L: Me transformed into Kafka on Dusni Street in Prague (2012); R: J as part of an installation at Musee d’Art Moderne in Paris (2011)

Conceptual art, or idea art, is an art form in which the concept (or idea) that generates a piece of art is more important than the art itself. For example, poet Kenneth Goldsmith (of @ubuweb) recently announced his plan to “print out the internet.” Clearly, Mr. Goldsmith’s idea is loaded with intention. The idea, and the public’s response to the idea, is the art. I hope we never actually see the internet on paper, but the idea has given us much to contemplate.

Another common aspect of conceptual art is the rejection of self-expression. Once the idea and rules are set by the artist, expression is abandoned and the piece becomes what the rules and form allow, nothing more. Many would compare this to the process of computer programming, although I would argue that this comparison ignores an enormous amount of human variation, innovation and expression that exists in the programming and software development world (another blog post altogether).

I, however, am a believer that self-expression cannot be taken out of art. The moment an artist makes a decision (at the highest or lowest level) that influences the piece, self-expression has occurred.  But I often wonder if there is an opportunity to embrace the self in conceptual art. An individual comes equipped with as many biases, limitations, and capabilities as a programming script, language or filter. What if the self is placed into the idea like any other variable and becomes part of the content/art creation process?

This idea first came to me while working on the Pulitzer Remix project for National Poetry Month in April. I was writing 30 found poems from a Pulitzer Prize winning novel in 30 days. All poems needed to be initiated by me, all poems needed to be from the same novel, and the poems needed to be delivered once a day for 30 days. Whatever happened from there, happened. Sounds like conceptual art to me… I was just one of the variables in the process.

As I pondered our upcoming road trip across the United States and Canada, I wanted to test the idea of utilizing the (or more appropriately “a”) self as a limiting variable in conceptual art. Perhaps we could turn a memoir about the trip into a conceptual art project:

The Idea: Put two individuals on a six-week road trip to varied destinations across the United States and Canada; collect their responses to several pre-planned, probing questions each day; make art. Will the individual responses include self-expression? Absolutely. Can the individuals respond any differently than they are already capable of responding? Perhaps not.

The Variables:

2 Individuals (Me and J); The Road; The Destinations; Time; Weather; Life

The Process:

Each individual answers a set of static questions each day, along with one variable question per day.

The Art:

Wait and see! – M

P.S. Be part of the process!  Comment below if you have a suggestion for the daily variable questions.  We’ve conjured up 20 or so but need a total of 40-60…

Tools of the trade (L to R): Old-school road tripping with an actual map; freshly-minted passports ready for the next 10 years of action; and a sneak preview of our fall travels.

Happy June, everyone!  We hope those of you in New England are enjoying this early taste of summer.  We’re staying cool indoors today, putting the finishing touches on our upcoming travel plans.  For the past month or so, we’ve been busy mapping out three separate adventures in 2013: an old-fashioned road trip through the western U.S. and Canada, a European slow-cation, and a Pacific Northwest park-bagging loop.

All that trip planning has been in addition to the task of figuring out things like where we want to live for the next year and how we want to balance work and travel as we continue down this path of self-employment.  For the most part, we’ve answered the big questions, and we can freely go forth into the universe for another round of aimful wandering.

So what’s ahead during WPG’s main travel season this year?  If all goes according to plan, our adventures between June and October should bring us to 27+ states, 4 provinces, 5 countries, and at least 10 new national parks.  (Once an analyst and project manager, always an analyst and project manager…)  I plan to complete my quest to visit all 50 states (just three left!), while M should be able to check off the lower 48.  Along the way, we’ll visit other sites of interest within the national park system (including several lakeshores and monuments) and run in two half-marathons (one in MI and one in UT) as part of our marathon training plan (which will culminate with a final 26.2 on Achill Island in Ireland).

We’ll travel by car, plane, bus, train, and foot…possibly including an epic walking journey through one of Germany’s most scenic river valleys.  (It depends on how we feel after the aforementioned marathon…)  And like most of our prior trips, we’ll overnight in a mix of hostels, hotels, and campgrounds.  Based on last year’s experiences, we’ve further pared down our gear, ditched some things we didn’t need and upgraded a few key pieces of equipment.  (I have to admit, when camping on the road, there are few things better than a good night’s sleep, so I finally conceded to a backpacker-style air mattress…and a pillow.  The horror!)

