April 2014

#105: Demystifying the Track

Coach Carl will help you make sense of track--and this podcast might even inspire you to run some laps.

Coach Carl will help you make sense of track–and this podcast might even inspire you to run some laps.

With spring racing season upon us, the mother runners decided it was time to banish any intimidation you might be feeling about track workouts. Dimity and Sarah welcome Carl Leivers, a certified USA Track and Field certified running coach in Atlanta, to help make track workouts less daunting and more “enjoyable” (that being a relative term…). He deciphers all those numbers—e.g., 10 x 400, 6 x 800, 4 x 1000—as well as helps the gals figure out what all the lines mean. He gives pacing tips, including a pointer that’s especially welcome to Sarah. Plus, find out what Dimity’s going to yell at SBS the next time she catches up with her at an airport.

[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr/amr_041314.mp3]

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.

**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!

Martini Fridays: Of Old Shoes + Tutus

Goodbye, old pals.

Goodbye, old pals.

Race day for Adrienne Martini at the Pittsburgh Half-Marathon is getting closer, and on this episode of Martini Fridays, Adrienne starts thinking about gear.

Sometimes, I’m a little jealous of SBS and her best running friend Molly. While I do have lots of running friends (and, just for the record, lots of non-running friends), there aren’t any that I run with on a regular basis. Part of me wishes I had this kind of closeness with my own Molly. But most of me knows that running solo is one of my most favorite things ever and I don’t really want to give that up.

Which isn’t to say that I haven’t enjoyed the times I’ve run with other people. Like the easy three miles in Maine with my friend Quinn, who runs barefoot unless road conditions are dire. Or the four in Canandaigua with my friend Lisa, where the whole town came out to cheer us on when we were running back to home base. (Some have said the cheering was for the town’s football team whose buses were streaming past us on their way back from a big game. Harumph, I say. They just saw how fabulous we were.)

As pleasant as all of my partnered runs have been, my bread-and-butter runs—those everyday miles—are better by my lonesome. As much as I might play an extrovert in the classroom or in public, deep down, I’m not one. I need the times of not talking and of not interacting in order to be fully present in the times that I need to do both.

I was alone (but not lonely) on this past weekend’s long run. It was another ten miles through the countryside. I never, ever, ever though I’d ever refer to a ten miler as *another* ten miler, yet here we are. My mind wandered in indescribable ways during the run. It’s more like I spent the two+ hours rearranging all of my mental furniture just to see if there was some combination of sofa, end table, and wingback chair that was more aesthetically pleasing.

I also thought about tutus.

Tutus have been in the running news lately, for reasons I’m not going to rehash. I’ve been deep in pondering what to wear for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. I’ve got the top half of my body worked out: my favorite sports bra and a Badass Mother Runner t-shirt. I’ll go visor or headband, depending on the sun. But it’s my bottom that I don’t know what to do with.

Yes, this has been one of my life’s themes. Bottoms are tricky.

My running skirt’s built-in spankies keep riding up, which takes it out of the *ahem* running. I’m wondering if it will be too hot for capris. I’d commit to shorts but don’t want to wear anything in a race that I haven’t already tested at that distance—and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be warm enough here anytime soon to go long in shorts.

The whole hoo-hoo over tutus made me feel like I should wear one, just to show solidarity for the tribe. But I’m not sure I’m a tutu gal. Plus, they look kinda scratchy, if truth be told.

It was right about here in the ten-miler that the “snail” started. “Snail” is a term my daughter coined to described that pelty snow/hail mixture we get in the early spring. All thoughts of tutus tata’d from my head during that last mile through the snail. This winter has been a party guest who just refuses to take the hint, even though you’ve turned out the lights, shoved it out the door, and crawled into bed.

Compression gear always brings the sexaay.

Compression gear always brings the sexaay.

