Running Happenstance–or Destiny?
Sheila (looking impossibly cute!) and me mid-run, trying to outdo the leaves with our vivid colors.
Not to get all woo-woo on you, but I sometimes feel like there’s a greater force at work that determines when and where I run. I just can’t believe everything that happens on runs is coincidence, whether it’s finding money in the road, getting a string of walk signals at intersections, or running into a friend. Over the holiday weekend, this grand-scheme-of-things feeling struck twice.
Friday was a cold, wet day here in Portland. With 12 miles under my [Amphipod] belt on Thanksgiving, I was feeling unmotivated and aimless. Seven-year-old Daphne had asked to join me for part of my run, and that turned into a whine-filled fiasco. After depositing Daphne back home, I stood in our driveway, fiddling with my iPod and feeling lackluster. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a runner approaching; when I looked up, we realized we knew each other. It was Anne, a mother runner from the boot camp class I take. I asked Anne if I could tag along, and off we trotted. She set the pace and the route; I just had to stick by her side and chat. I forgot to restart my Garmin so pace and time lost all meaning. Anne was running by feel alone–saying she was going to turn around when the mood struck. Sounded perfect to me, so I co-opted her strategy. After about 25 minutes, I turned south toward home and Anne continued west for a few more miles.
While I like Anne a bunch and know she lives about a half-mile from me, we’d never run together before, but a jaunt with her was precisely what I needed that day: an ambling, chat-filled excursion.
Saturday was a rest day, and Sunday’s run only needed to be 4 or 5 miles since I’d already run long during the week. But Mother Nature had served up another dry day (a rarity in November in the PacNW) and, after three days with the kiddos, I needed a longer break. I set out with the intention of running 10 miles–up and over Rocky Butte, an extinct volcano cinder cone that offers up a challenging climb. Less than a half-mile into my run, serendipity struck again: The very first runner I saw on my route turned out to be Sheila, my training partner for the 2010 Portland Marathon. In emails the night before we’d agreed to run together on December 9, but immediate gratification was even better. Sheila was about six miles into her run, so I switched directions and once more followed another mother runner’s lead.
We zigged and zagged throughout my neighborhood, then headed north and east. Conversation flowed easily, despite the fact that our pace kept inadvertently picking up to near marathon race pace (old habits die hard when you fall in step with a running partner, I guess!). My Garmin clicked over to 9.0 miles just as I returned to our driveway, a smile on my face. Whatever had lead me to have two random runs with friends, I was thankful for it.
What has destiny or coincidence served up for you on recent runs, mother runner?
Mother Runners Give Thanks
Today…and pretty much every other day.
Dimity has already made a chocolate tart–including a crust from scratch, a first for her–but before we plunge our hands into turkeys and start peeling mountains of potatoes, we wanted to share a few running-related things we are thankful for.
Sarah
I thank God I have full use of my body. This statement may sound melodramatic, but I morphed into a committed runner as my maternal grandmother lay in the hospital, semi-paralyzed from a stroke.
I feel so fortunate to have several awesome running partners, including Molly, Kristin, Ellison, Sheila, and Heidi. Few better jumpstarts to the day than laughter, lively conversation, and running.
I ‘m grateful I live in a state where I can run outside year round, where natural beauty abounds, where the drivers know to give runners a wide berth, and where there are always other runners doing their thing.
Dimity
Legs, lungs, head, heart. I am so thankful for running, this vehicle that connects my body, mind, and spirit. Running is the place I do my best thinking; the place that sets my mood soaring; the place where I feel most grounded and alive.
I too am grateful for my local mother runner pals I regularly trot with–Tamara, Laurel, Liz, Lisa, Kelly, Katie–as well as this amazing virtual community.We’ve met enough of you to know that all mother runners all have a unique, strong, vibrant aura surrounding them; you may not always feel it, but I promise you, it’s always there.
Finally, I realize I am so fortunate to have a family that might not always get me and my athletic pursuits, but still supports me. Ben, my six-year-old asks me, “Are you doing that mother runner stuff again?” Um, yes. Amelia, my nine-year-old asks me, “Can you please make my breakfast in the morning?” Um, no. (And you’re old enough to microwave your pancakes yourself, sweet girl.) Grant, my husband, asks me, “What are your workout plan for the morning?”
So, so thankful.
Now it’s your turn, mother runner, to give thanks: please share with us what running-related “thing” you are grateful for. (If you’re reading this as an email, please go to this post on our site and click on the orange Comments ribbon at the bottom.)
Mother Runner Terms (Word up, Webster’s!)
It’s what all mother runners strive to maintain every day…and maybe someday one of our fave runner terms will show up here, too. ‘Hangry’ anyone?
When AMR tribe member Kelly introduced us to her description of a midday run—“runch,” as in a run at lunchtime—we applauded her cleverness on our Facebook page and requested anyone else with her own runner slang chime in, too.
