Laura Tucker

Photographer, Writer, Podcast Host

Mind

Worst Marathon Ever

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Photo of Ottawa Marathon finish line 2017 - Laura's Daily Letter
Ottawa Race Weekend Finish Line, May 2017

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see or hear the word marathon?

Chances are it’s something to do with endurance.

At the turn of the calendar year many articles compared our current global pandemic to a marathon. It makes sense because finishing a marathon and many aspects of pandemic life both require endurance. Some are even written by people who have run marathons. This is not one of those articles.

I’ve lumbered through five or six half marathons in Kelowna, Seattle, Vancouver, and twice, possibly three times in Ottawa. One of my outings was either so traumatic or forgettable that I can’t remember it without opening a long sealed box of medals.

I’ve kept a running list in my head of all the ways anything that is not a marathon is not like a marathon since 2016 when the Sedona sweat lodge was infamously compared to – you guessed it, a marathon – in the documentary Enlighten Us.

Here my running list:

  1. You know what a marathon is when you sign up it.
  2. Come to think of it, you sign up for it.
  3. 99.9% of people who sign up for a marathon follow a training schedule in preparation for race day.
  4. Race day is one day long.
  5. A marathon of any length is a fixed length. It doesn’t change while you’re running it.
  6. There’s an actual finish line.
  7. People you don’t know cheer for you. Out loud.
  8. You get a medal at the end.
  9. Then strangers give you food and a blanket.
  10. There’s lots of happiness and hugging.
  11. You can stop any time.

Large scale marathons are major events. Streets are closed off, fences installed, expos put on by vendors bringing the latest and greatest to the marathon community.

12. The entire marathon community is united by one goal – to finish the marathon as soon as they can.

On the most enjoyable race days, spectators line the streets to cheer you on, banging pots and holding signs. Of the five – or six – long distance races I’ve completed, Ottawa has the best crowds and the worst finish line.

The crowds are the best because it’s clear the race has the support of the community. There is never a long stretch of the course where runners are on their own. They bang pots, ring bells, sing and dance. Some make and bring signs.

The funniest sign – the first time I saw it – was about kilometer 18 of the 21.2 km race. The sign had “Worst parade ever!” hand painted in bright red.

By that point I had stopped questioning what the f*** I was doing. My mind had long escaped my body. I was likely in deep negotiation with God for a final boost of energy.

“Worst parade ever!” brought me back into the moment where I noted the absurdity of it all and laughed out loud. The sign holder laughed back, and our exchange gave me that much needed push.

He was correct. A marathon by any measure is a very boring parade. It’s missing all the floats, marching bands, and participants who aren’t grimacing.

Our pandemic is the worst marathon ever. It’s missing all of the things that make marathons great: a sense of cohesion and belonging, a fixed finish line, happiness,hugging, and bananas and bagels at the end.

Of all the race courses I’ve run or spectated – I’m extending my first hand experience to the ones I’ve worn my voice out spectating – Chicago, London and Manchester in the UK, and Longford, Ireland – the final strides in the Canadian capital Ottawa, are the best and the worst.

The approach to the Ottawa finish line is awesome. With the Canadian parliament buildings in the background, it’s surrounded by stands that are packed with families and friends of runners. They alternate in unspoken synchrony, giving up their seats once their loved ones have come through.

But the last kilometer of the Ottawa race gets you, especially the first time you run it. You can hear the roar of the crowd growing for the last five kilometers as you come close, and then the course winds further away to Dow’s Lake. Then, the roar becomes louder again as you approach what you think is the final curve. Your pace picks up, already celebrating your done-ness. And then you round the corner and all that greets you is more corner. You can’t even see the stands. It dawns on you there’s at least another four hundred meters to go and if you’re not careful, you bottom out.

The finish line doesn’t move anywhere but in your mind. Your body, having spent its glycogen stores, is literally running on empty. It’s your mind that gets you there in the end.

I don’t know if all the pandemic marathon metaphors and analogies are the cause, but I’m considering a run at my sixth (or seventh) half marathon this year. I need a little cooperation and healing from my feet for it to happen, but I’m working towards it a little bit every day.

A marathon is not a parade and a pandemic is not a marathon. But the key to finishing our marathon of a pandemic is managing your mind and body, a little bit every day.

Perspective and Context

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Perspective and Context Laura Tucker Daily Letter
Nose to the Railroad, Washington State Interior.

Perspective is a core principal in photography. You want to lead the observer into the frame. Leading lines are one of the best ways to do that.

Context is a core principle in storytelling. When you provide enough context, the listener goes on the journey with you.

I was writing quite a lot about context the past 24 hours. I needed a synonym and turned to a thesaurus. “Frame of reference” is a synonym for context.

