Tell Me Tuesday: How to Run a Smart Race
When the best part of a bike ride is shooting the sheep, you might need to refocus.
I ran the New York City Marathon in 1997. And a short 10 years later, I ran my second marathon: Nike Women’s.
I did my first half-Ironman in 2002, the spring after I had a miscarriage, to prove that I had control of my body. I did my second in 2004, after having my daughter, to prove that I had control of my life. And then, a short eight years later, did my third in preparation for Ironman.
Oh, and in 2011, I threw in the Mt. Taylor Quad, a crazy race up and down a New Mexico mountain, mostly for a magazine story.
I did my one—and probably only—Ironman in 2013.
Brief recap: 1997, 2002, 2004, 2007, 2011, and 2013 (a double-whammy) were big event years for me.
My definition of big event? Something that is going to take me at least four hours to complete, if not more. While a half-marathon is definitely significant, the training and race don’t drain me, physically and mentally, like a marathons and long-distance triathlons do.
This year, this is what I have lined up: Half-Ironman in Boulder in June (70.3 miles that, on an ideal day, will take me 5.5. hours); Pikes Peak Ascent in August (13.1 miles and 7,000+ feet of climbing that, on an ideal day, will take me 4ishhours); Philadelphia Marathon in November (4+ hours with Kelly, my 26Strong Runner; although I’m there to run her pace and cheer her on, I’ll still be going 26.2 miles).
Brief recap: I’ve done seven big events over 16 years, and this year, just 365 days after the biggest athletic year of my life, I’m going to do three.
Three.
Um, to paraphrase Dr. Phil, how is that going to work for you, Dimity?
Answer to the bald-headed self-help doc: “Well, not super well, actually. I’ve been feeling particularly enervated lately—and I haven’t even crossed a starting line yet. No idea how I’m going to do it all.”
There was no rhythm or rhyme to my big events in previous years; I only used my gut and heart to guide me. Did I really, really want to do that thing? Then do I would do it, and be content for another couple of years until I found another thing I really, really wanted to do.
But somehow, when I finished Ironmother—which I really, really, really wanted to do—last year, I got swept up into the “if some is good, more is better” mentality. I certainly relished the race I put together and the finish line feeling for months and months, but, along the way, I convinced myself that it wasn’t enough. I had to keep pushing hard.
2014: Big event followed by big event, followed by another big event. Huh.
Planning this year, I didn’t listen to my gut or heart. I only listened to the voices that said, “You can go faster. You should train harder. You’re a fast swimmer and cyclist, and you should see what you can do at the half-Ironman distance.” Those stubborn, hard-core voices tuned out the sensible ones. The ones that reminded me, “You aren’t into this. You have no desire to swim or ride fast right now. Every workout feels like a chore. You’ve got no spark.”
What I want to do besides train: eat big, yummy breakfasts and read the NY Times like SBS.
My gut and heart finally got my attention about a week ago. I was on a bike ride in Boulder, one of my first true outdoor rides this year; I should’ve loved letting my legs spin and my quads work and my speed climb. Instead, all I could think about was getting home and and just being home. I wanted to clean my closet. I wanted to play Clue with my kiddos. I wanted to make a good dinner and eat it with Grant. I wanted to connect to my family, my marriage, my home—and I can’t do that in from the saddle of my bike.
And go mini-golfing with my boy on his 8th birthday without worrying about what my week of workouts looked like. (We played 90 holes: that’s a workout, right?)
It wasn’t just a bad training day. I know how to get through those. I hadn’t had a good training day since I started focusing on Boulder. Deep down, I knew I didn’t want to do any more long training rides. I knew I didn’t want to swim in a wetsuit, nor did I want to figure out how I was going to pull off a half-marathon after swimming and biking for ridiculously long distances.
I (happily) went through all of that last year—and it feels way too soon for me to be doing it again.
And go to the Shakespeare Festival with my 5th grader, who refused to turn around for a picture, and have some energy since I didn’t just ride my bike for nearly two hours at 5 a.m.. (She was a fairy in a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream.)
