Martini Fridays: Sure, I guess.
As I write this, I’m three days out from the Old Port Half Marathon, which I intend to PR in. Depending on when you read this, I could be on my way to Maine, having a panic attack at the starting line, trying not to barf and/or lie down at mile 8, or enjoying a post-race pie. Not a slice of pie, mind you. A whole pie. The flavor is TBD.
All stickered-up and ready to go.
So the question folks like Coach Christine, acupuncturist Laura, various local friends, and online runner buddies like Lisa and Erica keep asking is: are you ready? Note that I didn’t mention my kids in that list. Their primary question on this day and every other day since they were capable of speech is: what’s for dinner? And my beloved spouse doesn’t ask because he knows the answer already, which is, “Sure, I guess. Why not?” because this is my standard response to questions that require a much longer answer than I’m certain the asker really wants to sit through.
Am I ready to run a 2:30 half-marathon? Sure, I guess. Why not? I’ve hit 90 percent of my paces and distances during training runs. The exception would be my last long run Saturday before last, where I had to run 13-14 miles with the last two at race pace of 11:22. The distance I accomplished — it was almost 14 by the time I got home — but I only managed one of those miles at race pace. After clocking a blistering (for me) 11:20 pace in mile 11, I stopped to take on some water and never could get back up to that zippy speed. Still, I count it as a training win, if only because it was a complete confidence boost to be able to move that quickly that late in a double-digit run.
Back from the long run, in my Saucony top that keeps the cars from hitting me.
As for the other 12+ miles of my long run, eh. They were fine. I had GUs of many flavors and podcasts of many types. The hills near my house made the first five miles a slog but were a great afterburner for the next five. The weather wasn’t too hot or humid and the rain held off. Don’t get me wrong — it was a push to run that far but it could have been much worse.
So, yes, in terms of my physical running engine, such as it is, I think I’m as ready as I can be.
The larger issue, however, may be my brain. It has long been the weakest link in this whole three-year running adventure.
I was not an athletic kid, nor was I an athletic teen or young adult or adult-adult. I’ve never been a big fan of “outside.” My only sport could be “competitive reading,” if such a competition existed. I read like Shalane Flanagan runs: long, hard, and fast.
…that’s what she said.
But can she sit on her heinie and read for eight hours?
But when it comes to any vaguely athletic endeavor, I’ve got nothing to draw from to feed my mental game. I didn’t have all of those formative years as a kid where I had to dig deep and trust my body to do what it had been trained to do. I don’t know how to compartmentalize physical suffering in order to achieve a larger goal. I don’t have that drive to win or the innate need to “leave it all on the field.” In fact, that just sounds messy and unpleasant, especially when I could just go back home and crack open a book.
When the running gets to the point when I have to choose to surrender to being physically uncomfortable in order to reach a goal, I tend, simply, to panic and slow down. As a late-onset athlete, pushing past my comfort-zone is a hard sell, especially in the middle of a half-marathon and especially when I’m not in the lead pack. Or, even, a pack that can see the lead pack.
I don’t know how to train that part of my brain. While past success with four previous half-marathons lead me to believe that I’ll cross the finish line eventually unless my feet fall off, those same previous races all contained a moment where I fell off of my goal pace and never bothered to push to see if I could get it back. The closest I’ve come was a 2:32 in Syracuse last fall and only hit that because a) the course could not have been flatter or the weather more ideal and b) running buddy Lisa wouldn’t let me slack off. And, yes, that is the same Lisa I’ll be running with on Saturday.
Even if I rely on someone else to push me harder than I want to go, like BAMR and pacer Erica who already has a handful of motivating phrases ready to go, my brain still isn’t sure that such a pace is possible because I’ve never run it before. And, of course, I haven’t run it before because my brain doesn’t believe that such a pace is possible. You can see the problem here.
So am I ready? Sure, I guess. Why not? I’ll let you know how it goes.
If you take actual sports out of the discussion, what would your “sport” be?
Throwback Thursday: Sisterhood of the Traveling Feet
Chat-chat-chat: Miles melt while talking
Love this gem, which SBS wrote in June 2010, just three months after Run Like a Mother was released.
I went on my first-ever big-group run last weekend. Yet amidst the crowd, one woman and I forged a special bond. J. and I had never met before, yet by the end, we both agreed we were destined to meet. We divulged more in our seven miles together than some women might share in a year of coffee get-togethers and happy hours.