Once I got home and finished muttering, I slipped on my sexy new compression socks, because nothing says HOTT like knee-high nylon orthopedic gear. I’m not abundantly certain they helped—my angry calf grew quiet before I bought the socks—but I was able to stay on my feet for a fundraiser that night where I had to play Vanna White to an auctioneer’s Pat Sajak. Fortunately, I was wearing pants, so that no one was overcome by lust upon seeing my socks.

This coming Saturday—otherwise known as “tomorrow” by the time this is live—marks the last of the long, long runs. It’s slated to be 11 – 13 miles. I’m going to shoot for 12, which means that I’m also going to need to plot it out on a map because I don’t have a go-to route that is easily extended that far.

I’ll have to set off on this run without one of the companions who has been with me throughout this training. No, not a BRF but my pink and navy Brooks Ghost 6 kicks, who have had to be retired after many months of excellent service. I’ve long felt that there should be some sort of Viking-style funeral service for dead running shoes but am fairly certain that setting them ablaze on an ocean-going raft is a bad idea on many different levels. They will be missed.

Fortunately, I’ve been alternating them with a blue and yellow pair of the same shoes. I’ve added a new pair to the rotation. Sadly, it’s the same color scheme because the running store didn’t have anything else in my size. I might have to take a marker to the heel somewhere so that I can easily tell them apart for the bleary morning runs.

Because I can’t keep track of anything anymore, I’ve taken to marking my shoes with the date they are added to the shoe stable.

Because I can’t keep track of anything anymore, I’ve taken to marking my shoes with the date they are added to the shoe stable.

I have already marked the new shoes—and pass this along just in case you tend to forget when you’ve bought each new pair. In order to avoid that moment of “how long have I had these?,” write the month and year of purchase on the tongue in sharpie. These will forever after be known as “4-14” and will join their sisters “1-14” in the rotation. Welcome, 4-14! May the odds be ever in your favor.

Stopping by the Brand New Saucony Stride Lab

 

Finding my strong—with a little virtual Star Wars Light Saber thrown in for good measure.

Finding my strong and optimal stride—with a little virtual Star Wars Light Saber thrown in for good measure.

Like most of you, I’m guessing, I’m a sucker for a good running specialty store. Walls of bright shoes that just scream for miles; racks of clothes so cool, my mind swirls with potential finish line photos; colorful accessories, hundreds of flavors of nutrition, rows and rows of cushy socks and….bears, oh my?!

Running stores are my version of Dorothy’s yellow brick road.

So last week, when the Boulder Running Company opened the country’s biggest specialty run store, square-footage-wise, in nearby Cherry Creek, I pointed my minivan straight towards Oz. And while I could’ve spent hours perusing the racks, I beelined for the Saucony Stride Lab, a research-grade treadmill and lab that documents your stride—and, more importantly, your body’s positioning and movement as you run—in microscopic measurements.

Although it's turf green, this $100,000 treadmill is actually the yellow brick road: It can lead to years of injury-free, strong running.

Don’t let the turf green color fool you. This $100,000 treadmill is actually the yellow brick road: It can lead to years of injury-free, strong running.

Your left foot goes just a smidge wonky before you touch down? The four cameras, positioned in the front, back, and on each side of you, will catch it. Right hip droops just as the right foot pushes off? The cameras shoot hundreds of pictures a second, so they’ll find that too. One shoulder is consistently in front of the other? It can’t hide in the Stride Lab—and that’s a good thing.

Shoes can support, cushion, cradle, protect, guide, adorn a running store wall, and make you drool as you gaze at them, but sadly, they’re mostly about your feet. (Yep, feel free to insert a Waaah! Running is hard enough and life’s not fair! here.)

Shoes can’t keep your hips level, your core engaged, your stride light and easy, your alignment in order, the rest of your body running efficiently. You and your (hopefully) badass mother runner muscles have to do that. Problem is, you don’t always know if they’re flicked on like they should be. Injuries are one way to know if sleeping on the job, but I don’t recommend this method. A better way is at the Stride Lab, the only research-grade treadmill available for us normal, average runners to try in this whole world. (All the other ones are located in universities or companies.)