Brief recap: I’m not going to do the Half-Ironman in Boulder in early June.
After I made that decision, my mental load got about 1,000 times lighter. To actually decide for myself not to do a race—and not let an injury dictate my fate—felt surprisingly empowering, if a little sad. I have the skills to do this thing, I have the equipment do this thing, I have the race bib to do this thing, I have the muscular power and aerobic capacity to do this thing…why don’t I want to do this thing? I’m honestly not quite sure, but I know one thing: I should not do this thing if I know what’s best for me.
Some people can get fired up to race big year after year (or month after month), but I’m clearly not that person. And the more I accept that that, the less time I’ll waste listening to random voices that don’t resonate with the person I am.
How do you decide when you’re ready to take on a big race? Do you ever race when your heart and gut aren’t into it?
(By the way, my heart and gut are still intrigued by Pikes Peak; let’s see if they feel that way when I start huffing and puffing up the hills for training. And I’m all in for 26Strong with Kelly. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” chant those voices.)
#107: Time Management Tips from Jill Farmer
Where the deer, antelope, bison–and Dimity’s kids–roam.
Dimity and Sarah suspect you’re in the same proverbial boat they often are: drowning in seeming “must-do’s” and “gotta-get-done’s.” So they brought on Jill Farmer, a time- and life-management coach in St. Louis, to help unravel the busy cluster of mother runners’ lives. Jill shares some insightful, yet delicious simple, solutions on how to shed some stress and get more done in a day. (Including making sure you have enough time for your all-important runs!) We love that she even uses running terms, like “bigger strides, longer goals” as analogies for accomplishing more in life. But before the mother runners dive into the de-stressing discussion, find out where Dimity and her family went for spring break—and why it didn’t feel very spring-y.
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Martini Fridays: Muscular Thighs and Post-Race Plans
My dog is tired of hearing me talk about what might come next after the big run.
Wee! Race day for Adrienne Martini at the Pittsburgh Half-Marathon is just one week away, and her dog couldn’t be more thrilled for her. (Catch up on her journey with past episodes of Martini Fridays.)
Perhaps the most dangerous part of this whole taper thing is that I have enough energy and headspace to start fomenting future running plans. If nothing else, all of this day-dreaming keeps my mind off of accidentally turning an ankle while walking to class or picking up a stomach bug from one of my children.
This musing about life after the Pittsburgh Half Marathon isn’t good, though. I’m thoroughly in the don’t-count-your-chickens-before-they-hatch camp and, right now, all I’m holding is a basket full of easily smashed eggs. Potentially, my first actual running chicken is about to peck free but there are no guarantees in the hen house.
Still. Here I am.
Potential Chicken #1: I’ve actually said the following out loud: Wouldn’t it be fun to run a half-marathon in every city I’ve lived in? To his credit, my husband didn’t even flinch. Possibly, this is because he was half-asleep and I might have whispered it so that I didn’t wake him all the way up.
It’s a fun list, full of races I’ve heard nothing but good about. Pittsburgh can soon be scratched off — and typing this means that I’m courting a DNF — and I’d be left with Orlando, Austin, and Knoxville, Tennessee. There are plenty of halfs to choose from in cities close to Oneonta, like Albany, Utica, or Binghamton. If I wanted to be kicky, I could add the cities we lived in before I started kindergarten: Wilmington, Atlanta, and Chicago. Totally do-able.
But then what? Should I add all of the cities where I know someone? All of the Zoomas? All of the Ragnars? Places I’ve always wanted to see? One in each state? One in each country? Then I could write a book about all of the running, full of both cautionary tales and uplifting finishes. It’ll be huge, like Eat, Pray, Love huge. I’ll call it Eat, Kvetch, Run. Eat, Pack, Run? Run, Run, Run?
And now you can also see why I tend to avoid down-time. It gives me all sorts of unsustainable ideas. But I will admit that I am casting about for another half, maybe in the fall. Or maybe the Disney Princess. Unless it turns out that I really hate running halfs and then that future-me can come back and laugh at past-me.
