#170: Prehab, Not Rehab: The Secrets to Unlocking Your Body
Cheers! Amanda Johnson (2nd from right, next to SBS, with Dim at far left) of TriggerPoint taking part of the AMR Retreat festivities in April.
Dimity and Sarah are joined by Amanda Johnson, the marketing manager at TriggerPoint Performance Therapy (a.k.a. the company that makes the brilliant GRID foam roller), who explains the benefits of therapeutic self-care, such as foam rolling. The ladies talk about empowerment and the power of taking care of the body from the ground up, to both avoid and overcome injury. Amanda admits there’s an ideal amount of time to do “prehab,” and a realistic amount (phew!). Learn how to unlock the “padlock” to help tissue become more mobile, and find out how releasing tight muscles and fascia was like a Dr. Seuss book for Dimity. After listening, try to work the phrase, “mashing into that devil” into a sentence!
If you want to take a look at the instructional videos Amanda mentions in podcast, including a new GRID foam rolling series, head over here. To access the free GRID videos (which are available on mobile devices as well–handy!), you simply need to create a login to access the content. The rest of the instructional library can be viewed by entering a unique code you’ll receive when you purchase a new kit of TriggerPoint tools.
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Martini Fridays: Nope.
To make your morning as suspense-free as possible, I not only did NOT hit my goal time of 2:30, I also did NOT hit my (revised at mile three) goal time of 2:40. I did, however, finish the dang Old Port Half Marathon, which was NOT a given around mile 8 or so.
And, yeah, I’m pretty bummed.
The night before the race went as perfectly as it could have. I hooked up with BAMR Lisa, we picked up our bibs, and had pasta for dinner. I visualized a strong race and turned off my reading light at a reasonable hour.
Flat Adrienne is ready.
We were up at 5:15 a.m. While Lisa TCB in the bathroom, I noticed that the sun was already up. Oh, dear, I thought. That isn’t ideal. I doubled-down on my visualizations and pulled on all of my gear. I slurped down coffee and a dry bagel on the way to the car.
Oh, dear, I thought, as I realized sweat was already running down my back just from our short stroll from parking lot to starting corral. This is really not ideal. And then I might have quietly panicked a little bit, because the sun is the Voldemort to my Hermione Grainger, who is my favorite hero if only because we have the same hair.
The race started.
I stuck with pacer (and BAMR) Erica for the first two miles and felt pretty good. This will all be OK, I thought, no matter what Voldesun decides to do. I slowed down just a smidgen when we went up the first hill. Herr Garmin said I was clocking an 11:08 mile and that felt waaaaay too fast. They’ll slow down and I’ll speed up once I catch my breath, I thought. No worries.
BAMR Lisa and I wait by the water for the start.
Only it was then that my brain realized how hot I was and how thirsty. I sucked down a GU and some water, which immediately then felt like it was going to come right back up. I slowed down to see if I was going to barf, and in slowing down, knocked the wheels right off of my race.
Around mile 6, I decided I hated running and races and all of the folks on their lawns offering encouragement. By mile 8, which is when the course makes a four-mile loop around the back cove, where there is almost no cover or breeze, I’d started just taking cups of water at stops so that I could dump them over my head and down my shirt. Every half mile or so, I’d break out in a cold sweat, feel like I was going to barf again, and wonder if this is what heat stroke feels like.
This was the closest I’ve ever come to just lying down and whimpering “nope” while all the other runners stepped over me. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so dispirited or felt so empty.
The Back Cove is the blue circular bit. It was decidedly un-fun. Scenic, though.
And, yet, I didn’t. Some of this is because Lisa wouldn’t have let me, unless I really was on the brink of death, which I suspect she could figure out because she is a nurse in her non-running life. Some of it was because the RaceJoy app allowed my husband to send “cheers,” which were little sound files that went straight to my earbuds and made me smile. Some of it was knowing how much support all the BAMRs have given me, including a BAMR that we’d met in the parking lot who was about to run her second half. It’s humbling to be a part of this community.
But, really, what got me through was a runner behind me who seemed to be having as lousy a time as I was. We kept passing each other during the last five miles. At one point, just under her breath, she muttered, “I’m just so angry that this race isn’t over yet.”
Me, too, sister. I thought. I, too, am filled with rage because I’m still out here, still running, still nowhere near the end, still imperfect. Anger, it turns out, can be one hell of a motivator.