The Saucony Stride Lab team: Sam, Meital, me, Spencer. (I'm not part of the team, but I kind of wish I were...)

The Saucony Stride Lab team: Sam, Meital, me, Spencer. (I’m not part of the team, but I kind of wish I were…the lab so dang cool!)

I got to take the treadmill last Friday, while Spencer White, Head of Saucony’s Human Performance and Innovation Lab, was putting on the finishing touches on the set-up. He was also instructing Sam, who will be in charge of $100,000 treadmill, and Meital, a physical therapist with In Motion Rehab, which has an PT office in the flagship store. (Read: you get your stride anaylzed, and then Meital gives you exercises and techniques to get stronger and improve. Pretty sweet BOGO.)

I had already pitted out my top before I arrived: I had visions of a VO2 max test—think face mask + extended, intense effort—but I shouldn’t have worried. After we talked about my running (20+ years) and injury history (too many to count), as well as my current goals (1. Stay injury-free; 2. Keep injuries at bay; 3. Push myself, but only if I don’t hurt myself), I ran for just a few minutes at an easy effort while the cameras shot me from all angles, which is about as flattering as it sounds, especially when it involves cellulite in super-slow-motion.

Then I stepped off, and the four of us checked me out.

First, Spencer went over the forces of my foot strike. My left foot is more aggressive than my right, which is why my left heel always wears out first.

First, Spencer went over the forces of my foot strikes. My left foot is more aggressive than my right, which is why my left heel of my shoes is always the first to go. Not a problem, though. Phew.

We looked at me from the side and the top. Despite my thinking I was landing more on my midfoot, I'm a heel-striker, as 85-90% of us are, according to Spencer. (And that, he says, is just fine.)

Then we broke me down from the top and sideways. Despite my thinking I had transitioned more to a midfoot landing, I’m a heel-striker, as 85-90% of us are, according to Spencer. (And that, he says, is just fine.)

Then we focused on my lower legs from the front. All good.

Then we focused on my lower legs from the front, rolling the film forward and backwards to see how each foot landed.

And the oh-so-flattering backside. The best news? My hips are level, which isn't always the case for mother runners whose hips have been, um, compromised. The green line shows how force is being distributed (the treadmill has special plates for measuring ground-reaction forces).

And the oh-so-flattering backside. The best news? My hips are level—thank you, Pilates!—which isn’t always the case for mother runners whose hips have been, um, compromised by pushing out and carrying piglets. The green line grows through each step, showing how force is being distributed. (The treadmill has special plates for measuring ground-reaction forces.)

The whole process took about 30 minutes; it could’ve been shorter if I hadn’t asked so many questions, and it could’ve been longer, if I were trying on different shoes. (Nope, not straying from my beloved Virratas.) Although the trio pointed out a few things that are slightly off balance as I run, nothing is particularly significant or a predictor of future issues. Phew again.

Of course, the form I have during a few minutes of fresh running isn’t exactly what I look like 11 miles into a half-marathon. So we talked about all the ways that I—and any runner—can keep optimal form when that breaking-down feeling comes on a run: maintaining a strong core and (pretty) good posture; taking lighter, more frequent steps; and visualizing the foot landing under the body to minimize impact on the joints.

Oh, and you can never do enough planks, says Meital.

At the end, Spencer pronounced my current stride durable—a word that connotates longevity and strength. My stride isn’t speedy or super efficient or admirable, but it is, according to close, expert anaylsis, durable. And, at this point in my running career, that is the best adjective ever.

The Saucony Stride Lab at the Boulder Running Company Cherry Creek is currently free; local runners can call 303-RUN-WALK (catchy, huh?) to make an appointment. We will also set up free appointments during our Mother Runner Denver party at the store on May 6, and will send out an email to those RSVP’ed once we have sign-ups available. 

