#AMRinSaucony: Don’t Think; Just Go, Y’all.
Amy’s April Highlights! A visual!
Amy Blake, our #AMRinSaucony, reflects on April and her favorite saying. ()ne guess as to what it is…) By the way, stay tuned to our #AMRinSaucony channel tomorrow, as we’re hosting a super fun—and easy—contest! Details here on Wednesday!
Okay, I’ll just own up to it right now: I am an introvert. I’m not a huge talker, but my inner dialogue is quite active. I also tend to overthink things. Dwell. Let certain thoughts take up residence in my headspace for longer than they should.
I am especially guilty of over thinking when it comes to running. When I first started running races—this was before there were kids in the picture—planning for and just thinking about the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other occupied a lot of space in my head. I debated clothing to an insufferable degree. I planned and replanned and drove or biked routes for exact mileage. (This was before the magical GPS watch.) I obsessed over shoes. And when should I run? Morning? Afternoon? Night?
When I decided to run my first marathon in 2004, the long run became a crazy all its own. Am I drinking enough? Should I be drinking a sports drink? Are these the right gels? I forgot sunscreen. I remembered sunscreen but now it’s dripping in my eyes. I can already feel these shorts chafing. Is that a rock in my shoe? Why did I wear THIS PAIR of socks? What if I have to take a “comfort break?”
Planning ahead is smart, but obsessing like a crazy person is useless.
Since becoming a mom, I’ve had to relinquish some of that headspace from worrying about running minutia to concentrate on things like functioning as a useful member of society on very little sleep and not peeing my pants when I sneeze. And when it comes to planning runs and training schedules, I’ve had to make one change, one that I think has been a good one, and also happens to be one of my all time fave AMR sayings.
This was the first AMR shirt I bought and was my introduction to the AMR community. I love the simplicity, the lack of room for argument and excuse making, especially when it comes to running.
I’m trying to be less of a head case when it comes to lacing up and getting out the door.
When my husband walks in the door from work and the baby’s just drained the feedbags and the kids are peacefully coexisting? I don’t think. I just go.
See? They can all get along!
WhenI find myself awake earlier than I need to be in the morning (usually because of the baby) and the rest of the day looks iffy for fitting in a run? I don’t think. I just go.
Sometimes there’s an actual beauty to rising and running before the rest of the world.
When I’m at work and it’s noon and I’m losing my mind and know a sweat will save me (and my coworkers)? I don’t think. I just go.
Saucony Ride 7s saving my sanity and Action Wipes saving my co-workers from having to smell me
Having a set of running gear at the ready and the willingness to go at a moment’s notice makes it a little tougher to schedule runs with friends, but at this point in my BAMR life, it’s what I have to do. The good news is that there is rarely time to over think and talk myself out of a run.
Speaking of Just Going, when Jonna Bass Parr asked me if I was interested in coming out to be on Team AMR for the Run + Refresh Retreat, my immediate reaction was ABSOFREAKIN’LUTELY YES, YES, YES. After I calmed down and came back to earth, my mind went into its familiar overdrive. A running retreat? At the time, I could barely string a few miles together. Second, THINK OF THE CHILDREN, especially your four-month-old daughter who relies on your body for daily sustenance. Could I really leave her with my non-lactating husband?
It’s all good, Mom. I’ll be okay. The question is, what about you?
But when I floated the idea to my husband that same day via email, he replied with 100% support. It was mid-morning and he was at work, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t under the influence of an outside substance when he agreed to solo parent for four days.
Before I could convince myself why it would not be exactly practical to leave the baby, or work myself up into a frenzy over what the house would look like when I came back, or if the other kids would solely subsist on Captain Crunch while I was gone, I acted.
Don’t think; just go.
Don’t think, just book the damn plane ticket before your husband comes to his senses.
So I did. And as you can probably guess, Little Rock exceeded my expectations. I spent four incredible days with Team AMR and a group of amazing Mother Runners from all over the world in what was hands down the most beautiful place I’ve ever stayed in my life.
I wish I’d taken more photos of the hotel itself, but I was too busy drooling over spiced pecans.
Refresh
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the bathroom in our gorgeous suite was the huge bathtub. Soaking in a bathtub in peace? In hot water? Without kids clawing at the door? Also not a regular occurrence in my life. The little things like these: I took full advantage. Glorious.
I hydrated with tasty beer from Diamond Bear Brewing. Sitting and enjoying a cold beer is a rare luxury these days as a breastfeeding mama. I embraced the opportunity.
And yes, you’re wondering if this sleep-deprived mama slept? Indeed. There is a luxury to not having to share a bed with other humans and dogs for a few nights.
I did not sleep with toffee; it was part of the hotel turndown service every night.
