I snagged this crop top over a year ago in the middle of the winter (off-season shopping, anyone?). The frigid temperatures and violent snowstorms made it impractical for this gem to leave my closet that season, but once winter thawed, the top still remained more of a trophy piece than a full-fledged member of my wardrobe.
Until this summer, I'd only worn the top one way--over a skirt--in this spring look (guilty as charged with an outfit repeat haha). But since I left a large fraction of my clothes at school, remixing was essential to avoiding regular outfit reappearances.
The result? 3 summer looks composed of only 4 clothing items. Next up: extreme fall remixing, study abroad edition.
The next week will be spent café hopping, crying over math proofs, and attempting to shove 10 months of my existence into one 50lb suitcase
It's always popsicle weather
Thank you family for indulging me in my quest for beautiful vegan food
Family trips: stopping every 5 seconds for my brother to catch Pokémon, or for me to snap photos
Vegan banana pancakes for dinner...while listening to Jack Johnson's Banana Pancakes
Adventuring (the Arcade)
Always more to explore (Blackhand Gorge)
All photos from my instagram
The summer opened with a torrent of tears.
Hot, salty streams flowed fiercely upon my cheeks hours before I even left the airport to return home from school. The thick storm clouds trailed me on the flight, their morose presence permeating every aspect of my being. The dark fog of my mind starkly contrasted with the majestic, fluffy dreamland I had encountered on my last return. These clouds were relentless. They were heavy with regret, tainted by finality, unyielding to my resistance.
In returning to my hometown, I was leaving home. And this was no "see you later"--this was farewell. Home was college, where I had forged a place of my own--where I dove into resonant disciplines, where I trained along vibrant New England landscapes, where I worked as a math teaching assistant. It was where I had struggled, bawled, roared, and triumphed. It was where I no longer floated among separate spheres, always belonging but also never. It was where I had found my first family of friends.
The bleak showers continued weeks after my return. I bawled after rude encounters, I bawled after reading poignant Thought Catalog articles, I bawled after watching inspirational America's Got Talent episodes, I bawled after chatting with my friends. I bawled because I wasn't ready to let go of my family at school, who would graduate the year I was abroad. I bawled because my cubicle internship felt isolating and unstimulating. I bawled because I yearned to explore, but I was confined to family life in my all-to-familiar hometown. I bawled because I was terrified of the upcoming changes to my environment, relationships, lifestyle.
I was determined to find myself again. Training for triathlons became my catharsis--I channeled my anxiety and fear into swimming longer, lifting more, biking faster, and running stronger. I turned my tedious workplace tasks into an efficiency game--how quickly could I complete a project without sacrificing accuracy? I read books whose messages inspired me to create my own peace (The Count of Monte Cristo, Adventures for Your Soul, Wild). I adventured to new places in my home state. I learned to embrace the course of the universe and really trust God's plan. (I did not learn how to be less cheesy).
The steady rain dwindled to a drizzle. The drizzle eventually dissipated altogether. The storms returned occasionally, but I was ready--no raincoat or umbrella necessary. After months of attempting to resist the inevitable, to shield myself from pain, I learned. Beneath the violent skies, I laughed this time as water streamed down my face.
The MRI machine whirs, clicks, and shakes ominously; I try to keep still.
A few days later, I find myself confined to a walking boot and crutches, diagnosed with a metatarsal stress reaction. I'm only a few weeks out from the full marathon I'd dreamed of racing, I'd already completed the 20-mile training run, and this was my second attempt to train for a marathon after surrendering to a knee injury the season before.
This was my spring 2015. Even worse, three out of my four most recent training seasons had ended in overuse injuries. I was frustrated and dejected--it seemed as if I had already done all I could. After my first unsuccessful marathon attempt, I dedicated half my workouts to crosstraining. I was averaging under 30 miles in running most weeks, yet I still managed to hurt myself. I began to wonder whether my body could even physically handle chasing my long-time marathon dream.
After meeting with the training center doctor, I limped back to my dorm. You'll need to take at least two and a half months off from running, he had said. I wanted to cry, but I was too numb.
My full marathon would have to wait, and it would have to wait for a long time. Quick calculations told me I'd be far from ready for another attempt in the fall. Delayed gratification, delayed gratification, delayed gratification...I repeated the words in my head like a mantra.
Then, I hobbled back to the gym for a workout.
My doctor recommended no lower extremity exertion for at least two weeks. The arm bike in the training room, however, was safe. My scrawny limbs pedaled furiously in attempt to quelch the inky sadness of yet another unattained goal.
"Lily, this tells me a lot about you."
I looked up--it was my doctor.
"The fact that you're back here training after what I just told you tells me a lot. I have no doubt that you'll run your marathon before you graduate."
I smiled, thanking him.
And just one year later, I ran that marathon.
* * *
So if an injury has postponed your race ambitions, I know exactly how that feels--I've been there several times. In a few months, however, I'll have been injury-free for a year (minus the little aches that don't upset training). Here's what I did to finally conquer my long-time goal, and stay as healthy as possible.
