Bethany Takes on Boston: Let the Training Begin! (Kind of.)
Bethany gets a little twisted—and sassy—as she heads into 2015.
As Bethany Meyer starts her Boston Marathon training with some resolutions—which don’t really include running. To remind you, Bethany is documenting her training twice a month here on AMR, thanks to Stonyfield Organic Yogurt, who generously offered us a number for a mother runner in the Boston Marathon.
I stir cherries into my rolled oats. And proceed to choke down the first bite. Blech. Bland. I had hoped the cherries would sweeten the oatmeal, but no. The second bite doesn’t go down any easier than the first.
After two plus weeks of my kids on break and my husband home more than I’m used to, every ounce of me is yearning to get back to a routine. Official training for Boston began on Sunday, and it’s time to switch gears from celebrating the holidays with indulgent food (and wine and beer and homemade Bailey’s) to fueling the machine.
My breakfast of oatmeal remains flavorless from first bite to last.
Every ounce of me is yearning to get back to a routine–except for my stubborn taste buds.
It’s the first week of 2015 and week one of marathon training. The gym treadmills and elliptical machines are occupied around the clock. Weight Watchers is emailing me daily. So, yes, I’m going to talk goals.
1. Get to the start line of the Boston Marathon healthy. And cross the finish line smiling.
Easier said than done. But fueling the machine–eating the right foods, getting enough sleep, cross training, icing, foam rolling–one day at a time will maximize my chances. I hope to bring the joy to Boston so I can cross the finish line smiling.
2. Learn to be still long enough to meditate.
Here’s where it starts to get tricky.
I don’t do still well.
Actually, I don’t do still. Period.
In mid-December, Coach assigned me a speed workout. 4 x in and out 150s. Run 150 meters for each interval. Stride out the first 50 meters, gun it for the middle 50 meters, then ease up and glide through the last 50. Take 3 minutes rest between each one. Do a good 1.5 mile warmup and cool down.
I dropped the kids off for their last day of school and hustled over to the track to get started.
During my 1.5 mile warmup, this was my inner monologue: “Did Coach say 150 meters or 150 yards? Wait, what’s the difference? I’m on the track, and I know that one lap is 400 meters. Or is it 400 yards? Meters. It’s meters. So, if I have to run 150 meters–I think he said meters–that means less than half a lap. And I have to break that into 3, but I have to be thinking about my speed with every 50 meters. Or yards. Or whatever.”
I know. It’s scary to think I’m in charge of the well-being of four human beings. And that I’m allowed to operate a car.
Figuring out where 50 meters–or yards–started and ended three times over on the track was too much for my December brain, so I opted to do the speedwork on the turf football field. Which is yards, not meters. Potato/potahto. Per coach’s instructions, I strode out the first 50 along the end zone, then I turned and gunned it for the middle 50, and eased up for the final 50.
During my 3 minutes standing rest, this was my inner monologue: “That was fun. I would have been a hot mess figuring out that distance on the track. 3 minutes is a really long time to stand still. I think I’m going to practice my handstands.”
My yoga instructor is reading this and yelling, “Yes! Atta girl, Beth!”
My running coach is reading this and simultaneously composing an email to me. It reads: “Handstands between intervals, Bethany? Let’s revisit the benefits of standing rest.”
The math piece of this speed workout was a challenge, yes. But not as much as the standing still part. It’s not just a me thing, is it? I think it’s an athlete thing. We’re wired to move. To the detriment of our training at times. Ask a runner what the hardest part of her training is. Getting up early? Maybe. Fitting it in? Sure. Among my circle of running friends, it’s often the rest day. Or the dreaded taper.
When Dimity asked me about my goals for this year, the very first thing that came to mind–even before the M word–was “be still long enough to meditate.”
When I asked my husband to take a picture of me to accompany my goals, he grabbed my yoga mat and his camera, put me on a narrow bridge, and told me to strike a meditative pose. I sat crisscross applesauce, placed my hands on my knees, joined my middle fingers and thumbs, and closed my eyes. And that lasted for all of 30 seconds. Because I am wired to move. And I like inversions. So I stood on my head instead. On a narrow bridge with a 6 foot drop on both sides to nothing but concrete, I stood on my head.
