As a parent, I strive to be an example for my children. I want them to see me working hard. I want them to see me chasing a dream. I want them to know that if we want something, we have to work for it. So often the focus is on the end result.
As I reflect on the last year of my life, I’m filled with gratitude. This has been the best year yet. This is the current of my life. It’s the vibration behind everything I do. I’m living my best right now. Thirty six has been so good to me, but it’s not because I’m focused on an end result. I’ve been focusing on each moment.
Birthdays are perfect for reflection. While today I’m convinced I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, the truth is this year was hard. Having walked away from a “dream job” just before my 36th birthday, I questioned everything. I doubted myself, my strength, and my ability. The year started in pieces. Each fragment unsure where it belonged. The summer was dark. I was hot and stuck.
Each day I continued on. I kept honoring myself. I made my way. Each moment and each step of the way created opportunities to write my own story.
Today as the sunset I stood beside the river with my boys. Helping Cole work through disappointment of his own, I found myself telling him to keep working, to keep striving, and he’ll find his success. But is that the message I really want to teach my child. I stopped myself. I started over.
This time I told him it’s okay to feel disappointed. That disappointment will turn into other feelings too. That’s okay, and it’s important to feel them all. It’s also important to keep moving forward. It’s important to keep making a path. That might be a dream to chase or a goal to hit. While those dreams and goals help us bloom, it’s the process of chasing them that fulfills us. Disappointment is just another chance to reevaluate what we really want.
Thirty six was my year of reevaluating. It was a year of prioritizing. In all it’s ugly messy middle, it was magical.
I’ve quit assuming what the next year will deliver. Instead I’m learning to celebrate it all.
Thirty seven: lets do this! I’ve got a lot of life to bring you.
As much as I love pacing my training team and supporting on race day, I have discovered that in order to push my teammates, I need to push myself. Since I’d be on the sidelines during the half and full marathon on Sunday, I took the opportunity to race the 8k on Saturday.
I had two goals: PR (sub 44:09) and run faster than I did at the Wicked 10k (8:39 pace).
I didn’t taper. I didn’t prepare for this race. The day before I worked from 6:30am until 9:00pm. There was a lot stacked against me and if I wanted to look for an excuse to have a bad race, there was a lot I could have grabbed a hold of race morning.
Quite frankly, I’m sick of not PRing. I’m sick of having mediocre races. I was either going to hit my goal, or I was going to crash and burn. I was going for it.
Race morning I took my place in the second corral with my kickass friend Karen by my side. She was ready to be my reality check if I started to falter. In front of me in corral 1 was my husband. Given the day and our own individual races, I knew he had a great shot at beating me for the first time. I also had a shot at catching him.
Karen and I started fast. Heading south we had the wind in our face. We both laughed knowing I was too fast for a conservative start, but sometimes you just have to roll with it. The first 3 miles felt like work, but in a five mile race I knew I needed to work the entire race.
8:26 8:39 8:44
After mile 3, I was freed from the boardwalk. I may have let out a primal moan as Karen and I made our way North. I was ready to be done. At mile 4, my teammates had created an epic cheer zone. I felt like a celebrity.
8:33
As I hit my last mile, I felt the all to familiar feeling of panic. My head started spinning. Breathing felt impossible. For the first time ever in a race I said out loud “I need to calm myself down”. As soon as the words left my mouth, my anxiety followed. I had acknowledged it, and I had let it go. Mile 4 felt awful and amazing all at the same time. I knew a PR belonged to me.
8:20
As soon as I crossed the finish line, I saw my husband’s smiling face. I had forgotten about him on the course as I ran my own race, but was curious to see who won the Maute show down.
Run pretty
The race wasn’t even close. He destroyed it with a finish time of sub 40 (sub 8 minute miles). Christian is the official owner of the fastest Maute crown. Not too shabby for a guy who ran 11 minute miles a year ago.
My official time: 42:40 (8:33 pace). A new PR and a perfect set up for my half marathon next month.
While the PR and the pace feel amazing, I’m even more proud of my ability to mentally overcome the panic that normally takes me down. The wheels didn’t fall off. I’ve got this!
