Category Archives: Outdoor

The Run

6am, a Fall morning, deep breath in, blown out and a mist obscures my eyes. Headphones rammed in, house music selected on my old iPod – click, clip and the club sounds of 1995 flood my ears. Swig of water and bottle thrown into the car, beep beep, car is locked. Hat pulled down, heart rate monitor adjusted around my chest; headlamp switched on, and its sickly light seeps across the gloom of a creeping dawn. Watch clicked on, it lights up, Select – “RUN”, click.

The darkness envelopes me and I strike off into the black. Leg strides out, foot hits the ground, crunch. Breath flows in, breath hisses out, crunch, arm pendulums back from my shoulder, it drives forward again, foot crunch. The icy breeze bites my skin, crunch. I glide through the ink, tinges of orange crinkle around its edge, illuminating the horizon, as the sun starts its climb.

My pace quickens, my breath in synch, the first tendrils of sweat bead across my brow and back. Feet snap out and back, thigh muscles tense and relax in relay with my calves, they are in motion and free. Crunch, I hit the trail, crackle I hit the leaves. Surging deeper into the morning light, I can now see the trees, as they come into focus and glow gold, the sun seeping through their branches. Miles tick by, 1, 2, 3, 4 …… The rhythm is soothing, seducing my frenetic mind, it falls silent. All I hear is my breath coming thick and fast, in time to the building music in my ears. I feel calm, connected and at one for a fleeting moment with my consciousness, my body and nature. It feels easy and natural and exactly where I should be. ALWAYS. The adrenaline is hitting my system and I am rising up out of my body and I float above the effort, I drive even harder, miles 5,6,7,8, at times I want to hurt, I want to blast every ounce of energy and give it to my body and let it flood around me, seeping into the earth, feeding the trees and plants and absorbed by the light, ready to cycle back around when I need it most. Water starts to run down my back, my chest, my head, collecting in the creases of my joints, pooling until it flies to the floor from exertion, my shirt is stuck to me, crushing me, as I force the last filaments of energy out. Miles 9, 10, 11 I am almost running “all out”, I check back that last 10%, stride, thump, crunch, swing, breath, drip, 1995 boom boom boom, My heart is racing, my shoulders start to ache, the pain in my legs heats up. Mile 12, time to put it all out, every fiber screams, the warmth is almost unbearable, the fog descends, a metallic taste rises in my mouth, my blood rushes in my ears, suffocating the crescendo of the happy hardcore sounds competing for my attention. Tick tick tick the meters on my watch count down, 800m to go, 400m to go 200m. Kelly run, run hard, sprint if you can, until NOTHINGNESS, click, 12 miles. STOP.

I slump, hands pressing hard on my knees I am breathing with such force, it is painful. The morning has risen to warm my already steaming back, licking away the sweat as it drives from my skin through my shirt and tumbles to the floor, drip drip drip. My heart starts to slow and the metallic taste in my mouth subsides, my eyes clear, and I whisper “fuck” under my breath. The noise in my muscles dies away and I stand up straight. The night has faded and a new day has begun. Other runners have emerged from their nightly hibernation and are tripping past me in groups of 2s and 3s, chatting merrily to the awakening birds.

Click – my headlamp is off, click 1995 disappears, click I open the car door. My day begins.

Dreaming to the Edge.

I was in an expansive mood as my feet hit the path and I started my run this morning. Where I run, it is very beautiful and the path stretches out, twisting, undulating into the canyon with its thicket of trees and cascade of rocks. At this precise moment the sun was grazing the horizon, a red wash was tinting the clouds and illuminating the path.

The path, it was the path. Follow the path.

I had dreams as a child of going to the moon, becoming a brain surgeon, running in the Olympics and being an explorer. As a young adult, I was a travel writer, a famous fashion model an international fabric buyer. I dreamed big, I speculated and formulated with abandon, there was no reason why not and there were absolutely no boundaries. Today, I am still a whimsical, go big or go home fantasizer. I am a fairy dreamer, a dance in the moonlight dreamer, a stand on a mountain with my arms spread wide romantic. I truly daydream hard on a daily basis, it is my favorite thing to do.

But, that path. Follow the path.

As a child my path was long, narrow and winding. As a young adult, I became lost on my path and decided to wander, choosing to experience and feel new things. As a semi grown up it gained many mountains to climb. Now, as I languish in middle age, my path has suddenly become short. Over the next horizon I can sense the end is there and in a few more years I will see the very place, where my essence, dreams and wishes will cascade off. Tumbling into the energy filled ether of nothingness. Crashing into a land I cannot quite see, but can always feel its presence.

My dreams loom ominously and they now have less time to become real. I know many of my “what I believe I am here for” beliefs or my “what I came to accomplish” ideas, will fizzle away. Lost to the air, when in the not so distance future I will close my eyes and they will stay sealed together, under a star filled sky, never to reopen. It was in a moment, mid stride, sighed out with each exhaled breath, that I knew I must keep striving for the magic, reaching for those carbon filled sparkles in the night sky. Because, just like my dreams those stars even though now dead in their universe, still light mine. My dreams will not die, they will shine to the next small child, who reaches up, curls their small fingers around my desires of the phantasmagorical and believes that dreams can come true.