The catalyst? Me admitting our twins were conceived by in vitro fertilization (IVF). Turns out she is about to start a cycle of IVF in three weeks, not long after she runs a marathon on July 4. She and I were going along at a relaxed pace, yet when I told her about undergoing IVF, a perceptible weight fell off her shoulders. She turned to me and exclaimed, “I’m about to do that, and I’ve never met anyone it worked for!” We’d had an easy back-and-forth up to that point, but my admission opened the floodgates. A torrent of words poured back and forth between us. Her admitting her fears and concerns, and me honestly recounting my experiences.
I told her how I didn’t let the daily injections rule the rest of my life: Like a rough patch during a run, I told myself they were only a small part of my day, and I could get through it. How the ordeal seemed a lifetime ago, despite my twins not yet turning 5. About the incredible power of acupuncture, both leading up to treatment and on the day of the embryo transfer. (J. was so amazed, she said she was going to make an appointment for the very next day!) And about the therapeutic value of a wry sense of humor.
While I’m not embarrassed or private about having done IVF to get our second (and third!) children, it’s usually not something that comes up within the first hour of meeting someone. Yet as our feet smack-smack-smacked the pavement, artificial reproduction seemed like the most natural thing in the world to talk about. At the end of the run, I signed a copy of Run Like a Mother for her (I’m confident J. will become a mother before too long), and we shared a sweaty hug. Going into the group run, my intention was to mingle to spread the RLAM word. Instead of meeting dozens of runners, I felt fulfilled by a single bond.
One #FindYourStrong Marathon, Two Voices: Enough (Part I)
Seneca Lake, which is close to the route for the Wineglass Marathon.
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.
This week, Marianne is taking on a word that seems to often lead to stress or guilt or uncertainty: ENOUGH. (Heather will take it on in a future post.) Why Enough? It has been popping up in our conversations around running and life in general; we figured it might be an issue for some of you as well.
The hardest part about writing this post is deciding which ways I want to discuss enough.
Should I talk about feeling like one child is/is not enough?
Perhaps about how many publications on basic memory research are enough for me to consider myself a solid scientist?
Or whether or not I’m already over-committed when the semester hasn’t started yet because I get excited about new ideas rather than saying I’m doing enough?
Or just how many activities are enough for a weekend?
A clear sign you might need to work on the concept of enough is when your other bff, Gina, gives you the book The Power of a Positive No for a birthday present.
I’d like to say I’ve already read it; if reading the intro counts, that’s a little bit true. But finishing it is still on my list of things I want to achieve before the fall semester begins.
But I can’t say no to running.
For a long time, I would describe myself with phrases like “I run” or “I run slowly” or “I run but it’s really just for the social aspect.” I rarely called myself a runner as a noun because somehow I didn’t have enough of something that I couldn’t articulate (speed? commitment? medals?). This was my language, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary including:
- Waking up at 5:30 am or earlier to run.
- Running when the temperature is in the teens. Or, these days, even when the temperature starts with an 8.
- Owning more running clothing and accessories than any other category of clothes in my closet.
- Having done enough races to have pre- and post-baby PR’s in a few distances.
And if calling myself a runner wasn’t hard enough, there was the idea of using the word athlete as a descriptor that was so implausible I actually worked with a wellness coach to embrace the term.
Somewhere around 2013, after years of consistent running, I was okay with calling myself a runner but to me athlete signified ambitious goals, greater proficiency, and a different body. Doing my first triathlon finally convinced me otherwise. The announcer described us (accurately) as triathletes. Not just single athletes, but tri-athletes. That was enough for me to stop with the “do I do enough for it to count?” mind game.
I do.
The other enough on my mind comes from the two-year anniversary of my mother’s death on July 8th. She entered the hospital where she would eventually die on July 1st. Needless to say, the first week of July is hard for me.
However, I was extraordinarily lucky to be able to be with her for several of those days, including until just minutes before her death. We had enough time to talk including her assuring me that she was not afraid to die, a tidbit that has come in handy on many occasions when talking to a four-year-old about the concept.
This candid taken by a friend at my wedding is one of my favorite pictures, and it shows just how alike we look. She had recently finished her second chemo session from the initial round of cancer. She wore a wig because her hair was already falling out. Previously she told me this was one thing she hoped wouldn’t happen, but later she revised her thinking to be excited to test out life as a redhead.
During her initial treatments in 2007 (a mastectomy, 6 “hard” and 12 “easy” chemo sessions, and several weeks of radiation) and then the recurrence from 2011-2013 (in her bones, then abdomen, then liver), my mom never said enough until the last 3 days, when hospice was the clear answer.
During the final year, this baffled me. She was so very ill. Why keep fighting? Why keep taking treatments that were only delaying the end, not fixing the problem? Why agree to more meds when the tumor had grown in her liver while under oral chemo?