I trained for a marathon running only 2 days a week.
Yes, you read that right--only two. My workouts, however, covered a full six days a week, plus one rest day.
After my first triathlon, I decided to maintain my multi-discipline schedule, even while I prepared for running-only events. For instance, here's what I did from 3/6/16-3/12/16:
Sunday: 24 lap swim (3 warmup + 1 kickboard + 8 + 8 + 1 kickboard + 3 cooldown)
Monday: 45 minute run (about 5 mi) + strengthening exercises + core
Tuesday: 27 minute outdoor bike + 10 minute tabata + strengthening exercises
Thursday: 35 minute spinning workout + strengthening exercises + lifting + core
Saturday: 3 hour 30 minute run (21.59 mi) + strengthening exercises
Running fewer days a week allowed my body more rest between high-impact training--my other disciplines (swiming and biking) required less pounding on the legs. While I'm sure experts wouldn't recommend fewer than 3 days a week for marathon training, 2 days worked just fine for me--it was just enough for the critical long run a week plus one regular run. I had gotten my stress injury running only 3 days a week, so I wanted to be as cautious as possible the third time around.
This time, I also increased my mileage more slowly--coming off of a peroneal tendon injury from the fall, my first marathon training run on 12/5/15 was only 10 minutes long. I increased time in increments of about 5 minutes until I reached 60 minute runs. After that, my increments became 10 minutes. Once I hit 2 hours, I began increasing by 20-30 minutes.
Spacing these longer efforts was also crucial--once I hit runs longer than 2.5 hours, I realized that my body could no longer handle weekly long runs, especially if I were to keep building. So, I scheduled some lighter weeks with no long run at all, allowing me 2-3 weeks of relative rest between these big endeavors.
Beginning training almost 6 months in advance also allowed me more cushion for unexpected changes, such as illness, aches, or burnout. I adjusted my training plan countless times based on my physical and mental condition, which ultimately made a huge difference. Leaving ample time to train well really alleviates the pressure to complete a workout when your body may not be ready. Because of fewer time constraints, I was free to focus on building my body, rather than forcing arbitrary milestones upon myself.
4. Embrace the detour and keep pushing on.
As I mentioned in #2, my stress injury took me on a triathlon detour, and I wouldn't have it any other way. In spring 2015, swimming was a monumental task--just a few laps depleted me.
Last week, however, I competed in my first olympic-distance triathlon, swimming 1500m (.93 mi) in the open water. I never would've imagined being able to swim over 40 minutes straight in a pool, let alone in a murky Midwest reservoir. Yes, I am still a far-from-stellar swimmer. Yes, it's still not my favorite discipline. But I've learned to appreciate the sport, and I find it empowering to have tackled what I used to fear, and to have improved.
My injury led me to run more efficiently, freely, and gratefully. It led me to plunge into new disciplines, and to become stronger physically and mentally.
Unfortunate circumstances don't need to be tragic endings--a lot of times, they can push us to grow in ways we never expected.
Train happy. Dream strong.
Market Square, Pittsburgh
T-shirt, Kohl's | Skirt, China | Bag, vintage Coach from Poshmark | Shoes, thrifted | Earrings, Forever 21
Photos by my brother
(Whoa, two ootd's in a row?! What is this sorcery?)
In episode one of my soap opera life, I spent the better half of senior prom waiting for the police on the curb of a bustling downtown street.
In episode two, a knee injury foiled my fall 2014 marathon plans. In episodes three and four, I completed my longest training run of 20 miles for a long-awaited spring 2015 marathon, only to be sidelined by a stress reaction.
In episode five, I broke my half-marathon PR by 5+ minutes. In episode six, I fell in love. In episode seven, I was accepted to study abroad all of the 2016-2017 academic year. In episode eight, I finally ran that damn marathon. In episode nine, I bid an indefinite goodbye to my upperclassman family at school, including my first love.
Now, I linger uncomfortably between seasons. This summer itself could warrant several episodes of its own--I lost close friends who'd I assumed would always be around, I took my first short but solo roadtrip, I experienced the numbing cubicle life, I discovered that one of my permanent teeth may fall out in the very near future and cause complications while I'm abroad (you know, that's what wisdom teeth are for--but joke's on me, because my wisdom tooth just on that side ain't coming down).
It's tough to have hope when life throws nasty obstacles your way. It's tough to have hope when the worst-case scenario becomes reality, but the worst-case scenario is even worse than you envisioned. It's tough to have hope with the inevitable tragedies of a soap opera-esque life.
But these challenges have built me. They have forced me to re-evaluate and reform. They have pushed me to become stronger, more efficient, and more real. They have empowered me.
And ironically enough, they've made me happier. After all:
“There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die...that we may appreciate the enjoyments of life.
Live, then, and be happy...and never forget, that until the day God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words, 'Wait and Hope.'” --Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
I will wait (actively) and hope. Next up, season two.