Go little one, go and do great things. Follow your path and become the star light you were created to be. Now shine and shine brighter than I.

Love K. K Dreamer Joy

A walk on the WILD side.

As a mother of boys, my life is rarely quiet, so much so I collectively call them my dragons, my wildlings. I even call myself the MOB (Mother of Boys) or the MOD (mother of dragons). The MOB sounds more badass.

Being a boy mum, I spend most of my days, breaking up fights, soothing egos, washing dirty clothes and regulating video games. The other half of my day is spent picking up sticks left lying EVERYWHERE, flushing forgotten shits and pees, mopping yellow stains off the floor, fishing earth worms out of pockets and learning extensively about the Avengers, astronauts and Star wars in detail.

When the whoops, fights and wildness reach a fever pitch that there is no return. I bundle them up, off out the door, to skip up a mountain with all the well behaved, sedate children, chatting to their parents and acting like angels. Mine are not those kids. It also takes at least 30 minutes to put on socks and find shoes. We fall out of the front door to screams, as one kid puts a worm on another kids head. To arguing profusely about the “I go first” saga, as the hierarchy and boyish power struggle re starts. By the way we have gotten like 50 meters up the road. 100 meters up the road, someone has been hit on the back with a stick (fucking sticks), another kid has climbed over a front lawn to put their hands in a water feature and the last has decided to touch every trash can up the road, as they are suddenly super interesting . Then, in mid flow of me telling him to back up from the trash, he walks in front of a car and then careers back and across the path of a COVID mask wearing couple. They look at him in horror and recoil like cast members of the “Matrix”. While he proceeds to scream and holler at his brother, who thinks he needs to be a parent at that very moment. People must think we re nuts and heathens, we are now a mere 150 meters up the road.

We make it to ‘the hill” another stick fight, one loses the capacity to use his legs and the third at that very moment desperately needs to go for a poo. So much so, he is running in circles shouting “what if it comes out of my mouth arrgghhh” ? We get to the top, this is 800m, ALL OF THEM ARE STARVING. Snack break, poo forgotten. Now it is a race back down, off they go whooping and shouting like cowboys and Indians, flailing! All arms and legs and yup there we have it, a small body catapults in to the air and slams on a rock. ONE TWO THREE here it comes, wait for it, WAIT FOR IT…… A blood curdling scream flies out of his mouth ARRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Older brother pipes up, “oh you are a bit dramatic” Tyson comes out of hurt child and charges at brother ROOAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR . Fight number 788 ensues.

Almost home, Almost fucking home. nothing we do is calm, nothing we do is stress free, nothing we do is quiet.

signed The MOB

Shadow Runner

The darkness is my running partner, more so now I am forced to be solitary in my stride. I do not hate it, I am very comfortable with my company, we laugh at the same jokes and run at the same pace, so it is perfection. However, it is not unusual for me to run in the unlight of the morn! I am a mother of three small boys and I need to get up and run before the kids open their sleep crusted eyelids and stretch their gangly arms towards dawns first light.

It is my ritual, it is my thing and I adore every dusky edged moment of it. As I steal through the house at 4.30 am, silently yanking on shorts, sports bra, socks, wrist band, hair band, headlamp, HR monitor and FINALLY the “piste de resistance”, my sneakers. To aid in my stealth I lay them all out the night before, clean, in order, ready! I double check what run I have and then choose the run sneaker to match, comfy Saucony ISO 2, 4mm drop for steady and easy, Saucony Kinvara, 4 mm drop , for tempo or intervals and then my Saucony type A9, 4mm for the track or a race. By the way I like Saucony incase you were not sure, well better then that, my feet and ankles really like them.

Faced scrubbed, coffee chugged, “bathroom”, teeth brushed, bed hair clipped back, I grab my hand held bottle and steal out into the gloom.

Stepping into the sepia of a fading night, the blackness and humidity envelopes my already sweating body (I am a Florida flatlander), shielding me from danger. The dim beam of my lamp fights its way through the night, scrabbling to light a safe path for my pounding feet, rhythmic body flow and steady breath as I strike out in time to the beating crickets and hiss of sprinklers.

A hushed calm floats over me, shushing jangled nerves and a busy mind in to silence. Foot plants, arm swings, breath rushes, foot plants, arm swings, breath rushes, again and again, over and over, my morning meditation propelling me deeper and deeper into the waking morning. A grey light starts to warm the sky, subtle reds, pinks, oranges and gold start to paint the sky, the tips of trees and roofs of a slumbering world.

Feet are still ticking over, perspiration running in rivulets down my back, across my face, I rub it out of my eyes, breath rushes in breath rushes out. Birds get busy, softly chirping with the breaking sky as it brightens. The moon softly, slides across the horizon to hide behind a cloud, the birds noise builds and builds, a mounting crescendo of song. Whipping around me, pushing me, driving me like a spectre from the confines of the night in to the day. Losing the phantom, joining my flesh and bone body.

