I'm Addicted

In the last 5 months, it's gone from occasional recreational activity to hobby to habit to obsession to full-blown addiction.

I just can't get enough.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm talking about rock climbing. (Bet I had you going for a moment there, though...heh-heh-heh.)

It all started over the summer, when I climbed a couple of times with some cool people from work (y'all know who you are) after we closed up the course for the day.

No, wait, it kind of started before that.

The first couple of years that I was at Towson, there was a rock wall in the fitness center. I went a few times with friends, and while it was definitely fun, running was my drug of choice at the time. First I was training for a marathon, and then Kronum came along, and then I graduated and went off to Europe. (I may have mentioned that little trip once or twice before...) Suffice to say, I didn't catch the climbing bug the first time around.

Flash back to last summer at Go Ape, when the aforementioned cool work friends said that they were going climbing after work. I was totally eavesdropping on their conversation at the time, and managed to finagle myself an invitation to tag along.

A few weeks later, I had an Earth Treks membership and a harness of my very own. (Happy Birthday to me!)

You could say I was hooked.

See, the thing about climbing--for me, at least--is that it's completely engaging. I am so entirely in the moment when I'm climbing, because it is simultaneously a workout and a brain teaser. I have to figure out how to get myself up the wall, move by move, and I have to work my muscles (in occasionally mind-boggling contortions) to make that happen.

Me.

It's the ultimate in mindfulness practices for me: body and brain, united for a common goal, and existing entirely within the moment.

Continuing with the meditation metaphor, topping out a tough climb is its own kind of nirvana. That feeling when I get my chalk-covered hands on the top of the wall...the thrill and the relief just wash over me...I freaking EARNED it.

And I love that I can see and feel myself making progress. When I started out, I was top roping mostly 5.8s and 5.9s, and I've worked my way up now to some 5.11as. I started out bouldering V1s, and on Friday, I tried my first V5. (I literally belly flopped off it, but still.)

*For those of you who don't speak climber, here's a nifty little article that gives a basic rundown of climbing grades.

I'm totally hooked. I've started watching climbing videos on YouTube, and I'm looking into good places for outdoor climbing in the area. (Any suggestions??) My workouts on non-climbing days are primarily based on what will help me become a better climber. (Hint: lots of chin-ups, push-ups, and fly lifts are involved.)

The climbing community is also super awesome. Everyone is so friendly and helpful to each other! If I'm working on the same bouldering problem as someone else, I'll inevitably end up offering (and receiving) some suggestions and encouragement. And when I do finally top out, my new best bud is celebrating with me.

I love it. I love it I love it I love it.

I could go on about how awesome climbing is forEVER. I could, but I won't. I'll just leave you with this:

(Actual pictures of me actually climbing will be in another post.)

Stay weird, y'all. 

Run, Jess, Run

Well, that was fun.

I can say that now, because I'm done. At the time that I was running, especially the last mile, "fun" probably would not have been my first choice of word to describe my 5k.

The morning dawned overcast and humid. It wasn't too hot, though--thanks for sparing me that much, Momma Nature. I got up at 6:00 to eat some eggs and toast (breakfast of champions!), and then went back to bed for another half hour or so of shuteye.

I arrived at the course at 7:45, thirty minutes before the start. Twenty minutes of that were spent in line for the bathroom (of course I forgot to go before I left the house), and then I did a quick little warm up and some stretching before taking my place at the start of the course.

Not having done a race in over two years, I kind of forgot how much of an effect the race-day vibe has. It was exciting! The music at the start, all of these people running together...it was great!

Here we go!

The first two miles were on level ground or downhill, so I was feeling pretty great. I was passing people pretty easily. My running app clocked my pace at 8:20/mile, which was a bit faster than I'd been aiming for--which I partially credit to race-day adrenaline--but since that pace was feeling good, I went with it.

I sort of regretted it when I started the final mile, which was ALL. UP. HILL.

I mean, on the one hand, I'm glad that I pushed the pace a bit when it was still feeling good, but maybe I should have saved a little bit more so I could tackle those hills. Instead of passing people, I started getting passed by a few.

By the last quarter mile, I was breathing none too quietly, and I'm sure my face was none too pretty. But as the finish line came into view, I decided that I was going to chase the guy about 25 yards ahead of me, and beat him to the finish. Which I did, before promptly flopping down on the grass in the shade of a large tree.

Post-race bagel: essential.

Evan met me at the finish and took on the role of my unofficial photographer as I got my race results, and my medal.

That's right, I got a medal.

1st in my age group (females 20-29), 8th out of 40 females overall, and 35th out of all 96 5k-ers.

Bam.

