Saucony 26 Strong: Philadelphia Marathon Report, Round 1
All the elements for a successful weekend: Saucony Find Your Strong, cadet and first-time marathoner Kelly, AMR, and a nice rooster-esque ‘do on me.
Today we bring you the first of two race reports from the Philadelphia Marathon, where the fruitions of our Saucony 26 Strong program crossed the finish line. As you may know, I—Dimity—didn’t get to cross it, and neither did Alison, Sarah’s cadet. Thanks, injuries; love you too! But that doesn’t mean we didn’t have an amazing weekend where we racked up plenty of super strong, smiley miles, as Sarah and Kelly represented Saucony and the mother runner tribe well.
Because I had to bail, Kelly had a team of two runners—Adrienne and Jo—step in to run with her. So this race report includes their experiences, as well as some thoughts from me and Carly, Kelly’s daughter, who were her 26 Strong support team.
Even though there was a lot of mother runner bonding and laughing on the days leading up to the race, we’ll start with the race itself…otherwise, it’ll be so long, I fear you’ll miss picking up your kids at school.
Kelly says: Sarah, Adrienne and I left the other folks in the lobby and headed over to the start. There were so many runners! It took a while for us to get back to the Blue Corral since it was the last one. We met up with mother runner Laura, who had loaned Dimity her husband’s bike to ride during the race.
Team Pollock (L to R): Dimity, Adrienne, Kelly, Carly, Jo. Fearsome fivesome.
We started right by the Rocky statue at the art museum: a nice touch. The corrals were well organized and the waves started right on time. Mayor Nutter released all the corrals except our corral, which was released by the Governor-elect, who told us we were “the best people in America”. We all laughed at that and it became a joke we reused many times during the first half of the race.
The offspring have the right idea…even though the weather was perfect for running, the crisp morning made for some chilly spectating.
Near mile 1, I saw Carly, Dimity and Denise, another mother runner who was helping at the expo. The first 10 miles were amazing, as we were running through the city. There was good crowd support and lots of things, including funny signs, to look at to distract from running. Adrienne was an amazing pacer, reminding me to reel it in. We stuck to our intervals and stayed right on pace except for the 6-minute bathroom break. (I hate stopping to use the bathroom during a race.) I felt great and nothing hurt once my soleus warmed up. South Philly wins the neighborhood award because they really brought the party atmosphere at 8 AM on a Sunday!
Kelly and Adrienne: a runfie.
Adrienne: The upside to leaping into a half marathon with little time to prepare for it was that my mind wasn’t full of thousands of worries, which had had weeks and weeks to grow. Instead, I was able to focus on just one simple mantra: This Isn’t My Race.
And because we like suspense around AMR, Adrienne’s report will be continued in this Friday’s edition of Martini Fridays.
Carly and I represent on the streets of Philadelphia. Not sure what street this is, but it had crazy energy: so much fun!
Kelly: We ran and chatted until we got back near the start and the sign came for marathoners to turn left and half marathoners to turn right. I said goodbye to Adrienne and turned left. I was expecting this to be mentally tough but it really was not. I just turned left and told myself “half marathon #2”.
Around the halfway point; Adrienne hit the half-marathon finish line and Kelly picked up Jo, took a pic with our sign, and kept running.
Jo: The morning of a big race—OK, any race—I’m usually a cluster of emotions. Philly was all that, plus a little extra.
Looking out my hotel window, watching the runners fill the street, I couldn’t wait to jump in (literally) and start running. But at the same time, I was sad: I was only there because Dimity was hurt and couldn’t run. That part sucked. I knew she wanted to be out there with Kelly and there I was instead, putting on her bib and feeling like… a poser.
But I was also grateful to be in a place in my life where I could pay forward all the support I’ve received. And lucky me: to be part of such a great group of women through AMR. They’re even more fun in real life!
Coming across a bridge, looking—you guessed it—strong.
And, of course, my mind was mostly on Kelly: I just really wanted her to have a good race. I knew I’d be ready to help her out, since anchoring the last half of the marathon meant plenty of time for my four trips to the bathroom. Phew.
Our typical stop: rest bikes, disrobe—the day got warmer and warmer, and pull out signs. Then wait for the Kelly, pack up, and do it again.
It only took a few steps at her side for us to fall into an easy rhythm, forgetting all my stress from earlier. We talked easily about past races and life back home. We stopped for pictures along the way and a beer at mile 21. Cheers to Philly!