Arms swing forward, arms drive back, chasing the night as she slips away. Shadows are sucked out from the base of trees and stretch to the soaring sun. She climbs higher and higher, the birds oh the birds are so loud, I run faster and faster, heart pounding as each mile passes, like a vampire I yearn for the night, sprinting home. Strike, swing, breath, the momentum, the motion is now a blur, I am almost there, muscles screaming for oxygen, but there is nothing left, depleted, spent. The front door looms, I slow, I stop, head hanging like a weeping willow tree, bowing humbly to the sunrise, my sweat glistens in its newborn glow. I lie down, hair plastered across my brow, the twilight is gone and I am stranded. Left to recover on the concrete, dragging air in and forcing it out, slowing my heart, relishing the stillness, the mild ache of my body as it rests from the pain.

I am still, I am awake, I am a shadow, I am a runner.

Minutes pass, I ease myself up off the warming side walk, drag in a slug of water and open the door, ready to hit the fray of my day.

I close it quietly and begin.

Love, Shadow runner.

Loss – Balance – Life

“Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery.” – A Brave New World, By Aldous Huxley

So much has been written about COVID 19. Extensive reporting, every blog, dick and Harry is about it. – Oh, in case you were terrified I am going off topic here oh don’t be silly. I’m all over this supposed disaster like Rona’s twin virus, clearing up the excess in healthy bodies.

New World

The Pandemic has pushed us in to a space of uncertainty and it is a hard place to navigate.

We have had to face extensive change, restrictions, enforced restrictions. The ease of life has been reduced and we as mere Homo Sapiens can get fixated on how my life ISNT rather than what it has become. I have written a few posts on the hilarity of loss and change and so have millions of others.

THE GOOD that grows from nothingness.

However, I do want to talk about the “good” we have achieved, but from the perspective of myself as a lowly human bean (Love the BFG), at home with her 3 children, nutjob cat who thinks he is a dog and a hard working but highly amusing husband.

Believe me, when I say, this is a narrow focus. Hummm, should take like 2 minutes, so I am sure you are about to pee your pants in excitement with bated breath.

TIME

This is the single most important gift that the pandemic has bequeathed to me. Life has sloooweeedd right down and I am grateful. I am not longer living at top speed, where my world is a blur and the details are lost. Instead I have stalled, and my surroundings are crystal sharp, in focus, the SD is now HD and my eyes hurt from the clarity they now must process. Life halted and nature came back in to view as my eyes grazed up from the floor, past my phone and looked out to all that is around. Oh, and I picked up a book again and started to read.

On a very personal level, time has hit back against the restless energy that possesses my every waking moment. It drives me to perpetually keep moving, but now I am forced to be still. This works against every fiber of my being. But who said therapy was easy? I am always running (literally) from myself, the demons planted there at a very young age, by an unknown assailant. The self-hatred and fears, they crept in and now reside in every cell, festering. Memories locked in my secret “brain never remember that again compartment”. It’s a dark and bleak world in there, lost but not really forgotten. Time, the pandemic, the “lock me up”, has allowed me to watch these youth formulated self-perceptions, unwanted memories and start to accept them. Allowing the light to start trickling in, illuminating the snuff dark of a disillusioned child.

SINGLE UNIT in motion

Time has enabled me to cease the intense screaming that is required to get the kids to school. There is no rush, flurry or elevated stress levels. With “crisis” school as I have now called it, because, I am certainly not homeschooling at any level of intelligence or knowledge. We are now able to wake, eat, dress, brush teeth, sit and LOG ON in a mere 60 minutes. We are learning to work together as a family. All of us are solitary but are learning to be together, a single unit. Moving forward in masse and between us we are less frequently looking back at what it once was, but accepting instead the what it has now become.

BALANCE

In life we need balance, it is an intrinsic part of our being. There has not been balance in the world for a very long time. We scrabble at home to create equilibrium, with yoga, meditation, time alone, limited screen time, but life gets in the way. We are urged to be better, work longer, faster, keep up with all that is thrown at us and if we cannot keep up we have failed, we are unwanted.

Yet, Coronavirus is bringing back that balance, in its weird body humbling way. It is reminding us we are not invincible and that our life was skewed. The world is heavy with, people, industry, war, hate, dictatorship, greed, it is dragging us down and squishing our hopeful faces into the mud and standing on them. Equilibrium has to be restored, stitched back into the fabric of our day. Coronavirus is leveling the playing field, stripping off the weight and enabling us to all see we are equal, and no one is exempt from its infiltration and grip. Everything has its direct opposite and without it, the light will feel dark, the good becomes evil, the left will become right, and the action will also become a reaction, never ending in its totality. A circle will never become whole, but always an eternal straight line, leading us in a never ending, forward motion, full speed, no time to complete the cycle and sit back to reflect – EXHAUSTING, Fucking Exhausting.

REMEMBER

We are all sitting in that same boat (all be it, 6 ft. apart) floating in an unknown sea of uncertainty, alone, solitary but united.

Re learning to collaborate, harvest empathy, see again the beauty of mother earth and being given a moment to breathe again. w

We are being released from the suffocation of our excesses. Which means she (earth) too can breathe again and begin to nurture her inhabitants in their time of need.