So I finished the damn race — even though the temptation to join a yoga class that had convened on the beach just past mile 12 was greater than I can describe. Not because I wanted to do a down dog but because corpse pose right then would have been amazing.
Around the last turn I saw my husband, kids, dog, pacer Erica, and Quinn, one of my college friends who now lives near Bath. Lisa, Erica, Quinn, and my daughter Maddy ran the last bit with me. They claim it couldn’t have been more than 400 yards, I swear it was about 40 miles. I collected my medal and a bottle of water. Maddy had woven a clover flower chain while waiting for me to lurch into sight and placed it over my head, which was worth more than the medal, if less durable.
It’s a bummer. I feel like I let the team down, even though I know this team supports me no matter what. I feel like I let myself down, too — but I also know that Wineglass is in a) October in b) Upstate New York and c) is largely downhill. There is always another opportunity. Coach Christine is devising a plan and, on the whole, my failure-to-success ratio, with “success” defined as “finishing,” remains high.
On the upside, I got to run with Erica and Lisa, who are full of grit and moxie.
I never did get that pie, because the barfiness took a good long time to pass. But next time, there shall be pie.
My daughter’s flower chain was worth more to me than the medal. What is your personal running-related prize?
Three Things Thursday: How to Tell You’re Properly Hydrated
This excited runner needs to dial back the fluids just a bit, as you want a faint yellow tinge to your urine rather than aiming for it to be completely clear. (But, hey, this meme made us chuckle!)
With this post, we’re kicking off an occasional new column called Three Things Thursday. We’ll cover a range of topics to enlighten and inform your running in short, easily digestible chunks. (Think of this column as GU Energy Chews in written format!)
Being properly hydrated can mean the difference between a run that ends in fist pumps and one that ends in speed bumps. (Sorry, just had to get that rhyme in there!) Seriously, though: Studies have found athletic performance suffers greatly if your body is in need of fluid–or if it’s too flush with it. Here are three ways to tell you’ve got the balance right:
Your pee resembles Crystal Light Lemonade.
Envision your urine on a color wheel: If it’s clear, your body has more H2O than it can use; if it’s at the other end of the spectrum, reminiscent of Big Bird or a glass of Chardonnay, you need to reach for some Nuun or water. Experts describe the ideal urine color as, “clear with a tinge of yellow.”
You get up to pee once a night.
While we all value a good night’s sleep, your bladder should waken you in the middle of the night, demanding you to empty it. Your body secretes a hormone that limits urine production but a well-hydrated, active mother runner should drink enough to not be able to snooze for around eight uninterrupted hours.
Had to demo the pinch-test, if for no other reason than to showcase how perfectly my manicure coordinates with the numbers on our 13.1 sweatshirt!
Your skin lacks elasticity.
Try this simple on-the-go test to see if you need to quaff more fluids: Pinch a roll of skin on the back of your hand, using the thumb and forefinger of your other hand, then release it. If your pinched skin bounces back within a few seconds, you’re good. But if the skin stays pitched like a tent or takes its sweet time easing back into place, drink up.
For a tasty, 20% discount on our favorite hydrator, Nuun, use code amrnuun at Nuun website.
One #FindYourStrong Marathon, Two Voices: 1st Trimester Recap
As they prepare for the Wineglass Marathon on October 4 using the AMR #FindYourStrong Marathon Challenge, Heather and Marianne, two long-distance BRFs taking on their first marathon, are sharing their experiences–and miles–weekly. Find all their posts here.
If the #FindYourStrong marathon training plan is a pregnancy, we’ve just cleared the first trimester. Six weeks are complete with 12 to go. (So, no, it’s not really like pregnancy…just go with us here.)
The first trimester is when some people growing a human decide it is safe enough to go public. Obviously, we let the cat out of the bag much sooner than that. Dimity warned us recently that we could be in for some Character Building Workouts (CBW) in the second trimester because they are prone to show up “when you’re in the middle third of a training plan and the initial glee of following a schedule has worn off but the race—and fitness rewards—aren’t close enough to taste.” So we are taking time to recap of how things are going before that settles in too far:
Marianne’s Paper Schedule
Total Miles
Heather: 152.5 miles
Marianne: 158 miles
Total on the Feet Time
Heather: 23 hours, 50 minutes
Marianne: 29 hours
Number of Runs
Heather: 25
Marianne: 26 (how appropriate!)