Learn
I learned than I expected I would. The sessions with Coach Christine, Cassie Dimmick, Sage Rountree, and Trigger Point Therapy were informative, interesting, and quite applicable to where I am in my running life. Long run training and mental toughness? Even though I’ve trained for many marathons, I am talking myself out of success before I’ve hit the halfway point. Nutrition? An area I struggle with. Yoga for Runners? That is EXACTLY the yoga I want and need. Massage therapy? I now know how to use my grid roller, previously housing my son’s wooden toy trains. I’d leave a session and pronounce it my favorite, only to have it trumped by the next one.
Refuel
I ate food. Good food, y’all. Food that wasn’t plain spaghetti or resembling a chicken nugget or packaged in a blue cardboard box. Our Farm to Table dinner at the Dunbar Community Garden was by far one of the most memorable meals I’ve enjoyed.
All the running
And of course, I had to run. To have dedicated time for running and not worry that something in my husband’s work schedule was going to interfere was truly a gift. I embraced it wholeheartedly, possibly pushing the limits a little by the end of the weekend. But here’s the thing: when you have a chance to run with Dimity and there’s a possibility you will even be able to keep up with her? Maybe? It was a chance I could not pass up.
That run, by the way, was the speediest I’ve had in months. It felt so good. (Well, it felt awful, but so good to push the pace a little bit.)
I have a lot of photos of rear ends running away from me, and I apologize; my instinct is to snap a visual souvenir (of the running, not the rear ends). That said, look at the calves on Ariel (dark blue shirt)! Get it, girl. Big Dam Bridge was…big. I hope I have better form than Wall Lady. And I had to snap a selfie with my running buddies from Friday morning’s group run.
This was a completely new experience for me, and as I told one of my roommates (the fabulous Denise Dollar!) upon arriving, I was completely out of my element. When I started to unpack at the hotel, I was on the verge of tears. I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was the grandiosity of the place, the realization I was so far away from my kids, and that I was going to have to really step out of my social comfort zone. But as this Mother Runner community is known to do, I felt completely welcome and supported. I am overflowing with gratitude to the AMR family.
Another Mother Runner, Y’all!
A Saucony Vizi-Glo Heart of Running Love. I heart you, Sarah and Dimity.
I came home from Little Rock with 51 new BAMR friends and a renewed enthusiasm for running. My legs are lighter, and my heart is full. I’m finding my Strong with every run—and strength workout, Dimity!
Most of all, I was reminded that running is truly a gift we are all so fortunate to have. I’m excited for the upcoming summer running season and putting into practice everything I’ve learned about running, nutrition, and training. And sharing some of what I’ve learned with you too, of course.
Speaking of May, I’ll be lining up in Corral D for the Cellcom Half Marathon this month in Green Bay, WI. No goal time, no lofty expectations, no apologies if I have to walk a little. If you’re going to be at the race, let me know! I’d love to meet up with some fellow BAMRs.
Martini Fridays: So about that race …
Spoiler alert: I finished the Pittsburgh Half Marathon last Sunday. That was about the only part of the race that went according to plan.
The night before the race, however, was all I’d hoped for. Twenty mother runners gathered at Bravo in the North Hills for pasta and pizza and beer. There was a metric ton of laughing. There were some nerves because a couple of mother runners were tackling new-for-them distances and just a smidge anxious — and there were experienced hands to help them focus their nerves. This Tribe is a force for good, you know?
There were too many BAMRS at the table to get a decent picture of them all. This bunch, however, raced Ragnar Napa and reunited in da ‘burgh. I’m assuming it felt so good.
Four of us discovered that we all went to the same very small liberal arts college, which is something that has never ever happened to me before. This only cements my theory that Allegheny College grads secretly run the world. No worries, though. We are a force for good, too.
Even race morning unfolded as I’d hoped. The night before I’d laid out all of my gear, including an Immodium, and bottled up a cold coffee and a bagel for my quick drive to the race. At 4:30 a.m., I woke up, tumbled into my clothes, grabbed all of my bags — why does running long distances require so.many.bags?— and found $2 on the sidewalk as I walked to my car. I took it as a sign of good fortune to come. Or, at least, enough cash for a bus ticket back from the 8-mile mark, which is where my personal wheels tend to fly right off.
Flat Adrienne the night before the race.
The nice thing about doing the same race twice is that you have a routine. I parked in the same lot on the North Shore and took the T to Corral D, the corral of reasonable expectations. Since I know the drill, I settled in for at least an hour’s wait pressed up against several thousand other runners. I chit-chatted. I thought about how incredibly well organized this race is. I took selfies. I thought about punching the overly excited race MC in a the throat because that much energy at 6 a.m. needs to be punished. I found the 2:30 pace group and planned to keep them in view and, maybe, just maybe, pass them at the end.
This is known as foreshadowing.
