When Things Don’t Click

Skigudinne

Sami woman on skis, adapted from Olaus Magnus, 1883 (an excellent skiing goddess I found on Wikipedia).

When Things Don’t Click

Having reduced my cold to a pesky cough, I returned to Sewall woods a few days ago. We’d gotten a few inches of snow, and remembering my beautiful ski from a week ago, I decided to head out for a repeat. I took the borrowed woodies and some purple wax and headed out into the sunny afternoon. Twenty feet into the trees, I was navigating around roots and rocks, but I figured the conditions would improve further on. There is zero logic to that assumption, other than my eagerness to be on skis in the woods, and it took well over an hour for me to face the fact that the skiing conditions were terrible! For every few yards of skiing, I spent triple that time attempting to straddle rocks, herring bone up icy, muddy hills, and scoot over clusters of wet roots. The realization finally came when, after about an hour, a man (Scottish, I think, judging from his accent) and his dog easily strode by me on foot and quickly disappeared out of sight, offering on the way by, “not so great for skiing, is it?”. At that point, the aha moment arrived: I was having a terrible time. After another 15 minutes, I caught up to my fellow traveler, who was looking out over the river. He asked if I’d seen the immature eagle who can often be spotted soaring near that promontory. I never have but I hope to spot her in the future! After the walker disappeared up ahead, I continued to shuffle and slip toward the road. About a half mile from the trail’s end, I was trying to herring bone up a rocky hill and my  rightfoot slipped right out of the ski. I looked down and a key part of the binding, the bail, had disappeared. I spend a half hour at dusk searching through the wet snow for a piece of metal the color of roots, with no luck. At that point, the temperature dropped, hail began to lightly fall, and I realized things were not clicking for me on this outing! The following day, I walked in with Ollie to have another look, but the binding has disappeared. I’ll head back out in the first thaw… Though I had no real use for it on this ridiculous afternoon, a friend recently turned me on to Endomondo. I purchased the $4.99 version of the app for my iphone, and I love it. It tracks your workouts–skiing, running, cycling and more–giving an accurate map, time and distance, as well as the option of sharing adventures with friends. Highly recommended!

Good Luck Kiss

Ready to Race

Jimmy the Greek’s Frozen 4-Miler, 2013

Yesterday was my first race since getting nailed with this cold/flu business, and it felt great to get back in the groove. It was my second time running this 4-miler. The race is a lot of fun–it’s a pretty flat course, which arcs by the winterized amusement park and boardwalk. The race attracts an extreme range of runners—from national competitors and Olympic qualifiers to an 88-year-old man who ran the course in 53:36. Though I was aiming for something quicker (still pushing for seven-something miles!), I raced a 33:15,  which earned me 6 out of 61 in my age group . Last year I placed 15 out of 53 in my age group with a 34:00. Progress, particularly considering the recent illness. In the picture above, Ollie is wishing me luck, and I’m looking pretty enthused. I ran the race with a group of friends, who pointed out that I looked pretty worked over near the finish line. They know this because they had all finished 5+ minutes before me, but kindly stuck around to cheer me on at the finish. Though I’d like to say I could work on my game face, I’m afraid at the end of every race, all I can think of is putting one foot in front of the other with as much forward momentum as possible! I usually look pretty miserable, but it’s temporary.

I haven’t signed up for anything in February or March, but I’d like to. Anyone know of a good upcoming New England race?

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Blog12Luce

Ripples

It’s a new year, and as I look back at the first eleven entries of my blog, it occurs to me that each post has rippled wonderfully into new adventures, side conversations, and tidbits of knowledge that have been gifted back to me in response. In one case, in response to “I’m Making Art Right Now,” Gregg, whom I quoted in the post, emailed me to recommend Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Much of the book is devoted to tales about training, but the best parts are when the author offers a glimpse into his runner’s/writer’s mind. In one section, he describes the mental transformation that happens during a run:

I run in a void. Or maybe I should put it another way: I run in order to acquire a void. But as you might expect, an occasional thought will slip into this void. People’s minds can’t be a complete blank. Human beings’ emotions are not strong or consistent enough to sustain a vacuum. What I mean is, the kinds of thoughts and ideas that invade my emotions as I run remain subordinate to that void. Lacking content, they are just random thoughts that gather around that central void. (17)

I wouldn’t describe my experience when running as a void, but I do love the way ideas shift and bump into each other with ease after I’ve been running for a half hour or so. There’s a realignment that happens in the way ideas get knocked off their foundations, and I carry some piece of that forward into my post-run day. Perhaps my experience of unhinged ideas bumping into each other is similar to Murakami’s “void.”

