Change is Good: New Website

Someone decided to convince me to become (a tiny) bit more technologically savvy, so you can now find my updated website (and blog, whenever I get around to blogging again) over at:

ameliabooneracing.com

RIP, RIL.

The Book of Ultra: The Georgia Death Race

Obstacle racing has been fantastic.

But last fall (fresh off of knee surgery), I was looking for something different. A new challenge, a new venture. Having made a brief foray into competitive CrossFit at Regionals last year, I realized that lifting heavy things for just a few minutes at a time probably wasn't my wheelhouse. So when I sat down to think about what I love the MOST about OCR, I realized it's running up and down mountains (or the Death Race, where all I wanted to do was hike up and down Bloodroot endlessly).

So why not try something where I'm doing just that? Let's write a new chapter, a new book. And call it The Book of Ultra.

On being broken, rehab and recovery

Before I begin, let me preface that I am not a medical professional and hold no qualifications or certifications (even meaningless ones where you pay one thousand bucks for a t-shirt), and the last anatomy class I took was a 3 week unit in 9^th grade biology. I am, however, a lawyer, so I know I need to cover my ass because inevitably someone may rely on this shit. So what I’m saying here is solely based on my own personal experiences, observations, and the ever trust-worthy interwebs. Follow at your own risk.

8 weeks before WTM

Injury is an inevitable part of being an athlete. It feels kind of weird to say that, for two reasons: (1) I’ve never really considered myself “an athlete”, and (2) up until about a year ago, aside from a few broken bones growing up, I’ve never really been injured. Hurt, yes – but never a diagnosable injury that has taken me out of training for more than a week or two at a time.

Within a week of turning 30 (so stereotypical, I know), the wheels began to come off. 2014 was a year of recovery/rehab from one injury, only to lead to another injury, probably resulting from compensating from the previous injury. Frustrating, to say the least.

So when people ask me how I came back so quickly from knee surgery to win World’s Toughest Mudder, I tell them – LOTS of practice. Like any sport or skill, I’d like to think you can get really good at rehab.  While a lot of it has been through trial and error (I still have a problem finding a good balance), but I’ve learned a fair number of things along this rehab journey.

Coming Home: World's Toughest Mudder 2014

The most fun you've had? Oh yes

There are times in life when things just feel right. When you know you are where you are supposed to be.

And as soon as I pulled up to the site of World's Toughest Mudder 2014 in Lake Las Vegas last Friday, I knew it was one of those times.

Hugging old friends, meeting new ones, we all anxiously set up our pits areas, commenting on how the Vegas desert was the FURTHEST thing from Raceway Park in Jersey that we had all grown accustomed to over the past few years. Excitement ran high. We were ready to begin.

But 8 weeks ago, I didn't think I would be there in Vegas, preparing to race. 8 weeks ago, I was mourning the loss of running the Spartan World Championship, and undergoing surgery on a bum knee. I had mentioned to my surgeon that I would love to make it back in time for a "24 hour race," and he rolled his eyes.

See, when the surgeon told me "return to sport" in 8 weeks, he meant "go play a basketball game," not "run around in circles in the desert for 24 hours." Sorry doc - can't help the sport I chose, and technically, you didn't qualify your statement. With that in mind, however, I came in cautious, mentally prepping myself for the fact that I might have to pull the plug. That the moment the knee started hurting, I needed to call it. I questioned how much conditioning and endurance I had lost being laid up for a good portion of those 8 weeks. I doubted whether my ego could take that (as I'm sure the others did around me). But regardless of how far I could make it, I knew I needed to be at WTM. Having missed last year with injury, the thought of missing another gutted me more than I could ever imagine.

But come WTM morning, it was all smiles and laughs. Surgeries, injuries, and disappointments were far from my mind as we started out. I try and learn something from every race, and over those next 24 hours, a few things became clear to me:

Willingness to Suffer

Might as well look good doing it

The typical interview question will go something like this: "So why do you think you are successful in obstacle racing?"

It's a question that has given me pause, and has stumped me for as long as I've been hurdling over walls and throwing myself under barbed wire. I typically will stumble through it with some answer about a mixture of speed and strength, and how you need both in obstacle racing.

The Way Back

It's been a hibernation kind of winter here in Chicago.

And for most of it, I've buried my head in the sand. Thrown myself into work (lawyering like a BOSS), rehab (so many Jane Fondas...), and recovery (which means rest. Which blows). And football, of course (Thanks Seahawks for salvaging an otherwise miserable winter. #LOB baby).

Injured Reserve

I hate it when cliches are true: one moment, you feel like you are on top of the world, and the next - things coming crashing down. And you sit and struggle with "why me" and kick and scream and fight, thinking timing is never fair.

Such is my life right now. I've been mum on this subject as of late, laying low on social media, hoping/thinking things would resolve, ashamed to admit what I hate to admit to myself: I'm hurt.

As someone who has been fortunately injury-free for a long time, it's been devastating. Compound that with my calf injury pre-Spartan World Championships, I've been hesitant to let people know about the injury for fear of what other people think (I'll call it "FOWOPT." Deal with it). But you can only go so hard for so long until something has to give. And it gave, at a horrible time (admittedly, there is never a "good" time).