 

The Most Important Mile of My Life: Christine Kurtz

Christine's daughter Karlene, then 7, at the 1983 National Cherry Festival 5K.

Christine’s daughter Karlene, then 7, at the 1983 National Cherry Festival races, where she received a medal for completing the fun run.

Before I even jogged my first half mile, some running sage had advised that writing down every run would be motivational. I have logged every mile I’ve run, thousands of them.

But I won’t be flipping through the pages of my many journals to find that most important mile. It only took a second to choose one.

My daughters grew up knowing that their mother was a “runner.” They were ages 1, 3 and 5 when I started running in the mornings while the rest of the family slept.

In the summer of 1983 I was training for my second Cherry Festival 15K race when my middle daughter, Karlene, age 7, said that she wanted to run in the two-mile fun run that same weekend. She challenged me, saying, “I’ll bet I can run two miles right now!” She remembers that I said, “I’ll bet you can’t.” (I missed the lesson on giving positive reinforcement to your kids.) She replied with “Oh, yes I can!”

So she and older sister, Erika, age 10, both ran at least one mile with me. And both completed the fun run that weekend. Karlene was even asked to ride in the Cherry Royale Parade as “the youngest runner” in the fun run.

Two years after that Karlene was running elementary track (her event was the mile). She competed in track and cross country through junior and senior high school and at Michigan State University.

Karlene and I continued to run together on occasion but it wasn’t long before “running together” meant we “began running” together. When I saw her this past Christmas, she said running the first half a block together was important to her because it got her started.

“Getting started” on running 31 years ago was really Karlene’s idea, but I’m glad to be her mentor. Her sisters likewise took up running and we all find that it is a great way to stay fit and something on which we can find common ground.

Christine (far left) with her daughters Erika Vezza, Karlene Kurtz, and Jaclyn Tremp after completing a 5K Turkey Trot race in Elmhurst, IL several years ago.

Christine (far left) with her daughters Erika Vezza, Karlene Kurtz, and Jaclyn Tremp after completing a 5K Turkey Trot race in Elmhurst, IL several years ago.

What was (or will be) the most important mile of your life? We want to know.

We’re going to make this an ongoing feature on the website (and potentially include some important miles in our yet-to-be-named third book, out in spring of 2015). Best way to submit is to email us your story with a picture: runmother {at} gmail {dot} com with “Most Important Mile” in the subject line. Please try to keep your mile stories under 300 words. Thank you!

#104: Q&A for Early Spring 2014

Before jumping in to answer questions culled from the AMR Facebook page, Sarah talks about her busy running-related morning and Dimity admits to finally “committing” to a workout for her mid-June 70.3 Ironman triathlon. The Ironmother reveals her clever multi-media strategy for getting fired up for intervals. (Hint: It’s a medley involving Kevin Spacey and the band fun.) Then the ladies suggest ways for Jackie (or you!) to like running—or at least like having run.  They talk about importance of the oft-overlooked runner’s upper body, tossing out a bevy of at-home exercises. Sarah shares a plethora of pointers for a lunchtime run, garnered from her running partner who holds down a full-time job. The mother runners reveal what supplements they take—and which ones they are fazing out. Finally, find out what Dimity has in common with Patti Stanger, the Millionaire Matchmaker.

[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr/amr_040614.mp3]

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.

**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!

Martini Fridays: TMI + Other Physical Indignities

My friend A.L.’s house. Spring is here! Sort of!

My friend A.L.’s house. Spring is here! Sort of!

Seven days later, and we’ve happily landed again on Martini Fridays, where Adrienne Martini, recounts her training for the Pittsburgh Half-Marathon using the Train Like a MotherFinish It Half-Marathon plan.

Despite the lovely country pic that leads this post, I’m going to warn you up front that this post contains TMI issues. So if you don’t want to read a quasi-graphic description of things that can happen to the female body, you might want to give this post a pass. Take a minute and give this a good think, especially if you are my father, who has been known to skip over to another mother runner on occasion, if only to see what I’ve gotten myself into this time.