The gun went off. I started my Garmin. Because I didn’t want to go out too fast and find that people talking to me helps slow my roll, I started the most recent AMR podcast, the one with Jonna and SBS talking about marathon training. Maybe a marathon next, I thought. That’s a thing I could do.
It took me the longest time to realize that the “Adrienne” on the sign did, in fact, refer to me. Race brain is real.
The first four miles went well. I kept the pace group in sight and even passed them a few times. I was right in my goal pace of 11:30. It was challenging but not awful, maybe a 3 out of 5, with 5 being “please let me die so that I can stop doing this.” What was most bothersome was that I was starving and wishing I’d eaten the second half of my bagel. And then mile 5 started. And I hit the real hills. And the sun came out.
One of the many downsides of training for a spring half in when you live in the frozen Northeastern tundra is that your body has no idea what to with a warm spring day. Mine dealt with it by freaking the freak out.
I spent the next few miles pushing to keep my pace but losing time. I also spent some quality time wondering what my last Gu would look like when it came back up because it was threatening to. I cursed myself for not running with my own water, which I know I should do but don’t do when I know there will be water stops. I kept running, mind, but dropped from 11:30 miles to 12:40, then to 13:20s. By mile nine, I knew that 2:30 half was *not* going to happen. I was positive I could still reach my B goal, which was to beat last year’s 2:48.
There’s that foreshadowing again.
Once I let my A goal go, I decided to just soak in the run. I stopped to take pictures. I read all of the signs, including one that made me laugh because it featured a quote from NCIS, my guilty pleasure TV show. (For my fellow Gibbs’ Rules Lovers, it was #11.) I decided that the spectators in the South Side are the best, mostly because they are all pleasantly drunk. There was a guy handing out full cans of beer, which seemed like overkill, and a woman handing out wine in little communion cups, which seemed like genius. I found a nickel, too, but didn’t stop to pick it up because by the time my overheated brain processed that what I’d seen was a nickel, it was too far to backtrack.
A runner I’d met in Philly said hi as she passed me. We spent the next ten minutes passing each other and talking in short bursts. “This is hard. I didn’t know it would be this hilly,” she said. I told her there were only two more big hills, then it would be smooth sailing.
Sorry that I lied to you, Philly runner. I meant well. I’m still not sure what race I was thinking of because there were a lot more than two big hills on the way to the finish and there wasn’t any smooth sailing.
Somewhere in Mile 11, Julie, a friend from both high school and college, caught up with me. She was struggling, too, and we made a silent agreement to slog on together. Buddying up with Julie is also how I got through my high school statistics class — but that is a different (but almost as sweaty) story.
VICTORY! (sort of, if you redefine your terms.)
Because stubborness can be a virtue, we ran the last 3/4 mile to the finish, which ought to count for bonus points. What should also count for bonus points is finishing in the first place. Of the four half marathons I’ve run, this one was by far the hardest. Crossing that last timing mat felt like victory, even though I was a full two minutes slower than I was last year.
The recovery from this race might prove how rough it was: I’m still gimpy and sore four days later. Improving, yes, but not back to my usual zippy and sardonic self. And, yet, Julie and I have both committed to running it again next year.
I won’t take stats again, though. No matter how firmly you ask.
So what’s next? Well …. part of the reason I’m not completely distraught about my time on this race is that I’ve already paid for my next one: July 11’s Old Port Half Marathon in Portland, Maine, where I’ll be running with the BAMR in charge of the 2:30 pace group. Come join us, if you’d like.
Is signing up for your next race part of your process for overcoming disappointment? If not, what is?
Tales From Another Mother Runner Thursday: Katie Arnold
On today’s Tales From Another Mother Runner Thursday profiling Katie Arnold, a mom of two girls who lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
My running history: I’ve been a runner my whole life. I ran my first 10K when I was 7, started trail running in college a zillion years ago, and took up ultra running in 2012.
My writing history: I’ve been an editor and writer with Outside Magazine for almost 20 years (gulp–I started when I was 10, child prodigy!). I created and write the Raising Rippers column on Outside Online, about bringing up adventurous children. And I’m working on my first book, a memoir about ultra running as a path through the grief of losing my father.
“A Speck Through Space” is: a story about experiencing the transformative power of ultra running for the first time. I was running my first 50- mile race, filled with doubt and fear, much of which had accumulated in recent years after the death of my father. As I ran, I felt my mind and all its whirring, relentless thoughts and anxieties recede, and I became merely a body running, absorbing all the astounding details around me. I could tell something deep had shifted inside of me and I would never again be the same.
My elevator pitch for ultra-running: When you go long and far through the wilderness on your own two feet, it’s like traveling without leaving town. You travel through space but also into your own heart and mind. It’s a kind of prolonged meditation, with moments of agony and many, many moments of ecstasy and, almost always, a deep, rare presence. Ultra running is my way to be wild and still be home for dinner.
