The Secret Needlepoint Life of a Runner
Some of my “stitch witchery,” as husband, Jack, lovingly calls my hobby.
I learned to needlepoint before I could color within the lines or write my ABCs, as a way to strengthen a lazy eye. My parents still have the 5” by 7” pillow I needlepointed at age 5, the mast of the simple sailboat a vivid red set against the white sails and blue sky.
Once I started school, I left my needle and yarn behind. My mother needlepointed several projects—including eight (!) identical seats for their dining room chairs—when I was a child, but I had no desire to pick up a canvas and join her. Decades went by before I ever gave much thought to my childhood hobby. Yet in winter 2001, when my husband and I were trying to conceive our first child, I was suddenly struck by an overwhelming urge to needlepoint. I believe it was my over-agitated body’s way of forcing me to chill out.
The bee pillow I needlepointed for Phoebe(e) while pregnant with her.
After taking a beginner class to refresh my memory from 30 years prior, I’d sit and stitch for hours, lost in a creative haze. Several months later, pregnant at last, I needlepointed for entire weekend days, listening to the radio or daydreaming about the baby growing inside of me.
In the early years of my children’s lives, needlepointing soothed my weary mind, taxed from keeping track of twin toddlers at a playground or entertaining all three kids during a Costco shopping expedition. I’m so exuberantly proud of the Christmas stockings I stitched for my three kids, I want them mentioned in my obituary.
The dragonfly canvas, finally complete after being neglected since the Bush era.
But then, just as suddenly as I’d resumed needlepointing, I ceased. A dragonfly canvas, in woodsy shades of green, grey, and brown and destined to be a pillow for our guest bedroom, lay untouched for more than half a decade. Until this spring, when once again, I was consumed with the driving desire to push a needle through a painted canvas, trailing silk-and-wool yarn.
But now I approach the canvas differently: I have to wear “cheater” glasses, meaning I can no longer shift my gaze down to what I’m stitching then back at a TV screen like I used to. (Like slower marathon finish times, my degenerating eyesight is a dreaded by-product of aging.) Podcasts of “This American Life” and “Car Talk” now keep me entertained. This summer, I flew through the long-ignored dragonfly pillow, then immediately landed on a multi-colored owl canvas for my younger daughter’s bedroom.
As odd as it may sound, I embrace needlepointing for several of the same reasons I love running, especially the meditative, repetitive nature of both endeavors. Both activities free my mind to wander and float: Somehow following a road or a needlepointing pattern lets my brain move in a delicious non-linear fashion. Like a moderate-pace weekday run, my needlepoint projects aren’t fancy or embellished. No fancy stitches or gold yarn, just like that Wednesday morning run doesn’t have any intervals or tempo. Simply solid efforts that make me feel flush with quiet pride over a task well done.
What, if any, hobby (hobbies?) do you have other than running?
My current project for owl-loving Daphne: I’m banking on its mod, stylized design being juvenile enough for an 8-year-old yet hip enough to be dorm decor in a decade.
Stress and the Mother Runner
“This is not the easiest time of your life,” my mom told me a couple months ago when I called to talk to her about…well, I can’t even remember what was stressing me out that time. But I was in probably tears and that line stuck in my head: This is not the easiest time of your life.
Thing is, I thought it was supposed to be. Maybe not the easiest, but at least easier. Our kids are a little older and in school all day; my career is far enough along that I know that one bad day—or month—won’t break me; my 13-year-old marriage feels solid and strong. (And, truth be told, pretty boring: “Want to watch a new episode of ‘Orange is the New Black’ tonight?” “Definitely! Great idea!”)
But 7- and 10-year-old kids means soccer and volleyball practices; and two kids means almost constant bickering; and 10-year-old means on the verge of puberty that is turning my sweet Amelia into my conflicted Amelia; and 10-year-old also means dividing decimals, which always seems to end in frustrated tears; and the waffling economy can make any career feel shaky; and we just had get a new roof (cha-ching!); and the laundry never stops and the fridge empties so fast and the dog needs a long walk every single morning; and there are large crumbs and other gross detritus in every single kitchen drawer and cabinet; and can a marriage in which Netflix is a highlight really be considered strong?