Sewall Woods Trail

 

In the Woods

A few days ago, I rediscovered a section of the Sewall Woods Trail in Bath. I’ve had an awful head cold this week, and I’ve been swamped with the start of classes. Though the couch was tempting, I opted to get my blood pumping. I took the wooden skis out (a long term loan from a friend, for which I’m now even more grateful) and set out for the trailhead. I’m still getting my skiing legs back after a 20 + hiatus from X-C, and as I was gliding through the woods along the river, on trails packed with mountain bike and snowshoe tracks, I realized that since high school I’ve had a nonsensical preference for groomed trails. For some reason, I thought that the pace and excitement wouldn’t be the same in the wild or on sullied trails. I have no interest in tedious shuffling on skis! My assumption about trails, along with other assumptions about time and money, had stopped me from doing one of the things that brings me the most pleasure in life! On that late afternoon a few days ago, the woods were magical, and I was reminded again of how tunnel vision can be an obstacle to discovery, even to pleasure. Given the right match between skis, terrain, conditions, and the right wax, options for adventure, even pure joy, are abundant. In Sewall woods, I ran into a couple snowshoeing, a few mountain bikers, and a runner with her dogs. With each meeting, we shared a greeting and a look of recognition: why would anyone be anywhere but in the woods at this moment?!

A final note on gear. A few weeks ago, I purchased Sporthill 3sp Saga tights. They add just enough warmth for touring through the woods without being too heavy. They feel like soft cotton but they resist getting wet. Highly recommended.

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Taking Risks

If the Hat Doesn’t Fit…

The Third Annual Portland Brewer’s Holiday Dash at RiRa was a fun event, in spite of the fact that I was not pulled together at all! It was a bitterly cold day, and after debating about whether to wear a running jacket or not, I opted for a long-sleeved technical shirt, light leggings, gloves and a hat. Two problems: first, my lower arms were freezing throughout the race. I’ve never understood arm warmers till now–they would’ve been perfect! The other issue was my loose Swix hat, which was riding up my head throughout. That kind of distraction is incredibly irritating during a race—the process of pulling the hat back down over my head, my hair falling out of its pony tail…it was driving me around the bend.  I have since purchased a smart wool roll down hat at Nomads in Portland (Nomads is a great spot for finding gear). Now that I’m in my second year of running, I’m becoming increasingly aware of the details—both in terms of taking an intentional approach to my form in each run but also in making the right gear choices for each venture. In spite of my hat troubles and the cold, I managed 8:05s–I’m inching closer to my goal of sub-8 minute miles. The dash was an out and back, and just near the turnaround, I heard the sound of jingling bells getting closer and closer. Shortly after, the dj for the post-race party cruised by with a long fabric deer body extending 3 feet out from his back with various bells, ribbons, and hind legs dangling off. Nothing like being reindeered to keep me honest about where I am in my running career! Next race on deck is Jimmy the Greek’s Frozen 4-Miler in Old Orchard Beach. It’s a fun race if you’re looking for something to do!

Taking Risks

Every artist knows the pain of killing a piece of art because it’s become overly precious. In the midst of the holiday bustle of the last week, I found a few hours of oasis in my studio.  During one of these escapes, I was reminded of something that I regularly tell my students: don’t sacrifice the success of a whole piece for love of a single moment. Over the last few months, I’d been working on a new bird stack drawing. There were a few birds and formal gestures that had become precious to me, yet the piece as a whole wasn’t clicking. I’d become over-attached and had stopped taking risks. Looking at another recent piece—a graphite, gold leaf and oil on paper that I’m really happy with—I realized that I needed to get messy and let go in order for the piece to arrive. At different points in my life, I’ve applied the same lesson—don’t get over-attached; it blurs one’s vision and obscures the path ahead. That’s my post-holiday reminder to myself. A New Year’s resolution in progress!