Kelly: At around mile 15, my left IT band and knee started to get a little stiff. I am really not surprised it decided to give me trouble. I was expecting it. I ran a speedy relay race on November 1, and ever since then my ITB has been unhappy. I knew I was kind of wounded going into this race with the tendonitis in my left soleus, my cranky left ITB and my right SI joint discomfort. These nagging things, though, were not enough to make me not do this. I just figured they would make the last miles of the marathon more painful than I would want them to be. I was right. What I did not expect is that they would make me have to walk so much.
Around mile 20. And most everybody is smiling!
Jo: We waved to Dimity and Carly on their bikes and soaked up the cheers from the Black Girls Run (they were popping up everywhere!). Kelly was going to finish whether I was there or not, I was hoping only to distract her from the pain she was feeling. Even if we were walking more than she had hoped, she was still doing it, and was on her way to finishing her first marathon! Can you freaking believe it?! (I might have used different words). I stopped just before the barricade near the finish and watched her start to run the last .2 to the finish. She was all smiles, just like when I first saw her! And I was a little teary.
Carly has both insight and humor…perfect combination.
Carly: Cheering on my mom throughout the race was a really great experience. I was really excited that I got to ride my bike all over the city and see her many times. I felt her happiness, her pain and her tears at the end. Riding along with her was the closest I could get to running the race with her. Watching my mom succeed in something she spent 5 months training for was very emotional for both of us. When she first started running, she said she would never run a marathon and to watch her cross the finish line of a marathon, just goes to show you that you can do anything if you just set your mind to it. I don’t like running as much as she does, but one day, I am going to finish a full Ironman!
Heading home, on her way to becoming a marathoner!
Dimity: Here’s what I didn’t get to do during my weekend in Philly:
—run 26.2 miles in Philadelphia with a first-time marathoner by my side.
—see Kelly cross the finish line. (My flight logistics made things super tight on Sunday afternoon.)
—make a cool race video that I’d dreamt about for months. (Turns out, I probably needed to practice with GoPro instead of debuting it on race weekend.)
And while it’s hard to not feel a little sentimental and sad about those things, I am so very grateful for all the things I did get to do:
—coach Kelly for five months, and in the process, witness her stamina and confidence soar.
—make signs with her offspring and talk about how cool their mom is. (I have a soft spot in my heart for chatty, 3-year-old boys…dang it that the video of Colin, her son, didn’t work out.)
—see this badass community of mother runner rally around Kelly, offering to run, offering bikes, offering strength and love.
—cheer my lungs and heart out for Kelly and other mother runners, and do it with Carly, who was a total trooper on the bike. (And smarter than me when it came to knowing where her mom was on the course…)
—feel the support of Saucony, which sent us both unbelieveable gear (sweet!) and, more importantly, supplied the framework of a program that espouses the reason why the running community is so strong: You don’t cross a finish line alone.
Yep. 26 Strong.
Kelly: Being part of the Saucony 26Strong program was a great experience for me. I am a very social runner so all of the support was tremendously helpful. Knowing I was part of something bigger than just my journey to 26 miles meant a lot to me. Plus, it helped get me out of bed every single Saturday for 5 months.
I can’t put into words how it feels to run a marathon. It hurts—I think that is obvious—but the emotions defy description. I never once gave up mentally. Quitting, no matter what happened, was never an option. Am I disappointed with my time? Yes and no. I am disappointed my body decided to quit so I could not stick to my desired 11:30-12:00 per mile pace.
But I am not disappointed I finished in under 6 hours. In all honesty, my A Goal was to finish this race, in an upright position, with a smile on my face, because running, to me, is all about having fun and experiencing life. I met that goal.
#138: Tips for Newbie–and Returning Injured—Runners (Repeat)
While Dimity and Sarah are gallivanting around the East Coast, they are re-airing this podcast that originally aired in 2012. It seemed fitting, in part, because, alas, Dimity is back in a boot; in a few weeks, she’ll be following the advice she shares about resuming running after an injury. Whether you, too, are coming back after some time off or you recently picked up running, you’ll make good use of the loads of advice the mother runners dish. They talk about the importance of not comparing yourself to anyone else, incorporating walking breaks, focusing on distance not speed, and finding a running buddy. And the ladies tell you why they envy your fresh, only-just-begun slate.
*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. Many thanks.
