July 2014

Martini Fridays: A Double Shot

So last Thursday, as I headed to see Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me live at Red Rocks, I had a nagging feeling I was forgetting something. Tickets? Got ’em. My friend Jo? Yep, she’s there. My disappointment that I didn’t get to run with Peter Sagal? Carrying that too.

Turns out, I forgot to load the first 13.FUN episode of Martini Fridays. Duh. I emailed Adrienne after the mistake was brought to my attention to tell her that she didn’t need to do one for today, but like the true BAMR she is, she wrote two posts. Lucky us: we get a double shot today. Thanks, Adrienne!

Shot One

No clams today. Just in case you were wondering.

No clams today. Just in case you were wondering.

I’m certain that you all have been on the edges of your proverbial seats and unable to focus on anything other than which 13.FUN training plan I picked. Or, perhaps you found something much better to do, like sort through all of your running tops and arranging them by tendency to stink.

Given my demonstrated tendency to reach just a little bit further than I think I can grasp —for proof, see the series of blog posts about the Pittsburgh Half Marathon, which was twice as long as my longest long run—it should be no surprise that I signed up for the “race” option. I’d like to say that this choice was due to deep thought and careful planing on my part. But if I said that, I’d be lying. Mostly, I decided to trust my gut, which said, “eh. what the hell.”

But I’m also a known bet-hedger. Not only did I sign up for the Strava “race” group, I joined the Strava “run” group as well, as someone in the comments on my last post suggested. If the whole thing goes pear shaped, I can always bail on plan A and happily embrace plan B. I am nothing if not flexible. Well, mentally flexible; physically is another issue.

The midpoint of Saturday’s long (bad) run was a local cemetery. You see a big fish, too, right?

The midpoint of Saturday’s long (bad) run was a local cemetery. You see a big fish, too, right?

Because of a trip to the U.K. I’ll be taking in August — yes, I’m very excited but still need to write the dang paper for the conference — I decided to start the program one week earlier than I needed to for the October 19 Empire State Half Marathon . While I’m certain I’ll run while abroad, I’m equally certain that they won’t be long, quality runs. (And if you know of any great running trails/clubs in London or Cambridge, holler.)

I can report that Week 1 went well enough that I haven’t yet started to doubt my “race” decision. The trickiest bit came on day 2, when I had to figure out what a tempo run is. According to page 213 of our hymnal, tempo pace is 75-85 percent of you max effort.  My max effort in an interval is about 8:30 minute miles, which I can only maintain for 90 seconds before feeling like my lungs might just burst out of my chest, Alien style. My tempo pace should be between 10:30 and 11, if I’m doing the math right, which is never a given.

IMG_0025

Done.

For the middle mile of a three mile run, I kept to a 10:45 pace. It was easier than I’d thought it would be but wasn’t actually easy-easy. That pace is a challenge; not like a “I’m going to die” challenge, just a “hard to maintain if I stop paying attention” challenge. I’m actually looking forward to the next tempo run. This might also be a sign that I’ve lost my mind.

My Saturday long run—6 miles—was without any doubt the worst run I’ve hard in quite some time. The awfulness struck out of the blue. I can pretty comfortably run six miles and expected this one to be more of the same. The running fates laughed.

My first mistake was planning to run after lunch, which is not my preferred time to run. I had a bagel at 11 or so, thinking that a big hit of carbs would a) be easily digested by 1:30 and b) fuel for the run. While that might work for others, that big bolus of bread weighed me down and kept feeling like it might come back up.

But I could have worked with that if it weren’t so flipping humid here right now. While the air temp was hovering around the high 70s, the air was so wet you could chew it. A sensible runner would have waited until dusk. I can see that now.

Short version of the epic terribleness of that six miles is that I got it done. And I know that even bad runs teache you important lessons. The lesson I take from that one is to not be a complete dipwad who runs in the middle of a muggy June afternoon.

In other news, the mystery of my favorite socks has been solved. They are Mizuno Women’s Musha Sock (style number 490152). I wound up emailing the company, as, again, someone suggested in the comments on my last post (and which I never would have thought to do if left to my own devices). The good news is that I can name what I love. The bad news—and you might have anticipated this—is that they no longer make them.