We’ll be posting here on WPG as we go, and we’re looking to mix things up a bit.  In addition to our long-and-twisty narrative posts, we’d like to do more frequent shorter posts and upload more photos or videos.  Frequency will depend on our relationships to the giant grid in the sky (e.g., do we have an internet connection?) and to ourselves (e.g., do we have something to write, or do we need to sit and be still for a while?).  Part of the journey is the sharing, and part of the journey is the experiencing.

And, of course, part of the journey is the waiting!  T-17 days or so until we hit the road for the first leg, and the excitement is building.  Our travel journals have been designed and assembled, and our passports have been renewed.  So, too, have our spirits, after a winter filled with wondering and waiting.  We are overflowing with optimism and ideas, both on the home front and abroad.  We’re busy readying our gear, wrapping up local commitments, celebrating birthdays with family, and visiting with friends before we set out.  We might also log a few posts here on our early May adventures, like the anniversary trip to Acadia National Park we took two weeks ago.  Just as we were last year when we set out on our first round of adventures, we’re happy that you’re here!  We invite you to come along for this year’s ride.  –J

L to R: Manhattan as seen from the Empire State Building (during an April 2011 visit); Beer&Books…the new PB&J!; one of my favorite quotes from NYC’s “Library Way” project (embedded in the sidewalk on E 41st Street).

As you might know, April is National Poetry Month, 30 days during which we remind each other (and ourselves) that art and beauty and rhythm and rhyme and lyrical acrobatics and words that move us to tears are generally good things, good things that should be read and heard and experienced and celebrated.  Unlike run-on sentences.  And fragments.

As you also might know, M is one of 85 poets participating in the Pulitzer Remix project sponsored by the Found Poetry Review.  He’s crafting one found poem per day based on the source text of a Pulitzer Prize winner in fiction—in his case, Conrad Richter’s The Town (from 1951)—and posting them on the Pulitzer Remix website.  You can access all of M’s poems here; new ones will be added daily through April 30^th.  By the end of the month, the 85 poets will have created 2,550 new poems from old text…art begetting art in a funky-fresh way.

[A note on found poetry:  Found poetry involves taking words and phrases from existing texts and reworking them into an original poem.  Source text can come from traditional writing like books, advertisements, and newspaper articles, or from random places like product packaging, report cards, or receipts.  You can read more about found poetry and the project here if you’re interested, in an interview of the project’s founder conducted by one of the participating poets.]

And if you or anyone you know happens to be kicking it on NYC’s Lower East Side tomorrow night (Wednesday, April 10^th), swing on by the Nexus Lounge (76 E 1^st St @ 1^st Av, downstairs at One and One).  M and three other participating poets will be taking the mic around 8 PM to read a selection of their Remixed poems.  We’d love to see you there.  Your ears (and your hearts and your minds) will thank you.  And so will we.  –J.

Soccer shenanigans (c. 1986) and grown-up joy (c. 2012)

M and I emerged from winter hibernation to attend a writing conference in Boston last month.  One of the seminars we attended was on the topic of teaching writing at community colleges, and one of the panelists, in sharing his personal experience, said that many students arrive in the classroom having had negative experiences with writing.  Specifically, in students’ pasts, writing frequently had been used as punishment.  So beyond having no current “relationship” with writing, many of them had a well of negative emotions associated with the topic.

Unexpectedly, my own latent writing memories rushed forth, strange elementary school flashbacks of writing the same phrase over and over again until I filled a piece of lined paper or writing an essay explaining why our class misbehaved for a substitute teacher.  For many students who have similar experiences, writing becomes permanently associated with negative events or emotions.  They never return to writing freely or for their own interest or benefit.

Fortunately, I had a pre-existing positive relationship with writing, even as a kid.  I started keeping a journal in the 3^rd grade, a practice that still continues today.  I wrote short stories and poetry and essays, largely to help process and escape from my own youthful angst.  Writing punishments in the classroom were alternately frustrating or annoying, but I never internalized them in a way that changed my relationship with writing itself.  Writing was too important to me to let outside circumstances interfere.

