Yesterday I fell down the blog black hole of year in reviews. There’s something comforting about reading about other people’ triumphs, travels, milestones, and struggles. A year is a long time, and yet it often feels like it flies.

I started jotting down the memories that stood out to me the most from 2015, and I realized just how much time it was. 2015 was an amazing year – it had some lowlights, but it had even better highs.

My 2015 highlights

I went to Spain! My first time out of the country (sorry, Canada, you don’t count).

I got strong. Real strong. My ankles healed, I built up my fitness, and I dove head first into olympic lifting and running.

I wrote a TV commercial… still weird to say. And begged Adam Savage to come play with us.

I made it through my first full training cycle without an injury… twice!

I hit a major half marathon PR that has me ready for more.

Minimalism was no longer something I just thought about a lot. I cut back on the time I spent watching tv, cleaned out the excess stuff and obligations out of my life, and made finding my essentials a priority. A touchstone.

I fell in love with writing all over again, and recommitted to my creativity.

In May I celebrated a year at my first full time job. Plus sprinkled in a little freelancing to indulge my other interests.

I moved closer to work, and experienced the joys of a shorter commute and more time for the things that truly matter to me.

Went camping twice, thus tripling the amount of times I had been camping in my life.

I started the year with a mild concussion and ended it with a massive sprained ankle. But winter is for resting, right?

Maybe I didn’t hit my original goals. 2015 might not have started off quite as I had hoped. There were times where I was disappointed, where tears were shed. But looking back, I remember 2015 as a year of taking risks. As a time of going all in on the things that I loved. As an adventure. Happy.

It’s been six weeks since I destroyed my ankle (and much of my ability to have fun). For the first four I counted every damn day thinking that would somehow get me closer to being normal again.

When the doctor told me I would be out for 4-6 weeks, I mentally announced “I’ll be back in three.”

Hilarious!

The further into recovery I got, the more messed up everyone realized my ankle was. I didn’t just sprain one tendon, I did multiple. Ligaments? Got those too. High ankle sprain? Why of course. My physical therapist has been struggling to find a tendon/ligament/muscle attached to my ankle that I didn’t hurt. I’m nothing if not thorough.

I cried at four weeks when I got brave enough to ask when I would run (maybe 8-10 weeks after injury). On the drive home it sunk in that I wasn’t going to be running my half in February. I had to tell my boyfriend the half I (kindly) convinced him to sign up for as his first would also be the first one he would run alone.

Two weeks later, I don’t feel guilty anymore about something so far out of my control. I don’t feel pressured to run RIGHT NOW. It doesn’t matter when I can run anymore. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

My fitness is gone. Looooong gone. And it took with it more than five pounds of muscle that I wish I still had.

But that’s okay. It means I will start again. I will build my base – stronger than last time. I will likely get a running coach (when I can do the whole running thing again), and start a six month plan to a goal race in July.

And I’m really excited about that! No pressure, lots of time. Lots of help. Lots of love.

Comebacks are made of a bunch of little things done right.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. It’s the two minutes I set aside each day to do my ankle strengthening exercises. It’s the 30 minutes I spend each night dipping my ankle in and out of icy and hot water. It’s all of the things I know I can’t do that I don’t do.

I want to run. Desperately. I’m 11 weeks out from a half marathon, a half marathon I signed up for thinking I would come home with a PR. Now I’m questioning if I will even make it to the start line.

But all of the small things add up. I can’t run right now, but I can spend all of the time I would have spent running getting my strength back and helping the healing process. I can’t squat or snatch or clean right now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get stronger or that I can’t lift.

The last time I was injured I was so focused on all of the things I couldn’t do that I was blindsided by all of the new things I could do. Just like last time, I am focusing on different muscles than I normally do and I am working hard to build a solid, healthy foundation so when my ankle is ready, the rest of my body will be prepared to run again too.

Frustration is still around every corner. I still cry about not being able to do what I want. I worry about how long this injury is taking to heal and about what lasting effects I might have in the future. But each thing I do right gives me a little more hope.

The worst is over. Now it’s just about staying focused and working on the little things.

I’d like to think I’m handling this injury better than my last.

Which is funny given my propensity to lose my mind the minute anyone suggests I can’t run, jump, or do anything fun.

It’s almost easier that this injury has been visually pronounced (my bruise turned a nice shade of green just in time for Halloween. It didn’t hurt that I walked like Frankenstein’s monster) and the pain is violent and consuming.

There’s no ignoring this one.

The good: I didn’t break any bones. The bad: I’m out for 4-6 weeks. The ugly: … well my ankle.

