My Most Important Mile: Lisa Anderson
#1 with a medal and his mom. Perfect.
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!
#137: Now What: How to Shift Gears Post-Race
Shift gears…like a car…get it?
You’ve crossed that finish line you’ve been dreaming about—and training for–for months. Now what? Sarah and Dimity answer this question with the help of Larissa Rivers, a mother runner and marketing manage of running at Strava, our fave GPS/social media app. Larissa tells about the clever social media campaign Strava has launched to encourage folks to continue setting fitness goals for the waning weeks of 2014. After Larissa, the ladies answer (recorded) call-in questions from AMR tribemates, including how to deal with the inevitable post-race funk. They endorse Phoebe’s suggestion to focus on a different hobby, yet they are slightly divided on maintenance miles. Find out why Erin from Chicago is Sarah’s doppleganger, while Melissa from North Carolina is Dimity’s twin. And Sarah delights in sharing some clever mommy-tactics she’s instituted with her kiddos.
Here is the link if you want to join us live next April in Little Rock for the AMR Run + Refresh Retreat.
*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!
Watch Out, Boston: Here Comes Bethany!
With four boys, Bethany Meyer has plenty of time for contemplative photo shoots like this one.
Big day around AMR, as we’ve got a new columnist to announce. Ms. Bethany Meyer, a talented writer and runner who introduces herself much better below than I ever could. We are working with Stonyfield Organic Yogurt, and they generously offered us a number for a mother runner in the Boston Marathon. Having run with Bethany at Ragnar and having worked with her on essay in Tales From Another Mother Runner, we knew she was a perfect fit—especially because she and I—Dimity—share the exactly same birthday. (Yeah, Taurus mother runners!) We know you’ll agree. Bethany will write one more post in December, and once her training ramps up in January, she’ll grace the pages of AMR twice a month. Without further ado…
I open my eyes before my alarm sounds. It is the steady beat of the rain that wakes me. The temperature dropped overnight. I pull the covers over my shoulders and take mental inventory of the day ahead.
Grocery store. Writing deadline. Parent/teacher conference.
What does my training call for today?
A 40-minute hill workout.
Oof.
I don’t know if I have it in me today. Not in this rain. Not in this cold. Not with this writing deadline. I think about where I can fit the hills into tomorrow’s schedule, and I remember what today is.
Today is the day my girlfriend is having her surgery. My girlfriend who is in her 30s. Who runs like the wind. Mother to three kids under 5 years old.
And I lie in my bed hating cancer.
I grab my phone and text her, “I think this weather is the universe’s way of getting the wet stuff out of the way so that we can run in the sunshine once you’re recovered! Just another step in your journey. Keep looking forward! XOXO”
Shortly after, I lace up my sneakers, determined to beat that hill into the ground. The rain drenches me. I feel it, but I don’t. My hands are instantly wet and cold. I care, but I don’t. The tears fall freely as I drive, while I run, and in the car after I’m finished.
Bethany and her testosterone-heavy brood.
As a Mom of four boys, I don’t get many opportunities to talk about girl power. But it is a force in my life. So strong is its presence I feel like I can almost reach out and touch it. I’m not talking the anything-he-can-do-I-can-do-better variety. At 40 years old, girl power means surrounding myself with a tribe of women who make me a better me. They are my soft place to fall, and I wouldn’t be whole without them. We lift one another up. We laugh. We cry. We worry. We dream. We forgive one another’s shortcomings–even those we find hardest to forgive ourselves. On our rainiest days when we struggle to find the joy, the women in our front row remind us that the sunshine is up ahead. It’s just around the corner.
I met Dimity and Sarah in October 2013, when I competed on Sarah’s Ragnar DC team. They are, in person, exactly the same as they are when you read them. Except taller. Sarah and I became fast friends. We were in the same van, slept side by side on the wet grass of a playground, and bonded over countless jokes that are only funny if you were there.