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Skiing Makes Me Cry

SkiingKUA

Muscle Conspiracy

It seems I’m a trail runner.  After the misstep of 40 minutes on the road, I returned to the Whiskeage trail. I had a fabulous run of about 48 minutes, during which the hip felt muscle sore, not injury sore. After a day off, I hit the trail again for 25 minutes, with increased soreness, most likely because I pushed too hard in the earlier run (I couldn’t help myself; it felt so good to feel good while running!). I continue to learn a lot about my body, from experimenting with cross training and running strategies to understanding the anatomy behind the pain. The physical therapists at Riverview, in addition to using deep tissue massage to work out the kinks in my hip and leg, have shown me how the psoas and piriformis muscles, and recently the IT band, are conspiring against my quick recovery. Chris and Carrie have given me a range of exercises for my gluts and hamstrings, which should help my body support increased mileage. Since trail running is prescribed into the distant future, I need recommendations. If you know of good trails in the Portland/Brunswick/Bath area, please comment. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to my next race, the 3rd Annual Portland Brewer’s Holiday Dash 5K, which takes place tomorrow. It’s sponsored in part by Portland Trails and includes an after party and brunch at RiRa Irish Pub and a Toys for Tots collection (I picked up a Playmobil horse and corral, which I hope will be a hit). I’ll be gearing up for cold weather, as snow is in the forecast: Nike leggings, a long sleeve technical shirt, and my favorite gear discovery of last year, Icebreaker gloves. They’re light and keep my fingers toasty and not sweaty.

Skiing Makes Me Cry

It’s time to get the X-C skis out of the garage and the boots out of the basement! I loved racing as a teenager (1983 KUA pic above), and I regret that I let it go during college and after. I was on 3 varsity teams in high school, and after graduation I changed gears, focusing on my growing interest in painting (among other distractions…). I skied occasionally over the years, until my Fischer Racing Cross gear was completely trashed. In 2010, I was reunited with skiing. That winter, a friend loaned me some Madshu racing skis before I hit the road for a faculty meeting in Montpelier. On route to work, I stopped at Bretton Woods Nordic Center and spent a few ecstatic hours on the trails (yup, I was sore for a few days!). When it was time to scoot to VT for my meeting, I packed up my gear, hopped into the car, and promptly started crying. I’d forgotten how much I love to X-C ski; how happy it makes every cell in my body. I’ve been skiing regularly since then, and last year I found a used pair of my dream skis, Fischer RCS carbon tip classics. Meetings are scheduled for this week, snow is in the forecast, and the skis are coming along for the trip!

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I’m Making Art Right Now

Oliver

The Long View

On Thursday, after 2 weeks off, I hit the Whiskeag Trail in Bath for a 25 minute run with Oliver (a very happy post-run Ollie is pictured above). My hip was stiff but the run felt great. On Saturday, I made the misstep of running 40 minutes on the road. My hip started aching a few miles in, and it’s been sore ever since. Looking ahead, I’m eager to do speed work and begin training for my first half marathon, but I know I can’t pick up the pace or distance too rapidly. I’m taking the long view–or trying to. The plan: run easy; work out the kinks with the foam roller and tennis ball; and cross train several days a week. The long view: take it easy now and enjoy fantastic future adventures and years of growth as a runner.

I’m Making Art Right Now

Several years ago, the artist, writer, and AIDS activist, Gregg Bordowitz gave a lecture at the Maine College of Art in conjunction with the publication of his book, The Aids Crisis is Ridiculous. I knew Gregg from my time as an MFA student at the Vermont College of Fine Arts, and I was eager to reconnect and hear his thoughts. One of the subjects of the evening was the busy nature of Gregg’s life and practice. During the post-talk QnA, someone in the room expressed judgment about what he saw as Gregg’s missing commitment to “actual studio practice.” Gregg responded, “I’m making art right now.” This response has stayed with me over the years. Most artists and writers feel they never have enough PURE studio time. Gregg’s view was that in the midst of a lecture circuit, he was fully engaged in his creative practice. This resonates for me. I often speak about “the studio in my head,” which, when I’m busy and tuned in, I’m drawing, painting, and problem solving even as I’m giving lectures, running, or chopping vegetables. Sometimes it would be just plain slippery to claim that I’m Making Art Right Now; sometimes there’s just too much mental clutter, but I know that when I’m engaged and present, I am producing ideas and images–my creative work is underway. In a wonderful moment of congruity, an artist friend gave me a copy of  “The Art of Being Still,” by Silas House (NY Times, 12-2-12). The author describes himself as someone who is “nearly always in motion,” which I can relate to. House goes on to say that,