No, this not the easiest time of my life.
Truth be told, I thrive on my tank being a quarter full. Write a feature story in a week? I’m on it. Head up a debut magazine for a 5th-grade class? Totally. Figure out dinner on three ingredients? Well, if they happen to be beans, cheese, and tortillas, I’m all about the quesadillas. I like pressure, I like performing under pressure, I like succeeding under pressure.
What I don’t like is pressure that never lets up, which is where my life is right now. It’s important pressure, too. It’s the you’re-in-your-prime-years-of-parenting-and-earning-and-don’t-screw-up-either stress. And it’s less important, but more tangible, mundane stress: Do you remember when back-to-school night is? (Um, not this year apparently.) Do you have enough vegetables in the crisper drawer? (Do rubbery carrots count?) Doesn’t your (very friendly) dog need another rabies vaccination? (On it, on it.)
You all know what I do when I feel the virtual stress vice squeezing my innards and cranium: I head out and sweat. A good sweat is like taking a scrub brush to my spirit. As my pores pour, I slowly build myself up. Sweat. You can do this day. Sweat. You’ve got this day. Sweat. One step at a time, friend, and you can do this day. Sweat. I sweat in the morning; I think of it as prehab for my day.
While stress doesn’t just disappear with the miles—I’m pretty sure the world would have more runners if it did—I finish a run, and all the little stresses seems totally conquerable. Hey: I can roast those rubbery carrots and nobody will be the wiser. And the bigger ones are put in perspective: I have a healthy family, a healthy dog, and a new roof! Be grateful, sister!
Oh, I am so endorphin-laced and so grateful, post-sweat. I could coast forever on that delicious feeling that is also—dang it!—fleeting. More often than not, the day yawns on and stress creeps in again, and sometimes it’s so omnipotent and menacing, I’m back on the phone with my mom, who reassures me this is not the easiest time of my life.
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Hyland’s, one of AMR’s valued partners, knows how stressed we all are, whether your life mirrors mine or is in another not-the-easiest-time spot. On September 30, they’re launching the first annual Hyland’s Five-Day Stress Challenge, which will have a range of tips and ideas to lower your stress levels, on their Facebook page.
Registration for the Stress Challenge begins on September 18 on Hyland’s Facebook page; the first 1,000 people to register will get a full-sized Nerve Tonic, which is as soothing as it sounds. (Trust me on this one.) And there are chances to win other stress-reducing and helpful prizes from September 30 to October 4, during the first Stress Challenge.
Everything from restful legs to a restful sleep: Hyland’s has you covered.
Before you and your stressed badass head over on Wednesday and register, though, we have a chance for one reader to win a variety of Hyland’s products. We’ll announce the random winner on Tuesday, September 17 (as in: tomorrow!) so don’t delay—but don’t stress about it. Just answer this question in the comments below: What is stressing you out these days?
Sage Rountree Tells How to Race Wisely
Arms raised in triumph = strong finish: Sage Rountree at 2008 Triathlon Worlds
Sarah and Dimity welcome back noted yogini and triathlon coach Sage Rountree to talk about Sage’s latest book, Racing Wisely: a Practical and Philosophical Guide to Performing at Your Personal Best. The gals dive into the difference between a race intention and race goal, plus the importance of having a spectrum of goals. The conversation naturally flows into the definition of “personal best.” They talk about the four quarters of a race and why the third is always the toughest (quarters/trimesters: Sarah tosses out a pregnancy analogy). To help tackle late-stage challenges, Sage advocates lots of testing during training. Perhaps most critical of all: Find out which mother runner would have to be Shirley if the gals ever recreate “Laverne & Shirley.”
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Ragnar Colorado Race Report: High-Altitude Miles, Fueled by Nuun and Tutus
All bling and pink and arms up for Ragnar Colorado on Team Morning. Nuun. Night: We mothers run.