Kids, don’t try this at home.
My yoga instructor is reading this and yelling, “Yes! Atta girl, Beth!”
My running coach is reading this and simultaneously composing an email to me. It reads: “What if you had fallen, Bethany? You can’t risk a serious injury just to score a cool photo.”
And it was a cool photo.
The best part is, from this angle, you cannot see my severely herniated belly button framed by four babies worth of stretch marks. Bonus!
Plus, I never fall out of a headstand.
Being still is my falling.
That need to move–to occupy body and mind–is pervasive in my life. Folding laundry while watching TV. Scarfing down my dinner so I can load the dishwasher while my family sits and eats in an attempt to get out of the kitchen at a reasonable hour. Scrolling through Facebook a dozen times throughout the day. OK, two dozen times throughout the day. Checking email as soon as I pull into the driveway before I’m even out of the car. Reaching for my phone before I lift my head from the pillow every morning. Practicing handstands during standing rest between intervals. Pushing up into a headstand when asked to emulate meditation.
I’ve allowed no space in my life for stillness.
I’d like to change that. I’m scared to change that. But I owe it to myself to change that. I know we should be as specific as possible in committing to goals, so I will attend 1-2 meditation classes this month. They take place on Wednesday evenings. After dinner. Right after I’ve tucked two of my kids into bed. At the same time I like to put on my comfiest sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms and scroll mindlessly through Facebook.
My yoga instructor is reading this and doing headstands, handstands, crow, side crow, wheel, half binds, full binds, and jumping for joy. All while yelling, “Atta girl, Beth!”
My running coach is reading this and simultaneously composing an email to me: “If meditation helps you get your head on straight AND you agree to keep the headstands and handstands in the yoga studio where they belong, I’m all for it. Also, take your husband with you.”
3. Run and live with intention, instead of getting things done merely to cross them off my list.
That’s another tricky one. Few things in life give me more joy than the act of crossing items off my list.
Running has been my physical outlet for the better part of a decade. I’ve had the good fortune to run under the guidance of a coach for the last eighteen months. He urges me to set an intention for every run. Late last week, for instance, my intention was simple: “Don running gear. Exit the house before I lose my mind on my husband and all four of our children. Be home in time to make dinner.” That’s not exactly the type of intention Coach has in mind.
His intentions for my runs are more pace, time, and effort-specific. He is steadfast in his belief that a runner should approach every workout with a goal. This has been a challenge for me because I do a great deal of my thinking when I run. It’s where my writing takes shape. It’s where I do mental inventory of my pantry. It’s where I think about pretty much everything but running. The shift to running with intention requires that I am present every time I lace up my sneakers.
I had an 8 mile run on the schedule for Sunday, which I bumped to Monday. We had plans to take the kids to see Stomp in the afternoon. My husband went to the office in the morning, and I found myself rushing at the thought of getting the miles logged. 8 miles was my long run for the week. I know Coach’s intention with my long runs is time on my legs. The antithesis of squeezing it in. So, I downloaded a book to my iPhone because I knew it would force me to slow my pace. Time on my legs. Setting an intention and sticking to it. It’s a discipline. I have work to do.
Yoga has become an important part of my life over the last three years. I try to practice once a week. We often begin class with a reminder to set an intention. When I began practicing, my intentions were consistently physical. “Get lower in chair pose. Don’t stop to rest during the backbend series. Go for a full bind instead of a half bind.”
My strength, balance, and flexibility have improved since incorporating yoga. The runner in me celebrates each of those as victories. When you’re a runner, and you can touch your toes without pulling your hamstrings, you’re winning in my book.
But my intentions have also changed over time. They’re no longer physical. “Be as kind with myself as I am to my friends. Accept that certain people in my life may not be capable of giving me what I need, and be thankful they are giving me the best they have. Shut down the negative talk in my head and open myself up to encouragement and forgiveness.”
My math remains abysmal, but my head space? I’d like to think it’s evolving.
Maybe it’s the running.
Maybe it’s the yoga.
Maybe it’s the marriage of the two.
Maybe it’s being 40.
Nevertheless, my goals are on paper and I expect that changing my behaviors to see them to fruition will be a tough pill to swallow.
