Tell Me Tuesday: Finding the Right Running Shoe for You
A birthday card I bought ages ago that I can’t bear to part with
My dear father, like all parents, likes to brag about his children. He often tells anyone who will listen, “My daughter Sarah is the foremost female expert on athletic shoes.” Okaaaaaay, so my dad tends to hyperbole, but I was the athletic footwear editor for SHAPE magazine for a billion years, and before that I wrote shoe reviews for a now-defunct mag called Walking magazine. So, in addition to being duller than dishwater, I do know a thing or two about what to put on your feet when you exercise. Let me impart some of the wisdom I gained over the years.
Get the best shoe for you. Your running partner loves Brand A, and that mom at preschool drop-off is always sporting Brand B. Those shoes might make them feel like they are prancing on clouds, but if they don’t accommodate your hammertoe or offer your creaky knee the cushioning it demands, they aren’t good options for you. Thus you need to…
Almost all the shoe salespeople we’ve met have been charming
…get fitted by a a pro. As we wrote in Run Like a Mother: How to Get Moving–and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity
, you need to brush aside feelings of intimidation, walk yourself into local running specialty store, and have a guy (or gal) with chiseled calf muscles and less body fat than Dwayne Johnson measure both your feet and watch you run (either on an in-store treadmill or track or on the sidewalk outside the store). Once he or she has chatted with you to determine your mileage, needs, goals, foot type, and price range (give honest, proud answers to all the questions), the sales associate will bring out several options for you to try on, run a few steps in, and consider. At which point….
…don’t be taken in by pretty colors or cute designs. As the founding fastinista, I feel you on this one. You just have to have that ocean blue pair with the silver and midnight accents to go with your new running jacket or skirt. But if they fit you as well as your jeans from high school or offer you as much support as that deadbeat boyfriend you dumped after grad school, it doesn’t matter how cute they are because you’ll be sidelined by injury after running in them. It’s how a shoe fits, feels, and functions, not how fashionable it is. (Don’t make me pile on anymore words that begin with “f,” ladies…)
As for a few quick-hit practical tips:
Shop in the late afternoon when your feet are at their most puffy. Unfortunately, this is also the time when your kids are at their most cranky or need to be driven 15 different directions at once, so maybe try to shop on a day when your spouse is at home or you have some kid-coverage. Or be prepared to buy some Sport Beans to placate the kiddos.
Bring in your current running kicks so salesperson can give them the once-over for wear patterns and hot spots.
Bring along your favorite running socks so you can try on potential sole-mates with them on. (And make sure your toes don’t look too heinous since you’ll be showing Mr. 6% Body Fat your tootsies…)
Bring orthotics or insoles, if you wear them.
Now, mother runners, prove my dad wrong, as I know a lot of ladies know about athletic footwear: Share your tips about finding the right pair of shoes.
A Run Down Memory Lane
[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr_022312_101494651.mp3]
The mother runners reflect on their “salad days” of running—from Dimity’s first sprint (in pursuit of a band hat) to Sarah discovering sports in college as an alternative to fraternity-house debauchery. They laugh over Dimity’s failed celebratory cheer in Central Park during the 1997 New York City Marathon, as well as Sarah’s inability to come up with a single standout race moment during her 30’s. This podcast is heavy on chitchat and laughter, light on advice.
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Train Like a Mother: Best and Worst Things Heard at Races
A great thing to hear at the end of a race–or to say to your legs + lungs during one.
If it’s Friday, that must mean it’s time for another installment of Take It From a Mother, the excerpts that didn’t make it into the bright—and I do mean b.r.i.g.h.t.—orange book we like to call Train Like a Mother: How to Get Across Any Finish Line – and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity
. This was a tough one to dump because the good ones were so good, and the bad, so bad.
Take It from a Mother: What is the best or worst thing you’ve heard said at a race?
“I overheard a police officer working my 12K say something about ‘a few stragglers coming.’ Gee, thanks.”
—Anjeanette (despite the negative comment from the man in blue, ran her first 12K race with a smile on her face)
“A father, in front of me, told his son, just behind me, that he could not let a girl beat him. I thought that was tacky.” (Ed note: we agree.)
