March 2015

Bethany Takes on Boston: All by Myself

 

Zip-lining like a Colonist: Meyer family on their Williamsburg adventure.

Zip-lining like a Colonist: Meyer family on their Williamsburg adventure.

Bethany Meyer, with just one last long run before the taper for Boston Marathon, added some zip lining to her training plan over spring break. Bethany is running as part of the team sponsored by Stonyfield Organic Yogurt: Click here to check out the other badass runners on the Stonyfield team and see what’s going on with them. 

Four kids is a lot of kids. I am reminded of this every time I run. Because my bladder leaks. It doesn’t matter that I empty it multiple times before lacing up my sneakers. Short run or long. On the track or the trail. Hydrated or not. My bladder leaks. Four kids will do that to a girl’s bladder.

Four kids is a lot of kids. I am reminded of this every spring break. I want desperately to take our boys to amazing places. I wish we could fly to Florida and swim with the dolphins. I wish we could jet to Arizona and touch a saguaro cactus alongside my niece and nephews. I wish we could go to California and dip our toes in the Pacific Ocean. I wish we could head to the Grand Canyon. To Yellowstone. To the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. To Alaska. To Europe. To Mexico. To Grand Cayman. To build houses in South America. I know enough to understand the important parenting moments happen in the car, at the dinner table, in the backyard, any minute of the most mundane day. The desire to travel with them is less about the parenting piece and more about the opportunity to experience things with the people I love most. I don’t care what shoes we wear, what cars we drive, where we eat dinner, or how big our house is. I want to experience the world with my children. While they are still children. I want to make memories in places beyond our zip code. I want them to respect different cultures because they’ve been–albeit briefly– immersed in them. These are my dreams for my family.

The reality is putting this show on the road costs many, many dollars. More than we can afford on our what-do-you-mean-your-shoes-are-too-small-we-just-bought-them-last-month middle-class budget. For this reason if you Google the word “stay-cation,” a picture of my family will pop up on the Wikipedia page.

My kids just finished spring break. While it’s not in our budget to do big trips, there is something about March that makes me want to shed the confines of our house after the long, cold winter. Which is why, last week, we schlepped our party of six to Williamsburg, Virginia, for two nights. Thanks to my favorite travel agent, Groupon.

Four kids is a lot of kids. I was reminded of this as soon as we got to Williamsburg and everyone looked at me and asked, “What now?” The boys are 13, 11, 9, and 6. And then there’s the biggest boy, who is 43. It’s difficult to find an activity that engages all of them. With all due respect to our forefathers, I suspected that Colonial Williamsburg was not a viable option.

“How about a treetop adventure that includes zip lining?” I asked.

They answered my question with an almost unanimous chorus of, “Oh, yeah!” David, at 43, is just as much the adrenaline junkie he was when we met 20 years ago. Trevor is 13 and a thrill seeker. Sammy is 11 and up for anything. Chase is 6. He’s small enough to fit on my hip. What he lacks in stature he more than makes up for in swagger and attitude.

Alex, 9, is the only one who remained quiet. He is all heart. When he looks into your eyes, he sees straight into your soul. He is a peacemaker. Kind and unsure of himself. The physical things have never come easily to him. That he has to work harder makes him that much more lovable. And he wears glasses. Which is, quite possibly, the cutest thing in the world.

“I don’t want to go, Mom. I’ll fall, and it won’t be fun,” Alex whispered as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

I bent down to meet his blue eyes. “When we get there, they will put each of us in a harness so we don’t fall. Let’s at least give it a try. If you don’t enjoy it, I will hang out with you.”

Because I am deathly afraid of heights. Minor detail.

Trevor and Sammy were quick studies and flew through the introductory course. Worried about Alex, I quickly offered to stay with him, leaving David with Chase.

Alex proceeded with care and caution through the first several obstacles. Clip-tweezle-clip, clip-tweezle-clip. Looking anywhere but down, I followed shakily behind him. “Alex, I love how brave you are for trying this!” I yelled.

“You know I get embarrassed when you give me compliments, Mom!” he called over his shoulder.

I smiled and turned around to share my excitement for him with David. Unfortunately, Chase was screaming in his face. Because attitude.

“And I am NOT having fun because I don’t LIKE to do it the way YOU tell me to do it, I just want MOM to help me because I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!”

David has an inordinate amount of patience for Chase. Except when zip lining. Trevor’s and Sammy’s laughter echoed throughout the treetops. They were overhead, midway through a much more challenging course. The kind of course that appeals to David. I knew he was dying to join in their fun.