And done. (And you can totally tell that I had my upper lip waxed the day before. TMI?)

And done. (And you can totally tell that I had my upper lip waxed the day before. TMI?)

I might have gnashed my teeth and wailed a smidge when I opened the email. While the rep suggested some models that are close, I know in my heart of hearts that they just won’t be the same. It’s like suggesting that some guy who is about the same size and shape as my beloved spouse will work out fine because he’s “close enough.”

I’m trolling ebay, mind, but am aware that my heart (and my soles) will have to move on.

 

Shot Two

Her Royal Highness Lucy was my co-pilot for this week’s long run.

Her Royal Highness Lucy was my co-pilot for this week’s long run.

 

Last week, which was my second week of the 13.FUN race plan, my husband and I packed up the kids and the dog and decamped for a friend’s place in southern New Jersey. The cats were left to their own devices for a few days. I’m not even sure they woke up long enough to notice we’d left.

The only runs on the docket were a 3.5 miler with the middle 1.5 at tempo and a 7 mile long run. No problem, I thought as I packed two sets of running tops, shorts, socks, and bras. Miraculously, I also remembered to pack Herr Garmin, his charger cord, and a salted caramel Gu.

For the most part, the tempo run went just fine. I picked a loose route through our friends’ neighborhood that dumped me at a cemetery, where I could pick up the pace without worrying about traffic.

(An aside: you might have noticed that I have a fondness for running in cemeteries. They are usually pretty quiet, which I love, and generally lack fast moving cars. I don’t think the permanent residents mind—some might even enjoy the spectacle of me wheezing past their final destinations—but I will turn around if there is an active graveside service going on. Mourning does not need a sweaty audience.)

What I didn’t fully comprehend until the second half of my first mile of that tempo run is how much more humid that part of New Jersey is compared to central New York. There was sweat dripping off of my earlobes. I don’t know how southern runners manage propelling themselves through cream of chicken soup but I doff my wet visor to you.

Parvin Lake is lovely, if not as well blazed as it could be.

Parvin Lake is lovely, if not as well blazed as it could be.

I wanted something a little more scenic for the long run and started to scour ye olde internets. Parvin State Park looked promising and I planned to go there on Friday. Thursday was for resting and a trip to the Ocean City Boardwalk, where I ate many inadvisable (but really tasty) things, like crab balls, which the 12-year old boy in me and my dining companions snickered over for longer than is seemly.

Friday morning the Hub and I abandoned our children, scooped up the dog, and drove to the park. He took HRH Lucy for a good long walk while I set out on a seven mile loop that I’d carefully plotted on the trail map the night before.

The first six miles went well enough. Crab balls, as it turns out, are not the best fuel for a long run but I felt relatively energetic. It was early enough in the day that the humidity was only about 90 percent—again, I don’t know how you do it—and the trails were still laced with the previous evening’s cobwebs, which I helpfully cleared with my body for any runners coming after me. I only squealed when I ran through the first one. This is a great leap in maturity.

Around mile six, something started to feel wrong. Not physically, mind. I was appropriately tired and thirsty for that point in the run. It was more an emotional unease, like there was something I had failed to notice. I stopped an broke out my phone and found the trail map. Then I swore a little bit.

Near as I can figure, the red, orange and yellow blazes on the trails had all faded to more or less the same yellowredorange-y color after who knows how many years in the sun. Let this be yet another lesson in how the map and the territory are almost never the same.

 Post-trail run ankles. Can you guess how high my socks were?


Post-trail run ankles. Can you guess how high my socks were?

I hemmed. I hawed. I did my best to nail down exactly where I was and gave up. Eventually, all of the warm colored paths led to the green path, which was where I need to be. I just kept running for another mile and hoped for the best.

When Herr Garmin beeped to tell me I’d made it to seven miles, I turned it off and started to walk. I was out of water and over the whole “running through the woods” thing. I was, however, finally on the path I needed, even if I wasn’t sure if I was heading clockwise or counter-clockwise. I just kept walking until there was enough of a clearing to see the swimming area on the other side of the lake and could find my bearings.

Reader, if it hadn’t been for my phone and its ability to pull information out of the sky and put me in contact with my husband, I probably would have panicked more than a bit as I walked an extra mile or so to get back to where I’d started. We forget, sometimes, how wonderful it is to live in the future.

