April 2015

Tales From Another Mother Runner Thursday: Nicole Knepper

Nicole Knepper Board

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 Nicole Knepper, a mother of two in Plainfield, Illinois (or, as she says, “middle of absolutely nowhere!”).

My running history: I started running as conditioning for gymnastics and ran track in junior high for a bit. I rransitioned into running for stress relief. In college, it was my favorite workout. Kept me sane.My writing history: My book  Moms Who Drink and Swear, came out in 2013. I still see it as a fluke, but I’m working on the proposal for another. It is a humor book about mental health. I KNOW: Weird. I’m also very excited about the upcoming book about caregiving that I am writing with a good friend who is also passionate about caring for caregivers.

My essay “Running For My Life” is: basically me turning my heart inside out and talking about how much I love life, how grateful I am, and how I want to have a high quality life. I run so that I can live well, to break the cycle of sloth and ill health that my parents were raised in and lived themselves.

Current mental health status: I am on the perfect meds. My ADHD and depression managed well and I have a wonderful wellness plan. I prioritize wellnes, which means keeping to a regular sleep/wake schedule, regular exercise, regular check-in with psychiatrist and general docs for physicals, and eating right.

Current physical health status: Happy to report that this is also well managed. I keep to an anti-inflammatory diet, avoiding things that I know trigger digestive issues or arthritis, saving the wine and dairy for special occasions. Most of the time, I manage pain with a low dose of Alleve. I am very proud of this, and I work hard to take care of my joints by not overdoing the exercise. I want to keep active until it’s time for my permanent dirt nap.

Recent memorable run: Okay, so the first day it was over 40 damn degrees, I hit the road and my iPod was on shuffle and the first song was “Steal My Girl” by One Direction (mock me all you want, I care NOT!) and it set the tone for an epic run. It felt so good. I ran slow and my pace was perfectly comfortable. No pain at all. Felt like magic.

Recent horrible run: I walked my daughter to school after spending the previous hour and a half riding the roller coaster of her emotions. She is notT a morning person. Was looking forward to taking off from the school parking lot and shaking off the negativity. I could not get my pace. It usually takes me a mile to feel right and smooth, but I couldn’t get a balance and I got a butt cheek cramp. I was actually wearing clean running clothes too, which is rare. I’m disgusting. I’ll wear the same stuff for three runs before I wash it. See? Disgusting. Also, a total bullshit run.

My next athletic event: I’m going to pound out 5Ks for charity throughout the spring and summer. Little themed races keep me motivated and I can run them with friends who run slower that I do, and afterwards we end up hanging out together (read: food and booze involved) for hours!

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!

Tales from Another Mother Runner Thursday: Kara Douglass Thom

kara thom board 2 copy small

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 Kara Douglass Thom, a mother of four kiddos in the Twin Cities. Kara is going to join us on the Midwest leg of our #TAMRTour in mid-May, when we’re going to hit Indiapolis, Cincinnati, Milwaukee, (likely) and Minneapolis/St. Paul. You can RSVP for all the events here

My running history: I started running and racing in 5Ks after college. 5Ks turned into 10Ks, then marathons, then triathlons, then Ironmans. Running and racing has been stop and go between and after kids, but I’m finding myself as a running mother in ways I never expected.

My writring history: I’ve had the good fortune to write about fitness as I’m living it. I wrote Becoming an Ironman: First Encounters with the Ultimate Endurance Event, after finishing my first ironman; I wrote my first children’s book, See Mom Run, during my first pregnancy; then I co-wrote Hot (Sweaty) Mamas: Five Secrets to Life as a Fit Mom while finding fitness in the chaos of motherhood; and finally I’ve been penning the Go! Go! Sports Girls children’s book series while raising athletic girls.

My essay, “Mother Runner Defined” is about: My need to let go of running in order to heal my damaged body; not let go of running temporarily so I could get back to running but let it go completely. I don’t need to explain here why this is hard to do, especially when your identity is wrapped up in running for so long. But as I usher in a new generation of runners I am discovering a new spin to the label “Running Mother.”

Clarification about that not running thing: I’ve always been able to run, just unable to run pain-free. Important distinction! Once I let up and lived life without NSAIDs and felt good enough to run again a curious thing happened: I didn’t. But since last fall I occasionally run when the urge strikes; maybe once a week and only a few miles.

A few weeks ago I had a running dream (coincidentally about the same time TAMR came out). This running dream was unusual and I felt telling, or at least trying to tell me something. I analyzed my dream on my blog, which feels like a follow-up of sorts to my essay in TAMR. As I mention in my post: Since allowing myself to run, I feel I have cracked open a door Im not sure I want to open any wider. I cant help but wonder if my three easy miles will continue to satisfy me or if I will feel an urge to race again.