Being a mental wanderer, I began to reflect on my relationship with running in a similar manner.  Why did I not become a runner until my mid-30s?  What took me so long to discover my interest in and the actual joy I get from this simplest of sports, a freedom and joy similar to the one I experience when free-writing?

To find the answer, we have to travel back in time to the 1980s, when elementary school me started playing town rec league soccer.  In those early years prior to high school, running was just part of the game.  It was something we did naturally and for fun, the same way most kids still run today.  We ran at recess, we ran to warm-up, and we ran during drills.  We ran during scrimmages and during games.  In those early years, I don’t recall ever thinking about “running,” just about “playing.”  I was either at practice or at a game, but I was always “playing soccer,” never “running.”

Then I reached high school, and things changed.  I showed up at tryouts as a wide-eyed freshman who had ignored the mandatory off-season conditioning plan.  Why would a 13-year-old-girl, obsessed with boy crushes and babysitting, want to spend any portion of her dramatic “last summer before high school” running laps around her neighborhood when she could be riding her cool 10-speed bike to her friends’ houses?

The conditioning plan called for running something like 2-3 miles 2-3 times a week in the weeks before official pre-season practices started (easy breezy for me now, but torture back then).  Pre-season itself meant double-sessions, practicing from 7-9 AM daily and returning again for practice from 4-6 PM.  And practice took on a whole new meaning in high school. Gone were the days of having fun on the pitch, giggling and running drills.  We were simply running.

And run we did.  We ran laps, we ran complexes (laps around the entire set of sports fields at our high school), and we ran sprints.  We ran to reflect on our failures after a loss, and we ran to build momentum after a win.  We ran and ran and ran.  I was no longer playing soccer.  In fact, I was no longer playing anything.  I was running, and I hated it.  I loathed the coaches and their whistles.  I struggled to keep up with the faster girls.  I was bored, and I wasn’t having any fun.  I was being punished, twice a day, every day, all August long. The pattern continued for years.

Eventually, in my early 20s, I stopped playing soccer, distracted by depression and work and life.  I struggled to figure out who I was and what I wanted to be.  Although I was experiencing professional success, I developed negative relationships with food and people and other things that weren’t so good for me.  And then, at 35, in what can only be interpreted as a desperate act of madness, I started running.

Out of shape and overweight, my first tentative steps took place on a treadmill in a dark corner of the gym.  At first, I was jogging 30 seconds at a time, followed by 90 seconds of walking.  30 became 60 and then 90, working up to running for two minutes in a row before I needed a walk break.  I kept at it, three or four times a week.  Eventually, two minutes became five, and one mile became two.  As motivation, I signed up for my first 5K, followed four weeks later by my first 10K.  (Go big or go home!)  I was slow, but I was running.

Fast forward two years, to last year, during which I ran more than 700 miles and participated in 14 races.  I’m on pace to surpass that mileage number this year.  I’m set to conquer my third half-marathon this weekend, and I just signed up to run my first marathon this fall.  I consistently run 20+ miles per week and actually look forward to most of them.  I’ve coached friends and family and clients on running technique and introduced several to the sport.

I also volunteer with a national organization that introduces running to elementary school girls as part of a larger curriculum.  Through that work, I am reminded of that joy, that sense of play I felt when running in my youth.  Although it disappeared for the better part of two decades, most of that joy has returned.  Somehow, despite years of enduring running as punishment, I’ve managed to reclaim running.  I’ve reclaimed it for me, returning to it freely based on my own interest and benefits.  Sure, there are days I don’t feel like running, days when I’m sore or down or the weather is nasty.  But there are never days when I hate it.  Because it’s not punishment; it’s a choice.  I choose to run, and I choose to be a runner.  I choose joy.  -J

January Scenes (L to R): What we’ve been reading this month [physiology and poetry], whiteboard madness as we brainstorm business ideas, and tools of the new trade…tape measures, yoga mats, and dumbbells, oh my!