**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!
My Most Important Mile: Leah Gonzalez
My 210’ish pound self slogged it out and finished running one full mile finishing in 16 minutes.
What was (or will be) the most important mile? Share it with us! 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!
Most Important Mile: Katye Riselli
If you ever needed a reminder of how much joy running can bring to your life, just look at Katye’s pic.
This Thanksgiving week, we are going to run a series of Most Important Miles to celebrate the fact that we are so grateful for your stories, our collective miles that send strength and love into the world, the community that brings us together, and the simple ability to run. Thank you, thank you.
Leaves crunched under my feet as I jogged hesitantly from the parking lot to the paved running trail. It was a brilliant Virginia fall, and although some trees still boasted vibrant red-orange leaves, many had yellowed and more than a few had fallen. Judging from the number of brown leaves lining the path, winter was closer than summer—and the realization surprised me.
Summer had slipped by, ending quietly as I grieved. The shock of the death of Richard, my fiance who was killed two months before our wedding when a tree he was helping cut down fell on him, stopped me in my tracks.
As the immediate questions of how to un-plan a wedding were answered, I’d spent the remainder of the summer in a blur of busy nothing-ness. One day at a time, weeks had become three months, and as I picked up my pace, I realized that I’d reached a milestone.
This was my first run since June. I hadn’t been able to even consider running – I kept thinking about how running was his thing – he ran in college, he ran marathons, ultramarathons, he proposed after the JFK50. And whenever that small voice reminded me that I had been a runner for years before we began dating, I couldn’t get past the memory of our last run together. So my running shoes had lain buried in my closet.
I don’t remember why I finally laced my shoes up that night, but I remember the fog of grief cleared as I put one foot in front of the other.
Even as the fall leaves reminded me of the canal during the JFK50, his run, I realized I’d never be able to run in the fall without remembering this run, my run. Somewhere along the last mile the cadence of my feet had settled into a heartbeat, and I felt alive again. The grief was still there, but it didn’t define me anymore. And I knew that whatever lay ahead of me, I’d run through it.
+++++++
Ten years later, I’m a wife to Mark, who is in Air Force, and a mom to two daughters. I’ve run through more than I ever imagined on that fall day including two pregnancies, four military moves, and a deployment. I’ve taken out my grief, loneliness, anger, and fear on the road in nearly a dozen states. I’ve celebrated love and rejoiced over answered prayers while running on four continents. More than one treadmill has kept me from over-thinking, over-analyzing, or worrying in circles.
Last week as I put on my shoes to run, the tears I’d (mostly) held in check for two days nearly overwhelmed me. I purposefully double-knotted the laces to keep from taking my shoes off, throwing them in the closet, and crawling into bed. As I left my house, “what if” scenarios plagued my thoughts and I fought to tamp down my overactive imagination.
Slowly the cadence of my feet quieted my mind. Don’t think. Just run. Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble today. Pray. Believe. Remember. As I turned at the first mile, I saw leaves on the ground and realized fall has arrived in Missouri. It’s less vibrant than Virginia so it sneaks up on you.
And as I considered the handful of brown leaves beginning to line the road, I remembered my run ten years ago and breathed deeply. Life is full of ups and downs, twists and turns, and this latest challenge was no different. I could run through this too: one foot in front of the other, one day at a time.
What was (or will be) the most important mile? Share it with us! 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!
My Most Important Mile: Kristen Wood
Kristen, in the middle, has Ka-Pow tights—and a brave attitude.
This Thanksgiving week, we are going to run a series of Most Important Miles to celebrate the fact that we are so grateful for your stories, our collective miles that send strength and love into the world, the community that brings us together, and the simple ability to run. Thank you, thank you.
When I climb on the treadmill today, my legs feel like cement columns and I know this run will be difficult. My training program calls for nine miles. Nine. Long. Miles.
I should be running outside, but it’s cold and I’m not that brave.
The start button beeps when I press it and I take the first step, then the second. My mind wanders as metal music blares in my ears. At first, my overactive synapses flit from my unfinished chores for the day to the audio files I still have to review and the manuscript needing edits on my desk. Then my awareness settles on the recent series in the AMR newsletters: The Most Important Mile of My Life.
It crosses my mind to submit to it someday, but I dismiss the idea without much thought. I know I’m not that brave.