My running substitute: That’s the thing when you’re injured; you can’t imagine when running is “that thing you do.” You can’t imagine anything else filling the void. You would not believe how much I love hiking in the woods with my dog. I’ve always loved yoga, but it was never a fitness priority until now. While on spring break, I could have run every day, which is what I expected to do, but I didn’t: I played tennis.

Random, but Kara and I had a spontaneous mother runner reunion in Puerta Vallarta airport last week.

Random, but Kara and I had a spontaneous mother runner reunion in Puerta Vallarta airport last week. (We were both heading home. Sigh.)

Advice for runners with chronic injuries? I think I would prefer to hold my tongue. The reality is the struggling runner never wants to hear what “worked” for a recovering runner, and rightly so, because everyone is different. We have to find what works for our own body and mind, and most of all we need to feel in control of those choices.

Next up on my athletic calendar: Looking forward to warmer days for sure, which will see me out on a lake paddle boarding, riding my bike with friends, and taking tennis lessons. I’m also looking forward to joining my daughter on runs as she prepares for her first cross country season on the middle school team.

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!

A Memo of Marathon Running Advice for My BRF

Molly and her 19-year-old daughter, Lane, at the start of her marathon training cycle.

Molly and her 19-year-old daughter, Lane, at the start of her marathon training cycle.

MEMO

TO: Molly W., Best Running Friend
FROM: Sarah Bowen Shea, Another Mother Runner
CC:  All women runners taking on 26.2
DATE: 8 April 2015
RE: Marathon Running Advice
__________________________________________________________________________

Per your marathon preparation following the Train Like a Mother Marathon: Own It plan, here are some tips, pointers, and reminders for your marathon this Sunday.

Late February, and the start of selfies with flowering backdrops.

Late February, and the start of selfies with flowering backdrops.

Do not sneak in any last-minute training. You followed the plan nearly perfectly (except for those few days when you were on business in snowbound Ohio), including three (3!!) runs of 20 miles or longer. Despite what your taper-tizzied brain is telling you, you are 100% ready for this race. Do not spring out your door and do another long run to convince yourself you’re capable of covering the distance; you’ll only wear yourself out.

Reflect on how you rocked your runs. I was by your side for some of the training, but you tackled the toughest miles solo, including 20 miles on a treadmill in your Ohioan friend’s basement. You soldiered on countless times to finish long runs after dropping me at my house. Even when you gave yourself the mental “out” of doing the tough work, you still rose to the challenge and did it.

Molly (right) with her ever-present smile: Let's see it in some race photos!

Molly (right) with her ever-present smile: Let’s see it in some race photos!

Remember your goals. You have trained to run at a 9:30 average pace, which would have you finishing just under 4:10, a massive, 15-minute PR. You are far more badass than you give yourself credit; this finish time is yours for the taking. Also remind yourself  you have always said you want to feel strong from start to finish.

Go out conservatively. You start every one of our runs like a peppy Easter bunny, prancing along with lightly curled fists, while I huff, puff, and try to hang with you. The marathon course you chose is slightly uphill from Mile 9 to 13, then gradually downhill from 14-21. On those early flatter miles, hold yourself back; reign in your enthusiasm and curb your adrenaline. You finished so dang strong in your debut marathon (cracking sincerely funny jokes even at Mile 22, including: “You know the real reason I ran this marathon? [Pause] So I wouldn’t have to cook dinner tonight!”)

Talk yourself up. Positive self-talk is like a magic pill that, done correctly, can drive away negative thoughts and discomfort. Use words that will help lighten the load, not remind you of any difficulties. So no, “I’m so tired; I need be strong.” Instead, “Fire my turbo boosters.” Or, “Give more, more, more.” Or, “I got this. I got this. I GOT this.” (And if that gets too tough, imagine my bossy voice saying the same words to you!)

Seven miles that took us past riverside cherry blossoms. (Isn't my BRF a cutie!?)

Seven miles that took us past riverside cherry blossoms. (Isn’t my BRF a cutie!?)

Stick to your fueling plan. You are great at taking in a GU Energy Gel every four miles on training runs. Do the same thing on race day, and consider carrying some GU Energy Chews to augment those gels in the final 10K. Easier on the tummy to take in smaller units of calories every few minutes than 100 calories all at once. And follow every energy blast up with a Nuun chaser of at least 4 ounces.

Drink in the scenery. Your inner pioneer-gal loves the natural Oregon landscape; no need for city-slicker sights for you. So soak in the verdant splendor as you run around that lake and through those scenic woods. (And I doubt you’ll see any money on the ground, but if you do, run past it; run past it.)

Respect your early miles in the final 10K. After running your goal pace for the first 20 or so miles, you need to pay homage to them: Don’t give in to the discomfort and the challenging effort by slowing down. You have done the bulk of the work; keep pushing. You don’t want to taste regret after the finish line (just pride and chocolate milk!).