…those who know me best realize that I am being still even in my most active moments. This is because I’m not talking about the kind of stillness that involves locking yourself in a room with a laptop, while you wait for the words to come. We writers must learn how to become still in our heads, to achieve the sort of stillness that allows our senses to become heightened. The wonderful non-fiction writer Joyce Dyer refers to this as seeing like an animal. (9)

As I think about stillness in action, and “seeing like an animal,” it occurs to me that I am most still when I am running, which is probably why running almost always fires up my art brain.

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Grit vs. Seduction

LucindasCraftJacket

LucindasAsics

Chatter and the Blues

In 3 days, my 2 weeks without running will conclude. I’m anticipating a trail run on Thursday, and my fingers are crossed for a pain free experience. For the last 12 days, my head has been full of chatter and the blues. Though it has some advantages, pool running just doesn’t free the mind in the same way as moving through the landscape. There’s a trail run in Bath that I love to run with my dog, Oliver. The last time I ran it—a few weeks ago—I was 2+ miles in when I heard gunshots. Since the trail is in the city, I had assumed hunting was off limits! I’ve stayed clear since, but I think that’s the spot for an easy run on Thursday. This will be my running re-entry after a short break due to muscle strain. If you have any re-entry wisdom, I welcome your comments.

Though this isn’t a traditional lay-person’s running blog (describe a run, show a map, talk about sneakers, repeat), I would like to rave about two recent purchases. Many sing the praises of running jackets, but given the expense, for the last year I made do with a fleece. A month ago, when I began thinking about the cold winter roads, and, maybe feeling a little sorry for myself because of the hip issue, I picked up a Craft of Sweden PXC Jacket (pix above). It’s technically for X-C skiing, and I will put it to use for that this winter, but this jacket really enhances the cold running experience. I’m comfortable at the start of my run and never get overheated. Usually I’m pulling a fleece on an off throughout a run, but the jacket stays on without every feeling hot, bulky, or constricting. Second, because of the hip issue, I was advised to change sneakers. I went to the fabulous Maine Running Company to get some expert advice. You pay a bit extra at their shops but the tidbits of wisdom and the security that you’ve made the right choice are more than worth it. After trying out a number of options, I chose Asics, gel-DS Trainers. They’re comfortable, light, and offer just enough structure for training. What’s a running blog without at least a quick nod to shopping for gear!

Grit vs. Seduction

I was happy to address the question about grit vs. seduction in my artwork this morning (in response to Low Language), and I’ve been thinking a lot about it since. Today, in my studio, I returned to an oil painting of a swallow flying in a snowy skyscape. A huge net of gold leaf hangs in the air, and an icey globe floats below punctuated by a single bare-branched tree. This feels like just enough. Maybe the grit of the piece unfolds as the content reveals itself. Gritty-ness in art can come close to the grotesque, and work from artists like Paul McCarthy or the Chapman brothers leaves me flat. I get the art historical context that it emerged out of, but it doesn’t take me deep. I can’t get beyond the grossness of it. Beauty with an undercurrent of the sublime—that’s what I’m after. And it’s rare, in my work and the work of others. Maybe grit, for me and my work, is beauty that can’t be shaken off–something about the work wedges under your ribs, evoking a feeling, memory, desire, or idea that’s just out of reach or that takes you/the viewer in two directions at once.

Last night I had a dream that a pie was a book. It was completely both things—pie and book–with tender, flaky crust and layers of thin pages of type descending down into the fruity pie. In the world of my dream, it made complete sense. Even now I can picture what I saw in my sleep but I can’t make sense of it. I’d like to paint that feeling.