But what about Alex?

I turned to see him nestling his clips into his cable and smiling as he sailed through his first zip line.

“Way to go, Alex!” his brothers yelled from their perches in the trees. My heart swelled as I watched him beam with pride while he gave them a quick thumb’s up.

“Alex!” I called, “Wait down there! Wait for me, I just have to get through this…”

“I’m fine, Mom! Don’t worry about me, I’m fine! Just stay with Chase!” Alex called as he headed for the next course alone.

David heard Alex release me of my duties and immediately clip-tweezle-clipped his way around Chase, who was still screaming. “He’s all yours,” he muttered, as he clip-tweezle-clipped ahead of me, sprinting across a tightrope in an effort to complete the intro course and catch up with Trevor and Sammy.

Trevor: at home on the ropes.

Trevor: at home on the ropes.

I balanced precariously on a bouncing metal circle 25 feet above the ground with three of my kids scattered among the treetops, my husband in hot pursuit of two of them, and the fourth one closing the gap between us with screams of, “I SAID stop right THERE, I need to be FIRST!”

Four kids is a lot of kids I thought.

Holy cannoli, I am afraid of heights I thought.

Chase and I fell into a rhythm as soon as I let him go first. Clip-tweezle-clip. “I couldn’t do this if I was only 5,” he boasted. Clip-tweezle-clip. “But since I’m 6, I’m big enough.”

“Mmm hmm,” I agreed.

Clip-tweezle-clip, “Hey, dude, up there over my head! I see your shoes! I can do this because I’m 6! I bet you couldn’t do it when you were 6! Ha ha!” Clip-tweezle-clip.

“Kindness, Chase,” I reminded.

“Aw, 6 is like the coolest age, Mom.” Clip-tweezle-clip. “Because I can go zip lining.” Clip-tweezle-clip.

“That’s right, buddy,” I murmured, half listening while I gripped the wires with white knuckles and scanned the trees to locate my family members.

Trevor and David were high overhead, whooping and hollering as they took turns shaking the thin rope beneath their feet. Sammy tossed his head back in laughter from a neighboring perch.

But what about Alex?

I scanned the trees to find him maneuvering capably through an advanced course. Working at his own pace. All by himself. His momentum and confidence growing with every step he took.

Alex, minus his glasses, finds his groove in the grove.

Alex, minus his glasses, finds his groove in the grove.

And the afternoon continued like that. The laughter of my older two sons and husband echoed through the forest. Chase heckled more advanced climbers from the safety of the beginner’s course. I struggled not to let my adrenaline and fear get the best of me. And Alex, sweet Alex, conquered one challenge after another. All by himself.

I had worried most about him.

I had worried only about him.

Unencumbered by the rest of us–much to my delight and surprise–Alex sprouted wings and was able to fly.

Four kids is a lot of kids. It’s too many kids to take to Boston to watch me run on April 20. I will carry each of them in my heart, in my smile, in my struggles, in my thoughts as I will my legs to carry me over the farthest distance I will have ever run.

I have one more long run on the calendar. This Sunday I have to run 2 ½ hours.

I have been so fortunate to have had the company of my marathon BRF for every long training run. We’ve filled the miles with laughter, with secrets, with hopes, with tears, with stories, with raw and almost startling honesty.

But it’s time for me to take a cue from my little boy with the big heart. It’s time I go out there and put one foot in front of the other, without the laughter, without the stories, without the safety net of a friend to pull me through. I have to be free of the noise.

I’m heading out Sunday all by myself.

Just like Alex, it’s time for me to sprout my wings.

Just like Alex, I hope to fly.

Wheeeeeeeee!!!!

Wheeeeeeeee!!!!

 

 

#154: Summer Sanders: Olympic-Medalist Swimmer Turned Mother Runner

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Dimity and Sarah are joined by Summer Sanders, winner of four Olympic medals in swimming who has been a runner for two decades. A mom of two, Summer shares how she shifted from being a serious athlete to a social one (even though Dim and Sarah think her 3-hours-and-change marathons are plenty serious!). From there, Summer dispenses more excellent running and training advice than pretty much the entire AMR book trilogy —everything from the importance of occasionally skipping a workout to holding back in the first mile of a race. You’ll probably be able to hear the marbles in Sarah’s head rolling around as she eagerly nods when Summer says, “When you hit the wall, you can decide to either be stuck behind it or bust through it.” Summer also gives swimming tips for triathletes-in-training.