Remind yourself you actually like running. You are queen of the kvetch (and I love you for it!), but we both know you gripe, whine, sigh, and moan for the laughs. (Well, usually.) You were disappointed when you had to drop back from 26.2 to 13.1 last fall at Victoria. You chose to run Vernonia Marathon (what’s up with  the “V—ia” race names?), and you put in the work. Yes, some hills, paces, and miles were beastly, but overall you enjoyed the training. Now go have a great race–and a fun time–on Sunday!

I predict a bright marathon future for Molly (in shades), even if rain is forecast for Sunday.

I predict a bright marathon future for Molly (in shades), even if rain is forecast for Sunday.

On Patience + A Four-Miler

 

Our first surfing lesson. Can you believe she's my daughter? This shot already made my gratitude journal.

Our first surfing lesson—and this shot my husband captured—already made my gratitude journal. (And my mini-me: Nnt so mini.)

These past few weeks, I’ve been doing my best to be deliberate with my actions, be mindful of moment, and to practice patience. Why? Not sure. Just feels right.

I’ve started a gratitude journal, as suggested by Kristin Armstrong on our AMR podcast, and that’s going fairly well: I hit it 4-5 times a week in the early a.m. with 4-5 reasons I’m grateful in each sitting. (Although Kristin does 10 reasons daily, I deliberately picked a small journal, and told myself filling one page is enough.)

My tiny journal, with my fave small Sharpie pen. (Another reason I can only fill a page: can't write on the back with a Sharpie.)

My tiny journal, with my fave small Sharpie pen. (Another reason I can only fill a page: Can’t write on the front and back of the same with a Sharpie.)

On spring break, I read and surfed twice (loved it!) and played endless games of Phase 10 in Mexico, where it’s easy to do all those things when I was surrounded by 12 entertaining family members; when I deliberately left my laptop at home (traveling without it is so light and easy!) and kept my phone in the off position; when the hardest choice of the day was fresh mango or fresh orange juice for breakfast.

I’ve given meditation a try (again). I’ll sit still and quiet for two days in a row, take a week off, then pick it up again. I think, over the course of the 8 or so times I’ve sat still for 13 minutes (the length of my Sharon Salzberg guided meditation), I’ve probably been able to stay focused for maybe five whole breaths. It’s really hard, but as my pal Sharon says, the moment you realize you’ve lost your concentration is the moment you can be better and practice bringing focus back. I’ve had truckloads of getting-better moments.

I’ve been especially patient with my plantar-plate-sprained foot, which is a 3 these days on a scale of 1 (la de da!) and 10 (ambulance, stat!). It isn’t healed, but I’m not sure it’ll ever been fully healed. I’m a 42-year-old mother runner who has been logging miles for over two decades, and as much as I vehemently defend the running-doesn’t-hurt-your-body stance, I also know that stance is predicated on a body that is structurally sound for running. (Truly, running does not give you bad knees unless you’re genetically prediposed to bad knees.) On a great day, my body is about 80% built for running; these days, it feels closer to 65%.

I started with running and walking on the AMR 5K No Limits plan, and over the course of six weeks, I’ve morphed to mostly running. For six weeks, no run went longer than 35 minutes. Until Saturday, when I decided I was ready to hit my favorite Bible Park loop, which I love because I get to run over pedestrian bridges six times, which is my nerdy running nirvana. The loop is a little over 4 miles, and I ran on Saturday for 44 minutes.

My foot didn’t hurt any more than usual, which is to say that it’s needle-like for about five minutes when I start, and flares up a few times randomly during the run. The hurt doesn’t feel like it’s causing more damage; it more like that low-grade whine of kids when they’re sooooo booored, mooooom: Ignore it, and it’ll eventually move on.

Saturday was bliss, but that doesn’t mean I get to repeat the Bible Bridge loop this week, despite how many times the thought breezes through my mind during my “meditation” practice. It means that I get to practice more patience.

A lot of  being deliberate and patient is just being older. I know this because I know if I tried to tell my kids this, they’d just roll their eyes at me, much like I would’ve done so at my mother for, oh, about the last 39 or so years.

The problem with being patient and/or deliberate is that you can’t just leap when the impetus strikes. Yes, immediate gratification is so delicious, but I’ve (finally?) realized the stinky ramifications of that gratification usually ripple through my life for much longer than the high.

Cases in point:
1. Eating an M’n’M blizzard: so yum, then so yuck for hours afterwards.
2. Yelling at my kids: gets them to back down and/or leave me alone, but feels so crappy when the situation has defused.
3. Sleeping in for more than two days in a row (when I’m not sick): yes, the extra drool time is nice, but when I’m lethargic and sad by 10 a.m., I so regret my choice.

Not talking to you, of course. (Always helps to have a sense of humor, right?)

Not talking to you, of course. (Gotta have to have a sense of humor, especially when I’m so earnest, right?)