My friendship with Dimity has been cemented virtually. And over our shared birthday. I was eager to meet both of them in person. But I was just as excited to meet the 22 women who comprised their individual Ragnar DC teams. We had all been members of a private Facebook group leading up to the race. I didn’t know these women in real life, but they were already my friends. We came in all different shapes and sizes. Varying speeds. In a variety of ages. Hailing from all different parts of the country. Some worked outside the home, others didn’t. All Moms. The only thing fuller than our hearts were our calendars. One weekend last fall when the stars aligned, twenty four Moms relegated our duties and got together to run. We were up for an adventure. And we brought the joy.
Ragnar was–and remains–one of my all-time favorite running experiences.
Every one of those women from Ragnar is still in my life. The Facebook group is stronger than ever. We go there for advice. To vent. To encourage and to seek encouragement. To share the tiniest of victories. To wish one or more of us good luck on a big race day. To receive a virtual kiss on our recently skinned knees. Girl power and joy are alive and well within our group.
One of my favorite vanmates from Ragnar is Terri. Quirky, funny, and compassionate. She has a decade of life, experience, and heartbreak on me. She is sunshine in abundance. Terri ran the NYC Marathon earlier this month. Before her race, Terri’s husband e-mailed me, asking for a short message that she could carry with her and read when she needed inspiration. I wrote something I knew would make her smile. And, just like that, her race was my race. On race day, she wore a shirt with the five boroughs listed on the back, with check marks next to each borough. She ran with a Sharpie and asked spectators to check off the box representing each borough as she completed it. And, just like that, her race was their race. She made all of us part of her experience. Terri’s special gift is bringing the joy.
Terri hearting every step of the 2014 NYC Marathon.
I am grateful my girlfriend’s surgery went well. I am fortunate for the race that brought Terri into my life. I am blessed to have grown my friendships with the women I met through Ragnar DC. I’m lucky to be part of this bigger community, Another Mother Runner, born from a series of emails between two writers for Runner’s World. Two women I now call friends.
My friends Dimity and Sarah asked me, on behalf of the AMR community, to run the 2015 Boston Marathon as a member of Team Stonyfield.
Which ranks up there as pretty much the coolest thing ever.
As I prepare to start my training, I think about what this community has meant to me during these past few years. These years when my children are young. These years that are overwhelmingly about everyone but me. These years when this virtual community–just like my closest girlfriends–has given me support. Respect. Encouragement. Laughter. Forgiveness. Perspective. When life gets cruel–and it does–I come here for kindness.
How, on April 20th, can I best represent you?
By running with joy.
I will do the training. I will log the miles. I will foam roll, strength train, make smart food choices (read: Stonyfield Organic Yogurt!), rest my body. I will tell you stories that will introduce you to the five people I love most in this world. Stories that may leave you wondering why we don’t have our own reality show.
I ask in return that you help me.
This will be my very first marathon. I’m equal parts exhilarated and frightened.
Please be a part of my experience.
I want so very much to run like my friend Terri. Please help me bring the joy.
Give me advice.
Suggest an upbeat song for my run mix.
Remind me to smile.
High-five me if you see me.
Send injury-free thoughts my way.
Pray to the god of toenails that mine stay on.
Send me a healthy recipe–preferably one that tastes good.
Look the other way if I confess to eating a chocolate chip cookie bar–better yet, eat one with me.
That morning I wake up with a stiff neck from sleeping on the floor next to a child who’s been vomiting every hour on the hour? Remind me that the running is the fun part.
Root for me.
I will be representing Another Mother Runner as part of Team Stonyfield in the 2015 Boston Marathon, but I can’t do it alone.
Girl power. Amen.
Girl power, ladies.
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Oh, and my name is Bethany.
I’m pleased to meet you.
Another Injured Mother Runner Can’t Run Philadelphia Marathon
We suspect this tee must summon bittersweet feelings in Sarah’s Saucony 26Strong cadet, Alison.