The virus has smashed our technological cocoon and exposed us to the rawness of our internal crux and basic needs. Because, that is what we are, basic! With all our intelligence (with some people I do beg to differ on this point) our sophistication, our needs are still basic, so very basic. When the world is stripped back, all we need to survive, is food, water, air to breathe, sunlight, a home, income to support the essentials, the ability to feel, cherish the rain on you skin and the sun on your back, smell the earth, lie down in the grass with a breeze fluttering across our face. That is life! That is what we are having to remember! It is not about how many toilet rolls you own. That is what the pandemic is revealing, in small tiny fragments. Generating hope for a future we can be proud of, that we can thrive in and a world we are happy to die in.  Eventually, giving back our bodies to nurture a future generation of hope.

And that my friends, is what the pandemic has given me, I have little fear, only hope we will and can do better.

I would like to sign off with another quote from a Brave New World – as so apt and seriously one of my favorite books.

“I ate civilization. It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then,” he added in a lower tone, “I ate my own wickedness.” ― Aldous Huxley

Peace out and now in the words of Samuel L Jackson

“Stay the Fuck at Home!”

Love Kelly

Marco Tona- Warrior runner

A interview I wrote for a local running group of a local ultra runner. 

“Greatness is achieved the moment you decide you cannot do anything else, other than that one thing” Marco Tona – 12.22.19

With his halo of wild curls, enthusiasm for life and relaxed demeanor, on initial inspection Marco Tona comes across like any other regular 22-year-old. Hailing from Destin FL, a student of Exercise Physiology and the third youngest of eight children, he grew up surrounded by family and well loved.

However, not every 22-year-old that you meet has just completed a 24hr. running race and run 100 miles. WHAT you say!?! A 100 miles! Now let us relook at Marco Tona, underneath his big smile and gentle personality there lies an old soul, the heart of a lion and a steely grit that is seldom found in the youth.

Okay, so who is Marco? I sat down and chatted with Marco on a wet, storm riddled Florida winters day to discuss his journey into ultra-running, what drives him and his aspirations for the future. Because at age 22, this is merely the beginning of his great journey.

Let me start from the “Big One” and take you back to his beginning. “Icarus Florida Ultra Fest”2019, a looped road race, where a runner will run as far as they can in an allotted time. Your choices being….

12hr / 24Hr / 48Hr / 72Hr / 144Hr

GULP! EXACTLY!

What they say about the race “What this means for seasoned ultra-runners and new runners alike is that the Icarus Florida UltraFest is not just a place to test your limits, but to abandon them” taken from website.

So, what is it about this race, after running only three 50K (Calootsahatchee, Croom Fools, Washington Red Devils) races previously that made Marco dive off at the deep end and jump straight in to 100 miles? Well, as with all great beginnings and heroes, it started in a bar. Marco goes on to explain that one evening before a long run, he was designated driver, as all dedicated runners are on a Friday night. His epiphany hit! He was finished with the nights out and wanted to push his limits. It was about, in his own words “shattering his ceiling” and really seeing what he could achieve. So in that bar he signed up on impulse for Icarus. Because in the realm of the unknown a person’s boundaries can be found, accepted, crushed, then rebuilt once the core is exposed and they know who they are. It was from that point, in that dingy bar that the training begun. As 100 miles is literally the only step one can take, to really find out what they can do.

In his youth Marco was a swimmer and as he moved into high school he began to run. He joined the cross country and track team as they did not have a competitive swim team. Blazing a trail through 600/800 m distances and the 5K, Marco carried through his running to college. Moving to Florida and continuing his studies, Marco met Aubrey Aldy, (his now trainer) in their local pool and another piece of the puzzle clicked in place. Marco kept running, he dabbled in triathlon and at 21 years old he signed up for his first 50K. Why? To see if running was “great”? So minimally trained and with the zeal that only a 21 year can bring, he completed his first 50K in 6hrs 40mins. The bug had bitten and in his 2nd 50K with some training he took 2 hrs off this time. From here his ascent had commenced. One more technical run, the Red Devil 50K in Washington and his love of endurance running was secured and the next big challenge set.

We went on to discuss Icarus and what it meant to Marco, how the race broke down and what he discovered about himself, as each layer peeled off with every 1.0408 Km paved loop completed. The key was to take heed of Icarus’s story. To listen to and respect your body, to push boundaries but not destroy your limits, to hit the edge but not melt and fall. Fly close to the sun but not too close, because like Icarus you could be doomed and not rise again to complete another loop. Running 100 miles is a fine balance, of training, respect for your body, nutrition, honoring the distance and to push the edge, while holding back. It takes grit and mental toughness, and this is what Marco had to discover and layer it thick upon his enthusiasm base.

After four months of long slow runs, he was hitting he said 50-60 miles a week. Pretty moderate for ultra-training, with most of his mileage scheduled at the weekends and with some double day running, he was ready. Nutrition was dialed in; he likes to use Electrolyte Fuel System (EFS) drink brand and not eat too many of his calories. This helps his stomach and reduces the usage of the dreaded port a potty, that my friend is a whole separate mental game in itself. The long runs revealed his weaknesses, he hit mental barriers and drove past them to more manageable mental ground. Marco said he loved figuring out “where his walls were” and obliterating them.