In short: This podcast is overflowing with insight and advice.

*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: Diane Hochhalter

Diane, as she says, "Wearing the only shirt I could wear for the 10K."

Diane, as she says, “Wearing the only shirt I could wear for the 10K.”

Another in our 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. (Find Diane’s blog here.)

In October 2013, I crossed, hand in hand with two of my close friends, the finish line of the Twin Cities Marathon in St. Paul Minnesota.

In February 2014, I was walking like a funky chicken.

What started as a facial spasming and twitching progressed into something that affected my ability to walk normally, speak fluently, process thoughts and situations like I had been able to previously. Essentially whatever was afflicting me took the life I had, shook it up, and dumped it all over the floor. For about two weeks every noise was amplified, every light was intensified, and the simple task of lifting my leg to walk up a step escaped me. My brain said, “Step up.” My quad muscles said, “We don’t compute.”  I stuttered, I wobbled, I was quite the show!  Four doctors, a gazillion and a half tests later resulted in about four different opinions and lots of “normal” findings.

About six weeks into this ordeal, most of the sensory overload feelings had diminished but I still strutted like a chicken. We headed to The Mayo Clinic in Rochester Minnesota. As we crossed the Mississippi, I lost it looking down on the grassy area where I had finished a half marathon that past summer. In the distance was the Capitol building, where I had ended the most amazing 26.2 miles I had ever experienced.

At Mayo, I met with an very kind and gentle physician who finally gave me some insight to what was affecting my walk.  He was unable to really determine what caused me to lose proprioception (knowing where a body part lies in space) of my hips and upper leg. That said, because the situation lasted about two weeks, my body had quickly adapted to this new form of walking.

As a runner this made perfect sense because so many of our aches and pains are actually caused by our body compensating for something else going on. He essentially said I needed to retrain myself to walk, toe to heel, almost like a toddler. The ironic and funny thing about this is my 9-year-old son had told me before the visit, “Mom, you just need to put one foot in front of the other and walk heel to toe.” Had  I listened to him, we would not be out several thousand dollars. Live and learn…

This was in early April of 2014, and in this neck of the woods, May brings the Fargo Marathon. (You betcha!) I had planned on another half marathon before all this chaos started. As my walking quickly returned back to normal (thank God for good muscle memory!) and I got stronger, I set my sights on the 10K of the race weekend. I told everyone I planned to walk it—Ok, maybe throw some spurts of running in there—but mostly walk.

Race morning brought the usual energetic excitement that I’ve come to love about the Fargo Marathon. It was a brisk morning and me and 10,000 of my closest friends lined up on Memorial bridge spanning the Red River.  I stood and soaked it all in, amazed at the journey my life had taken over the last 3 months.

I had one secret goal: Run one mile. After that, it didn’t matter. I could walk or run.

My husband and I started together, even though he and his long gazelle legs were practically walking to stay with my turtle pace. He had been through all of the craziness with me, literally holding my hand so I would stay stable. As we came upon the one mile sign, the tears flowed. I couldn’t help it.  Two months prior I couldn’t walk from my bedroom to the kitchen without stopping three times, and I had just covered mile.

There is no doubt the strength that running, and especially training for a marathon instilled in me, helped me achieve that mile. And I don’t necessarily mean physical strength.

I ran/walked that 10K in 1:17. The last two songs that played on my playlist were The Fighter by Gym Class Heroes and Pompeii by Bastille. I wept at the finish. Tears of joy, tears of gratitude, tears of acceptance.

If I were to say that everything is back to normal, it wouldn’t be true. I still have weakness in my left leg, I still have occasional spasms of my face and neck that last several minutes. I am due for more testing.

I’m not sure what lies ahead, but I know that hotel rooms for Fargo 2015 are already booked.

(Great) Update: So… the plan this year is to be support/cheering squad for my hubby when he runs the 10K in Fargo. I had planned on doing the 10k also, but found out that–don’t laugh–my ballet recital is the day after the race, and we’ve been working on this piece since fall. I started taking the class to help strengthen my core and weaker leg, and I have a huge new appreciation for ballerinas. Holy cannoli do they make dancing look easy, and it is not. This summer will probably bring some shorter races and possibly a longer one this fall!

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 around 400 words. Thank you!

Tales From Another Mother Runner Thursday: Susan Schorn

Susan S Final

We’re excited to return to our regularly scheduled Tales From Another Mother Runner Thursday and to keep the #TAMRTour  momentum going. (TAMR rhymes with BAMR, btw.)