After x-rays and WAY too many doctors painfully poking and prodding my already grotesque, swollen lump of an ankle (MUST you push so hard? I mean really!), I had “sprained ankle” stamped across my chart and I was sent on my merry way.

I finally started PT, which means I now spend 30 minutes or so a day doing weird exercises that seem like a test of patience more than a way of getting back to the things I love. Like going down stairs without pain.

This time there’s no groveling. There’s no trying to run or pushing through nagging pain. I’ve never been so in touch with my painful reality. I’m out for the count.

It doesn’t matter that I was in great shape. It doesn’t matter I had just pulled off a massive 7-minute PR on a difficult course. It doesn’t matter that I have a half in February. It doesn’t matter that I love to run in the rain and it happens to be raining.

On Wed. 10/28 at exactly 12:30ish p.m. I massively sprained my ankle.

Those are the facts. That’s my reality.

I’m out for now, but you damn well better believe I am going to do all of the weird exercises and I am going to fight back and return to running stronger and hungrier than ever before.

Now, can you please pass the ice cream?

Yesterday I decided to finally play pickup basketball with some of my coworkers. They had been begging me for more than a year to come play. Since I’m not training for anything right now, I decided it was a great time to go.

I hadn’t played for two years, and it was pretty ugly at first. I couldn’t make any shots, I made some bad passes, and in general flailed around. I was finally starting to settle in and play better in the second game when reality hit me in the face. Okay, gravity, momentum, and terrible timing actually slammed into my ankle.

I went up for an open layup, and as I came down, I landed on another player’s foot. I tried to save it, but I felt a stomach-turning wet pop as my ankle took the brunt of my weight and collapsed underneath me. The pain was excruciating. I went from thinking that I would sit out for a minute to writhing in pain in a matter of seconds. The kind of can’t-get-enough-oxygen don’t-really-know-where-I-am pain.

While sitting on the bench holding my massively swollen (and rapidly getting larger) ankle, I blathered on to my poor coworker about how I couldn’t be hurt and this couldn’t be happening because I am in great running shape right now, the best ever, and I have a race coming up in February and I can’t run with a hurt ankle which means I’m going to lose all of that and possibly not even be able to do the race and MY WORLD IS OVER!

You know, just a casual chat. No dramatics.

While waiting for x-rays I realized it doesn’t matter. Of course I’m sad and I’m frustrated and this isn’t what I wanted. But that doesn’t mean I have to give up on everything. I had limiting tendonitis for the better part of year, and look at how this year turned out. I got through two training cycles without any problems. I got faster. I had fun. I felt great.

And I’ll do it again.

I went into this race prepared to give it everything. I knew it would hurt. I knew I would have to fight every mile to stick to my goal pace. I knew I had to face hills that made me (and the grown men next to me) want to cry.

I gave this race damn near everything I had.

I went into the race thinking I would aim to run a 10 minute per mile pace throughout the entire race (no easy feat given the amount of killer hills along the course. Over 13.1 miles we did over 1,500 ft. of elevation change). But when I got to my start corral and I saw that a 2:10 was a 9:55 per mile, I went all in on it.

And let me tell you. My legs hated me for it.

I spent most of the run not really seeing what was around me. It was just me, my watch, and my killer playlist against the (hilly) world. (Have a mentioned there were a lot of hills?) It was by far the most mentally challenging race I’ve had. That morning I had written out on my hand what time I should be at when I got to major miles (3, 6, 9, 11, 12). Every time I hit one of those goal times, I would start to freak out and tear up. I could actually do this crazy thing.

Spoiler alert. I made it.

The five a.m. wake-up. The near vomit fest at the finish line (keeping that in was a win in and of itself. They should make medals). The pain of the mile long hill at mile 10. The tears when I saw my family. It was all worth it.

I crossed the finish line in 2:12:19. Nearly three minutes faster than I’d hoped for and seven minutes more than my previous PR.

I’m so happy that I hit my goal. Those hills were hell, but it made me wonder what I can do on a flat course. I’m coming for you 2:00.

Oh, and without further ado, this year’s necklace:

Wait, so tapering isn’t for trying new things and attempting to cross everything off your months-long to-do list?

This week I’ve been throwing all of my energy into everything that’s been nagging me. One more closet clean out? Oh yes. Finally making granola bars? Why not? Riding my bike to work? So fun!

I’m going to miss biking home in 80 degree weather soon. I will not miss the spider that hid on my helmet and touched my face. Not cool bro! #bike #biketowork #tapertantrums

A photo posted by Mandy Ferreira (@treading_lightly) on Oct 13, 2015 at 5:59pm PDT

There is a downside. It turns out that tapering is for resting, both mentally and physically, and I’ve been doing a pretty terrible job at both. Cycling to work doesn’t sound like a big deal, but my tendency to go all out and try to keep up with the cars leaves my legs shaky… not rested. Stressing myself out about not getting all of the crazy things on my list done is counterproductive to going into the race relaxed and ready.