In a post last Monday, Dimity told the AMR tribe she’s been hiding an injury that is now preventing her from running the Philadelphia Marathon as the culmination of the Saucony 26Strong program. Now my 26Strong cadet, Alison Pellicci, delivers the same painful revelation. With Dimity and Alison out of the race, Dimity’s cadet, Kelly Pollock, is going to run with two other mother runners (one for the first half, another for the second 13.1 miles). It feels too late in the marathon-game to find another 26.2 companion so I’m going to run it solo. But if you see me and want to run together for a bit, tap me on the shoulder–I’d love your company. My marathon plan is still taking shape, but for now it looks like a 9:30-9:45/mile pace for the first half, some short speed bursts in Mile 13-20, then cranking things up for faster final 10K. Aiming for 4:08-4:15 finish. But for now, I’m mainly focused on regrets for Dimity and Alison. Read on for Alison’s first-person account of her injury–and her decision. Both were painful.
A week ago Saturday night, when my husband and I ran into a neighbor and occasional running partner, she asked Anthony about running NYC Marathon, then she turned to me and asked, “Are you ready for Philly?” I uttered, “I’m out.” And with those two words, the reality I had been trying to avoid, came to be. She saw the look in my eyes and said, “That’s the first time you said it?” Being a mother runner, she understood, so she offered her sympathy and her experience of dropping her first marathon because of injury–but we all knew her words weren’t going to change the way I was feeling.
For more than a month, I have been battling this nagging hip. It started as a twinge and slowly evolved into much more. First my paced slowed, then I had to cut miles, next I couldn’t run on the treadmill at all, then I couldn’t run two miles. Four weeks out from my first marathon and I could barely cover to two miles without pain. Did I mention I couldn’t walk? Parents were stopping me in the halls of the school where I teach kindergarten to ask if I was okay; I couldn’t get up and down to sit on the rug with my class. Some days driving was hard because I couldn’t move my leg from the gas to brake easily.
It’s been rough. Being the good cadet, I just left out those details when I talked to Sarah. When the pain first started I went to my orthopedic, who is also a runner. He said it was a hip flexor strain, and advised I keep running, stretch, and take an anti-inflammatory. I went to physical therapy and yoga and I stretched twice a day, but it wasn’t improving. When I ran a half-marathon in Central Park a week later, I was uncomfortable, but got through it. By the time I got off the train back to Connecticut that night, though, I could barely walk. Two weeks later, I was back at the doctor; I told him I hadn’t run in the past week because of the pain, and he was not happy. He said now was the point of my training to ramp up miles, not cut them; I was risking my race. I thought I knew more than he did, thinking my Internet doctor’s certificate was as good as his real one.
Alison kept lacing up her Saucony kicks, even when her hip was hurting.
All along I held out hope. All my runner friends said, “it’s okay, we’ve all missed runs, you still have six weeks to get healthy, that’s a long time.” Then it was four weeks, and then I was down to three. I had myofascial release; I got trigger point injections in my butt; I switched to all-natural anti-inflammatories to not upset my stomach, all of which got me through a slow 19-miler. I emailed Sarah and said, forget about the 4:30 finish, let’s hope for a 5:00! I joked I was going to start my novena to St. Jude (Saint of Hopeless Cases).
I finally went to acupuncture, and it was like a godsend. I thought my prayers had been answered: The pain went away almost immediately, and I was walking as close to normal as I had in a long time. But I still had to run my 20 miler.
The Saturday three weeks pre-Philly was not only pouring rain, but also cold and windy but I didn’t have another option since I was volunteering the next day at NYC Marathon. I started on the treadmill, popping in a DVD and prepping for the long haul. But my hip would not let me get to a mile. I got off, threw in a load of laundry, got back on, tried again, nope, started crying. Instead, I headed to the high school track to run 72 laps around a field, by myself in the rain and cold. I trudged through five miles, half limping, half dragging my leg. The ugly creatures of self doubt and defeat crept inside my head and started their horrible trash talk. As I ran around the track, I cried: My hope was washed away by the rain and tears.
On a drier day: The track where Alison had her epiphany that Philly 2014 wasn’t going to be hers.
The next day, standing in the finish chute of the New York City Marathon as a volunteer, I witnessed all types of runners come through in all sorts of conditions, none of them were walking comfortably. I thought: How am I going to do this in three weeks if I can’t walk normally before 26 miles?