This month has been all about making progress on both fronts.  After weeks of effort and several rounds of review, M submitted his graduate school applications last week.  They’re not due until February 1^st, but it was a huge relief to get them done early.  He won’t hear back from the schools for several more weeks, and I’m waiting until he does before I decide whether or not to apply.  His program is the primary driver for the grad school decision, so it makes sense to wait and see where he gets in before I plunk down time and money on my application.  His program would also take two years longer than mine, so I’d have plenty of time to settle in (working and establishing residency, if needed) before starting school…and I’d still finish before he does!

On the business front, from a legal perspective, our new wellness coaching and personal training business has been an official entity since we formed the company back in October.  But it only existed on paper.  We opened a business checking account in December and incurred a few small start-up expenses, but beyond that, we hadn’t done much.  Lots of thinking and “Sounds great, let’s tackle that next year” but not a lot of doing.

Then, two weeks ago, a random email from a potential client arrived in my inbox.  His wife’s birthday was coming up, and he wanted to hire me.  Was I available to take on a new training client?  Although I didn’t think we were quite ready, there’s really no saying “No” to your potential first client.  So I said, “Yes!  Of course…” and we were off.

Overnight, I worked up a summary of services, pricing sheet and temporary logo and sent back my first proposal.  He liked what I had to say, selected two (!) different packages, and asked how to pay.  My first client and our company’s first sale.  My reaction was a mix of elation and anxiety, excitement and self-doubt.  I was no longer talking about doing; I was actually doing.  And all of a sudden, there was a lot to do.

The slow-and-steady pace we had been operating at became a full-on sprint to develop a new client welcome kit, select appropriate fitness assessments, craft several forms, and design custom fitness programming.  We tackled electronic payment options, commercial liability insurance, web hosting, domain registration, and picked up a bit of basic HTML design along the way to creating our own website.  We drafted a privacy policy and got up and running with our official company email.  We continue to develop content for our website and are getting our social media platforms established and integrated.  It’s exhilarating.  And it’s exhausting.

Not unlike every other small business owner out there, we are our own marketing, compliance, IT support, product development, training, and accounting departments.  (Fortunately, between the two of us, we held just about every one of those roles in our prior careers.)  We, and we alone, are responsible for every decision, whether strategic or operational.  After years of working for other people, it’s liberating to be in complete control.  But it can be overwhelming at times.  In dual roles as spouses and business partners, we are still learning how to work together and need to figure out what boundaries we each need between “work” and “not work.”

So far, we’ve navigated the early challenges with ease.  We’re on the cusp of our website launch, and the end of this early blizzard of activity is in sight.  My first several client sessions have gone well, and they’ve indicated an interest in purchasing additional sessions.  I’m getting more comfortable in my new roles—all of them—and with my new professional identity.  After years of driving to the office in the costume of a middle manager, I now walk to the gym dressed in workout gear and running shoes.  After a lengthy sabbatical, I’ve returned to the ranks of the (self-) employed, but on my terms.

So much has changed since that August post, but two things remain:  We are still in doubt, and we are doing it all.  We have no idea where we will be in a year, how the business will grow, or whether either of us will be enrolling in school this fall.  But I know that the early successes we’ve had this month are encouraging and energizing, and I’m running toward the future at full speed. –J.

L to R: Exploring the forts of Old San Juan, putting on a clinic in the ship’s bowling alley, hiking in the USVI National Park, and killing it with hover lunges and rows in TRX class.

We’ve talked about this time in our lives as one of self-assigned creative sabbatical.  We’ve also referred to this year as one borrowed from retirement to travel while we are young enough—and fit enough and healthy enough—to enjoy it.  This concept was evident during the last two weeks as we ventured to the Caribbean for a little pre-winter island hopping.  I’ll share the how and the why behind the trip, along with other random musings, over the next few days.  In the meantime, I’ve been meditating a bit on how the “fit enough” concept contributed to some of my best experiences on the cruise.

We knew we’d be consuming a little (okay, a lot…) more food and drink than we normally do, so we agreed in advance that we’d workout every day to keep any vacation weight gain in check.  Admittedly, daily workouts aren’t much different from our routine at home, but it was important to remind ourselves of our priorities and to keep our ongoing fitness goals in the front of our minds even as we sailed south in search of rum and reggae.