“On a given day, a given circumstance, you think you have a limit. And you then go for this limit and you touch this limit, and you think, ‘Okay, this is the limit’. And so you touch this limit, something happens and you suddenly can go a little bit further. With your mind power, your determination, your instinct, and the experience as well, you can fly very high.” ~Aytron Senna
31 days until the Coastal Delaware Half Marathon. With Shamrock behind me, I plan on being selfish with my running for the next four weeks to see what my legs (and my head) can do for a half marathon. The goal is the same as always! Sub 2.
“Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it.” ~Mark Amend
If I could pick the shape of my heart, I’d draw a shamrock in the middle of my chest. Shamrock Marathon weekend is my heartbeat. It’s the place I discovered my strength. Over the course of 13.1 miles in 2010, I became the narrator of my own life. Prior to that race, I lived the life I thought I should love. After I crossed that finish line, I began to live the life I wanted. Shamrock Marathon weekend empowers me year after year.
This year my shamrock story began to take shape as I stood on the sidelines of the Richmond marathon last November. I witnessed “coaches” running up and down the course encouraging their runners. The moment I saw it, I knew that was the role I wanted to own race weekend.
It didn’t take much convincing for my coach to say yes. In fact I think he said yes before I finished asking. My friend and fellow pacer, Steve and I would strategically place ourselves outside Fort Story before mile 10 and mile 23 of the Shamrock half and full marathon.
Race morning arrived along with terrible weather. You won’t read a race report that doesn’t talk about how the cold/rain/snow/sleet/hail/gail force winds impacted everyone’s race. As course support, I couldn’t let this impact me. I packed multiple outfits, extra shoes, and four coats. I needed to be ready.
My job as a spectator started with the half. I watched the first half of the race head north from 80th street. With enough time to catch the front runners, I made my way to 89th street. This is when my real work began. It was time to run with my team.
Our fast runners came through. Tucked in with pace groups, they looked strong. I knew the race belonged to them. One by one my teammates came off the fort. They arrived faster than I expected.
Every half marathoner looked strong. They were focused. They had fight. Not a single one faltered. Steve and I ran up and down Atlantic Ave between 89th and 82nd street running with our teammates and cheering on every other racer. It was a tough day, and if I could give someone a boost of energy, I was going to do it.
As the last half marathoner came through, the weather took a turn for the worse. Maybe it had already been that bad but when I was running with my team I was oblivious to the weather. When I stopped moving and waited for the marathoners to make their way to us, my body began to falter. Wet, cold, shivering, and a slight shade of blue, Steve and I took cover under a tree. Time stood still, and the ugly doubt that creeps in on race day found me. Trembling, I wasn’t sure I could endure several more hours of the weather. Steve saw me falter, and like a true friend and pacer he came to my rescue. He was able to move my car from 80th to 89th so I could remove my wet layers, blast my heat, and warm my body up. He took over so I could stop shaking.
Next year we need the tree to provide more rain coverage
Our first marathoner came through. Seeing Steve run with our dear friend unfroze my brain. I had a job to do. I put dry socks on my feet, layered on clothes that felt the least wet, and I resumed my position on the course.
The marathoners needed us more than ever. By Mile 23, everyone hurt. Everyone was frozen. Everyone had doubts. Everyone wanted to be done. My job was to shower them with positivity and praise as they attacked their final 5k.
One by one Steve and I ran with every runner. The race course felt like a ghost town. Unlike the crowded half, the marathon felt empty. The familiar faces of our team were easy to spot. We tied shoes. We opened Gus. We dug water bottles out of camelbaks. We ran. We high fived. We didn’t stop until we found our last runner.
After nearly 8 hours of running with our team, Steve and I had crossed our finish line. The race was done.
All that is left is the course sweeper!
While the logistics of the day are easy to describe, the emotion of the day keeps slipping away from my finger tips. I got to witness everything. I saw hope and strength. I saw gratitude and fight. I saw desperation and panic. I saw courage. I saw the spirit of what it means to be human for 8 hours, and for a moment I was able to add positivity to someone’s day.
While every single runner responded to Mile 10 and Mile 23 in a different way, there was one common theme amongst all my teammates. When they were at their edge and at the point of breaking, they all had one question. They wanted to know how everyone else was doing? They wanted to know if a teammate and friend was on pace for their goal. They wanted me to know a teammate was right behind them. They told me what they were wearing so I wouldn’t miss anyone. Everyone was more concerned about a teammate then themselves. At their lowest, my teammates wanted to make sure their teammates were given the support they needed.