A Disturbed song hums through my headphones and I turn up the volume and my speed. My first mile has passed and I feel more sluggish than when I started, but decide I can do at least three of the nine miles I need. The music pushes me through to that goal, and I decide I can do just one more.
I wonder what my most important mile would be. I think back to my former running life, before I got cancer and brain aneurysms, before I got pregnant and miscarried twice, before I finally received the blessing of my daughter.
Before I let running become my long lost love.
I ran a 53 minute 10K once. It was only on a treadmill at my gym, but that felt like an accomplishment. Maybe that was my most important mile. But it was so long ago. Four years, I guess, or five.
Maybe my first mile qualifies, the one I had to walk-run to complete—more walk than run—when I used to top 250 pounds on my bathroom scale. That momentous mile led to a 125 lb weight loss over the next 2 years. But I feel low now, defeated, since I’m still carrying around an extra 30 from my pregnancy with my daughter, who is now one.
Maybe not that, then.
My music no longer motivates me, so I shut my iPod off and turn on the TV, settling on an old episode of Chuck. I begin alternating my speed to keep my feet going, though I’d rather be watching upstairs on the couch, with a glass of wine in my hand.
Why am I doing this again?
Because I used to enjoy it. Right. And I used to have energy. And sleep. God, I miss sleep.
I hear my daughter playing with her father and it brings a smile to my face. I push through. Another step. Another mile.
I wonder if I might be able to finish nine miles after all, but then I remember I’m not that brave. It takes a stronger woman than me. A thinner one. A younger one.
I slow the treadmill down, prepared to jump off, then I hear laughter from upstairs—a delightful, innocent sound; the sound of a young girl who trusts me to show her how to live well—and I nudge the treadmill back to speed, adding a little extra effort for good measure.
One foot. Another foot. Another mile.
My shirt is drenched in sweat. I rip open a package of Gu. I drink more water and push harder, alternating my speed again—not to just keep going this time, but to see if I can break my boundaries. I do a few minutes at 6 miles per hour, another few at 7 miles and I feel awesome for the accomplishment.
And I focus. I focus on the weight I want to lose. I focus on the half-marathon I want to race in February. I focus on what type of woman I want to be. I focus on my daughter.
My legs still feel like cement, but my momentum keeps them going. And that’s when I realize: My most important mile isn’t in my past. It isn’t the mile I ran when things were easier.
It’s the one I’m running now.
It’s the one where I keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when I don’t want to, even when I think I can’t.
And tomorrow, and the next day when I lace up my shoes and try again, that will be my most important mile.
Because damnit, I am that brave.
What was (or will be) the most important mile? Share it with us! 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!
My Most Important Mile: Danielle Perfetti
“Marathon Mom. I love the sound of that.”
This Thanksgiving week, we are going to run a series of Most Important Miles to celebrate the fact that we are so grateful for your stories, our collective miles that send strength and love into the world, the community that brings us together, and the simple ability to run. Thank you, thank you.
When I ran the 2010 Pittsburgh Marathon, it changed my life. Up until that point, I couldn’t imagine that running could ever give me any more. But finishing 26.2 miles in my hometown was the ultimate experience. I walked—okay, hobbled—away that day with a belief in myself that I had never experienced.
I felt like a strong, independent, unstoppable woman.
Shortly after my Marathon, my husband and I started trying to have a family. We had no clue about the struggles we would encounter. Within months of my greatest mental and physical accomplishment, I became angry and disappointed by what my body couldn’t do. How could I conquer 26.2 grueling miles but not be able to get pregnant? After rounds of fertility drugs and months of disappointment, I was a defeated woman.
Thinking that since I wasn’t pregnant I could run it, I signed up for the 2011 Pittsburgh Marathon. In a cruel twist the fertility treatments kept me away that year. Running took a backseat to the all-consuming struggle to have a family.
A glorious roadblock kept me from the 2012 race! I was finally pregnant with my daughter and I vowed that the 2013 race would be my “homecoming.” Marathon training as a new mom offered a host of new challenges. That said, building up mileage was easier than trying to rebuild a shattered confidence and a lost sense of self.
On May 5th. 2013 I ran the most important miles in my life. The first mile reawakened the strong, determined woman that was lost through infertility. The last mile—a grueling one—reminded me that sometimes the hardest “miles” in life are the most rewarding.
After years of waiting, two worlds united that day. Marathons and motherhood.
Marathon Mom. I love the sound of that.
What was (or will be) the most important mile? Share it with us! 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!