L to R: Me, ascending the rock climbing wall, before taking a dip off St. Maarten, and M, descending the rock wall, before later taking a dip off St. John.

We worked out in the ship’s impressive fitness center nearly every day of the 10-day trip, taking advantage of the treadmills, free weights, and other equipment like the rowing machine (fun to use while staring out at the deep blue sea).  On our one off day, we took a ferry from St. Thomas to St. John and went on a hike in the US Virgin Islands National Park, so we weren’t exactly inactive.  (That side trip also allowed us to notch our 10^th national park of the year. Yahoo!)  So what else did we do on our vacation?  Well, we:

• Took a series of 3 TRX suspension training classes (a challenging body-weight workout that absolutely delivered the muscle confusion we were looking for when we signed up…yikes)
• Logged 12-15 rolling treadmill miles…while bobbing about at sea (not an easy feat to stay upright as the ship churns through the Atlantic)
• Explored the fortresses and grounds of the walled city in Old San Juan, forgoing the free trolley in favor of a four-mile meander through the city
• Conquered the ship’s 30-foot rock climbing wall (my first-ever climbing experience)
• Played organized “15-and-up” floor hockey (just M) and soccer (both of us).  A little rusty but full of hustle…
• Went bowling on the ship’s 10-pin lanes (requires a different kind of skill to work with the ship’s sway…)
• Danced the night away while wearing white under blacklights (in the ship’s nightclub…Do people even go dancing anymore?  I think I should go dancing more often.)
• Went swimming in the Caribbean twice off two different islands (St. Maarten and St. John)

“…Fit enough to enjoy it?”  Check and check!

L to R: M tending goal (a.k.a., “The Wall back in action”), the ship’s Sports Court where we played hockey and soccer, the “White Hot Nights” party in full swing, and us taking a break from dancing to sip champagne.

Given all that action, there’s a small chance we overdid it.  We’re both a bit sore, with a few blisters or bruises, and my left knee hasn’t been quite right since I tweaked it during the soccer game.  In addition, concepts like overtraining and overuse of muscles are real, and we hit it hard in the gym every day.

The other factor working against us is aging.  It’s sad but true that I am in my late (!) 30s now, not a teenager anymore.  But perhaps that is the reason why I’m still thrilled days later that I was able to tackle the rock climbing wall and to hang tough during the soccer game, battling boys half my age as the only girl on the pitch.  And if a sore knee for a few days is the price for that…well, it’s one I can afford to pay.  I’ve only got one go round on this planet, and I’m giving it my all until the final whistle. –J

L to R: January (Hangover Classic 10K), February (Mid-Winter Classic 10-Miler), March (Paddy’s 5-Miler) and April (Great Bay Half Marathon)

At the start of 2012, we decided to pursue the goal of running at least one road race per month for the entire year.  On top of this goal, given our wanderlust, we set out to run races in as many different states as possible.   Although we visited 28 states in 2012 (travel summary to follow in our year-end post), it proved much more difficult to find races that aligned with our schedule.  First, some areas of the country have more races than others.  And second, most races occur on the weekend, further limiting our race options as we traveled around the country.

In January, we established a racing budget and got down to the business of scheduling races.  Although there are some races that you can register for on race day, there are others that sell out quickly.  We had our eyes set on a few specific ones and were open to being flexible on others.  Races can cost anywhere from $15 to $100 or more per person to run depending on the distance and level of coordination required to manage the race course.  The cost is worth it, though, since most races come with race swag (t-shirts, water bottles, pens, first aid kits, coupons, you name it…) and often benefit a local charity.  In 2012, we ran races benefiting community literacy programs, local scholarship funds, volunteer fire departments, state parks, the NH Children’s Hospital, the Juvenile Diabetes Research Fund, and the Alzheimer’s Foundation, among others.  It’s also fun to run on a closed course with spectators (and police escorts, traffic detours, string bands, DJ’s, belly dancers, beauty queens…the list goes on).