I learned more than I ever thought I would on Sunday, and yet I saw once again the same lesson every marathon I’ve ever run has been trying to show me. It doesn’t matter how fast or slow you run. It doesn’t matter how many miles you conquer.
Strength matters. Be strong enough to stand alone.
Being smart matters. Be smart enough to know when you need help.
Bravery matters. Be brave enough to ask for help.
Collectively our entire team was strong, smart and brave on race day. This is the magic of our team. We are our best when we are together.
And just like that, the season is over. The bad weather moved out. The sun started to shine as the finish line came down. Spring is here, and we all endured more than we every thought we could.
So long Shamrock 2017! This year we learned there is nothing we can’t handle.
Today is International Women’s Day. It is a day to recognize the strength and importance of women in our culture but to also draw attention to the exclusion of women from our world. This year the campaign is asking us to #beboldforchange by taking groundbreaking action that truly drives the greatest change for women. Each one of us – with women, men and non-binary people joining forces – can be a leader within our own spheres of influence by taking bold pragmatic action to accelerate gender parity. Through purposeful collaboration, we can help women advance and unleash the limitless potential offered to economies the world over.
As I got ready for work this morning, my thoughts wandered as they often do. Driven by my own personal desires to create change, I often feel paralyzed. How do I make that bold move for change? How do I create an impact? How do I reach the outer circle of life where change seems to occur? More often than not it feels beyond my reach.
A reoccurring pattern keeps appearing in my thoughts: circles and ripples. They have become one in the same. If I am the center of my life, my most immediate impact is the circle that is next to me. As change reaches my family, the circle expands. My impact begins to ripple outward towards that unreachable space.
my notebook of thoughts
Perhaps the most impactful way to #beboldforchange is to start by living small. You have to start in the center. You have to start with you.
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Breath of Sunshine began the moment I realized I missed writing. Touched by the ripple of a blog from women in Vancouver, I created a space for myself. I would share my story as a means of writing again. I wrote for no one but myself. The more I wrote, the more I fell in love with my story.
I shared my story. My family began to read my blog. A few friends began to follow. My reach grew. A few strangers found the space I had carved out for myself. My blog is small, but many have thanked me for its impact.
For six years, I’ve capture my heart “on paper”. While the content of my blog has evolved, I’ve never stopped writing for myself. I’ve always been an audience of one. I write for myself. I will never tell you how to live your best life, how to run faster, how to parent a child, but I will always share the lessons I learn along the way. I write them down so I can process the lesson. I write them down so I remember. I share them so I can feel the impact of my life.
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Today on International Women’s Day when I’m desperately wishing I could reach the outer circle where change magically seems to occur, I’m taking the time to reflect on the change that occurred the moment I recognize the worth of my inner most ripple. As I approach my 37th birthday, I see how lucky I am. I love every piece of my life and every part of who I am. I know I am loved. I know I am privileged. While today I feel an abundance of gratitude for the life that I live, I know that this didn’t occur over night.
My inner most circle if filled with love. This floods the next immediate circle, my family, with love. Through my story, by sharing myself, I believe that the next circle and the next circle are also touched by the love that exists in the center of my life. This blog, no matter how small, has allowed me to cast ripples into the world.
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On Saturday, I had the privilege of running with one of the most dynamic and life filled women I have ever met. She has dedicated the remainder of her life to creating ripples of love and support to those who need a reminder that they are worth the fight. As Kim spoke, her words, her ripple nearly knocked me over. When describing the people she’s met along the way, she described them as the following:
The Light that Reflects Light
My life, my love, and my heart is filled with light. My grandparents must have had a glimpse of the life I would someday live when they nicknamed me Sunshine.
Most days I feel like my light is my own. I’m honored when people recognize it, but my intention has never been for people to recognize it.
This year, the year of waking up, I am starting to wonder.
Circles.
Ripples.
Light.
Sunshine.
Be Bold.
Start small.
But when should I go big?
The best way to reflect the light of others is to let my own light shine. Once the light shines, don’t I have an obligation to spread my reach? Once you’ve reached the most immediate layers, what responsibility do we have to make a bigger splash? This is where I falter. This is where the doubt creeps in.