I thought that was as interesting as it is circular. Every picture tells a story and every story needs a frame.

Before I sign off on the Daily Letter for the first Friday of January. For as long as I can remember, every first week of the new year has been weird. I’m not talking about politics, the pandemic, or the news. I’m referring to what it’s like to have “New year, new something-or-other” ingrained in us by the overculture, especially in North America.

So if your week has been weird – practically, energetically, or emotionally – a little context and perspective says chances are, it’s not down to you.

Enjoy what I’ve framed for you today.

And have a restful weekend.

The Zion Subway – Lessons From A Trip Outside The Comfort Zone

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We were at a crossroads in The Subway.  We could either try to climb out without the trail, or stay within our comfort zone and re-trace our steps.  I was not comforted by either option…

Memories of a day I took a journey outside my comfort zone washed over me while I scrolled through my Instagram feed.  A friend had shared a photo from his recent trip to Utah.  I was transported by the memory of the day I hiked The Subway in the back country of Zion National Park with my friend Beth.

The Subway is a canyon that requires an advance wilderness permit.  I had never heard or seen anything about it until a print on display in the lobby of the Zion Park Lodge had me all agog.  Upon learning that they gave out any unreserved passes the afternoon before, Beth and I canceled another hike and lined up at the appointed time.  We were among six people who were granted passes for the next day.

The hike to the Subway begins with a 400 foot zigzag descent into the canyon, ending at the stream bed of the Left Fork of North Creek.  One you arrive at the stream bed, the hike up into the canyon begins.

While not exceptionally technical, it’s a long hike, especially when loaded up, or should I say down, with photography equipment.  The few images I had seen gave few clues as to the size or scale of the Subway, so I packed every combination of lens.  They were definitely long exposure, so my tripod hung from my overstuffed knapsack.  With the weight of the equipment and repeated stops to photograph the canyon, it took us much longer to reach our destination than anticipated.

Our destination was the dramatic lower Subway, a short section of the canyon where the walls come so close together that over the millennia water from flash floods and spring runoff from the north has carved an oval shaped tube in the stone.  The light from the mid-day sun enters the narrow canyon at the top.  The light refracting on the curved walls of the tube creates an other-worldly effect.

Before getting in to our creative zone, we had to assess our remaining hours, lest we get carried away and lose track of time.  Our hike in had taken almost two hours longer than we had anticipated.  Calculating backwards from the October sunset, we were forced to acknowledge that we’d have no longer than half an hour before we would have to retrace our steps.

I worked as quickly as I could with my film and digital cameras.  As so little sunlight penetrates that deeply into the canyon, it was unexpectedly cold.  My hands and feet moved slowly.  I implored the photo gods that the results would be worth the effort.  After the half hour had passed, I reluctantly packed up my bag and walked out of the relative darkness into the remains of the day.

It was on the way out of the canyon that things started to go sideways.  With the light diminishing faster than anticipated, my friend and I missed a turn while ascending the canyon wall.  We didn’t realize we were lost until we were staring at a nearly sheer incline sprinkled with occasional tree roots and protruding rocks.  This was not the path we were looking for.

We were at a crossroads.  We could either try to climb out without the trail, or stay within our comfort zone and re-trace our steps.  I was not comforted by either option.

We were ten hours into our hike.  My body was throbbing from head to toe with exhaustion. Dust permeated my clothes and hair.  I could feel it in my eyes and between my teeth.  All I wanted was to put down my pack and rest, but there was no time.  Without the sunlight to guide us, we would be trapped overnight in a canyon without supplies, and an abundance of coyotes, scorpions and snakes.   The fear was real.  I began a stream of consciousness laden with expletives followed by a stream of tears.

Fortunately Beth had more experience and patience in that moment than me.  As much as I wanted to power through and get it over with by sticking to our current route, I conceded that a counter intuitive retreat was likely to bring a much better result.  With reluctance, I slid down the canyon on my butt, picking up more sand in the process.  I was embarrassed by my emotional display, but took some consolation that my eyes had been flushed clean by the downpour.

We eventually found the trail and finished the last half mile running.  My oversized pack pounded me from behind and my eyes felt like they were rolling back into my head.  The sight of our rental car was enough to bring on another round of tears.  This time the tears flowed with relief and gratitude.

As depleted as I was, the first thing I did when I got back to my hotel room wasn’t take a hot shower or find food.  I popped my camera’s memory card into its reader, and took a first look at the spoils of the day.

Then I smiled.

 

The Subway Zion National Park

 

My day in The Subway is now a fond memory, interlaced with lessons that extend to every day life:

  1. Lighten your baggage.  It slows you down.
  2. Sometimes you have to take a step back to see the best way forward.
  3. There is always a price for the prize.