L to R: May (CVKA Memorial Day 10K), July (Nate’s Race 5K), September (Reach the Beach), and October (Tufts 10K for Women)

Yesterday’s Santa Shuffle in Manchester (complete with 3,000 runners in Santa costumes) was the closing event in our 2012 racing season, and we thought it would be a good time to reflect on our year of running.

• We each completed 14 races in 2012.  This doesn’t include the one race that we didn’t start due to a visit to the emergency room to repair my ear (now healed, thank you…).
• We ran races at all kinds of distances: 3 miles, 5K, 5 miles, 10K, 10 miles, half-marathon (twice each!) and full marathon (my first-ever in Maine in October).  We also had the privilege of being part of a team for a 200-mile relay event (Reach the Beach NH).
• Total racing mileage this year:  86.8 for J. and 114.6 for me
• We raced in a total of five states (MA, ME, NH, VA and CA), and we set personal best times in many of our races.

L to R: October (Mount Desert Island Marathon), October (Big Sur River Run 10K), November (Fisher Cats Thanksgiving Day 5K), and December (Santa Shuffle 3-Miler)

The end to our racing season was yesterday’s relaxed run on a snowy course in Manchester, and it was a fitting end to a year filled with traveling and training.  J is poised to finish 2012 with 600+ miles, and later this month, I will hit my goal of 1,000+ miles on the year.  Running isn’t easy, but it is definitely rewarding.  Looking back on 2012, I’m glad for each time I laced up my shoes to go out for some “me time” or to head out for a chatty run with my best friend and running partner, J.

Now that winter is approaching, the temperatures are dropping and our 2012 season is over, it’s time to do what runners do in the winter: bundle up, lace up the shoes and hit the pavement!  Our 2013 race season starts with a Super Bowl Sunday Mid-Winter Classic 10-miler in Maine, and I need to beat my 2012 time! –M

L to R: Runners competing in the 2011 Smuttynose Rockfest; us, after yesterday’s 2012 Rockfest, happy to be done running in the rain; and the finish corral, where everyone wants to be!

I was lying in bed last night contemplating the start of October and thinking about an article I had just read.  The article asked, “Why do you run?  Every runner should know the answer to this question.”  I thought about it for a minute, and my first answer was that running helped me lose 160 pounds and now it helps me keep from putting it back on.  It also helps me to stay balanced (read: sane).  Then I thought on it a little further.  Running helps me test my limits, both physically and mentally.  It helps me push myself further or faster than I thought I was capable, and this gives me courage.  If I can push past things that I thought were limits on the road or trail, then I can do it anywhere.

There’s a lot of truth in this metaphor.  I haven’t learned everything in life, but I’ve learned that many things that present themselves as barriers are false.  They can be broken through, overcome and defeated with the right level of effort and commitment.  It might hurt physically, emotionally or monetarily, but the possibility of breakthrough still exists.  Of course, there are tradeoffs.  There’s risk in testing limits and breaking down barriers.  If you’re not prepared for the challenge, you could get hurt, you could hurt someone else, you could fail…we’ve all been there.  It’s the race where you weren’t quite ready or the workout that went just a little too far.  These real and metaphorical injuries are opportunities to learn and adapt, chances to grow and improve.  Everyone knows the cliché, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” because it’s true (most of the time).

But in life, just as in running, training and preparation are critical.  John L. Parker, author of Once a Runner, put it best when he said, “It’s like an iceberg.  So much of what makes up a runner is the preparation.”  The giant mass hidden beneath the water on race day is the training put in by each runner before arriving.  Training helps you learn what works and what doesn’t, helps you to prepare and rehearse so that when your big chance comes you know what to do to avoid getting stuck behind a wall and to avoid an injury.

So, I’m down to the last two weeks of an 18-week training plan before I set out to tackle 26.2 hilly miles on Mount Desert Island in Maine.  I will spend the next thirteen days eating well, resting, getting in my final runs and meditating on the fact that the inevitable walls I will face on the race course are surmountable.  If you’re out there, staring down a big challenge or change or barrier, remember that with the right training and preparation you can make it happen.  Just like a child, you won’t know your real limits from your false limits until you’ve tested them.  The building you live in doesn’t hold you, the people you work for don’t own you, the borders of your city, state or country don’t define you.  If you want something to be different, make it different.  Start training yourself, and when the moment is right, tear down the wall!