—Autumn (dreams of running in the English countryside)
TLAM: It’s what’s for breakfast.
“Just past the starting line, I heard my own mother yelling, ‘You only have 12.9 more miles to go.’” —Christy (repeats “It’s now or never” to motivate herself to get out the door)
“After a race, a young man thanked me for pushing him to run harder. He may not have wanted to finish behind an older woman, but he made me smile because we helped each other to the finish line.” —Gina (proudest racing moment: running the See Spot Run 5K with her husband and 3 kids)
“During my last leg of Hood to Coast, someone yelled ’only two blocks to go’ when really it was almost a mile. I wanted to cry.”
—Jessica (a doctor who gets up at 4:00 a.m. to run the roads of Billings, MT)
“An overweight lady in her late 50s/early 60s running the home stretch of a race was yelling, ‘I did it! I ran the whole thing! I made it!’ The crowd went crazy for her as she finished. She set a goal, and everyone there saw her accomplish it.”
—Jill (dream running date: an oceanside run with a shirtless Ryan Reynolds)
“A woman yelled for my attention, and when I looked her way, she said, ‘I love that smile on your face right now. Great job.’”
—Julie (counts backwards from 120 to push through a rough patch; that doesn’t work, walks for 60 seconds to power the rest of her run)
“Our two kids ran onto the course to finish a marathon with me and my husband. It was a great moment until we heard, ‘Here come Peter and Michelle. It looks like they have their grandkids with them, or maybe 3 generations.’ I guess we looked pretty bad, but, at 33, I don’t think we looked like grandparents.”
—Michelle (“My kids think of me as a runner. It is all they know, and I am proud of that.”)
“’Go Shorty!’ And I’m only 5 feet tall.”
—Karen (paints her toenails black before a race because she thinks it makes her run faster)
“Around mile 11 of my half-marathon, some dude started running by me and told me, ‘You’ve got this…you did this!’ It helped.”
—Darcy (after she fell down the stairs and dislocated her shoulder, she couldn’t run for two months)
“I don’t like it when people yell at you to go faster. At my first and only half, there was this woman barking at people to pick it up around mile 11.”
—Lindsey (would rather shove a hot fork in her eye than run on a treadmill)
“I hate hearing, ‘You’re almost there.’ I want to yell back, ‘No kidding. I can add!’”
—Melanie (speaks for all mother runners here)
Now we’re taking it to you mothers: What’s the best or worst thing you’ve heard at a race?
Train Like a Mother: Outtake 5
Time to make the toast–and then get out on a run.
We mother runners love our carbs and coffee, as evidenced by this outtake of Train Like a Mother: How to Get Across Any Finish Line – and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity. Sadly, we had to discard it down the disposal when the original tome was the size of a dozen eggs plus a loaf of bread and a grande latte. But we didn’t grind it up, thankfully, so you can read it here today without any eggshells in it.
Take It From A Mother: What’s your favorite pre-run snack/meal?
“I have a Bolthouse Farms Perfectly Protein Mocha Cappuccino as soon as I wake up (to get things moving) and a Snicker’s Marathon Bar in the car on the way to a race.”
—Amber (likes to race once a month)
“A bowl of oatmeal with flax seed, Craisins, and maple syrup, and a banana, if I’m not too full.”
—Caryn (typical headwear for a run: a high ponytail and a “very crusty, salty, ‘Life is Good’ visor”)
“Greek yogurt, granola, eight ounces of water, coffee, banana, and GU.”
—Christy (drinks chocolate milk, iced coffee, banana, and peanut butter smoothie after a hard run, unless her husband greets her with a falafel)
Little. Orange. Different. And better than any drug.
“My ritual breakfast is Diet Pepsi, a banana, and half of a bagel.”
—Julie (nickname: “Bloody Sock” due to torn up toes and propensity to blister)
“Toast with peanut butter and banana with honey on it.”
—Tryna (schedules a few annual weeks of rest)
“Dave’s Killer Bread, toasted with almond butter and jam, and coffee.”
—Vanessa (drinks water with Airborne during runs. “Maybe it helps, maybe it’s just refreshing.”)