Time to start training for the next race!

T-Minus 2 Weeks to 5K

There are 6 days of school between me and summer...and two of them are half days. #icandothis

Thank you, small child. Never grow up to be a 5th grader. 

Teaching has kind of been my entire life for the last few weeks, hence the lack of new blog posts. (Sorry...I know you all LIVE for the witty, detailed accounts of my numerous and varied daring deeds.)

But now I'm training for a 5k, my first race in approximately forever, so I feel like I have something worth writing about again.

I've been trying to get back in shape ever since I got back from Europe. (Sure, I walked several miles a day while adventuring, but I also ate a LOT of croissants.)

For a while, my post-Europe exercise regimen was going well: I was hitting the gym at least 4 times a week, and I could feel my body slowly starting to return to its pre-macaroon fitness level.

But then I fell into a rut. My gym habit became more exercise routine than exercise regimen. If my progress were a geographical feature, it would have been a plateau. And all that was before I even started my job.

Corralling first through fifth graders into learning all day--on top of writing lesson plans and learning all the ins and outs of a new school--left me with very little energy by the end of the day, and the last thing that I wanted to do was hit the gym or go for a run.

All of these factors added up to a bit of an identity crisis for me; I've always been "the fitness nut." The freak who got up extra early before her 8AMs every morning to hit the campus gym the minute it opened at 6:30. The crazy who ran a half marathon and then drove 3 hours to play in a Kronum tournament. The nut who always took the stairs instead of the elevator, even when the elevator was right there.

The fact that I wasn't running six days a week, wasn't doing any strength workouts, wasn't doing yoga at all had me questioning whether "fitness" was still part of who I was.

Deep stuff.

So I got good deal on a Fitbit and headed off to the beach for Spring Break. And it helped: I got my butt out of my beach chair and took long, romantic walks along the beach at sunset...just me and my Fitbit.

Once I felt like I had an obligation to get up and move (those 10,000 steps aren't going to take themselves), I actually did it. The whole obligation thing also worked for soccer: I joined two teams, which gave me a social obligation to show up (can't let the team down), as well as a financial one (I paid $60 bucks for this league...I HAVE to go to the games). Not to mention, soccer is more fun than weightlifting.

Still, something was missing. So I applied the obligation tactic to running and signed myself up for a 5k, my first race in almost three years. I even coerced Evan into signing up too. Then he (conveniently?) broke his toe last week, so there goes my running buddy.

Running became part of my identity about eight years ago. I started running in high school, at first just to get in shape/stay in shape for soccer. But then I joined the track team my sophomore year, and I was hooked. I found myself running extra miles after games and practices during the soccer season, that way I would stay in racing shape for the next track season. (And yes, my soccer teammates gave me crap for that. Every. Single. Time. Yay, petty high school drama!)

I attempted almost every event a track meet has to offer (including long jump, to disastrous results) before I settled in as a mid-distance runner, usually running the 2nd or 3rd leg of the 4x800 relay. But once I went off to college, I--inspired by my fellow running addict and best friend--decided that I wanted to run a marathon. I started by training for the Iron Girl half marathon, and then forked over $90 to register for the Baltimore Marathon in the October of my sophomore year of college.

On the morning of the race, I got up at 5:00am, Sharpie-tattooed my mom's cell number on my arm (just in case I collapsed mid-race), and headed for M&T Bank Stadium, where the race would begin.

Silly pre-marathon Jess. So much pain ahead of you.

The 26.2 miles are a hellish blur in my memory, but a few details stand out: seeing my mom at the halfway marker (luckily I was still able to smile and wave at that point, because she snapped a picture); stopping by the water stop at mile 20, which supplied runners with Baltimore's favorite beer (Natty Boh), and tears of pain streaming down my face as I ran over that colorful bridge by MICA (the sight of which makes me flinch to this day). I have a vague memory of running the last .2 miles through Camden Yards, and crossing the finish line with legs that I could no longer feel.

Halfway there!

I don't think the post-race pictures of me with my tinfoil blanket and my medal quite capture the sheer exhaustion--both mental and physical--that I was feeling. The pride doesn't show either...that came later, after my 5-hour-long recovery nap.

The last race that I ran was another half marathon the following spring (the one that I finished and then road-tripped to New Jersey for a Kronum tournament, nut that I was). Since then, I haven't raced, but I kept running fairly regularly, and I still hit the gym up until I graduated last spring.

Going to Europe shook up my whole life (which was kind of the point). But it meant that when I got back to the States, getting fit was a struggle. So I'm excited to be finally getting back into it (tough as it is).

Any fitness tips? Recommendations for yoga videos? (That's next on my to-do list.)