My post-Pittsburgh plan might involve this sign, which I’ve never once managed to register my speed during a morning run.
Potential Chicken #2: My most immediate post-Pittsburgh running goal is to finally get serious about a PR in our local big 10K: The Pit Run. My current PR is 1:16, which is certainly faster than sitting on the couch. Still, I think with some training I can get closer to the 1:10 or 1:05. I’ve already marked my calendar so that I remember to start the Train Like a Mother 10K Own It! plan at the end of July.
I take an almost perverse pride in my slow-but-determined running style that it will be weird to think about speed. It’s good to be weird every now and again, yes?
…which makes me grumpy.
Potential Chicken #3: A couple of days ago, that same husband was trying to get my attention and put his hand on my thigh, just above my knee. What really got my attention was what he said next, with a note of surprise in his voice: “Wow. It’s like a rock.” Reader, I loved him more.
Like so many women—most of us, I’d wager—my body and I have always had an uneasy relationship. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve reached a point of mostly happy acceptance. It’s not coincidental that this is right about the same time I started running, too.
But I never expected or, frankly, aimed for, changes in my body composition. I wasn’t obsessed with losing X pounds or lowering my BMI or fitting in a size 6. Because I have other stuff in my life that gives me more joy than any of that would; that’s why.
My post-baby belly is always going to jiggle. My upper arms are always going to sway. I can run, though. And when you run in this body, apparently, you get rock hard thighs that are growing increasingly challenging to fit into pants.
Which started to freak me out. After so many years of monitoring myself for any changes in what my body looks like, any one part getting bigger is bound to incite panic. It took me longer than I care to admit to accept that my muscle-y thighs are the reward for my work. They are a sign of strength rather than weakness.
So how is this a chicken? I don’t want to lose them and need to come up with a plan to maintain my newly found fitness even if I’m not in the heart of training for something. I have zero idea if it would be better to always be training for something or to develop some kind of maintenance plan. I’ve mentioned I’m a planner, yes?
If nothing else, this whole training for the Pittsburgh Half and writing about has taught me that there is no problem I’ve faced that another mother runner hasn’t faced as well. So what solutions to keeping your fitness gains have you come up with?
(And, no, the answer “start training for a marathon” isn’t on the table. Never say never, I know, but at this point, running a marathon holds zero appeal for me, no matter how much I enjoyed this week’s Boston Marathon.)
AMR Traveling Ultimate 6 Kit, Episode 2: IT Band Syndrome
In our first installment of the AMR Traveling TriggerPoint Ultimate 6 Kit, we tackled Plantar Fasciitis. In this round, Denise Dollar, a 46-year-old mother runner with two kids, gets some relief for her Iliotibial Band Syndrome (ITBS).
What IT Band Syndrome is: ITBS is a running-induced injury that is best described as pain in the outside of the knee. Not a muscle, but rather thick fascia, the Iliotibial Band extends from the outside of the hip to below the knee, and as such, it’s a vital player in the functioning of those of those joints. The IT Band helps flex, extend, and stabilize your knee during foot strike, and those responsibilities, combined with continual rubbing across the across the bottom corner of your femur, can cause it to become inflamed.
Hello, muscular runner man. What a nice IT Band you have.
On a scale of 1 (a hangnail) to 10 (hospitalization required), I would rate this injury as an: 8. It stopped me dead in my tracks around mile seven of my first half-marathon. After that, I felt mentally blocked and had a hard time asking for help and moving forward at all with running.
What causes it: Because the IT Band runs extends from above your hip to below your knee, IT Band Syndrome can have a variety of causes; thank you, muscular kinetic chain, in which everything from your toe tendons to your abs is somehow connected. Hips that are both tight and weak, a common occurrence among female runners, can definitely contribute. Typical training errors—running too much too soon, doing too many intense workouts, letting your form lapse on long runs, running on continually on roads with a severe cant—can also play a part. Running in shoes that aren’t right for you may also cause your IT Band to bark. (More causes? Watch this TriggerPoint flick: Misconceptions of IT Bands.)