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Low Language

 

Ebb and Flow

This morning, I ventured into the pool for some running laps. It’s an odd practice, and insanely boring. I strapped on a blue floaty device and worked hard to “run” down the lap lane and back. A single session seems to have loosened things up in my hip and leg and provided some decent core work. My physical therapist has banned running for two weeks, so I’m focusing on cross training and building up strength in my abs, gluts, and hamstrings; hopefully, in two weeks I’ll be running without pain.  It’s become clear to me that there is an ebb and flow to running, and that the smartest runners trust the cycle without trying to push through it.

In pondering the ebb and flow of my first year of running,  I’ve been reflecting on the week that I spent at Anderson Ranch in Colorado, working with artist Enrique Martinez Celaya. In addition to a week of rigorous dialogue and painting, I had hoped that running at a 9100 foot elevation would strengthen my lungs. I did manage some very pokey running, but I was breathless and dizzy going up hills. There was minimal improvement over the week. Oddly, when I returned East, expecting to have the lungs of an Amazon, I struggled for over a week to get back into my groove.

Low Language

The main focus of the Colorado trip was artistic critique, and the week of dialogue with Enrique was transformative. I located some of the tensions in my work: grit vs seduction, being precious vs profound, concealing vs revealing, using mystery vs coyness, and much more. I saw newly where I manage these tensions in the work and where they fall flat. Throughout the session Enrique encouraged us (a group of 9 artists, mostly professors desperate for a week of focused art time) to consider how our lives and art are interwoven. He was direct. What’s wrong with your work is what’s wrong with your life. Look for the ways that you lie to yourself about your work, and your life. Look at your studio, your resume, and your relationships; be honest about what they indicate about your commitments. We tend to develop fictions about our artwork and ourselves as artists. Enrique pointed out that sometimes language creates a structural lie between an artist and her/his work. He encouraged us to use “low language” in order to “open the curtain.” To take this on is a powerful and revealing exercise. Strip away all the academic jargon and see what’s there. The bottom line is another reminder, like my in flight epiphany (in the first post): look at my life, be honest about where my energy is going, and be straight with myself about where I’m making decisions out of convenience.

Note Enrique Martinez Celaya’s current show, The Hunt’s Will, at LA Louver  in Los Angeles.

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The Throngs in the Middle

The morning after, I’m sore, sleepy, and, as always, filled up with race day tales! The Portland Thanksgiving Day 4-Miler was a zoo of 1748 runners racing through the old port. The race itself wasn’t very well organized, this year or last. Most unpleasant were the three bathroom stalls for 856 female runners and the minimal availability of water. Still, it was important that I mark the one-year anniversary of my first race by repeating the event. The course winds twice around a loop, and anticipating the second round, particularly the long hilly section, is brutal. My aim was to see how far I’d come in a year, and I took 4:24 off my time, coming in with a 32:34, and placing 151st out of 856 women runners–15th out of 86 women in the 45-49 age group. Given the hills, I’m pleased with my 8:09 miles, though I continue to be amazed by what the gifted and practiced runners are capable of. As I look ahead, my aim, once my hips recovers, is to increase miles and do some speed and hill work; we’ll see if that takes my running to another level. In order to fully heal my hip, I’m going to attempt to stick to pool running for a few weeks.

I’ve included some pix of the Thanksgiving race (all taken by racer/photographer, Rick Chalmers), which tell another race day tale. Fortunately, I wasn’t lapped by the frontrunners, but after finishing the race, I learned that it was chaos as the lead runners caught up with the throngs in the middle. Note the images above, when the lead racer, in red, has to push people aside to get through. In the best races, someone is assigned to part the seas for the elites.

Maine’s Sheri Piers (in blue above) came in second overall for the women in the 4-miler, and I was reminded of a trip with friends to the 2012 Boston Marathon. Piers, at age 40, finished as the 10th  woman overall and the top American in the famously heat scorched race that had many elite runners dropping like flies. It was inspiring to see Piers and other elite runners in action and to share the road in a local race.

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Remembering to Play

Repeat Race

Tomorrow morning I’ll return to the scene of my first running race ever, Portland’s Annual Thanksgiving Day 4-Miler. My goal is to beat my first race time by a substantial margin. With ongoing hip pain, I may not be at my best; still, I’m looking forward to my first repeat race.  This last week has included a few good runs, including a second run with my cousin, over the Brooklyn Bridge and back on the Manhattan Bridge–I love those bridge runs! I’m not sure the pavement was good for my hip, but it felt fabulous at the time. Best of all, I have expanded my running posse!