The Start Line: –

Saturday November 23rd, 2019, 9am, seasoned ultra-dogs and young puppies alike, wait at the start line. Marco is there, mentally steeled, pacers in place, nutrition lined up and they are off, “let the games begin”. Because if you have ever run an ultra, you know that nothing invariably goes to plan. It’s about managing the situation, driving away the demons, embracing the crazy and the crazies around them. Because, to be a person who can step up to this line and cross it and manage the next 24 hrs, that element of crazy must lie deep within you too. As, it is that insanity which will ultimately carry you up to your goal and past it, then vomit what is left of you at the finish line. Kind of like the Exorcist, running 100 miles is like an exorcism, exposing all your demons and making you face them, because that is all you can do when you are exhausted.

Marco’s personal race to victory: –

We discussed in depth his race, how it panned out and what it threw at him. Marco revealed that no matter how tough it got he “never wanted to quit” that was not an option. It was never in his dialogue and he was convinced he would hit his 100-mile goal in 24HRs. Now my friends that is a very good foundation to any personal win. He found a steady pace and stuck to it, now remember this is not easy and he hit two huge low points. He told me that between mile 42-48 he felt terrible, yet he pushed through and only thought of the race loop to loop, his next drink or next piece of food. He was lacking a little in the nutrition and was given Ensure by his pacer and trainer and Marco said that totally put the wheels back on and he felt fabulous, with 15-20g of protein a bottle it was definitely the way to go. Miles 50-70 he felt awesome as the distance and hours ticked by. Through into the night he kept running, lulled by the solitude and hypnotic darkness, relaxing into his stride and putting his mind at rest; the ultimate meditation. Day breaks, mile 80 hits and he tumbles down a crevice of “low”, muscles are locking up, as the lactate acid builds, feet are numb, stinging from over use and at 20 miles to go, his cousin jumps in for 5 miles to eek him through the discomfort. Then his brother steps into pace Marco, who had come all the way from Oahu, Hawaii, to be with him for the race. He ran the final 10 miles with his brother, striding towards his goal. The pain is excruciating, every mile an eternity, but he remains steady, his dream taunting him and waiting for him to grab it with two hands and with a mere twenty minutes to go to the 24HR cut off Marco hits his 100 miles. YES! He hits 100 miles, can you even imagine what that feels like, the pain, the elation, the relief, the tiredness sweeping over, the excitement. AMAZING! His total mileage was 100.29 miles. He crushed it, ringing in at second place.

The Future: –

We go on to discuss his plans for the future, what inspires him, what he learnt from the race and areas he wants to work on. When working on his running Marco takes inspiration from the strengths of the people around him, his trainer, friends, running partners and creates a person of pure inspiration and looks at what he can draw from that. We talk about what he needed to work on, and he said “consistency” in his training, to get out there and run the miles and not be lazy – his own words.

His love of the outdoors drives him and when we talk about his 5 year plan in life and running, he reveals that he is striving to do some faster 50K races and 50 milers, begin to work on doing some long trans through hikes (think PCT – Pacific crest trail and AT – Appalachian trail) and a maybe a 200 mile race. In life he aspires to move to the beautiful, Rocky Mountains of Colorado, indulge his love of technical trails and being at one with nature. While there he aims to utilize his Exercise Physiology major and build up his own endurance coaching business, partnering with shoe companies and work on training and nutrition of athletes. I mean the world literally is his oyster, with his determination, lust for life, intelligence and cool confidence, I feel we will see and hear a lot more of Marco Tona in the years to follow. He truly was a joy to talk to and a person already in tune with themselves, which can take most people a lifetime to discover. I am excited to follow Marco’s journey and to see where he goes from here as he continues to shatter his ceiling and lift higher.

Marco Tona stats

-Favorite sneakers – Altra Torin

-Trademark look – Wild curls

-Thing most people do not know about him – He was a book worm and home schooled.

-Special power – Enthusiasm and excitement to run.

-Furthest run – 100.29 miles.

 

 

Erica Szilagyi – Marathon Maven

My latest article on a local runner for a local run / triathlon training team.

“With the marathon you must struggle, you have to move to a painful place.” Erica Szilagyi 1.24.2020

Erica Szilagyi strides out to meet me, expressive hands waving, her voice warm and loud. She is such a petite little thing, but there is no hiding her open, all-encompassing presence, it pretty much socks you in the mouth and then hugs you better. I am quickly guided into her bright and airy conservatory, the evening Florida sun dancing on her fledging paintings, a new skill she is dabbling with. The serenity of the room is an interesting contrast to the woman who has just scooped me up at the front door and thrust a red tea in my hand.

OK let’s stop there! I think before I move on, I need to do a quick Erica statistical run down for you, so you can truly comprehend how epic one woman can be.

Erica in Numbers: –

Years running – 46

Total Marathons – Erica Szilagyi, teacher and mother of three grown women herself, has run 34 Marathons. Yes, people you heard correctly THIRTY-FOUR MARATHONS. WOWSERS!!

Boston Marathon – 12 of those marathons have been at the breathtaking, revered Boston Marathon – The world’s oldest annual marathon established in 1897, which makes it an astonishing 123 years old.

Fastest Marathon – 3 hours 13 minutes – fast.

Fastest 5K – 18 minutes 50 secs – even faster.