I didn’t stretch my hips or any part of my lower body, really. I didn’t have the right shoes, and looking back, I didn’t have a solid foundation from which to train for a half-marathon. I ran too much too soon.
What it feels like physically: It’s like someone is stabbing a knife into the outside of my knee; the pain is so intense, it’s hard to put any pressure on the leg. It typically flares up around mile 6 or 7 into a run. The good news is that I’ve never noticed it when I’m not running.
You might have it if: You have an imaginary knife going through the outside of your knee. (Although the IT Band is a long band of fascia, the pain usually materializes at the knee.) Initially, it only hurts when you are running, and although the spot around your knee may be tender, there’s usually minimal swelling involved. Runner’s World says, “The best way to tell if you have ITBS is to bend your knee at a 45-degree angle. If you have an IT band problem, you’ll feel pain on the outside of the knee.”
What and how to roll: I rolled 10-15 minutes every day, regardless if I ran. I always rolled before running and tried to get to it after as well. Twice a week, I rolled for 30 minutes. (I really want to kick ITBS to the curb!) I really liked the piriformis moves with the massage ball; releasing my glutes seems to gently ask my IT Band to loosen up a bit. I used a more gentle roller directly on my IT Band, which can bring tears to my eyes but ultimately brings relief.
What else works physically: Yoga has helped me immensely (here’s a routine focused on the IT band: . In particular, I love the pigeon pose, which my physical therapist recommends.
How I coped mentally: It took me a while to get back to running after my first half-marathon. After my second half, when I was still struggling with my IT Band issues, I took a break from longer distances while I trained for a century [100-mile bike ride]. I was still running, but I was going shorter distances and thankfully, I wasn’t having any pain.
But I wanted to get back to running longer distances and had a hard time getting past that mental block, continuing to think of mile 6-7 as painful. Once I was armed with help and stretches from my PT and the knowledge that I had to take care of my IT Band regularly in order to keep going strong, I felt better about tackling longer runs. With additional therapy work with the Ultimate 6 kit, I got past the 6-7 mile mark without pain and I now feel more confident. I really had to learn—and, honestly, I continue to learn—about what running is for me, how to listen to my body and to address issues when they come up and not let them derail me, mentally or physically.
How I’ll avoid it in the future: Releasing and stretching the muscles in and around the IT Band, espeically the hips and the piriformis, is the biggest conduit for a comfortable run. Strengthening them is huge too; here are some exercises that’ll keep you solid and stable. Taking a few days off when I feel it flaring up—instead of trying to run through it—can also reset it.
Anything we missed? How did you cope, both mentally and physically, with a bout of IT Band Syndrome that is (fingers crossed) in your past?
And do you have an injury that could benefit from the AMR Traveling Ultimate 6 Kit? Email us at runmother [at] gmail [dot] com and we’ll see if the Kit can make a stop at your mother runner house. (We have received a bunch of entries, and are slowly combing through them, so if you have already emailed us, we’ll be in touch asap.)
#106: Two Friends + Boston Marathon 2014
The Portland gals after the show: Santha, Sarah, and Dana (l-to-r)
With Dimity on Skype, Sarah is joined in the studio by Dana Sullivan and Santha Cassell, two longtime BRFs (best running friends) who both ran the 2013 Boston Marathon. These Portland moms talk about the journey—months of hard training and several marathon attempts spread out over a few years—that lead them to the Hopkinton, MA, starting line. Then they share their experiences on April 15, 2013. (Spoiler alerts: Neither Santha nor Dana reached the finish line and neither were injured in the blasts.) The four mother runners dive into Dana’s decision to return to run this year’s Boston Marathon—and why, mid-training-cycle, Santha decided against it. This show is a moving tribute to running friendships and perseverance.
