Balancing on a Swing
A few weeks ago I experienced my first 25km City of Lakes run.
This in itself is not that remarkable since I've had the opportunity
to run the Twin Cities Marathon in the past. For me, though,
the experience was somewhat remarkable given the wanderings
of my mind during the course of those 2-plus hours and the events
that have taken place in my own life recently.
I initially challenged myself to run and train enough to
be able to successfully complete the City of Lakes race in
the hopes of putting my mother-of-two body back into some
semblance of fitness. In the weeks leading up to the event,
I had a few "Wow, I feel pretty good" long runs, and I upped
my goal from just running the whole thing from start to finish,
to actually feeling good doing it-pretty ambitious, I know.
Well, suffice to say that all did not go quite as I'd planned,
and I wound up with a visit from the nasty abdominal cramp
that has plagued me off-and-on since my college skiing days.
As I ran (slower and slower, I might add), I was starting
to feel pretty sorry for myself, and I couldn't help but notice
that Lake Calhoun suddenly looked more like Lake Minnetonka
in rough circumference. It was pretty discouraging as I faced
those last five miles or so.
For whatever reason, I began to accept my fate and to try
to tame the cramp with each water stop and with adjustments
in my cadence, etc. While nothing really made much of a difference,
my resignation allowed me to wake up to the reality that I
was lucky just to be out there. It was a beautiful day, and
1500 or so other crazy souls were working just as hard as
I, and probably battling their own demons with each passing
mile. To be able to train your body to run 1, 2, 10, or 20
miles is a wonderful feat of biology that we often take for
granted. More importantly, there are many who are not offered
the gift of using that full potential due to physical restrictions
of one sort or another. My discomfort seemed like such a small
thing in light of the bigger picture. It felt good to ache,
to feel my muscles tighten as I crossed the finish line and
to know they were doing so because I had just run 15 and a
half miles. I was disappointed that I had not had a chance
to really test my physical training, but I was humbly reminded
of the mental training that is also a substantial component
of any athlete.
So, what does all this have to do with skiing and life-changing
events, or the price of tea in China? Well, it so happens
that I have had the good fortune to be a cross-country skier
and racer for many years of my (ahem�younger, AKA pre-graduate
school and pre-children) life. For me this began reasonably
early, through encouragement of individuals such as a former
biology student of my father's named Koby Van Beest, who brought
skis out to our back yard for us to try. I can still remember
our marveling at his ability to do a 180-degree turn by flipping
his skis around in a seemingly effortless motion. There was
also a visiting Norwegian, who's name I never knew, participating
in a Bill Koch youth ski event in Bemidji. This latter individual
said to me, as he skied alongside, "Born to Ski". I'm sure
this was out of the kindness of his heart in encouragement
for an awkward 5th or 6th grader, but it became the mantra
of my ever-supportive father throughout my high school and
college skiing years. For many skiers, I believe you will
understand and agree with me when I say that it gets into
your blood, and it has taken several years away from actively
participating in the sport for me to fully appreciate this.
After college, I went on to pursue a degree in molecular
biology and became a scientist, designing and carrying out
experiments with cells and teeny tiny molecules in test tubes.
I spent enough time in a lab at the Mayo Clinic to earn a
Ph.D. and later continued my work at the University of Minnesota
as a postdoctoral associate. Meanwhile, skiing became more
of a memory and less of a past time, and free time was pretty
well consumed with two rambunctious boys (actually, three
if you count Bruce). I loved my work and the opportunity to
tease apart the intricate working of cells that somehow mysteriously
work together to allow our bodies to function. Eventually,
though, I crossed the threshold of needing some time with
a little less chaos; I needed to get back to my inner self
and the athlete lurking inside. Bruce encouraged me to put
my skis on last year and to experience the lighted trails
at Elm Creek one evening while he took the boys on the sledding
hill. The trail was slick and fast, and much of the terrain
was gently rolling such that I could get by with technique
but essentially no conditioning. There were moments when I
could close my eyes and FEEL the essence of skiing as it was
in my memory. The reality was that a heavy gust of wind would
have probably set me off balance, and any modest climb pretty
well sent me into oxygen debt, but I was strongly compelled
by that experience to find a way to get back onto the trails.
Last fall, I gave a lecture to a group of college women
and told them that as women scientists, you have to wear a
lot of different hats, but you can't wear them all at the
same time. So, I have decided for now to take off my scientist
hat, and to spend more time wearing the mom-wife-business
partner-musician-homemaker-skier hats that have been taking
more of a back seat. In many ways, I remain on the pendulum
swing, searching for the appropriate balance in my life. I
believe this balance-point continuously shifts throughout
our lives, and the real challenge is to learn when and how
to balance the weights accordingly to reach a new steady-state.
I am extremely fortunate to be a scientist at heart and to
have a glimpse into the molecular world that is the basis
for all living organisms. It is enormously humbling to witness
the complexity of cell biology, with all of the mysteries
and promises that it holds. It will be a bit of an adjustment
spending more time in front of a computer and on a ski course
rather than in the research lab. On the other hand, I have
been longing to truly dust off my skis and revisit that part
of myself that became a cross-country skier so long ago. As
with the City of Lakes, it will be great to just finish some
races intact, given that it has been quite some time since
I've stood at the starting line with those good-old pre-race
jitters. Maybe I'll even hope to feel strong, and maybe I'll
become very ambitious and hope for a class finish spot. Regardless,
I will be extremely fortunate just to be out there, on the
trails, feeling the snow beneath my feet and the cold wind
on my face. I will probably think about what my cells are
doing, and how much oxygen I can coax them to deliver to my
hungry muscles. I guess I will never stop being a scientist,
just as I never really stopped being a skier-I just took an
extended break.
|
Margaret is married to Bruce Adelsman, and they have two young boys
who hopefully will be future cross-country skiers. She skied competitively
at Bemidji High School and Bemidji State University during the 1980's,
and then in some citizen races in the early 1990's while in graduate
school. She hopes to share new commentaries on a periodic basis
related to various aspects of life as a cross-country skier.