Today we’re profiling Susan Schorn, who was on our podcast in 2013 with some great ideas for and philsophies around self defense. 

Suan is going to join Kristin Armstrong and Sarah tonight, March 26th, in Austin at the Texas Running Company. Don your best boots–or your running shoes! You can still join us! RSVP here for a free, fun night full of prizes, laughs, and mother runner connection.

My running history: I ran a little cross-country in high school but didn’t really get into it as an adult until after my son was born. Now it’s my primary cross-training sport to complement my martial arts practice.

My self-defense teaching historyI started teaching at Sun Dragon Martial Arts here in Austin around 2000 and have been doing that semi-regularly ever since. I’m currently pursuing certification through the National Women’s Martial Arts Federation, one of the only accrediting bodies for Empowerment Self Defense.

My writing history: I wrote for radio while I was in college (mostly science writing, like the astronomy program Star Date) and began writing for McSweeney’s in 2007. Bitchslap, my column with McSweeney’s led to my memoir, Smile at Strangers: And Other Lessons in the Art of Living Fearlessly, which was published in 2013.

My essay, “The Middle Finger” offers: a very compressed version of my self defense philosophy—one of empowerment, not defensiveness and fear—as it guides me through of my daily runs.

How to survive Austin in the summer: By acclimating early and slowly! I’m not a good morning runner, so I’m pretty much stuck with 7 p.m., 99-degree runs for several months. I drink a lot of water and try to ignore my watch.

Recent memorable run: 9.5 miles around Town Lake (I skipped the MOPAC bridge but started at Barton Springs) during the first real taste of early spring last month. There was a cold snap forecast for the next day so EVERYONE was out. It was great to see people frantically enjoying the warmth.

Recent horrible run: We had a black belt test and extra classes at the dojo last weekend, and the first run after all that kicking was excruciating. My quads were barely speaking to me.

Next up on my running calendar: Hopefully the Cap 10K, if my travel schedule allows it. It’s kind of a mob scene but one of the few Austin races I’ve never run, so I keep trying to fit it in.

Quick, easy ask: If you have purchased and found the time to read Tales From Another Mother Runner, we’d love, love it if you could take a minute a put up an honest review on Amazon, which, for reasons we don’t totally understand, is huge in spreading the TAMR word and helping women find the book. Thanks in advance!

Most Important Mile: Maggie Vinciguerra

Maggie's Dad, 8 years ago in Runner magazine. The pic was taken at the USATF championships, right before the guy in back (without the hat) took off and beat my dad in the 200m.

Maggie’s Dad, 8 years ago in Runner magazine. The pic was taken at the USATF championships, right before the guy in back (without the hat) took off and beat my dad in the 200m.

Another in our 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.

My dad and I have run together for  the last 20 years, on and off. He’s the main reason why I started running and at  age 78 he can still run a sub-25 minute 5k and holds international records for several middle distance races. Running with my dad is truly a gift. Our runs almost always involve talking about—and often working out— life’s big stuff: relationships, job stress, family, illness and death.

My most important mile was on December 26, 2014. That afternoon my dad and I set out on a snowy 3-miler together. He’d been to the pulmonologist that morning to talk about some spots that were recently found on his lung. Somehow I just knew what was going down, and as we started out, my dad very calmly told me that it was most likely cancer. We spent that run talking about what would come next:  additional tests, biopsies, surgery and possibly more. He talked about his plans to invest more aggressively in case my mom outlived him and I insisted that a big family vacation would be mandatory if the prognosis was not good. We laughed a little bit, dodged icy patches in the road and I raved about the fabulous cheap running sunglasses I recently picked up at Target.

My dad will have surgery in February. Further testing showed that the cancer is isolated and has not spread beyond his lung. His doctor insists that he can return to running – and competing – after his recovery and that his lungs, minus one lobe, are strong and will adapt.

I suppose I will too.

Swift dad and soon-to-be mother marathoner.

Swift dad and soon-to-be mother marathoner.

(Great) Update: Maggie’s dad was on the track with his buds, walking and light jogging,  about 5 days after surgery. He got the all clear at last week’s post-op, no need for chemo or radiation and  this past Saturday he ran a 4 mile St. Patrick’s day race and nabbed 3rd place in his age group, clocking in at 40 minutes….my pace, by the way. Humbling for him for sure, but this was exactly 4 weeks and a day after his surgery. So, he’s coming back slowly but surely. His plan is to defend his titles at this summer’s National Senior Games in MN, and he and my mom are both going to help me train for my first marathon this October.