[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr/amr_042014.mp3]
Might we suggest you wear your Boston STRONG tee and/or Sweaty Bands while listening to this podcast? Thanks to the hundreds of you who purchased our 2014 Boston STRONG merchandise, we were able to donate $1,519.50 to The One Fund Boston. That money, like all donations after June 27, 2013, will be used to support the ongoing needs of those most affected by the attacks. Thank you all, ladies.
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.
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Martini Fridays: A Newt Named George
TWELVE!
Race day for Adrienne Martini at the Pittsburgh Half-Marathon is getting closer, and on this episode of Martini Fridays, she meets the dark side of her soul and a newt.
To cut right to the chase, Saturday’s 12-miler was all that you could hope a 12-miler might be, which is 12 miles long and full of opportunities for growth.
Given that spring is finally here—I love you spring!—my sinus cavities were visited by the pollen fairy the night before my big run. Antihistamines are not a performance enhancing drug, by the way. But it was nice to be able to breathe through both nostrils, more or less, even if my brain felt like it was full of cotton.
I plotted a course that had the potential to be 13 miles if I was feeling extra zippy. And while plotting said course, I took great care to avoid having to run up a hill that scares me. In doing so, I wound up putting myself on a hill that was exponentially steeper and longer. I offer this up as a lesson. Just run the dang hill that scares you. All of your maneuvering will only make it worse.
Where my long, dark mile of the soul started.
Sadly, said hill coincided with mile 7 and triggered one of those long trudges of the soul. I had doubts, reader. Serious ones about the idea of running 13 miles when I felt so lousy after a mere 7. Everything hurt. My nose started running again. I’d been running straight uphill for hours and was hot and tired and over it.
I did what one does, which is put my head down and keep moving forward. By the time I slurped down a Gu at mile 8, I was past the worst of my bleak mood. I was also mighty thankful that I’d used a bandana as a headband that morning because it gave me something else to wipe my nose on. You probably don’t want to know if I put it back on my head.
I’m not really complaining about the allergies. In a week or so, they will be done and I’ll have to find something else to grouse about. After this winter I am just so happy that things are greening up that I don’t mind the sneezing so much.
And I shall love him and pet him and call him George.
In addition to building mental toughness, this run led me to this little guy, who nearly got himself stepped on by a sniffly mother runner. I’m told by a salamander specialist, who teaches at one of the local colleges, that it’s an “Eastern Red Newt in its eft stage.”
And you thought this column would only be about running.
This is the week when all of the newts and peeper frogs wake up, it seems. On previous long runs, I’d only seen lots and lots of deer, a bunny or two, cats, dogs, and turkeys, who are much bigger when you’re only a foot or two from them. Given that this is a college town, I frequently see undergrads who are doing the walk of shame. But newts are new.
There are crocuses, too. CROCUSES! We may all live to see summer again. Lest you think this is about to turn into Nature Watch with Adrienne, just know that my enthusiasm only stems from how bloomin’ excited I am to see something other than snow, slush, snail, and ice. If nothing else, this training has forced me to interact with the weather more as well as pay more attention to what the seasons actually look like.
Spring is finally here! Hooray!
It’s also forced me to realize that I can run 13 miles, even though I haven’t yet his that magical mileage number on Herr Garmin. My body certainly feels like it’s ready — and will be even more ready after the next couple of weeks of tapering. One more mile feels physically do-able, which isn’t something I ever thought I’d say. My brain is mostly on-board, too, despite the occasional dark moments where I want to simply want to sit down and maybe have a nice mocha. The trick will be maintaining this belief in my own abilities between now and May 4. How do you all manage the taper without being convinced that you are losing all of your fitness and that all of the miles you’ve already put in are nothing but a mirage?
In other news, I’ve ordered a SparkleTech skirt and will try it out on this week’s (only!) 8-mile run. Is it wrong that I’m already planning what I’ll be able to do during the rest of Saturday, given that I might have some energy to do something crazy like vacuum? These taper weeks, if nothing else, will give me the gift of a few more hours in the week. My hope is that I won’t spend all of those new hours worrying about the race to come.
How do you deal with the taper week(s)? Is your house extra clean—or your energy unharnessable?