Harder to swallow than rolled oats and cherries?
Hopefully not.
How are your sitting still skills? What about rest days and tapers: tougher than a long run?
Letting My Best Running Friend Take the Lead
Two hot badass mother runners: Molly (right) and me after the scorching-hot Bridge of the Gods half-marathon last summer.
Last summer, my best running friend (BRF), Molly, and I saw the musical, “The Book of Mormon”; we guffawed, grimaced, and gasped together the entire show. One song in the first act, in particular, struck us both: “You and Me (But Mostly Me).” Walking outside during intermission, Molly and I wiped away tears of laughter and quickly honed in on the toe-tapping song, in which the charismatic, headstrong missionary, Kevin, brags about he’s destined for greatness, while his bumbling, self-sabotaging sidekick, Arnold, will stand next to him and watch. At almost exactly the same time, Molly and I each blurt out, “just like us!” We shared a hearty laugh before heading back into the theatre.
I’m not charismatic, and Molly isn’t bumbling, but there was a a good-size nugget of truth to the notion I’m the dominant one in our (running) relationship. More often than not, I’m the one who suggests the route we’ll take or sets the time we run. Last fall, when we were both training for Victoria Marathon, we followed my training plan, covering my appointed mileage and aimed for my prescribed pace.
The incredibly adorable coin purse Molly sewed and embroidered for me for Christmas.
I like to think I’m not bossy–I just know what I want and ask for it. In the mid-1990s, I worked at a magazine with a woman named Alice, who became a good friend. We often went out for gab-filled lunches or window-shopping jaunts. Alice deemed me a, “directosaurus,” explaining she could shut off her brain on our outings because she knew I’d “direct” where we walked. So let’s just say I often fill the same roll with Molly, just at a faster pace.
But not this year. As you might have seen in my “This year I will…” proclamation on our site last week, Molly is training for an April 12 marathon while I don’t have any goal races on my horizon. I’m vowing to let Molly be in charge on our runs. While she’s following the Marathon: Own It plan from Train Like a Mother, I didn’t even strong-arm her into that decision. Instead, she perused a variety of training plans, then found her own way to one of our plans on TrainingPeaks.
The present Molly bestowed on me Christmas 2013: a handmade bookmark of us bunnies at the track (we run in lane 5). It’s honestly one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received.
Now, instead of me piping up, it’s Molly announcing at the end of our runs, “okay, tomorrow we only have to do 4 easy miles; let’s meet at 6:15.” Or dictating this weekend’s long run will be 13 miles with a 15-minute strong finish.
And, let me tell you: This directosaurus is diggin’ it! I adore training for marathons, but don’t often love running ones, so this set-up is ideal. I get to put in the miles, but I don’t have to bust a big 26.2-mile move in four months. I get the same auto-pilot, no-second-guessing feeling from being on a training plan with no angst if I opt to walk up a big hill or scale back a long run due to travel (which I’ll be doing a lot of this March and April with our Tales from Another Mother Runner tour!).
But, most importantly–and proving we’re not exactly like “The Book of Mormon” song–it feels good to shift the spotlight from me to Molly. I’m excited to be embarking on this journey, with Molly leading the way.
How about you, mother runner: If you have a BRF (or a group of running buddies), who determines the route or mileage?
#44: Baby, It’s Cold (and Snowy and Icy) Outside! [Repeat]
[NOTE: This episode originally aired in early 2013. Have no worries, Sarah and Dim will be back next week with a fresh episode!] Given the Arctic temps that have gripped Denver, it was only natural that Sarah and Dimity talk winter weather—and how to dress for exercising in it. Along the way the gals laugh over their experiences running in cold and slippery conditions; Sarah goes way back into her personal archives to talk about when she discovered her inner badass runner (when she was a long way from being a mother). Dimity shares a painful story that’ll make you wince—and think twice about venturing out onto icy conditions. And, finally, the ladies will tell you the connection between winter weather and waxing facial hair.
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Martini Fridays: GOOOOOALs.
By the time you read this, it will be a new year. I hope yours has been pleasant so far. Mine kicked off with a long, sleepy drive back home after a wonderful few days in the mountains. I’m not quite back on my game yet so bear with me.