Lost in the memory while perusing Instagram, I felt the call of the desert and deep gratitude for what my creative outlet has taught me about life.

Time and a Daily Habit

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How long does it take to build a daily habit? It depends what kind of habit it is.

Time and Daily Habits Laura Tucker Daily Letter Zion Subway ft

There’s lots “out there” on how long it takes to build and sustain a daily habit — 21 days, 40 days, a lifetime.

At the beginning of the year I set my intention that 2020 is the year I write the book that’s been running around my mind for a decade. As far as habits go, writing a book is a complex. First of all, if you don’t write, the book won’t just happen.

I found out very quickly that the book I want to write — a memoir inspired by my tumultuous experience in the self help community —  is a whole different kind of writing.

It’s not the same as writing these Daily Letters, or podcast show notes, or emails to my list, or in my journal — although that’s getting closer.

Memoir writing requires focus, patience, and total immersion in the past.  It’s been an exercise in designing my environment to have space for this to take place.  It didn’t happen overnight. Quite the opposite.

Getting to the point where I’m writing for my book every day took six months.

Here’s a birds eye view of the timeline and what it has been like to establish the daily book-writing habit during the upheaval of the pandemic:

  • December – January:  Got my technology under control.  Installed all updates, made sure Scrivener was syncing on all my devices
  • December:  With visions of writing in cafes dancing in my head, I upgraded my tablet.
  • February through July: Took Seth Godin’s The Creative’s Workshop, an online experience designed to get you creating every day.  Experimented with morning and evening writing to see what works best.
  • Late February/ early March:  I wrote most days on my iPad, even though I was on vacation.
  • mid-March:  Do I even need to say anything about mid-March 2020?  Writing most days provided a pleasant escape – as long as I kept it light!
  • late March: Apparently a pandemic wasn’t enough disruption to really put me and my book to the test.  I developed an epic eye infection for which no help was available. Kept writing some days.
  • April:  Limping along on all fronts.
  • Throughout May and June:  Finally, some relief for my eyes. Able to write most days again. Starting to realize that I am happiest when I am writing for the sake of writing, not writing for a particular business goal.
  • July 1st:  I shared what I wrote for my memoir on July 1st and it was so revealing that it put me over the edge. I have kept writing daily ever since.
  • As of today:  I have a healthy daily streak of 20 consecutive days going.  Mysteriously, I have changed from someone who is apathetic about the idea of streaks, to thinking streaks are the best!  I will now say “No” to anything that interferes with my precious streak.

The practice is what changes you.

The practice of committing to daily writing has fundamentally changed me.  That timeline is a bird’s eye view of my practical experience.  It doesn’t even begin to touch what has shifted on the inside.  The gritty daily work has shown me what is possible in the most chaotic of times.  Doing it with a community has fundamentally shifted how I will guide and lead in the future.

Whether it’s writing, or running, or eating more greens on the regular, we don’t know what’s coming on the first day, the thirtieth, or the hundredth.  It’s what happens in the practice that has the potential to be transformative.

One size never fits — not for shoes, and not for the practice of a daily habit.

Why this photo?

There’s no better example of the effects of the passage of time and commitment to developing a skill than the photos I took of The Subway.  I wrote an entertaining piece about the lessons learned when all that is met with a harrowing hike.  Looking for a laugh? You can find it here.

📷 The Subway, Narrows of the Left Fork of North Creek Canyon, Zion National Park, Utah, 2007

Acknowledging Relentless

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Have you had “The Relentless Conversation” yet?

It goes like this:

“Hey, good to hear your voice.”

“Ya, you too.”

“How are things?”

An update is given, followed by “It’s been relentless.”

Acknowledging your experience of Relentless is not negative.  It’s not defeat.  

These days, acknowledging what’s relentless is a statement of truth.  It’s a sign of strength.  Moving through periods like this requires some of the best of the human spirit — resilience, resourcefulness, creativity, adaptability.

I want us to turn RELENTLESS on its head.  

There is a version of each of us who is relentlessness personified. My version is in this picture here.

She is relentlessly creative.  Relentlessly self expressed.  Determined to get to the top of Cathedral Rock — no matter what.

And she does none of it alone.

Relentless Laura Tucker
“It was relentless, but we made it!”

In the game of life, sustaining relentlessness over a long period of time requires a ton of support:

We need to say NO to things, ideas, distractions, habits, and other people’s agendas that get in the way.

We need routine, ritual, structure.

Community.

Conversation.

Efficiency.

Self care.

Rest.

Most of all, sustaining ourselves requires saying “Thank you very much, but NO” to the version of us who wants to give up.

So together, we can keep bouncing back.

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