I sent the email out last spring to my best running buddies: our partner Nuun has offered me an entry to Colorado Ragnar. Who wants in? Some replied immediately yes! Others needed a few miles to discuss the possibility of spotting a mountain lion, of slowing us down, of wondering if they could really do it. Fast forward about six months, and the original eleven who I invited were standing on the starting line in our Tough Girl Tutus at Copper Mountain. The fact that none of us were injured during training, had a last-minute conflict, or otherwise had to bail meant good things were ahead.
And indeed they were.
Recording our legs (check marks) and kills, eating bananas, getting inverted. Oh, and running.
I was in the first van, and was runner number six. So five runners went and kicked badass before I could get my first miles in. They were not, as I proclaimed as I handed the Ragnar slap bracelet to Becky, runner number seven, “the easiest miles of my life.” Despite the Biblical rains we’re getting here in Colorado right now, Ragnar weekend was h.o.t. And the sun feels like it burns right through your skin, especially when your first run ends at nearly 10,000 feet after 800 feet of climbing over 7.5 miles. Holy hamstrings. (Yes, I had to get all those stats in.) The Ragnar thing is to record “kills”–or runners you pass—and I was dismayed to be killed by six during that run, and to only kill two. (One passed me earlier, then had serious stomach issues, one I caught while he waited for a traffic light. Neither felt legit.)
My issues, however, were nothing compared to what van two of Morning. Nuun. Night: We mothers run. was about to face.
Our custom sweatshirts; high-fives all around; Lisa, another ‘rado nuun mother runner; insurance on not getting lost.
No mountain lions, thankfully, and really, in the scheme of 192 miles, no drama you wouldn’t expect. After Emily descended most of Vail pass (over 1,900 feet of downhill, which she blitzed, then couldn’t walk down stairs for 3 days afterward), Bine, our yogi runner missed a transition area. Which happened to be in the dark. While it was raining. And she had a hurt hamstring. And her stomach was going south quickly. And she ran 11 miles instead of 7. So that whole episode kind of threw van 2, understandably, into a tailspin.
(Then I had the great timing to text Van 2 at that very moment to ask for a Diet Coke—I needed more caffeine than that Nuun’s Kona Cola to get me to my 12:30 a.m. run—which they didn’t know they had in their van. Hysterical about four hours later. It probably doesn’t feel funny to you, and I get that: Ragnar is kind of like summer camp. Terribly funny and interesting to the people who experienced it, not so much to the people who didn’t.)
And so Van 1 of Morning. Nuun. Night. took back the slap bracelet around 10 p.m., and we had a few momentary freak-outs on directions and such, but nothing that shook us too much. Ms.Afraid of Mountain Lions had voiced her concerns in front of her family, and her son sweetly gave him his Bear Grylls survival kit to carry on her night leg. She didn’t carry Bear’s fire starter and knife, but she did take another teammate for the 2.5 mile spin, which was through neighborhoods and ended at an elementary school. (Read: the most populated part of our route that night. Again, uproarious laughter later about this fact.)
I had 8.8 miles of gradual downhill in the dark. After my slaughterfest earlier, I wasn’t super psyched to run again. (Who, me?) But the first mile was so downhill, I had a sub-8 minute mile, and my Pandora knew exactly what I needed to hear. (Thank you, Pink: Run just as fast as I can/To the middle of nowhere/To the middle of my frustrated fears.) The stars were scattered as densely as Legos are on my basement floor, and what would’ve been an ugly daylight run—I ran past the Vail airport, complete with Hertz rental car drop-off—was sublime at 1 a.m.
Fifty shades of pink—plus an orange Trigger Point Therapy roller. I promise, we didn’t smile the whole time. Just 92% of it.
I got my Diet Coke, and Van 2 rallied for their second legs as Van 2.0. They rejiggered their legs a little to cover for Bine, who needed to rest, and were all speed and smiles. As they were jamming, we were drooling on our pillows as we “slept” on the gym floor of a local high school. I must admit, I was impressed with the gym—super quiet, and no shoes allowed—and with Ragnar in general. Safety is key—you must wear reflective vests from 6:30 p.m. to 7 a.m.—and we were 100% satisfied with how it was organized and 96% with how the course was marked. (Not sure if it was user error or just a little unclear, but we had a few runners slide off course for just a few minutes.)