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 around 400 words. Thank you!

Most Important Mile: Elinor + Jodi Scott

Elinor Scott, before her most important mile.

Elinor Scott, before her most important mile.

Another in our 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.

In 2013, my oldest sister, Elinor Scott, was unable to finish the Boston Marathon because of the terrorist bombing.

In 2014, Elinor, a mother of four, was unable to start the Boston Marathon because she had been diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

While others spoke of chemo regimens, long-term prognosis, quality of life issues and advancing medical trials, Elinor stayed focused on one goal that kept her motivated in those first months following diagnosis: completing the Boston Marathon.

Elinor and her four children.

Elinor and her four children.

A long-distance runner, Boston was everything to her. She qualified for the first time in 2012, but her time didn’t allow her to secure a spot in the race. Determined to get her “BQ,” she persevered and earned a spot in the 2013 Boston Marathon. Not running her best marathon that day, she was among the pack of runners stopped by the Boston Police just past mile 25. (Mile 25.4 on her Garmin, to be exact.)

Elinor smiling at the Whistle Stop.

Elinor smiling at the Whistle Stop.

During the Boston attempts, Elinor knew her health was declining. She had been diagnosed with myasthenia gravis, a disease that causes muscles to become weak with extended use, a couple of years prior. This was becoming more difficult to control and her symptoms were becoming less specific to this disease, which made her doctors doubt the diagnosis.

Perplexed and unable to find answers, it was suggested she may just have depression and needed to quit running so much. But Elinor loved running more than anything and couldn’t imagine giving it up for any reason, even declining health. Fearful  it would become more difficult to qualify, she ran a Boston qualifier at the Lake Wobegon Trail Marathon in May 2013. She ran her tenth and last marathon–the Whistle Stop in Ashland, Wisconsin—on October 12, 2013, less than three months before she was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer on January 6, 2014.

Crossing the Boston finish line had been her dream. So with the help of family and friends, Elinor sought permission from the race organizers and the Boston Police Department to complete the Boston Marathon. She was going to cross that painted finish line, no matter what.

She failed her first line of chemotherapy and was still recovering from surgery to remove her ovaries, so getting her to Boston was no small feat. With a carry-on bag full of medications including injections to thin her blood, Elinor, her daughter, our mom and I loaded a plane in Minneapolis and hoped for the best.

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Elinor with her daughter, Martha; Jodi, her sister (in black); and their mom celebrating Elinor’s mile.

We landed in Boston,  then had to navigate the incredibly tight security to get to Elinor to her own private starting line of of Deerfield and Commonwealth, which is just before the spot where she had been pulled off the course the year prior.

I raced her in a wheelchair through the streets of Boston so we could meet the two officers who had clearance to let her on the course. They were two of the kindest gentlemen I have ever met. I asked how it would be easiest for me to get back to the finish to meet her with the wheelchair, and without hesitation they told me I could walk along with her. After hugs, words of admiration for my sister, and a photo op, they opened the gate to the official course. When my sister stepped on the course with all of the other runners, the crowd went wild.

Weighing in at maybe 100 pounds and bearing her head scarf and Project Purple hat, it was clear she was no ordinary runner. We sobbed tears of joy and amazement for at least a quarter of a mile as the crowd cheered her on. She needed this. We needed this. For a day, the roar of onlookers and well wishers allowed her to forget fears of her illness or doubts about her treatments. Her dampened spirits soared.

Elinor receiving the medal she dreamed about.

Elinor receiving the medal she dreamed about.

My sister passed away on September 12, 2014, less than five months after crossing the Boston finish line and running our most important mile.

On a run last fall on cold, windy trails, I realized I needed to run the Boston Marathon for her.

Fortunately, I can. I  have been given the incredible opportunity and honor to run the Boston in remembrance of my sister and in recognition of the thousands of people who are battling pancreatic cancer. I will travel to Boston with my husband, two daughters, mom, middle sister, and niece…it takes a village to support a mother runner, right? With about four weeks to race day, everything is going well, and I can’t wait to stand on the starting line.

I know I will become tearful every time I pass a Boston Police officer as I remember the kindness and love they showed my sister.

I am sure I will cry as I reach the final mile of the course as I recall one of the proudest moments I was able to share with my sister in her final year.

 In addition to conquering her first marathon, Jodi is raising money for Project Purple, which funds pancreatic cancer research and supports patients and families dealing with pancreatic cancer. If you’d like to donate, please click here. 

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