Average Pace Per Mile
Heather: Overall, Cool Running tells me I’m at 9:22. I’m trying to keep my tempos between 8:00 and 8:25 and my long runs between 9:07 and 10:30.
Marianne My average is probably something starting with an 11. And slowing down, on average, with every week. Sometimes Strava makes miles too short so I appear speedier than I know that I am. I’ve gone as fast as 9 for some tempos and as slow as 13 for some extra humid negative split slow paces.
Waterfalls, open roads, and friends make for a great run.
Best 2 Runs
Heather
It feels a little like cheating to list my 2 most recent runs, but that’s what I’m going to do anyway.
- Last Thursday I woke up at 5am to get in my 15-miler before work. That alone made me feel pretty badass. I did the first 10 miles solo, including a stint in a downpour, then met up with a friend for the last 5. (I highly recommend lining up a pal to bring you home on those long runs – it was awesome.) I had been dreading a particular hill at the very end of the run. I hadn’t tried it in months, but I used to run it frequently and it kicked my butt every time, often forcing me to walk. Apparently all this training is paying off though, because I breezed up it almost without noticing. It was definitely a highlight.
- That long run took place on a weekday to free up this past Saturday for a 5k race. Between the name of the race (Run For the Hills) and the fact that I’ve been concentrating on distance, not speed, I wasn’t expecting to PR. But I did, at 23:46 (8 seconds down from my previous record.) And based on how not tired I was the rest of the day, I probably should have run harder. It felt fantastic to uncork my legs and was also exciting to know that the distance work is also helping my speed.
Marianne:
- It’s a tough call but I’m going with an easy 6 I did with my friend Meg (pictured above) while at her house in the Fingerlakes. Great to run on different terrain and reunite with an old running pal; we used to run together in Philly on Forbidden Drive.
- The week 6 long run (15 miles) went really well even though I was dreading it the night before. I turned off the Strava voice, plotted a route before I left home and ran only by feel. Depending on whose map you use, I ran between an 11 and 11:24 average mile and felt good for the vast majority especially the last few. That run boosted my confidence to add more mileage in July.
Excited to let out some speed in the Run For the Hills 5k!
Worst Run
Heather: A mid-June run that was supposed to be an “easy 4 miles.” I got it done, but it was not easy. My legs felt like they’d been dipped in concrete and the humidity was high, sucking every last ounce of energy I had. Sometimes I think the “easy” runs are the worst, because they’re never as easy as I think they’ll be.
Marianne: W5 Tempo run of 1 mile warm up, 1.5 mile tempo/.5 easy x 2, 1 mile cool down. Thankfully, the CBW article had come out that morning so I at least had a word for it (although a four-letter-one would be more appropriate). It was so humid. My body did not want to go fast, nor had I asked it to for a while. I spent most of those 3 speedier miles telling myself, just get through this. Just get through this. Usually I would’ve felt great to hear I was running around a 9mm but that day I just felt annoyed I was at that hard pace at all. But I will say that I think it somehow made that week’s long run a lot more pleasant. So it was a worth it worst.
Biggest surprise(s)
Heather:
- How challenging 9:30 miles can feel. Prior to training I was really concerned about my ability to slow down. When left to my own devices (or, more appropriately, when left without any devices) I tended to settle into an 8:20 pace. So a long run goal pace of 10:00 sounded glacial to me. As it happens, keeping a 10:00 pace over 15 miles is plenty challenging, thankyouverymuch. These days I’m freaking out about what 26.2 will feel like at my goal pace of 9:05.
- Just how bad a cell phone armband can smell.
Marianne: I cannot believe I can run 3 days in a row and feel fine. It feels freeing. And encouraging.
Seriously, does anyone know how to make that armband stink less? Will washing it destroy its waterproofing powers?
Injury status
Heather: My left hip has been a little cranky over the past week; it complains when I walk. Thankfully, the pain lessens when I run, but it still has me a bit nervous. I’ve been foam rolling the bejeezus out of it, and stretching my psoas muscle seems to help, too.
To even things out, I bit it while messing around with a Waveboard on our driveway Sunday afternoon. My right wrist and hip took the brunt of the fall. I’m crossing my fingers that I just end up with a gnarly bruise.
Marianne: So far so good. No pain to speak of. The stretching/icing/rolling routine and taking slow paces VERY SERIOUSLY seems to be keeping everything in check.
