred phoney interactions in a day and not be suicidal.

Really I’d like to get all the other-people’s-voices out of my head because I know I’m just using them to tell myself how I really feel.

An example to explain this crazy sounding thing I’m saying: I was looking at an apartment and it was a sad space. I thought I don’t care where I live but Olivia would hate this place. But of course, Liv hadn’t seen it, I couldn’t speak for her in that moment, it was just my brain’s way of reconciling two conflicting ideas; I’m not picky and I don’t want to live here.

And I do it with my internal emotion life as well. I think I don’t care about my ruminating and despair but if I were in conversation with someone it would drive them nuts.

Something that I have found helps is to imagine myself in that care-taker roll, feeling protective of others and wanting them to be happy, and then consciously turning that feeling to myself. That if I were outside of me I’d have sympathy for the despair I go through rather than blame myself for it.

Instead of treating other the way I want to be treated I practice treating myself the way I’d like to treat others.

Posted in Depression & Suicide

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Protected: Limiting Beliefs 1

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Sex Is Not Something That A Woman Merely Allows To Happen

I’ve been trying to write this for a long time and all the hasttagsexstrike stuff seems like a hot enough anvil.

The idea that sex is something a woman is holding onto and she grants to men for saying or doing the right things causes rape.

Yep, I used the R word.

Giving men the idea that woman have sex with whoever pulls the sword from the stone or does the best mating dance makes those men think that sex is something they earn. Not something a woman enjoys or wants or cares about, but something that a man is entitled to if he jumped through the right hoops.

This causes men who’ve been putting up the nice-guy mask to drop it very suddenly and rape-ily because they thought they did all the right things and now she’s just holding out because she’s a bitch.

This causes men to repeatedly bother woman because they believe they need to be at bat to score, in the ring to tame the lion, whatever to whatever that causes them to believe that through the force of their will they can get a woman to acquiesce to, not enjoy, sex.

This is why guys view women’s existence as merely to be a trial and error learning game.

And it’s this belief  – that women hold tremendous, desire-free sexual power – that let’s men cast doubt every time the word rape is used in any case other than the so-called Perfect Victim, because they really believe that if she didn’t want it on some level she wouldn’t have let it happen.

This is why guys get laughs from other guys telling stories about how they tricked women out of some sex. Like they’re hobbits and women are dragons slumbering on big pile of hoarded sex. Looking at you, forty percent of Friends episodes…

Incels already believe that woman are unfairly with-holding sex from them, sex that they deserve because they’re just so great, and publicly treating sex as nothing more than a hetero-normative bargaining chip reinforces that message.

And worst of all it reinforces it to women. It tells young women that their only power is their status as sex objects for men.

Posted in Gender, Pop Culture