“A Clif Bar, or if it’s a long run, I’ll eat a whole-wheat waffle with Greek yogurt and almond butter on top about an hour before the run.”
—Lesley (started running while in the Peace Corps. “My friend convinced me I needed to ‘earn my shower.’”)
“Two scrambled eggs, a slice of toast with PB and lots of H2O or sports drink if it’s going to be a humid day.”
—Amanda (hangs her race numbers in her bathroom closet so she sees them every morning)
“Coffee to get things moving, and banana or bagel with peanut butter.”
—Corrie (runs so she feels less guilty about eating Oreos, which she, “will eat anyway.”)
“Nothing. I get sick if I eat before a run.”
—Andrea (pre-race ritual: kissing her husband)
Taking it to you mothers: what’s your favorite pre-run snack or meal? (Extra points heading into a long weekend if you add a random fact about your running.)
Tell Me Tuesday: How to Run with a Spouse
Exhibit A: not Grant and me. (Though would pay money to see him in those plaid shorties!)
So Grant and I have run together twice, as far as I can remember.
The first time was circa 2002, and the biggest memory I have of the run is that I was annoyed. Annoyed he didn’t talk with me the way my girlfriends did, annoyed he was barely breathing and I was huffing and puffing, annoyed that it wasn’t the isn’t-life-grand-and-aren’t-we-great-together moment I wanted it to be. He, of course, saw nothing wrong with the run. Thought it was immensely enjoyable, actually.
Exhibit B: Not Grant and me. (We’re not movie stars, like Natalie P. and Benjamin M.)
Fast forward about ten years. The second time was on Valentine’s Day (note the irony!) in Austin for a half-marathon. It was our first trip (read: one night alone) away together in five years or so. We didn’t talk strategy, pre-race: all he knew is that I was gunning for sub 1:50, and all I knew is that he could run that pace easily. So he voluntarily “paced” me for a few miles.
Grant’s version of pacing: running about 15 steps in front of me, and then would slowing down until I caught up, and then taking off again. Again, none of that chitchat I’d always imagined we’d have–or at least those “you can do it!” words I’d expect when going for a challenging PR. Around mile 3, I tried to keep calm. “I love you,” I blurted as he slowed down to moonwalk back to me, “but I don’t want to see you anymore right now.” And off he went. Guess what? He had a great race, and it took me until mile 10, at least, to get over him–and myself.
- Before you head out, make a plan. In other words, do that thing that marriage counselors advise: communicate. How far are you going? What kind of run are you planning on doing: easy, moderate, tempo, hard? Who is setting the pace? Pushing the stroller? Pushing the stroller up all hills? Are you bringing music? Will there be any racing each other involved?
Exhibit C: Not Grant and me. I’ve never had a blonde ponytail.
- Let’s back up to who is setting the pace question. Men have this irritating hormone called testosterone that allows them to go faster than us with less effort than we estrogen-addled women. And, as many of you know, their jet-pack hormone allows them to leap off the couch and run faster than us, even if you’ve been training for a marathon for months. They get to run fast, we get to bleed. (Feels fair to me, right?)
- In other words, unless your husband is truly a new, new runner that has no ego at all, agree that you will set the pace. If need be, use this simple comparison chart:
If your effort is…
His effort will be…
Easy Easy Moderate Easy Tempo Easy Hard Easy-ish Legs.are.falling.off. This side of easy Lungs.are.burning. One step above easy Must.puke.now. Moderate - If running side by side feels like it could cause a rift too big to leap over, go to a track and do a speed workout. You begin your intervals 45 seconds, say, after he starts his so there’s no racing and no bragging rights at stake. (See: testosterone.)
- Or make it a two-part date: the first part, you get sweaty alone. You do an out-and-back run at your own paces (each run for 30 minutes or whatever, then turn and head back to the car) and then you go grab an easy dinner where you enjoy each other’s company. And then your combined endorphins will prompt you to get sweaty together. (And everybody wins!)
Exhibit D: Not Grant and me. But good color combo for Valentine’s Day.