I kept Sarah up to date as cryptically as I could. When I mentioned my plan of getting in 20 miles two weeks pre-marathon because I hadn’t accomplished it yet, I got radio silence and sensed she was weighing the situation. Almost 12 hours later, when I got a text from her expressing her reservations and instructing me to not attempt 20, I felt everything start to slip away faster and faster. She suggested I risked doing permanent damage and not be able to run again. Then Sarah shared the still-under-wraps news about Dimity being injured and unable to run Philly. I was shocked, but in a small way I felt better. Injuries happen; there’s nothing I could do. Sarah and I discussed cutting back to the half, and I told her I would let her know how my shortened run went the next morning.
Ignored phone in car.
That Saturday was a beautiful autumn day–I couldn’t wait to get outside to get my miles in. Two and a half miles in, though, I stopped, turned around, and walked home. It was then I knew any chance of running the Philadelphia Marathon was over. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t hurt; I couldn’t run, period. I avoided Sarah. I went to my son’s soccer game and left my phone in the car. When I got back, I saw I had a text, but I ignored it. When I finally mustered up enough courage to look at the message, I saw “How was the run?” and I couldn’t respond. I wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. Anthony immediately knew something was wrong; he kept asking what Sarah had said and why was I so quiet.
When we got home, I finally was able to text to her, “I’m out, I can’t do it.” Sarah immediately called me, but I let the call go to voicemail. Up until that final text, I had the hope I would be running with Sarah, representing the tribe. Saturday night was rough, with lots of tears and anger. Normally when I feel like that, I go out for a run. That wasn’t an option so I turned to shopping, cleaning, and eating Halloween candy.
Sunday we had a family party and everyone wanted to talk to Anthony about marathon. By the end of the day, I was sick of listening to him complain about how upset he was with his time and his performance. I wanted to scream at him, “At least you got to run!” I was bitter and angry and when family asked me about my race, I replied, “Philly is in 2 weeks,” never saying whether I was (or wasn’t) running it.
A lovely road hugging Long Island Sound Alison trained on.
And that brings us to today, Philly is less than a week away. I am still going, just not running. I will be at the start and finish cheering extra loud for Kelly. No reenactment of Sylvester Stallone running the streets of Philly for me. There will be tears: Some will be for me, but more will be for Kelly as she gets to feel the excitement of crossing her first marathon finish line!
There will be other races. I am taking some time off from running to heal my hip properly. I’m hoping I know when it is the right time to start again. I’ve already put in for the NYC Half lottery, and I will put in for NYC Marathon lottery again. I will be #26Strong one day; I know it. Just not at Philly 2014 with AMR.
#136: Down Size with Best-selling Author Ted Spiker
Professor Ted Spiker speaks the truths with the mother runners.
As part of the AMR Running and Reading Club, Dimity and Sarah welcome Ted Spiker, a father runner and author of Down Size: 12 Truths for Turning Pants-Splitting Frustration into Pants-Fitting Success. Known also as the guy behind the Big Guy Blog for Runner’s World website, Ted has gone through numerous ups and downs with his weight, even while training for marathons and an Ironman triathlon. Ted talks about why it’s so important to value successes instead of focusing on mistakes, whether it’s in the pursuit of a race starting line or weight-loss goal. Find out why he thinks exercise and eating are exact opposites. The trio discusses chocolate chips and bond over Blizzards.
First up, though, Dimity talks about the, sigh, re-appearance of her well-worn black boot. Let’s hope she’s not sporting it at the AMR Run + Refresh Retreat next April in Little Rock.
*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!
Day in the Life of Another Mother Runner: Kristyn Kusek Lewis
Welcome to our third look at #dayinthelifeofAMR: a day where we hand over our Instagram account to another mother runner and let her document her day. Kristyn Kusek Lewis, whose new novel, Save Me will be out next month, showed us a Friday night from her life in Chapel Hill, NC. Beacuse Kristyn is a writer, her captions were so descriptive—and solicited some great comments (protein in Peanut M’n’M’s!)—that we just had to include a few of those too.