I had to take my orthotics—long blue waterskis that have these bumps, roughly the size of half of a golf ball, in the middle of them—in for a tune-up on Monday. (I know: you’re bummed I don’t have a picture of them.) Which means I don’t get to run at all until they’re inserted back into my Saucony Triumph ISOs. “We’re really busy,” the receptionist told me, “They may not be ready until Friday.” I started to ask if maybe she could see if they could rush the refinishing job, but then I thought, “Patience, Dimity, patience.” So instead, I said thanks and left the office.

My plan—because even when I’m mindful and patient and deliberate I always have to have a plan—was that I’d run 5 this weekend, and then I’d be ready for six miles at the AMR Retreat on April 18th. We’ll have routes that offer 3, 6 and 9 miles, and I really wanted to be in that mid-range group.  Why? For personal progress reasons, but mostly for ego reasons: I’m co-leading the whole Retreat and I can’t even run 6 miles? Hello, feeling like a Poser. (As long as I’m being honest, I really want to be in the 9-mile group, but that isn’t happening, so I’ll just blow that candle out right now.)

So I ran four miles on Saturday, won’t be able to run all week, and then I’ll  go five this Saturday? Huh. If I were 28, I’d do it. If I had a race in my sight, I’d do it. If I gave in to the immediate gratification of running—the head clearing, the sweat streaming, the rock starring it gives me—I’d do it. If I weren’t in the patient, deliberate place I’m really do my very, very best to inhabit, I’d do it.

But I’m not going to do it. I’m putting that fact out here, so that when Saturday in Little Rock comes, I will run 3. Or maybe 4. Ok, 4.5, max. And then, the next morning, I will take out my tiny gratitude journal, and write how grateful I am that I got to run those miles at all.

#155: Tales from Another Mother Runner Essayist Terzah Becker

Terzah and her family

Terzah and her family!

Sarah and Dimity chat it up with Terzah Becker, a Boulder, Colorado, contributor to the AMR duo’s month-old book, Tales from Another Mother Runner. This twin mom reveals her tenacity and perseverance as she tells about chasing a Boston Marathon qualifying-time in six (6!) marathons. Terzah talks about the difference hiring a coach made for her and the importance of building mental muscle. (Terzah’s advice of having to, “build up your inner optimist and beat down your inner pessimist,” really resonated with Sarah.) Terzah reads from her TAMR essay, and also shares her story of running in the recent Cross-Country Nationals. She recommends, “everyone do something scary like that.” (Semi-spoiler alert: We love Terzah and her attitude!)

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In Her Shoes: Going 26.2 Four Days after Becoming a Mother

Melanie and her boys, who are all smiles after a 5K.

Melanie and her boys, who are all smiles after a 5K.

One section Tales From Another Mother Runner is called In Her Shoes, which is first-person accounts of different running situations and tales. We love running stories as much as—or maybe more than?—running itself, but we had a surplus of In Her Shoes stories…if we put them all in the book, it would’ve been bigger than a dictionary. So we’re going to run these every other Friday for a while.

Melanie took on motherhood and a marathon (and a trans-Pacific flight) within days of each other. 

My husband and I had just flown home from Vietnam to Oregon from picking up Benjamin, our first son. Not only was I a first-time mom, I was also terribly jet-lagged and was sick from some kind of food-borne something or other I picked up overseas. My son was on a Vietnam time schedule, so he was up at night and asleep during the day. I was just exhausted and nauseated. My legs were dead. Nothing felt right.

Still, I thought I could make it through the Portland Marathon. I really wanted to run it because it was the first marathon my sister and I planned to do together. I didn’t want to let her down. Like most new parents, I didn’t realize how exhausting those first few weeks can be. Fundamentally, I thought I was okay.

During the first 13 miles, my sister and I had a great time chatting and laughing, but we went out too fast. Then I started getting nauseous and tired. My sister went ahead. I walked quite a bit and tried not to throw up for the last 13 miles, which is a long time in a marathon.

I chastised myself the whole time. I kept thinking of my son, who was back home with my husband, and how stupid and selfish it was to leave them. When you’re a new mom, you’re kind of eager to be with your baby; I was really, really longing to be home with him.

I didn’t think many happy thoughts during the last part of the race, except that I soon would get to go be with my baby—and that we’d probably be up all night again. I also knew the next morning I’d have to get up and go teach classes at the university. All that stuff was weighing on me. But I didn’t want to quit.

I barely managed to hold it together until the finish line, when I started crying right away. The tears were partly the emotions of being a new mom and being totally messed up in terms of sleep, but they were were also a sign of just how miserable I felt.

—Melanie (Has since run thirty-six more marathons and three ultras—and adopted one more son.)

Have you ever run a race that you knew wasn’t the best idea from the very first step? How did you deal? 

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