I was so, so, so happy to finally see the spouse and the dog walking towards me. As near miraculous as my iPhone is, it can’t offer me a bottle of water, turn the car AC to super max, and drive me home. Yet, anyway.

 This week’s question, which I ask simply to feel like less of a weirdo: do you run in cemeteries? Why or why not?

The Most Important Mile of My Life: Jayne Richards

Jayne Richards at the NYC Marathon.

Jayne Richards at the NYC Marathon.

I started running in my 30s. A late bloomer, but big dreamer, I set my sights on the NYC Marathon. Unfortunately, life intervened. A series of injuries, family duties, and managing a business brought my feet to a halt. Eventually, my family and job obligations eased, and I knew it was time to hit the road.

In a rash move in 2008, I registered for NYC. I thought I would get my name in, but actually had my eye on the fall of 2011, the year I would turn 50.
Of course, I was accepted right away. I learned I could defer and be a guaranteed entry the following year. I did, then stepped up my training. I ran several half-marathons, and felt comfortable at that distance. I ended up deferring the next two years. 2011 was my year.
I began training in January. By early summer, my legs hurt. I developed pain in my right knee, but pressed on. By mid-summer, I was really struggling. South Mississippi summers are brutal. I stubbornly kept training and decided to race and not defer. My time goal was blown, but I had come too far to turn back.
Race weekend was all I had hoped. My husband accompanied me, and my race would not have happened without him. He met me every few miles, taking pictures and encouraging me.
The first half of the race was on pace. By Queensboro Bridge, I didn’t have much left on my knee.  I jogged when I could, limped when I couldn’t, and smiled the entire way. The crowds, the bands, the city itself came alive and encouraged me to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
My man met me at Central Park. By then, even walking was painful. I dug deep, and managed to “woggle” to the finish.
That last mile defined me. Sometimes, you have to check your ego at the door and accept the gift for what it is.
What was (or will be) the most important mile of your life? We want to know.

This is an ongoing feature on the website. 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!

#118: Solutions for Summer Running

photo via active.com

photo via active.com

[Note: We’re hard at work on our third book this summer, so today’s podcast has previously aired. Don’t worry – we’ll be back next week with a new show!]

As temps are heating up across the country, Sarah and Dimity answer your questions about sweaty summer running concerns. Hope it doesn’t rub you the wrong way, but they spend quite a bit of time talking about chafing. They move on to myriad tips on how to have enough fluids for long runs (one important take-away: Do as Dimity says, not as she does).  They also cover sunscreen, the importance of slowing down, and acclimatization (glad they didn’t have to blurt out that mouthful of a word, though!).

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/amr_071314.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!

What Would Another Mother Runner Do? Peachtree Road Race Edition

A Fourth of July tradition in Atlanta, the Peachtree Road Race is the largest 10K in the world.

A Fourth of July tradition in Atlanta, the Peachtree Road Race is the largest 10K in the world.

Just the other day, I was lamenting we hadn’t run a What Would Another Mother Runner Do? column. Then, boom, one lands in our inbox! (Gee, maybe I should have lamented not finding $100 bills on my runs or not winning the lottery…) In this on-going series, a mother runner lays out a true-life tale–whether it’s dislocating her hip during a marathon; forgetting to pack a sports bra for a lunchtime run; or debating running a half-marathon while preggers–then we chime in about what we’d do if we were in her running shoes before asking you what you’d do. Here are all the WWAMRD we’ve previously run, if you want to catch up on the series.

In today’s WWAMRD, we meet J. (who asked to remain anonymous), a mom of four who ran her first marathon last year. She tells us she was planning on run the renowned Peachtree Road Race on a transferred bib, which is a legitimate procedure in this 10K race with 60,000 participants. She had reimbursed her friend for the entry fee.

J. had a copy of the transfer paperwork and a copy of the license of the registered racer (the husband of a friend).  She even had a crisp $20 to pay an additional transfer fee to the race organizers. She lives about 90 minutes from the start of the race in Atlanta, so she and her family got a hotel room and showed up “all excited” at the race expo…until they found out transfers had to have been completed by the previous day. J. was a day too late to get the bib officially transferred to her.