In closing, here are some inspirational quotes and links to help you through the tough times that come along with big change and long runs – M

“Most people never run far enough on their first wind to find out they’ve got a second.” – William James

“Run when you can, walk when you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.” – Dean Karnazes

“Death tugs at my ear and says, ‘Live, I am coming.’” –Oliver Wendall Holmes

“Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it.  Action has magic, grace and power in it.” – Goethe

MDI 2011 Recap:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=8DuWPIx66ek (what I’ll be doing in two weeks!)

People doing inspirational fitness things:  www.takeachallenge.org

Starting our journey (L to R): Waiting to meet the team; the starting line at Cannon Mountain; life inside the van; tracking our progress; and a tasty firehouse breakfast at Bear Brook State Park

We went chasing pavement this past weekend, but in our case, it didn’t lead “nowhere”…it led to the beach!  Hampton Beach, to be specific, the finish line for the Reach The Beach Relay (RTB), a 203-mile team relay race.  We started our adventure at 7 AM Friday when half of our team picked us up in a stylin’ mini-van at our meeting point in southern New Hampshire.  We cruised two hours north to Cannon Mountain where, after a brief orientation and safety meeting, our first runner set out on his 8+ mile leg a little after our scheduled 11 AM start.  (They stagger the start times based on expected pace so all the teams have enough time to complete the race before the closing of the course Saturday evening.)

After our first runner disappeared down the mountain trail, the rest of us piled into two vans and hit the road.  We were underway!  In our team of 12 runners, M ran in the 8^th spot in the rotation, while I was in the 12^th.  There were a total of 36 legs of the race, meaning every runner ran three times in a pre-determined order.  Each leg varied in length, elevation, and terrain.  M’s rotation (three runs totaling ~23 miles) was arguably one of the hardest in all categories, but it provided fantastic training for his upcoming marathon.  My rotation was a moderate one (~15 miles across three runs) that also gave me the honor of crossing the finish line for our team.

Scenes from the course (L to R): The van parade follows the runners; M decked out for his 3 AM 9-miler; me on leg 24 in the rain; random cheer; M on his last leg in Exeter; and me taking the handoff from my teammate to start the final leg in Hampton

And it was an honor.  Our teammates—many of whom we met for the first time on Friday morning—were friendly, funny, focused, and rock-star runners.  Although several of them had run together before, they welcomed us with warmth and an appropriate level of good-natured ribbing.  Each one of them ran their hearts out, some clocking personal bests and some happy just to hand off the baton at the end of a grueling section.  We ran through heat, darkness, rain, and sunshine as we weaved through more than 30 towns and interacted with hundreds of other teams, race staffers, and volunteers.  We reached the beach around 3:30 PM Saturday, roughly 28 ½ hours after we started, and celebrated with burritos and beer.

Reaching the beach (L to R): Me slogging through the sand to the finish line; us at the post-race party; celebratory cuisine; our Van 2 crew; and our Van 1 counterparts

RTB is not an ordinary race; it is an event.  And it’s not the kind of event that you just wake up that morning and decide to run.  For starters, you need at least five (and ideally, eleven) other people capable and willing to run on a team with you.  Then there’s the training and the planning and the packing for a 36-hour adventure that is long on port-a-potties but short on sleep and showers.  It’s also not the kind of event you just wake up and decide to put on.  It takes months of planning and coordination to pull off an event of its size, rallying hundreds of volunteers to provide services at all hours of the day and night.  And in its 14^th year, the team behind RTB absolutely has it right.  From my perspective as a rookie runner, event execution was flawless.

On a personal level, this event tested my endurance, my mental toughness, and my chops as a runner.  I just started running two years ago, and in that time I’ve worked to drop more than four minutes off my average pace per mile (from roughly a 12:30 during my first 5K in 2010 to an 8:33 at a 5K last month).  I’m not naturally speedy, but I’ve been working hard to improve. I ran two of my legs during RTB at a sub-9:00 pace, and the third was just over that.  Others on our team logged impressive times in the 6:00-7:00 range, which I can only hope to attain, but I was psyched to hold my own and mix in with a crowd of runners I respected.