The result: lots of witty and hilarious words and sayings we couldn’t wait to compile and share here. We think these are great complements to our glossary of real running terms and only-runners-get-it slang in the back of Train Like a Mother: How to Get Across Any Finish Line – and Not Lose Your Family, Job, or Sanity
. For now these words live here, but who knows, maybe one day they’ll end up in the dictionary…
ASAHP: As Slow As Humanly Possible. As in, “running at a very slow speed so you can keep running when you really want to walk,” says mother runner Christine.
Barbie Legs: When the hip flexors are so stiff, it feels like your legs might just pop right off—a condition mother runner Shannon shared. “While training for our marathon, my friends and I would get bouts of Barbie Legs.”
Bike Kills: Passing someone on a bike while trail running.
Chabia: How we, well, may refer to a certain area of our bodies when it’s (ouch!) chafed from a run. (We like how mother runner Susan posted about this: “TMI: chabia. Should I explain?” 28 of you “liked” her comment, too, including us.)
Dirt humpin’: Falling on a trail while running.
‘Gingerbreadman catching me!’: When you’ve got to go #2 in the middle of a run. (“My son asks me all the time when I get home from a run if Ginger caught me,” says mother runner Tricia)
Hangry: The not-fun emotion a mother runner experiences when she’s not properly fueled pre-run.
Jalks: A combination of walking and jogging that a mother runner partakes in while pregnant.
Pee Jitters: “It’s seconds before the starting gun goes off and despite the fact that you’ve peed 20 times in the past hour, your bladder thinks it still needs to be emptied.” (37 of you agreed with this term offered by mother runner Jennifer)
Runiversary: The day a mother runner laced up her running shoes and hit the roads or trails for the very first time. Oh, yeah!
Runnerd: A committed—and smart—runner. (Yes, we’re all runnerds!)
Rungry: Hungry for a run. As in, “I’m always rungry!”
STD Run: Quick run, or as BAMR Melissa describes it, “You have Shit To Do, so it means short distance and fast.”
Swass: Sweaty ass. Also known as Swamp Butt after a humid Texas run.
Swoobs: Sweaty boobs.
Wogger, Slogger, Rocker: A mother runner who walks/jogs/runs. As in: “I rocked [run/walked] that 5K!”
Wog: A super-fast 12-minute-mile walk or mix of walking and running.
WWSJD: What Would [ultra marathoner] Scott Jurek Do?
Zumrunning: Busting out Zumba-like dance moves while waiting at stop lights during a run. Usually due to exceptional tunes on the iPod.
Have you coined any runner slang lately? What did we miss? Please share in the comments below.
No Drama Allowed: Day 18 of Ironman Training
Ironman training started on November 1st. I started fretting about the race roughly on November 2nd.
So as excited as I am to take on the whole 140.6 miles in Ironman Coeur d’Alene on June 23, 2013, I’m also concerned. While the distance of the day has me a wee bit worried, I know, with the proper training and attitude, I can definitely survive the day.
What I’m not sure I can survive is the training.
My body is as drawn to injury as I am to peppermint ice cream this time of year. I think about my IT band, and it tightens up. I lie on my pillow wrong, and my neck aches for days. I stretch out my tight hamstring, and the arch of my foot feels paralyzed on my next run.
Last Wednesday, I felt like I had total body arthritis. Seriously, I could not name a joint that wasn’t angry. (O.K., maybe my pinky knuckles, but I was so consumed with how much my back, shoulders, hips, and knees ached, I couldn’t pay attention.) As is my typical response, I freaked. How am I supposed to do an Ironman when I can’t even move today? What was I on when I signed up? Who do I think I am kidding?
After I shed some tears, I decided I would not do my designated swim that morning, and instead would only go to Pilates. Pilates, with its intense focus and realignment abilities, has been a savior for me over the past three years, but I’ve slacked off recently; my stringent two times a week downsized to once a week, and sometimes none at all if I am traveling.
When I got to class, I told Ann, an empathetic teacher I adore, of my IM ambitions and how much I hurt. I asked her to please keep an extra eye on me in class today and moving forward; anything I could do better, I wanted her to mention.
She talked me off my ledge and then said something so true and crushing, it hurt to hear. “You force things, Dimity,” she said, gently, “You don’t allow them to happen.” In my body, that means I thrust my shoulders back and down when I “stand up straight”; it means I forget to breathe when I’m trying a tough move; it means my muscles are either super engaged, or they’re hanging out; it means I clinch and get rigid and contort my body to get to the correct position, even if I how I get there is wrong.
(Or put a much simpler way, it means this: I’m a control freak, even when it comes to my own body I already inherently control.)
But here’s the thing: I can’t force 140.6 miles. I can’t forget to breathe through 140.6 miles. I can’t be rigid or clinch through 140.6 miles. And I know I can’t handle the training for 140.6 miles if I don’t chill and do my best to let there be grey in my black-and-white body.