My voice isn’t unique. There are hundreds, thousands and millions of other women who stand on my same platform. There are bigger voices, louder voices, more impactful voices that say exactly what I say. Why should I share? Why should I speak? These are all the questions I ask myself. These are the doubts.
Today I’m setting a new intention to change that. Why shouldn’t I? Why not me? To that question, I don’t have one good answer.
After I finished my twelve mile run on Saturday, I stood in the parking lot listening to my two friends share their stories about training for spring races, and I thought to myself I am so glad I’m not training right now. After a few minutes of stretching and more chatting, I head back out to run some more. I wanted to entertain my friends and teammates as they finished their own long runs. The more I ran with them, the more I thought to myself how happy I was to not be training.
Then it hit me. I am training. I may have laughed out loud when I realized how absurd my “not training” thoughts were all morning.
My goal race for the season is 8 weeks away.
Last week I ran 28.4 miles, I went to the gym once, and my husband was out of town.
For every workout I complete, I use my favorite colored pens to write in my results on my training plan.
I send an update email to my coach every Monday. We talk about goals and dreams all the time.
I’m doing speed workouts, tempo runs, strength training, and long runs.
I most certainly am training, but as I listened to my friends discuss their own training, I felt relief because I don’t feel like I am.
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On Tuesday, my Facebook notifications didn’t stop. Awarded the crown of the weekly Lucky Leprechaun for our training team, I was being showered with love from my teammates. Stories of friendship, miles, and teamwork filled my heart to the brim. I was on cloud 9 as I headed out after work to complete my speed workout.
10×800 in my new favorite run spot: the Elizabeth River Trail.
Right away I could feel that my legs didn’t have much to give. The night before I had maxed out on weight in back squats. My glutes and legs were reminding me that they had already worked hard, but I was on cloud 9. I had a team who believed in me. I was going to run fast and hard. By the third interval things weren’t loosing up. They were getting tighter. My body was starting to fight back.
I started to do math. If I completed the whole workout, I’d see another increase in my weekly mileage. If I cut it short, where could I make up the miles?
Pause. Process. Proceed. A nice remind along the Elizabeth River Trail
My hips fought back more and more. This is when I stopped. I kicked my ego to the curb, and I cut my workout in half.
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Last Saturday I ran nearly 18 miles. It wasn’t forced. It was enjoyable. I never felt like I was training.
On Tuesday my team showered me with love and not a single one of them mentioned how fast or slow (depending on your perception) I can run, my PRs, or weekly mileage. No one gave me a high five because I ran ever mile on my training plan. They celebrate my spirit and the spirit of running.
For a long time I chased the race clock. I counted every step of every mile. It worked for a while.
I’m a believer that there are seasons for everything in every aspect of life. I needed that season of race clock chasing as much as I need this season of “not training”, but eventually my season of chasing the race clock came to a dead end. I lost the joy of PRs (or lack there of). I lost my motivation to wake up before dawn to run. Chasing the race clock no longer motivated me.
Success in running has always brought me joy. But when the success was no longer tangible in the form of a PR or a time on I race clock, I began to floundered. Could I run just to enjoy running? How would I stay engaged if I wasn’t chasing a time goal?
The answer has become a simple one. I run to pay it forward. Running and the community and friendships I’ve been given as a result of all my training has become my form of personal records.
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My goals for this year has nothing to do with race times or any forms of measureable growth. My goal for this year is to wake up. It started as a simple action. I wanted to wake up every morning ready to conquer the day whether that meant a 4am wake up to run repeats before work or to wake up and head into work excited about a new project. It quickly became so much more than a simple action. It brought awareness to how I live. It became an awakening.
As seasons change, our definition and perception of the world must change with it. I love chasing success. Until recently it came in the form of measurable goals. The word success is so often attached to attaining something. But what if success isn’t a destination? What if success isn’t a check in the box? Instead what if success is about creating an invisible ripple in the world that elevates everyone it touches.
This new perception of success is how I know I’m at my personal best. This is the direction I am heading. This is where my running shoes are taking me.
It’s only February. And I feel like my eyes are wide open!
Kristy Maute 