Therefore, it does not come as a surprise that at 59 ½ years old (her own words, by the way she does not look a day over 50) that Erica is an animated bundle of running knowledge, a force to be reckoned with, all cemented in a heart of gold. PSSST on another aside, she turns 60 the day before she runs the Gold Label Chicago Marathon, the perfect way to celebrate a new decade of life, don’t you think?

As you can imagine, I was excited to sit down to chat, pick her brain and dig down to the core of what makes Erica tick. Eager to discover the drive that has kept her running all these years, since that day when she first laced up at age 14 years old? To be honest, there is pretty much nothing Erica does not know about running and especially the marathon.

Originally, a native of Philadelphia Erica did most of her growing up in the urban landscape that is Detroit. But, at the fresh-faced age of 20, as the eighties hit; the age of computers, conservatism and end of the cold war, Erica chased the sun and headed south to land in Naples. Via a sojourn in Texas where she went to college and earned her degree in Biology and Nutrition. Her path led her to become a teacher of AP Environmental Sciences and then on to study a master’s degree in counseling. Which is where her skillset now lies, helping teens to become the best possible versions of themselves. What better role model, than Erica herself?

My question to her was, why running? Sure, we could discuss her recent race, the Jacksonville marathon, where she ran a 3 hours 38 minutes with change (impressive). We could chew the fat about her big races of years past. We could skip along her athletic journey. But what I truly want to comprehend is why Erica runs, what keeps her running as she grows older and as her body changes? How does one move through time, life and keep being able to bound through marathon after marathon, still relishing the journey, the struggle and achievement? Of course, with age we slow down. We may peak in our 20’s or 30’s, and then we must adjust our goals or reason to run. Or maybe the reason has always been a constant, never wavering, concrete?

Erica was not a college runner, but she always ran. It was a part of her day, her routine, her wellbeing. I mean, there was no cross-country girls’ team in her high school and with there being no set path to her education, she flitted to different colleges as her degree focus shifted, Erica never settled in a track team. Remember these were different times, Title IX was only introduced in 1972, which brought about equality in sports and increased athletic opportunities for females; hence let’s have a female cross – country track team!

Now comes the history lesson: –

The following is the original text as written and signed into law by President Richard Nixon in 1972:

No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.

— Cornell Law School’s Legal Information Institute (20 U.S. Code § 1681 – Sex)

Did you know It was not until 1967 that Kathrine Switzer became the first woman to officially run the Boston Marathon. She was subjected to disgruntled officials trying to shove her off the course, because at the time women were still deemed unable to compete at these distances.

Did you know that a female was not allowed to run an Olympic marathon until 1984? It was at the L.A games and the race was won by the phenomenal Joan Benoit in a time of 2:24.52

Yet, Erica kept on running. And at age 24 years, completely self-trained, she ran her first marathon. It was in 1984 at the NYC marathon, the same year Joan Benoit ran her first Olympic marathon. Serendipitous? I think so.

Taking another sip of delicious tea (I am British after all), I ask her what it is about that distance she holds so dear? She goes on to explain that the beauty of the marathon for her is, “We have everything in life all laid out, but in the marathon you must struggle, you have to move to a painful place and reemerge to finish. Every time you run one you learn something new.” Erica carries on expressing that running is not something she “needs” but, “it is a part of my life. I do not feel good unless I run. So, I run.” It is a parallel to breathing, eating and being. Without it, things stop ticking over and equilibrium is disrupted.

After Erica’s recent impressive time at Jacksonville, she will be running Boston again for 2020, this will be her thirteenth time, almost four months shy of her sixtieth birthday. How has her training changed? How has she coped with slowing down? Erica confesses, that yes, it is difficult mentally, not to be as speedy as she was in her twenties, but it is the process of the run that is the challenge and the drive, not necessarily her speed. As you can see, she is still kicking ass in her age group. She goes on to explain that strength training has become a greater focus as she has aged, because with age, we lose muscle mass. It is also about respecting her body, avoiding injury and letting her muscles and mind rest. She now does yoga to help with her strength and flexibility. All of this has meant she can still do “that thing” she loves.

If you know Erica, you know you cannot have talk about her running, without discussing Boston, her heart race. I ask her what it is about the Boston that she finds so beautiful and engaging that it keeps drawing her back? She explains that on top of it being the oldest marathon in the world, when Boston is run on Patriots day, the whole city stops, the whole city comes out to cheer, it is a holiday, a tradition and it is a tough course with those hills. Erica’s feet have pounded the course from Hopkinton to Copley Square in 1988, 1994, 1995, 1997, 2000, 2001 and then she decided to try her hand at triathlons for 10 years (as you do) and then continued her streak every year from 2012 – 2017, 2019 and now 2020. Need a blow for blow account of running Boston, Erica Szilagyi is your number one resource.

What I love about Erica is her openness, her resilience, her passion and that there is an innate gentleness simmering underneath. This makes her quick to care, nurture and to see the good. She strives to be better. There is so much more to her than what you see. For instance, she paces every year at the Naples Half Marathon, pushing others to achieve their own goals, a pursuit she finds enriching. I want to know more. We move into her five-year plan. What does she have left to achieve, when you have already achieved so much, and this is where you truly see the woman that is Erica Szilagyi?

