On Pivoting
How to pivot when races and life events don't happen, and what to do instead
At the beginning of the year, my intentions were to race the Skyrunner World Series, an internationally competitive series featuring extremely technical races across the globe. I had planned on racing in France and Italy and Spain and Turkey, flying to each and training back in California in between.
That didn’t happen at all.
Instead, I raced a local 25K, the hyper-competitive Canyons 100K, Chuckanut 50K, several Golden Trail series races, the National Trail Running Championships at Squamish 50K, and a few more local races. I’ll be ending the year with the National Mountain Running Championships and then maybe an FKT. I haven’t flown once this year and we no longer live in California.
To say that my racing plans pivoted this year would be an understatement.
Pivoting in both life and in running can be challenging, especially when you put serious amounts of time, money, and energy into a goal. But I’ve found that I have an easier time than most with changing plans, and I have a few ideas why that might be and how to change it.
Diversify your identity
I love running, and I spend anywhere from 9 to 14 hours running each week—but running is far from the majority of what I do each day. I spent at least double that amount of time with animals, whether that’s walking dogs, feeding rabbits, changing rat cages, or walking my pony. Factor in coaching my roster of athletes at Lightfoot Coaching, spending time with family, preparing and cooking meals, and basic life tasks (laundry, cleaning, dealing with flea infestations…) and life’s full! Whatever remaining time exists I prefer to spend on hobbies like reading, playing guitar, writing letters, birding, and foraging.
Running is near the top of my list of what brings a sense of purpose and value to my life, but I know that it’s far from all that I am. In fact, it’s just something I do. If running was taken from me tomorrow, I would be sad, but I know that I would get through the grief and eventually find another activity that felt fulfilling. It might not be the same, but I would find a new and different sense of joy and purpose.
A few years back, over lunch, my dad traced the circumference of an imaginary circle on the table. “Everyone has a circle,” he said, “and everyone has different ways that they fill their circle.”
He started to divide the circle, explaining this his circle was split between Stable Harvest Farm, his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, his partner, a handful of friends, and some of the Jewish organizations he’s involved with.
“What does your circle look like?” He asked me.
I added running and writing, animal care and school, daily life tasks like cooking and cleaning, and hobbies like playing music or reading, to my circle. It was full.
The answer I gave then hasn’t changed, except that I’ve graduated and am no longer in school. Here’s what it looks like today:
Enjoy the mundane
Races are exhilarating and race environments can be even more stimulating. This weekend, Mammoth Trailfest is happening and as of three days ago, I was signed up for the Vertical Ascent and the 26K race. The three-day trail festival is already a who’s who of running and the fact that Sunday’s 26K race serves as the final race of the Golden Trail Series just adds to the hype. While a part of me is disappointed to miss out, it’s hard to feel any signficant amount of FOMO (fear of missing out) when other parts of my life are so full.
For example, I may not be racing the world’s fastest runners on Sunday, but I get to run through a beautiful forest with my husband and perhaps even find mushrooms to later cook for dinner! And I get to see my senior pony, who has exceeded everyone’s expectations in terms of age.
Nick wrote a short post about exactly this earlier today. He does a good job of summarizing why the biggest, most epic peaks may not offer any more happiness than the everyday run. You can read his post here:
Practice finding joy
This reads like a Marie Kondo quote, but I mean this in the very literal sense of practice.
For the last twenty years, I’ve played a game with myself on road trips, particularly when traveling through very small towns. Places like Vidal, Arizona and Shafter, California, towns you can pass through faster than you can say their names; towns with a convenient store that doubles as a grocery, a decrepit restaurant tucked in the back; towns where the nicest houses on the block offer a chain link fence and a backyard clear of any foliage. It’s just dirt and dust. In the few moments it would took to drive through these towns, I imagined how, if I happened to find myself stuck here, I could make a life worth living. Could I find a safe running route? Could I figure out a way to grow vegetables on my tiny lot of land? Could I be happy?
I’ll be the first to admit that the very nature of this game demonstrates a level of privilege—I don’t have to live in these towns lacking more than the most basic of necessities—but I think imagining oneself in hard situations and finding a way to make them better is a good practice nonetheless.
While my fellow competitors taper for their races this weekend, I’ll be spending time with Nick and our animals, enjoying the sliding of summer into fall, and maybe finding a mushroom or two. It’s hard to feel sad for long when other parts of my life are so joyous.
Some questions for you: what does your circle look like? Does it feel balanced and sustainable? And if not, how can you expand your identity to include other aspects of life?
Great to read this before I walk my dog and take one of my kids to the dentist, instead of going out for a run as I had planned…
Insightful post as always,Jade! Joy and gratitude, 2 good things to practice!