The last runs for Van 1 were probably my favorite. We were on the back roads of Western ‘rado, the sun was coming up (see ya, vests!), and life felt perfect. We jammed our tunes from our van, we shared our zucchini bread with the volunteers, we rang our pink cowbells endlessly, and I slapped a couple runners on their butts with my magic wand. I had 3 measly miles to complete my first Ragnar race, and I’m happy to report I recorded two legit kills.
Badass mother runner celebrates with ‘pagne; we all celebrate with a tunnel, then a (free) beer. Kelly got the best welcome home, and this Tutu and wand is headed to DC next. Ragnar on!
The sun kept rising, and daytime temps were intense for Van 2’s last hurrah. Seriously glad we had Nuun to constantly sip, as it kept us hydrated and strong. While I’m proud of every single mile this team ran, I have to call out Becky, who took on an unsupported 10.4 mile leg with 1,100 feet of climbing for her final run and killed oh, about 12 runners. And Katherine the mountain goat, who climbed almost 2,000 feet over 8.2 miles to bring us home, passing 15ish other teams. (That’s her on the bottom left, pointing to the top of Snowmass, where she climbed—then descended.)
Speaking of Katherine, I have to throw this in here. Our pink Tough Girl Tutus were beloved and bombproof through all 192 miles. The built-in race belt was invaluable (no need to move your bib); they’re barely noticeable when you have one on; yet the unique profile makes it easy to spot a teammate—and easy to be hunted down.
To wit: a comment we received after the race, which I pretty much love (and thank Jim for sending it!).
You guys didn’t know us I’m sure—nor did you care about us during the race—but after leapfrogging your team the entire race, you guys became a self-made-up rival to our team by the end of the race. It evolved from when we’d be completely spent during a legs 1 & 2 and then one of you would come just prancing by with your Tutu like nothing was wrong and it drove a few of us crazy in a most competitive and yet humbling way. So after leg two, we (at least my van 2) would talk about how we each did on our leg in relation to “those dog-gone Tutus URGG” and how we either passed one or got passed by one. Anyway, you guys were great and we were shocked and thrilled that our last runner passed your last runner coming down the mountain to the finish line, only because we got a text from him halfway through leg 36 saying he just got passed by the Tutu who, btw, started that leg ~5 min after he did and chased him down to take the lead. Our hopes were all but crushed. So that’s why we were acting like we just won the Superbowl [when we saw you at the finish line.] [KATHERINE COMMENTS: “He had a buddy join him to coax him to turn on his jets, and I would’ve gone harder if I would’ve known.” She’s hardcore, that Kat.] |
At the end of the race, we were beyond wiped, and by the time we gathered for dinner at 7 on Saturday night, you could just feel the exhaustion seeping out of us as quickly as sweat had for the previous 31 hours. I think I speak for all 12 of us, though, when I say those 31 hours were some of the best of this summer. It truly was a girls’ weekend with 192 miles thrown in, and girlfriend time—and all the laughs, inside jokes, important conversations, pizzas, Twizzlers and celebrity gossip mags that comprise it—is so rare and valuable, I’d climb almost any mountain for it..
A massive thanks to Nuun, who sponsored this whole shebang and to Tough Girl Tutus. And a huge thanks to mother runner Sarah Johnson, who not only was our second runner, but she took most of these amazing pics.
Finally, proud to report that Morning. Nuun. Night., in our mother runner debut effort, took 98th out of 194 teams and 5th out of 18 women’s-only teams. Running on a Prayer beat us by 6 seconds, which means only one thing: The MNN Tutus have some unfinished business to tend to next year.
15 Tips to Add Fun to Marathon Training Runs
Can’t promise these tips will make you feel as jubilant as Michelle (grey tank) did at this stage of the Boston Marathon, but they should put a smile on your face.
Whether you’re covering 8 or 18 miles for your half- or full marathon training runs, here’s how to add some fun.