5 year – run plan

Run the Comrades Marathon (55 miles) in South Africa, it is the world’s oldest and largest ultramarathon established in 1921. Women are currently excelling at these longer distances; I am excited to see her knock this out of the park.

To stay healthy and continue to run.

To continue to run Boston. (You know she will and continue to strive.)

5 year – life plan

To explore, express and celebrate her creativity with her painting and writing. Erica also would like to join the Peace Corps. I could not think of a more perfect person to travel the world and help others.

While interviewing Erica, I certainly did not have enough time, and I most definitely do not possess the adequate vocabulary to give her the written justice she deserves. How can one condense her journey so far, her commitment to her sport, her successes, her challenges in to one article? She is strong and has so much to give. Just like in her twenties, she is still growing, changing and evolving in life and her sport. For me though, I will remain an interested bystander, watching in fascination and delight as she pursues her goals. She will most certainly still crush the marathon. But to see her attempt a longer distance is something I cannot wait to witness, because for Erica Szilagyi even though her speed may be winding down, I believe her true potential is only just beginning to shine through. Erica may be turning 60 years old in 2020, but her running journey is far from finished and may even be just truly beginning.

MORE Erica Szilagyi stats

-Favorite sneakers – Training – Saucony Kinvara, Racing – Nike Vaporfly

-Fuel – Gu, Sports Beans.

-Trademark – A big smile and positive outlook

-Inspirational figures – Betty Lou Tucker from the Gulf Coast runners, still running in her eighties.

-Thing most people do not know about her – She loves to paint, journal and garden.

-Special power – Experience, talent and grit.

-Furthest run – 50K.

Boston Bullshit

I may be a little pissed off? A sore loser, disappointed, completely fucked off. UM Yes I am.

However in my defense, the Boston Marathon has consumed my life for far too many hours. Lets start with the months of intense and early morning training runs, trying to fit it in around, my also demanding parent life and working life. Now layer on the injuries and recovery hours, the actual marathon run, the travel there, the wait to apply, the wait to find out.

Then we have the COST. Sneakers x 2 – $320, hotel room, $60 (shared), qualifying marathon fee $100+ the flights to get to qualifying marathon $160, car rental – $40 (shared) Food $80+ Oh and I could add the cost of rehabilitating the injuries ($500)

NOTE – Some of my friends had run 3 marathons to get their qualifying time.

TO GET THEIR QUALIFYING TIME… Q U A L I F Y I N G…..

From the dictionary

To qualify – be entitled to a particular benefit or privilege by fulfilling a necessary condition.

ohhhh did you see that word – yes “entitled” that means – give (someone) a legal right or a just claim to receive or do something.

Now lets get in to the numbers and the math

Female ages – 40-44  qualifying times for 2019 

3 hrs 45 minutes

Female ages – 40-44  qualifying times in 2020

3 hrs 40 mins (note they have dropped it by a full 5 mins)

My qualifying time (there is that word again)

3 hrs 38 mins and 32 secs

So if we add that all up I am 6 minutes and 28 secs under 2019 s time and 1 minute 28 secs under 2020s time.

So looking at that I nailed it? I get to apply, YES! and then I wait, I wait and I wait some more, oh and then I wait a little longer. A whole mind crushing, nerve splintering 9 days later, I receive my ” non acceptance” email. WTF. Thanks B.A.A for a much needed boost to my P.T.S.D.

That’s it…

SILENCE.

I am meant to be OK with that?

NOTHING.

But I ran a qualifying time? Maybe lots of 40-44 year old women ran a qualifying time, but it is a qualifying time, not a right a to apply time. NO? Who changed the goal posts all of a sudden?

So, I ask you? How does a single marathon make the simple act of running so hard? Expensive, elitist, stressful and I got sucked in, like an idiot, to Boston unicorn myth. Note – no one has ever seen that elusive unicorn, I’m just sayin!?!?! It is a myth, it is a hilly, temperamental, point to point race. In a city that is not as beautiful as London or as majestic as NYC. It is a tough and gritty race, but all marathons are tough and gritty. Who decided to go ahead and make Boston king? Yes it is old, the first, but old does not always mean all that I am better than you bull shit.

This is not why I run! I run to see how hard I can push my body, how fast it can go, to relax, decompress, to flow, to hit that zen when everything is perfect, mind and body completely in sync and the world goes quiet. I run a race to push harder, to meet like minded people and to have fun.

The Boston marathon has crushed me and I never even had the chance to run it. I did indeed qualify.

I think my heart broke when I realized that they lied and good, was not really good enough and was never going to be.

I will run another marathon and I will get faster, I will do a sub 3 hr 30 min and try to keep getting faster, I will crush that Boston qualifying time and I will NEVER EVER apply for Boston again.

 

 

Summer, break every part of me.

Let me start with a very honest caveat to this article. I Kelly Krystina love my children with every fiber in my body. Yet, that does not mean I always like them. Truth.

As Philip Larkin rightly said :-

“They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.”

So clearly there is no hope that I will actually create a better, kinder version of myself. I may as well stop beating myself up, when my kid farts at the dinner table and laughs and I crack up in hysterics internally under my stern facade and, ” please do not be so rude, young man”.