After not really understanding how I should be tapering and putting all of my excess energy into everything but resting, I think I’m finally starting to figure it out. Instead of running around trying to clean every inch of my house, I’ve been reading. I put away the list, and I decided that once the race is over I would prioritize a few things on it and finally make them happen. I’ve been eating well, reducing my sugar intake, and being really careful with my diet so I don’t go into the weekend with an irritated stomach.

I’ve struggled with really tapering this time around more so than in the past, and I think it has to do with my nerves about the race. I’m excited and nervous and overwhelmed and feeling totally ready and feeling not ready at all. This is the first time I have a real goal in mind, and I’m planning on giving it everything I have to get it. Which leaves me constantly thinking about what I have to do to get there and the what ifs of 13.1 miles.

But I have two more days to keep doing the right things. More reading and napping. More putting my feet up. More laughing. Less thinking.

Running in Spain wasn’t quite the leisurely stroll I saw in my dreams. Two of my long runs for my upcoming half marathon were scheduled for the two weeks I was traveling, which put a little extra pressure on making them happen. I didn’t have high expectations performance-wise for these runs – I was off my usual sleep schedule (ha! understatement) and weighed down by ice cream. A lot of ice cream. I was also buzzing with excitement about exploring a new place on my feet. Turns out running on my trip was easier than I expected… and much harder.

Parque del Retiro, Madrid

My mom kept telling me that running would help with jet-lag. I didn’t really get to try out that theory, because the days it was hitting me the hardest, I was nauseated and zombified. But on my second full day in Spain, I headed out to the Parque del Retiro in Madrid.

It felt so good to be outside, enjoying the stunning park that I didn’t care all that much that my “run” was about 60 percent running and 40 percent walking/ “stopping to take a picture” (also known as “I feel like I’m dying and I want to stand here”). And to think that I told myself that if I felt good I might try for a long run. HA! The 4.25 miles I ran were plenty.

Jardí del Túria, Valencia

By the time we got to Valencia, I was ready for a long run. We stayed in a hotel close to the science park/ the Jardí del Túria, an amazing park that used to be a river running through the city. As soon as we digested lunch a bit on the first day, I grabbed my running shoes, convinced my travel companion to join me on the world’s heaviest bike (sorry!), and set off to conquer my first long run in Spain.

I have never run in such an inspiring place before. Sure the Embarcadero in San Francisco is amazing and I love seeing all of the runners, but it’s nothing compared to the amount of people who were out running in Valencia. The park was packed! There is a special runners’ trail that goes straight down the middle of the park for most of it (9km in each direction).

The best part? Constant distraction! I watched ping pong, roller blading, soccer, boot camp workouts, old men chatting while pretending to work out, adorable dogs, near bike collisions… I didn’t even miss listening to music or a podcast.

Camí de Cavalls, Menorca

This was my big run, and I wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. I didn’t want to run alone, which meant I had to find a place to run that was close to a bike rental. I also had to figure out where, on a tiny island, I could 10 run miles without constantly feeling like I was going to be run over on the narrow roads.

I did some research (on Internet from 1998), and I stumbled across the insane ultra marathon that has participants do a loop around the entire island. The race is focused around the Camí de Cavalls, an old trail that was used as a lookout/defense route. I figured if they could run on it for that long, surely I could do a 10 mile run.

And for the most part that was true. I had some trouble finding the trail… and staying on it. I’m pretty sure at one point I was scrambling through people’s backyards, up against a sheer cliff into the ocean. To be honest, I started to get frustrated. I hadn’t been running regularly during the trip, this was way out of my comfort zone, and 10 miles by itself is challenging enough. Ten miles while trying to figure out where the hell you are and how the hell you get back to where you started was maddening. I was constantly having to stop to try to figure out where the trail was, which sucked all of my motivation and energy. On top of that, the trail was incredibly rough and rocky at some points (and on paved streets on others), which exhausted my unprepared feet an ankles.

(I’m making this face because it’s beautiful and I’m on vacation on an incredible island and part of me is having fun… the rest of me thinks I’m going to die right here.)

Now that I’m not feeling the pain of the run (or the heat!), I’m so glad I did it. I saw some incredible things (The beaches! The color of the water! All of the food I couldn’t eat!). It wasn’t exactly a confidence booster for running a fast half, but it sure was for the budding explorer inside of me.