Recent memorable run: In late April, I competed in my first race since breaking my knee in the fall. This was the 10K in Virginia, near my father’s farm, that had been my first race and that I went on to race for many years during my childhood. This time, I brought my daughter, who is six, and she ran her first race, and first 10K. My stepmother also ran her first 10K in more than 30 years. My daughter was the youngest finisher, in 1:38 (I was blown away by her stamina and determination—I know how far 10K feels when you are that small!), my stepmother won her 70+ age group, and I won the women’s overall. As a family, we were presentd the family award for three generations of runners with a long history at the Fodderstack 10.
Recent horrible run: After I broke my knee mid-strike, in a freak muscle spasm while running, I have a new benchmark for horrible runs and a new appreciation for being able to run, period. Nothing recent comes remotely close to that, thank God.
Next up on my running calendar: I hope to train up for a 50K in late June, on my way back to another 100K in the fall and, I hope, my first 100 miler in January 2016.
A Break in the System—or Ankle
Hillary, one of my new BRF’s I made just minutes before.
“Spokane run. Met Hillary. Dramatic finish.”
That’s what I wrote on Strava for my May 1 run. What I didn’t reveal: I fractured my right ankle in two places at the end of the workout.
It was an idiotic, completely avoidable accident at the end of a delightful run. Before I get to the make-me-sob details, let me dwell on the positive points of the run first: Jonna (part of Team AMR and a guest on our most recent podcast) and I were in Spokane, Washington, to work a race expo and scout the city as the base for our fall AMR Retreat.
Also a friend, but not of the BRF kind.
We set out for a long run along the lovely Centennial Trail that hugs the banks of the Spokane River. It was an ideal day for a run: The sun was shining brightly but the air held a slight crispness. We stopped often to snap photos to be used later to entice mother runners (like you!) to our next Retreat. Silly photos, like the duo of marmots we encountered on the riverside, and scenic ones of us on one of the several pedestrian bridges across the tranquil river.
Perusing a mounted trail map near mile 3, we gave directions to a woman runner sporting a sassy “Suck it up, Buttercup” tank top. By the time Strava announced Jonna and I had run four miles, “Buttercup” was about 25 yards ahead of us. She turned around, and we fell into stride as she told us she was doing half-mile repeats at 8:35 pace. Despite having told Jonna we’d be going at a 10:00-ish pace, I eagerly told her we’d pace with her.
Turns out Buttercup is a mom of three from Missoula, Montana named Hillary who is training for her first half-marathon after the birth of her nearly one-year-old youngest son. We fell into easy conversation: Hillary had read Run Like a Mother, and she also admires the non-profit work of Christy Turlington Burns.
Rumor has it, if you kiss a moose in Spokane, you can run a sub 4-hour marathon.
The photo opps continued, including when we approached a massive (read: two stories tall) red wagon with a metal slide dropping down from it. Sprinklers shot streams of water on the grass area and the slide. Jonna exuberantly suggested I go down the slide for a photo, and I eagerly trotted up the ladder at the back of the wagon.
Almost immediately, I realized I was going way, way, WAY too fast down the slide. With no railing to grip to slow or stop by descent, I heard warning alarms go off in my brain, telling me to not hit my butt, back, or head. I kept my feet out in front of me and prepared myself to propel forward upon impact.
My plan proceeded exactly as planned….except for the loud “snap” I heard with my ears and within my body. As I was throwing my body forward toward the ground, I shrieked, “I broke my ankle!”
This is the part where I get nauseated replaying the scene in my head, so I’m going to freezeframe with me sprawled on the wet ground, thinking, “NO! NO! NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!”
Now truly a BRF, Hillary waits with me before I head to the ER.
But it was, and it did. At the emergency room, as I tried to stop shivering from anxiety, fright, and regret, the physician assistant informed me I have a fracture on either side of my right ankle. He told me I’d need surgery, but that fractures like this usually heal fairly fast. I’ll know more after I meet with a surgeon here in Portland (which I’m doing after I type this post).
Here’s a shocker: I cry a lot when I talk about this incident and its aftermath. The inconvenience to my husband and children. The inability to drive, cook, head to the basement to do laundry (or fill AMR store orders), and othe daily tasks. The costs not covered by our insurance. The idea I might not be able to take my kids to my aging parents’ house for a visit in June as planned. The fact I can’t join Dimity on our Midwest book tour events.
And, perhaps most of all: the fact I can’t run. With Molly. Outdoors. My 9-year-old son, John, summed it all up yesterday. I had started to cry a little bit (a frequent occurrence these past few days), and John’s twin asked why I was crying. He said, “Mom’s sad because she can’t play outside.”
Exactly.
We’ll give you an update when I have it. Hoping for surgery this week. For now, I’m staying off social media, including a lot of email, because it only makes me cry. Thanks for your support and understanding.