I was not born to be a mother, it is not my forte or natural talent. Yes, I work damn hard at being the best version of a mother I can be, but no I am not the “chosen” one, it was never on my list of career paths. Fashion Buyer, yes, Travel Writer, yes, Architect, yes, Mother – um nope. My forte of dreams are international travel, coffee drinking, running and people watching. For example, right now I would particularly like to spend 3 days in the snow tipped mountains of Colorado, trail running every day, interspersed with fine wine drinking in exclusive vineyards and floating in natural pools totally alone.

As a family we bob alone on the sea that is school, work and after school activities and then out of no where along comes summer break. Fist pump, yes, no schedules, no early mornings, no packing lunches… WHOOP, here we come fun adventures and vacations to strange places. I dream of idling on the beach watching my beautiful boys build elaborate sandcastles and splashing in the sea.

UM NO F ING way, are you delusional? BOOM, lets start with ocean water drownings, sand rammed into eyes and rugby tackling into the surf is what I contend with, snacks dropped in to the water, (clearly all my fault as I am now their resident snack bitch). Heart broken tears when they do not get the (insert beach toy description or brightly coloured confectionery snack here). Therefore, summer has me like – shit I have birthed three, mini, ungrateful ass holes. At least one of them is my mini me GULP. Summer is grinding me down to the point, where I don’t want to parent the crying, the fights (I am really a referee and not a parent) the eternal eye rolling, continue with the constant food prep, the tidying, the keeping them entertained, safe, off electronics. I do, just want to close my eyes for a few seconds, hopefully no one will die and wish for a small moment that they may disappear for an hour or two and I can lie down with a book or take a pee and not have to break mid stream, pull up my knickers and bolt towards the blood curdling scream emitting from a child being pummeled by his sibling or the fact he cannot find (insert random toy here). I mean WTF – you mean that broken plastic toy you have not touched for months.

I don’t want to deal with their ass holeness, when I need to work on my inner ass hole and man she looms large some days, Yes I have walked silently behind my wonderful  small child flicking the double V sign and no it is not for peace, maybe peace out, as he berates me, with his smart talking mouth of how unfair I am and life is, that he cannot have a play date this second with his friend I have never met, let alone the parents. I just do not have the capacity to deal with a double dosage of the ass… At that point it is all about survival until 7.30pm and I can put them to bed. Or myself 🙂

Older people say let them get bored oh and I do, but unless my three boys are given a constructive physical activity, they will just run wild around the house like Genghis Khan heading into battle or they wrestle over every item of furniture they can find, imagine the noise and destruction, please imagine that. Mind Blown BOOM. Each day is a re enactment of “Lord of the Flies” and each day I wonder so who will be Piggie today?Occasionally, they play quietly, but they are boys they need to move and letting them run out and play in the streets on the afternoon of a 95F Florida summers day, well that lasts all of 5 minutes and they can only be in the pool for so long before someone attempts a back flip in the shallow end. NOT COOL – I scream in horror as I pour myself a large drink and turn on another kid friendly movie. PEACE.

Yes I agree Summer, is fun and truly it is, but oh its distressingly hard, to the point where I cannot decide if I love or dislike those hot summer days of supposed freedom and carefree fun?

I’ll let you know once these 10 weeks are up, probably from a padded cell in the local mental asylum. 🙂

The science of being slightly nuts…

My marathon training has now entered week 6 of 16 weeks – so we have 10 to go before I actually try to run my first 26.2 miles (I did the math just in case you could not 😉)

I think I may have become a little deranged. My long run today is 14 miles. I need to complete this before the sun is high enough to strip the skin off my body or reduce me to a pool of water. My running prep is now thus…..

– wake up 5 am (Jesus it’s dark)

– eat a carefully planned oatmeal, with seeds, honey and banana. Complex carbs, simple sugars and protein (check) – as I may just starve on the way round – eating at 5 means. I have 90 mins to get that sucker down and not vomit at mile 6.

– drink a large, fully loaded coffee, a) to wake me up and b) to evacuate the colon and large intestine – so there will be no Paula Radcliffe’s happening mid run. (Google Paula Radcliffe London Marathon shit)

– as I’ll be running at temperatures between 80F and 95F with humidity – I need to drink 7 oz of water 90 mins before I leave. Hydration is key.

– charge headphones – as banging house tunes may be the only way to get through the last couple of miles. Or “We are the champions”, a la Queen. Please do not judge my over 40 year old tastes?!?

– sunglasses – check

– hat – check

– sunscreen – check

– no blister socks – check

– 4 water bottles filled with electrolyte water – check

– running belt – check

– fancy Brooks sneakers – check

– phone charged – check

– Garmin Fenix 5 charged – bugger I need to do that, hold on, – check

– now time to do stretch’s – I am now 41 I need to do this or I may just seize up and fall over. Not cool.

– energy gels for over mile 10, again I need everything I can to do this shit. – check

– oh and the important part, actually pull on shorts and a running top, I’m not sure the world is really ready for me running naked. 😂

Phew I think that’s it ….. Start running at exactly 6.30 am .

Who said this was simple ?