I’m largely indifferent about New Year’s Eve and the celebration thereof. I don’t really drink anymore — the White Russian I quaffed on Christmas is the more booze than I’d had the previous six months — and I can’t stay awake much past 10 p.m. My first thought most New Year’s Eves is “Thank the heavens I’m not in Times Square.”
You know you want to party with me. And by “party,” of course, I mean “sit around and drink fancy coffee and turn in at a reasonable hour.”
Who doesn’t love a vacation run around a lake?
I’ve been running a bit during the weeks since we last “spoke” but nothing to really get excited about. Just end-of-the-year-no-real-goal maintenance runs to keep the grumpies at bay. With one exception, they’ve all been perfectly fine.
The one exception was a Thursday morning run two weeks ago that was awful in nearly every way a run can be awful. My body didn’t feel like mine. My clothes irritated me. My belly was unhappy. But I ran anyway. While I want to say I felt some kind of great satisfaction at having pushed through, I didn’t. I was really just glad I was back at my house (and my bathroom) where it was warm and there was no more running.
We’ve also fully transitioned into the time when outdoor runs are simply fraught with peril and I’m spending more time on my college’s indoor track. It’s not ideal but I can endure it if it means I don’t fall on my arse because some slackers don’t shovel their sidewalks.
The oh-so-thrilling view from the indoor track.
Yes, I own and use Yaktraks. But those work best when everything is snowy. In our neighborhood, however, some patches of sidewalks never do get shoveled and simply become icy sheets. Running in the plowed road is a bad idea because the piled-up snow makes the streets extra narrow, which means the cars are even closer. Which is a long way around to tell you what I’ve already told you: the indoor track is the best of the unpleasant options most days.
Not only is this the time of treacherous footing, it’s also the time of year when a young (I know. Let me have this.) mother runner’s mind turns to goals for the next year.
I’ve already committed to two big races for 2015: the Pittsburgh Half Marathon in May and the Wineglass Half in October. My standard running goal is to make it to the starting lines of each in good enough shape to make it to the finish line.
Something happened in November 2014 to make me rethink my standard running goal. My Philly Half experience of pacing Kelly for the first half of her full made me realize that it’s OK to set the challenge bar up another notch. I know. I’m not sure who I am anymore either.
No, I’m not running a marathon in 2015. It’s not lack of desire but a deficit of training time. There may be a year in the future when it will work out. This is not that year.
I would, however, like see how fast I can get this body to go before another year passes. My say-it-out-loud goal for Pittsburgh is to see how close to 2:15 I can get. I ran my last half in 2:30 so that seems within the realm of possibility.
Or I could be completely delusional. I’m good with that, too, if only because my delusions keep me entertained.
As helpful as the AMR Race It plan was for my 2:30 finish, my brain still had to process that training details, like how fast and when and where, that I’m not even a little bit qualified to figure out. A recent mother runner podcast made me realize how useful a coach could be. So I found one — and as it happens, said coach Sara (yes, another Sara) is about to become a new mother runner herself.
Sara, who will need a good nickname, has already loaded the first few workouts I need to do. My relief at not having to think about them is nearly a tangible thing. As is my fear of the first one, which is a standard heart rate test that “I should feel like I’m going to die” by the last couple of minutes of.
Remind me again how this is a good idea? Rest assured that I’ll be blogging this journey, too, if on an every-other-week schedule for the first few months of the year. Misery does indeed love company.
As for my other goals, I intend to rest on rest days like a mighty thing that rests. I’m also going to recharge at a certain retreat in April, which should fall just before my pre-Pittsburgh taper. I suspect I’ll be looking for some company on a long run or two, even if I have to go to Arkansas to find it.
This year, too, I want to find a way to give back — but I’m not sure yet what that will look like. I have a box o’ gear to send on to Heart Strides but can totally do more. So, mother runners, how do you give back to the running community?
Above all else, I will enter every race intending to earn my chicken, which has become my race mantra. What does it mean to earn your chicken? Pay for your post-race bagel, chocolate milk, soft pretzel, or, yes, chicken lunch by pouring all you have into each step.
Even if that’s all I manage in 2015, it will still be a fulfilling year.