Tears streaming down her face, J. was set to pack up her family and return home, when a race volunteer suggested J. show the license , pick up the friend’s hubby’s packet–then run the race as the guy.

It's tempting to get a taste of the Peachtree Road Race.

It’s tempting to get a taste of the Peachtree Road Race.

What would you do?

Sarah answers: While I’d be sweaty-nervous while picking up the friend’s husband’s race bib, I’d play it cool on race day and run without any compunction wearing the bib. Sure, I wouldn’t have given the race the $20 transfer fee, but missing the deadline was an honest mistake. It wasn’t like my time would win me an age group in the men’s division.

Dimity answers: Run it. J. tried to the right thing, and it was an honest mistake that she didn’t exactly get it right. She wasn’t jumping in without a number; she wasn’t running a race that didn’t allow transfers; and like Sarah said, it wasn’t likely her finishing time was going to create waves among the top age-groupers. (If the husband were a speedy runner and wanted J.’s bib in, say, the 35-39 category, then it might be a different story.)

What J. did: She ran the race but she, “felt a bit like a bandit, even though the bib has been paid for by my friend, and I had reimbursed  her for it.” Maybe it was the chillier-than-normal temperatures or possibly running like she stole something (ha, ha: get it: She felt like a bandit), but J. clipped 8 minutes off her best-ever 10K time.

J.'s view during one stretch of the race (we suspect sweat on the lens, not severe humidity)

J.’s view during one stretch of the race (we suspect sweat on the lens, not severe humidity)

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!

#117: Dinnertime Survival Advice from Sally Kuzemchak, R.D.

Cooking with the family in a picture perfect (studio) kitchen. [photo: Lauryn Byrdy]

Cooking with the family in a picture perfect (studio) kitchen. [photo: Lauryn Byrdy]

Dimity and Sarah kick off the show talking about recent running adventures—straight up mountains for Dim, and around San Francisco for SBS. (The mother runner version of The Country Mouse and The City Mouse!) Then the ladies welcome Sally Kuzemchak, a registered dietician and mom of two in Columbus, Ohio, who wrote the recently released Cooking Light Dinnertime Survival Guide. Like her blog and her book, Sally delves into solving real-mom kitchen dilemmas, such as having no time to cook or deciding what’s for dinner. Sally helps re-brand Dimity’s kids as “choosy,” not “picky.” Several yummy recipes from the book are discussed, so have a napkin handy to wipe away the drool!

[audio:http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.mp3/podcasts.pagatim.fm/shows/amr/amr_070614.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!

Dimity cools off in a mountain stream

Dimity cools off in a mountain stream

The Most Important Mile of My Life: Erika Spracher

Mother runner Erika Spracher of Simpsonville, SC, is running for herself--and something bigger, too.

Mother runner Erika Spracher of Simpsonville, SC, is running for herself–and something bigger, too.

I started running several years ago as an outlet, a stress relief of life. I completed my first half-marathon in 2009, and am currently training for half-marathon #6 and marathon #2. I used to run for myself and by myself.

Last spring I joined my local chapter of Moms Run This Town where I met some of the most caring, encouraging, and loving mother runners and friends. I also discovered an amazing organization called I Run For which matches runners and athletes with special needs children and adults who cannot run for themselves. On July 31, 2013 I was matched with a boy named Dylan who has Down Syndrome. On that day, running changed for me. I was no longer running for myself. I was running for Dylan and Down Syndrome Awareness.

On April 21, 2014, running changed for me again. My son David was diagnosed with a bilateral Wilm’s tumor (kidney cancer) at his 4-year-old checkup.  Running remains a very important outlet for me, as well as a time of prayer for my little cancer-butt-kicking warrior. When David had his first round of chemo, I promised myself that I would do all of my runs with his Super D cape flying on my back for the duration of his treatments. So now with Dylan’s name on my shirt, and my Super D cape on my back, I run for Down Syndrome and Childhood Cancer Awareness.

So what’s the most important mile of my life? Right now, it’s every mile. Every mile that I am given the opportunity to feel my legs move beneath me and bring awareness to these two conditions, those are my most important miles.

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

This is an ongoing feature on the website. 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!

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