Remembering to Play

In my first blog post, I wrote that I was,

…feeling blue with the realization that I’d developed a case of identity tunnel vision. My self worth had gotten bound up in collecting success chips. I’d somehow become so fixated on my progress as an artist and professor that I’d temporarily forgotten to trust my gut and let the experiences that light me up lead the way.

The New York trip gave me more to ponder on that front. After my Brooklyn visit, I met up with my dear artist friends  Cynthia Atwood and Joan Grubin (pix above are of me and Cynthia; Joan and her husband, David; and Joan’s work). Joan was giving an artist’s talk in conjunction with her exhibit at the Kentler International Drawing Space (Kentler Gallery). Joan’s paper installation works are ephemeral and site specific, taking shape in the months before the show, but coming together uniquely in the gallery space. Her work is lyrical, textual, and playfully formal. It’s a beautiful show and worth the trip to Red Hook. The show inspired an interest in keeping creative work in motion, in play, as long as possible.

As a side note, we finished up the evening at Buttermilk Channel in Brooklyn: bourbon cocktails, Pemaquid oysters, pasta with mushrooms, and a magical chocolate concoction to finish it off. It’s a fabulous place to feast: http://www.buttermilkchannelnyc.com/

On my way back to Maine, I stopped in the NY suburbs to visit my dad. His place was filled with projects: a painted red rocking chair made from found wood; a monumental hat rack shaped from a fallen tree; stacks of paintings made from poured and troweled paint, raw pigments dumped with abandon, and rough, scratched surfaces…I’ve got a different type of mission in my own studio, and much less freedom in terms of time, but the visit reignited my desire to avoid creative myopia. Remember to play. Remember that sometimes I undermine myself by being overly intentional.

Off to the races. I’ll return with a fresh race tale tomorrow!

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Toe Damage

Running Buddies

This afternoon, I had a wonderful run through Brooklyn—from the Heights through Red Hook and back. I ran with my cousin, Katie, who’s recently picked up running after an extended hiatus. Dodging downed trees, cars, and pedestrians brought back another shared run.  In the summer of 2011 on Grand Manan Island, I had just started running regularly. My friend Rick asked if I’d like to head out for the trails. I promptly replied, “No way, I could never run with anyone else!” He made the case that runners love to run, and that getting out there and sharing the experience is more important than running fast. Truthfully, I was shy. I felt slow–self-conscious about running with a runner. After some coaxing, I conceded, and we had a great run from Southwest Head to the stunning Hay Point and back. Today, as Katie and I ran through the streets, chatting and raving about our running obsessions, I got it; I just wanted to share the experience with her—moving through the streets, taking it all in, and sharing tales.

Toe Damage

My toes have been through a lot in this life, and my last PT appointment underlined this fact. I learned that my toes have limited flexibility (60% relative to the 75% that’s beneficial to a runner).  I was a field hockey player in high school, and I remember numerous trips to the infirmary after having my toes smashed by someone’s stick. As I recall, I was given an aspirin and sent on my way. The story of my un-bendy toes goes further back, and I share it with hesitation as the story is a bit backwoods odd. I lived in northern Vermont as a child. My mother was a back-to-the-land Vermonter of the 60s. She was a struggling writer at the time. Her hard work paid off, and she’s now an extremely successful writer (Alison H. Deming), but back then, making ends meet was rough going. For several years, I went to public school in Bakersfield. I carry forward values of individual freedom, community living, working the land, and eating local meat and vegetables, but for the kids growing up in the “alternative” environment of the time, there was a difficult cultural divide between home life and social life. For many years (decades, actually), I found it hard to place myself…to figure out where I fit. I met my middle school best friend in Bakersfield, and for a few years we were inseparable. During sleepovers at her house, for some reason I will never understand, her father would pin us down and tickle us and then pull our toes out of their sockets. Since then, I’ve hated having my toes messed with. After my PT consult this week, I wondered whether my toes went into self-protected retreat mode, compounded by the hockey sticks a few years later. I now have a set of toe exercises and stretches, and perhaps my toes will forget their woes, and I’ll take a minute of my 5K time. Magical thinking?

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