- Don’t cop a ‘tude. This is mostly aimed at us chicks. Okay, really it’s for me, and I’m hoping some of you might act the same way around your spouse. When things get hard physically, I can get really whiny and difficult. I would never act that way around a friend, but my husband has seen me in birth and other really raw situations and he’s never backed down. So he’s a safe shoulder to whine on when my legs are tired or a hill feels too long. (And yes, as a near 40-year-woman, it embarrasses me to admit this.)
- When it comes to delicate subjects, tread lightly. Probably not the time to discuss your tricky ovulation cycle or the family budget or your mother-in-law’s latest chide. When in doubt, ask yourself: What would Grant do? Then say nothing and just enjoy the run.
Grant and I might be the exception, rather than the rule. I know there are plenty of couples out there that use joint runs as date nights and other times to grow closer together, not father apart. So now you tell us: What guidelines do you use when you run with your spouse?
A Love Letter from a Mother to Her Running Daughter
Smiles all around after our debut run
Dear Daphne,
It was a decade-long dream come true to have you run with me. Ever since your big sister, Phoebe, was born—no, conceived—I’ve fantasized about having a child run alongside of me. Then you and your brother came into this world, and I suddenly had three precious children to share my beloved sport with. Yet until you started asking to run with me, none of you had shown any interest in running (well, other than chasing each other around the house, driving me bonkers as I cook dinner).
Then, there you came last Sunday, tearing into the kitchen the moment I walked in the back door after an easy three-mile run. I’d had to tell you the day before that, no, you could not run 20 miles with me, but that the next day you could run part of my three-miler. With the sky spitting on that overcast day, I wasn’t sure you’d still be game, so I finished my prescribed run (because your mother is, if you don’t know already, fanatical about doing exactly what her training plan calls for). Silly me: You’re an Oregonian through and through, and you were raring to go. Your New Balance running kicks were double-knotted (are you really old enough to tie them yourself?); you had on lavender long underwear that is about 3” too short, thus transformed into capris like your mama sports; and a zipped-up hoodie. Ready to rock, roll, and run.
We headed east on Brazee, a smile spreading across your impish face—and my usually stern one. And like any two gals who run side by side, we fell into easy conversation. When we’re at home, amidst the chaos, you are often a solo operator, playing with Little Pet Shops by yourself or drawing, as you absent-mindedly sing a song to yourself. Yet running, you were delightfully chatty. You pointed out that you and your bestie, Lucy, run together on Tuesday mornings when your class does laps around the school. I explained that we call women who run together, “BRFs.” Before I could explain to you it stood for “best running friends,” you blurted out, “Just like BFFs, best friends forever!” Clever girl.
A blossoming daphne
When we turned right onto 28th, you got excited to run past “the cat house,” the big house on the corner that puts a massive, inflatable cat in the yard on Halloween. Then you got me talking about why I love running and why it’s my job to run. (That’s the popular theory floating amongst you and your sibs, and I don’t discourage it—it offers justification for why I travel so many weekends.) Just the night before, out of the blue, you’d asked how people get jobs. As we dodged a puddle, I wrapped your questions together into a teaching moment, telling you I don’t run because it’s my job. Rather, I love running, thus I turned it into my job. At that point, I think I might have even parroted Poppy [my Southern dad] and said, “Let your avocation be your vocation.”
A block later, instead of turning north toward our house, we continued straight: You were still bounding with excitement, and I wanted this moment to last forever. You suddenly blurted out, “When we get home, I get chocolate milk!” Oh, it’s Pavlovian: You’ve see me drink enough chocolate cow juice straight from the jug after a run to know it’s the ideal post-run refresher. I laughed and agreed.
Yummmmy: well-earned chocolate milk
I exclaimed over a cherry tree that had a few blossoms on it already, and you pointed at a namesake daphne bush covered in tight buds. Rounding the last corner before our house, you looked up at me and said, “When I grow up, we can do our jobs together.” It took me a few seconds to silently work through your 6-year-old logic. When I realized it was your way of saying that one day you, too, will be another mother runner, I simultaneously chortled and teared up.
In the kitchen, after you chug-a-lugged your chocolate milk, you took off your sweatshirt to reveal a T-shirt belonging to your big sister. It read, “Future Marathon Runner.”
All my love,
Your Exquisitely Proud Mother