Because of the staggered start times and varying paces for each team, you never knew if the runners you were near on the course were going to finish ahead of or behind you in the final standings.  It really didn’t matter.  Everyone was doing their own thing, and everyone was generous with the weekend’s refrain:  “Nice job, Runner.”  I heard this as people passed me, and I said it as I passed them or cheered them on along the course.  There were more than 400 teams on the course, and most of them were not in contention for any kind of place or prize; they were out there for the camaraderie, the experience and the personal challenge.  They were out there to run, and they—we—were all runners.

Running is an individual sport, but events like RTB provide an opportunity to create community, even if it’s temporary.  It’s a community that rallies around challenge and celebrates accomplishment with a pure joy unlike any I’ve ever experienced.  There’s a magical feeling at the finish line, even as a spectator.  Racing—especially in an organized endurance event—provides a forum for individuals to challenge themselves in a different way than normally available.  I am grateful I had the opportunity to join a team (partially composed of folks from M’s alma mater) and stretch my own boundaries to see what I could do to help get our team to the beach.

After running alone on a dirt trail through a dark state park with only a headlamp to guide me and a teensy bit of terror to motivate me…

…after running in the only rain of the event as the sun was rising, producing a gorgeous double rainbow…

…and after chugging along barefoot in pace-sucking soft sand for the last 1/3 of a mile as my teammates waited patiently to join me across the finish line…

…well, after all that, I’m pretty sure I can tackle anything, including tomorrow’s planned 3-miler.  Our next half-marathon is two weeks away, and there’s plenty of pavement to chase.  -J

L to R: Contemplating our next move at Spirit Mound; downtown Vermillion heating up on a Friday night; logo of the USD Coyotes (or ‘Yotes, to you…); and the view of the Dakota Dome outside our just-off-campus motel window.

For the past several months we’ve been debating our next move.  Not where we will go tomorrow, rather where we will go in 2013 and beyond.  Once we finish our self-prescribed creative sabbatical, where will we go?  Who will we be?  How will we focus our time and energy (because we have a lot of energy…)?  Over the past month or so, we’ve effectively narrowed our search:  in addition to being happy and centered together, we’re either going back to school in search of creativity, community, higher-learning and adventure, or we’re starting our own business in an effort to help others find wellness and fitness while we make a living doing something we love.   There are many pros and cons to each of these, many risks and possible rewards.

We know that we love to live in our town on the New Hampshire seacoast, and after a successful town and campus visit this week, we’re pleasantly surprised to discover that Vermillion, South Dakota is a place where we could be happy as well.  I’ve always trusted my gut to tell me the best way to go (after stuffing it with much research and analysis, of course), but in this situation, my gut isn’t sending out that special feeling.  The decision is too complicated, and there are still too many unknowns.

We often go back to Rilke’s advice to “love the questions themselves” as a way to help us stay sane on this journey toward a future that is grey with possibility.  But we’re analysts, we’re problem solvers, and we’re determined to find an answer.  The only problem is that in this situation, there may not be an answer.  The only way to know where we fit best is to travel down one path or the other until more information is available.  But how can we start our own business in New Hampshire and move to South Dakota for grad school?  They can’t possibly exist simultaneously…

Or can they?

Tonight, we realized that one of our most common enemies is actually an ally…TIME!  Going to graduate school requires an application, an acceptance, funding, etc.  The deadline for applying to USD is February for admittance in the fall.  That’s six months until the application deadline and eight months until we need to make a decision on whether or not to make the move to Vermillion.  That’s plenty of time to get our personal training certifications and launch our business in NH.  By the time we know what options are available to us for grad school, we’ll know if business is slow, booming or boring on the wellness front.

By committing to both options, we’ll travel far enough down each path to make the decision easier when/if the time comes to choose one over the other.  Best case, we are choosing between amazing grad school opportunities in SD and a successful startup company in NH.  Worst case scenario, we’re not accepted to grad school and the business is a failure.  Then what?  Chattanooga, TN or bust!  I heard Whole Foods is hiring there. – M