-Have a companion (or two or three). If you don’t have a partner training for the same race, have a pal join you for part of your training excursion. Michelle, a mother runner who ran Boston this year, will often run 7 or 8 miles solo, then finish up 12 or 13 with friends. Or break your 20-miler into four 5-mile loops, recruiting different friends to join you for each 5-miler.
-Plan a ride-along. Your children, partner, or friends can bike alongside you for all or part of your journey. JoAnn and her Twin Cities posse often bike beside friends, acting as a Sherpa, carrying iced nuun, bananas, or GU Chomps.
-Forego human companionship, and bring your dog along for part of the run, then drop him off at home partway through the run. Or flip that: Alison, a half-marathoner in Utah, has used her dog to haul her through the last few miles when she’s flagging.
Alison with tunes strapped to her arm
-Start and/or end someplace fun. On a hot day this summer, two pals and I pushed through 14 miles. Moving us along was the thought of taking a cooling dip at the lake we’d started from. A post-run swim isn’t always feasible this time of year, but consider finishing up at a waffle house or brew pub. (Carbs, right?)
-“Save” a playlist for long runs only. Or make like Alison, who listens to a Pandora station on her phone instead of tunes she’s purchased. (I do this with Spotify.)
-Get engrossed in audio books. One mother runner told us she got carried away by The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series this summer. (To download one free title from Audible.com, click here for special offer for mother runners.)
-Listen to a podcast. (Gee, we’ve got one we think you’d really like!)
-Make it a mission to high five at least 10 strangers on your run, suggested lululemon via Twitter. “You’ll make someone’s day and take your mind off your miles.”
-Exercise your brain. Training for the 2011 Twin Cities Marathon, JoAnn listened to the same song over and over again, trying to decipher lyrics. She tried to unravel “Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z, but we’d now dig into any Macklemore song. On Twitter, Healthy Way Mag suggested picking a category each mile—Countries; Girl Names Beginning with “M,” or Taylor Swift Songs—and mentally listing all the options you can think of.
-Let your mind run as free as your feet. As JoAnn said to us, “Sometimes having a blank slate of time in front of you is a good thing: It’s amazing the places your mind can wander to when you let it.”
-Take a picture. Michelle, the Boston qualifier, whips out her phone to snap shots along her route. “I’m fortunate to run in some really beautiful spots, and it’s easy to take that for granted when you’re out there slogging along for 3+ hours,” writes the Rhode Island resident. “But stopping for a minute to appreciate your surroundings is a nice way to take a breather and remind yourself that you really truly are lucky that you get to be out there doing this.”
Phoebe (aka “one badas$ mother runner”) racing with her youngest son along for the ride.
-Change up your speed. Start slow for 3 miles, then run closer to race pace for 6 miles (or 2 or 3), then drop back down again.
-Ask someone if she (or he) wants company. Bethany told us her Garmin battery died during a recent tempo run. She was on a well-traveled trail, so she caught up with a high school boys’ track team and asked them if they could pace her for an 8:15 mile. (Resourceful mother runner, that Bethany!) Then, during her cooldown, she asked a skirt-clad runner if she could run with her, “because it felt weird to run three feet to her left and play the passing game. She was lovely,” says Bethany.
-Change your environs. Almost every runner we asked said longer distances are so much easier to tackle when you get to check out new scenery. Last weekend, Phoebe in New Hampshire, “did 14 on a long-drooled-over country road,” while her oldest son was at a birthday party in the area. She did an hour out and an hour back to avoid getting lost, “but it was great to see different houses and scenery along the way.”
-Make a plan to do a family outing a certain number of minutes (or hours) after you leave home, suggests creative Phoebe. “You run in the direction your family will be heading and they will ‘catch’ you in the car on the way to the destination. I like the mystery of imagining how far I’ll get before my ride comes along.” Two helpful hints she relayed to us: have your family bring along a bag of non-stinky clothes (and maybe some wet wipes); and don’t have the final destination be a wedding or fancy restaurant!
Now, you tell us: How do you make a long run entertaining?
JoAnn with her gaggle of gal-pals at a race that we’re sure they played Sherpa for each other in training.
Extra-long Q&A Sesssion
One of several kinds of bars the gals talk about in today’s podcast.
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