Still here? OK, then. You have been warned.

From age 12 and on, my period and I have gotten along fine. I mean, it’s not my favorite biological function ever but it’s never been that big a deal. The relationship has only been helped by my clock-steady cycle. Even without the help of birth control pills, which I was on during my wacky 20s (which weren’t so wacky, really), I could time it almost down to the hour.

Then I had a second baby and settled in to my 40s. Now I’m in bizarro world.

I can only sort of predict when Aunt Flo will show up. She visits more or less monthly and pleasantly enough — but every three or four months, she’s a beast. It feels like my uterus is chewing its way out of my abdomen, with all of the gore and pain that you’d expect. I would be in awe if I weren’t so grossed out and horrified.

Before I started this half-marathon training, whenever these killer monthlies would strike, I’d just avoid longer runs for a day or two, because no combination of feminine hygiene products could hold back the tide and remain comfortable enough to go long in. Super-plus tampons failed and those super-sized pads chafe like a son-of-a-gun after a mile or two.

Remember: You were warned about the TMI.

Last week, the mega-menses paid a visit — and the worst of it hit on Wednesday, the day before I was supposed to take on a four-mile speed work session. I could have rallied had I not been hit with a second blow: a sick kid.

Clearly, this was taken after the ibuprofen kicked in.

Clearly, this was taken after the ibuprofen kicked in.

The Boy looked peaky when he came home from school on Wednesday. He didn’t look icky enough to make me immediately run for the thermometer but right after dinner, he fell sound asleep on my office floor while playing Minecraft. I knew he was officially sick.

My husband and I are lucky enough to have relatively flexible schedules and work environments.  He’d be able to come home while I taught my classes and I could squeeze in some grading while the Boy lounged on the coach. Squeezing in that speed work, however, was turning into a logistical conundrum.

We could have made it work, yes, but with the chewing uterus and a sick kid, I decided to just bag it. With age comes physical indignities, yes, but also the ability to pick the hill you want to die on. This wasn’t it.

Besides, I reasoned at the time: an extra day off will only make Saturday’s nine miles easier.

Which it did, I guess. It wasn’t the best run ever run by a woman in her 40s training for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon but it wasn’t the worst, either.

It didn’t start as well as it could. I’m going to give you a pro-tip here. You might want to write it down. If you turn off Herr Garmin’s GPS whenever you run inside, which you’ve been doing more than you’d like this winter, remember to turn it back on when you start your long run.

What tipped me off was my lack of a mackerel around the first mile marker. What is a mackerel, you ask? It’s an idea we stole from a mutual friend. My husband and I call that “ding-ding” noise that the car GPS makes when we do what it wants us to our “mackerel,” because sometimes you just feel like the machines are turning you into a trained seal.

(But we love our machine overlords and would never, ever want them to direct us into an abandoned field where they would have their way with us. Just putting that out there.)

Right around where I should have gotten my first mackerel ding, I got nothing from Herr Garmin. When I finally stopped to look at him, I realized my mistake and swore a little bit. So all of the electronic logs note that it was an eight mile run but I know that it was truly nine.

My neighbor has tapped his maple. This is really how we know winter is drawing to a close.

My neighbor has tapped his maple. This is really how we know winter is drawing to a close.

On the run, I took note of the signs that Spring is really, really, no-foolin’ on its way. There were birds tweeting. I saw a bunny hop across the road and some green shoots poking out of one of the few remaining piles of dirty snow. One of our neighbors has tapped his maple, which isn’t code for something naughty but a sign of warmer days that help the sap run.

The Boy is feeling better now, too. It seems it was just one of those wandering cruds that moved quickly. I’ve now, of course, started obsessing about my period and the half. What if my body decides to bring on the tsunami that weekend? And am I the only woman who worries about this?

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