I feel ridiculous typing that I have to allow myself to get to Coeur d’Alene, one of the hardest things I’ll ever do physically, because I feel like I have to sweat and strive to get there. Then again, I’m one of those people who is awful at directions. If I’m behind the wheel and think I should take a left, the place I’m looking for is, 99.9% of the time, to the right. If I think I have to grit out my training, I really need to allow it.
I left Ann’s class standing at least an inch taller, and mentally miles better.
I woke up on Thursday morning, and was a new woman physically. I had a great run with just a few minor aches. As I ran along, I told myself, how you feel one day doesn’t mean you’re going to feel that way tomorrow. Stop with the drama, in other words, because you’re only going to wear yourself out prematurely. Allow this journey to unfold as it naturally will.
I decided that I needed to remind myself of that daily, so I’ve made two notes that I hoped would hang on my bathroom mirror with my favorite magnets ever. They don’t stick there–and I wasn’t going to force the issue with duct tape–but they do on the light fixtures next to the mirrors. As I get up and stuff my body into my workout clothes every morning, I’ll be reminded of the way I’ll get to Idaho.
Do you know the way to Coeur d’Alene?
Do you have a message to yourself taped or stuck in an important place? Care to share?
Magic Fingers: The Power of Massage
While Sarah and Dimity don’t get massages nearly as often as they’d like, talk is cheap so they chat with Angella King, a massage therapist in Portland, Oregon. Angella clues mother runners into how often to get massage (budget allowing), along with the different styles of massage and when to slot them into your training. Angella touches upon self-care technique, including using tool like The Stick and a good ol’ tennis ball. She also talks about the importance of speaking up when you’re on the table—“you’re the boss.” (We’d like to point out, however: In her personal relationship, Angella is the boss: Even her new fiancé has to book an appointment and pay for her healing touch on his triathlon-training muscles!)
If you’re digging our podcasts, we’d be super-grateful if you’d take a minute (because we *know* you have so many to spare!) to write a review on iTunes.
[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr_111512.mp3]**Also, the quickest way to get our podcasts is to subscribe to the show via iTunes. Clicking this link will automatically download the shows to your iTunes account. It doesn’t get any simpler than that!
***Or visit our great friends at Stitcher and subscribe to our podcasts there. Stitcher has been nominated as one of the best Apps ever.
What Would Another Mother Runner Do?
Christy debating how to support the “sisters” on her midday run (wearing the headband she mentions, below).
The last time you tuned in to What Would Another Mother Runner Do (WWAMRD), we contemplated what we’d do if we were first-time marathoner Kelin, who dislocated her hip–and popped it back in herself–when she slipped on banana peels in the Chicago Marathon. Today we’re here with mother of two Christy, who had a less daunting problem but it got us thinking all the same.
Christy is a dedicated runner, who just ran her second marathon last month. Yesterday, while getting changed for her 45-minute lunch break run, this business systems analyst realized she’d neglected to pack a sports bra with the rest of her workout wear. She tells us, “#$%&!” ran through her mind. This 34B-chested gal considered three options:
1. run later after the kids went to bed. She’s done this before and been okay, but it’s getting, um, nippy in the Boston area, where she resides (and runs);
2. go to her car and get the sweaty sports bra she’d forgotten to take out of a wet bag in there. “But this would require toughing it out with yesterday’s stank as well as abbreviating my already seemingly short run,” she said. Or;
3. run in her everyday bra.
What would you do?
Sarah answers: Given that once I sweat in something, it reeks forever, I would not have wanted to stink up my regular brassiere. I would have finished getting dressed–minus a bra. Then I would have dashed to my car (wrapping my arms around my torso to hide my headlights and minimize whatever bounce my 36As have) and put on my used sports bra as I crouched in the backseat. To make the most of my now-condensed workout, I’d have sprinted off to do intervals or a tempo run.
Dimity answers: Tighten up the straps on my regular bra, notch it one tighter than usual, and head out. And then keep my cardigan or jacket on for the rest of the day, lest the sweat leaks through my shirt. (And yes, I may have done this once or three times in the past: lace is not the wicking material I’d hoped it would be.)
What Christy did: Despite thinking Option 2 might have been more comfortable, she chose Option 3–wearing the Hanes underwire bra she’d worn to work–so that she could go just a little farther, rather than taking up time trotting to her car.
Christy’s sweat-stained, underwire boulder holder
What happened: Given she didn’t run too many miles (remember, she’s coming off marathon training, so it’s all relative) and her “girlies are on the smaller side” (her words, not ours since we’re in the same small-breasted boat!), the bouncing didn’t bother her too much. Plus, she admits she was too busy noticing her “curvy shadow” that she doesn’t normally see when her chesticles are plastered to her torso. “And,” as she told us, “it beat the one time I used my headband as a bra instead. True story.”
What would you, another mother runner, do?
And if you’ve got a running-related moment you’d like some clarity on, via WWAMRD, feel free to email us at runmother [at] gmail [dot] com. Thanks!