#Found Change
Heather: 10 cents. It’s the only money I’ve ever found on a run and I found it on a tough 14-miler. It was like a small, silver glimmer of hope lying on the pavement. (Side note: the night before writing this, I dreamed I found 5 quarters. Anyone want to interpret?)
Marianne: None. Not just these past 6 weeks but ever. But I did pick up two empty pbr cans on my walk home from the 4th of July town 5k. So they made for a nice pairing with my medal that everyone got. Pseudo blue ribbons abounded!
Henry demonstrates a new foam rolling technique
Goals for Second Trimester
Heather: Remain injury-free. This will likely mean more stretching and rolling than I’ve been doing, and perhaps venturing into the scary territory of ice baths.
Marianne: I must get more strength training and yoga in somehow even if just planks and pushups while stretching.
Traning in One Word
Heather: Empowering. I feel strong and capable. The structure is freeing, and I love being part of this incredible community.
Marianne: Manageable. Both on a local and global scale.
For all of you other mother runners out there also in training: how’s it going?
The Power of Movement—or How to Stop Focusing on Your Flaws
Promise, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than how much I appreciated my body here.
Today’s post is one I wrote in 2012 for Skirt Sports; they were doing a series about what a feminine athlete looks like. I’m reposting it because I’m headed to Skirt Sports HQ in Boulder this Wednesday, the 15th, to give a talk—and chat—about how to be a badass mother runner. Want to join? Here is the information.
For much of my childhood—and by childhood, I mean until I was old enough to vote—I was like a newborn foal. Unsure of my gangly limbs, I wasn’t entirely clear how to move my whole body forward without ending up face-first in the grass.
I was just a few ligaments beyond total spaghetti for arms and legs, but my taller-than-average body was freakishly strong. I hugged my second-grade buddies on the playground until they gasped that their ribs were going to break. The principal complimented my firm handshake when I was in the fourth grade. The only time I was picked first in gym class was when we played “Red Rover”; the captains knew my grip rivaled SuperGlue.
Unfortunately, as the Rolling Stones taught me in eighth grade, you can’t always have what you want. I didn’t want to be the tall, strong one. I wanted to look like the girls in Seventeen magazine, who looked so perfect and desirable in their lavender taffeta prom dresses. I wanted to be able throw myself up into a perfect handstand and hold it, like my gymnastics friends could. I wanted to feel compact and feminine, and I projected that yearning with every slouched step I took.
Then I picked up an oar in college. As blisters formed on my hands as I learned to row, I didn’t hate my strength so much. Finally, my muscles weren’t something that made me the exception; cut calves and bulging biceps and pride in what your muscles could do was the rule in our boat. As my quads grew with every stroke, so did my belief in myself. Yep, I was the 6’3” girl who could probably take you down, and damn if I wasn’t a little cocky—a totally novel feeling for me—as I walked around regattas.
Here’s the thing I learned: as sports hone your quads and biceps and lats, they also flex your confidence. As you push through physical barriers, you start to see yourself in ways that weren’t conceivable before. Your body, previously an object that was either good (when it conformed to societal expectations) or bad (when it didn’t) is so much more complex now. As you move, strive, push, hurt, win and lose, your body becomes a vehicle for your pride, spirit, ambition, humility, and purpose. I learned that as an athlete, you celebrate your body much more than you judge it. You revel in its might, you tend to its weaknesses, you dwell much less than you used to on its flaws.
The beauty of the transformation from hoping-I-was-something-different to complete acceptance is that your mentality can never go back to the former. These days when I’m longing for the 39-year-old’s version of a taffeta prom dress, I know that I just need to move. As soon as I break a sweat, I stop wishing for something I’m not and appreciate all the strength I have.
#169: A Conversation with a Shoe-and-Stride Expert
Spencer White in the Saucony Lab
Sarah and Dimity welcome on Spencer White, the veep of the Saucony Human Performance & Innovation Lab, to talk shoes and stride. After a quick geek-out, the dialog quickly turns advice on how to make running feel joyful and effortless. (Really!) A bit later on, you’ll find yourself standing on one leg and flexing one knee as Spencer talks about the biomechanics of running. (No advanced degree necessary to comprehend.) He goes over the appropriate time to consider changing your running stride, if ever. Finally, Spencer’s shoe-buying tips could save you from a future injury.
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