After her death, someone answered without my asking. She commented that my mother saw life as this amazing party that she did not want to leave, even if it meant continuing treatments that made her so sick. Talk about knowing where your enough line is drawn. For her, it was only when there was nothing else to try.
My mom with a 1 month old Joyce
But how does her enough relate to my enough? Primarily, it has to do with the fact that though she was “Mom” to me, she was “Joyce” to the rest of the world. I spend much time wondering how I will teach my Joyce enough about the woman for whom she is named.
Just your usual Joyce and Mom math dictionary reading time.
I want to use the recent picture above as my example. It is enough to sit and read, to be together, to listen, and to act with love.
I need to remember that my appearance is not the only thing I got from my mother. I also learned from her how to be a mother, how to care, and how to live.
She did more than enough. Odds are, I will too.
Do you have an enough line? What defines your idea of enough?
#AMRinSaucony: The Future Me
Saucony Bullet capris: Because some mornings are still cool enough for a jacket at the start.
How’s training going?
I’ll paint you a picture of the current scene: I just hastily stuffed a nuked piece of leftover pizza into my mouth – that was lunch – because it was the only thing I could find that was quick and didn’t require bringing an excavator into my kitchen. My “clean” laundry has been piled on the love seat in my living room for three weeks. In short, my house looks like a frat party collided with a daycare. The pizza? I justify it as recovery carb loading or something. Because yes, this is what my house looks like when I invite the marathon into my life. And not just one, but two; my husband is also training for the Twin Cities Marathon on October 4. This brings scheduling all our runs to an entirely new a$$ crack of dawn early level.
(I hope at least one person out there reading is nodding their head in agreement. Not that I would wish this scenario on any of you, but there’s comfort in solidarity. And perhaps you can suggest a good housecleaning service.)
On a serious note, my summer marathon training is going extremely well. It’s going better than I imagined, especially when I first looked at my new AMR #FindYourStrong training plan and got a little anxious at the unfamiliarity: the inclusion of speedwork and race pace and negative splits. Even though this journey I’m on is all about Finding My Strong, and I know there are pieces that I really should do, because they will, in fact, make me stronger, my instinct is to balk at the tough things. It isn’t natural to move toward pain. Anyone who’s gone through childbirth can relate.
Here are a few things I’ve noted over the past month:
Cross training is a nice break and actually fun. Every year when marathon training begins, I say to myself, “I should really cross train this time.” This is the first time I’ve followed through. For the last month I’ve ridden my bike. I am a former biking junkie who stopped riding after having kids, because it felt more like a hassle than a pleasure. I argued it was easier to just throw on shoes and run. But the truth is, once you’ve got your ducks in a row, i.e., your bike tuned and accessories at the ready, it takes no more time to hop on a bike than it does to lace up your Sauconys.
I’d forgotten that the feeling of flying on your bike; it is like no other feeling. I’m not a fast runner by any means, and whizzing down the highway on the way to work – I’ve been trying to bike commute at least once a week – satiates my need for speed.
It’s also gotten me out on more “fun” rides; I took Clara around the neighborhood on Saturday.
Clara going for her first bike ride. I think she liked it.
I love this training plan. The plan is solid. Coach Christine is no slouch, and the woman knows running. Not only does she have the knowledge and expertise, but she ran 101 miles for crying out loud. There is enough variety for me to not feel like I’m trapped in a rut of the same workouts every week, the same pace, then the death march – I mean, long run – on Saturdays. I’ve been working on heart rate training, focusing on running my easy runs truly easy (by HR and exertion rather than a pace number on my GPS watch), and it’s made a world of difference. I’ve been able to hit all my paces. No more long run death marches! As a bonus, my ego has survived!
Me, surprisingly fresh (and still able to hold the phone for a selfie) after a hard tempo run.
Speaking of my future running, there are four race registrations hanging over my desk at work: The Twin Cities Marathon (my fall marathon), and the Austin Half Marathon in Feb 2016, a race I’m super excited to be running with other mother runners in a new town and at a time of year that I’m typically not running races, because training for a long race in winter in the Upper Peninsula? So. Much. Snow. It will be a challenge, to say the least.
The third is the Ore To Shore Bike Race in Marquette, MI, in August. This was one of those races that seemed like a really good idea nine months ago when I was extremely pregnant and would’ve done just about anything to simply be mobile. Also, I told myself, “Try new things!” I signed up for the 28-mile race, being the more reasonable of the two distances (there is a 48-mile option for the truly insane). The last time I did a bike race was 2006, and it was not pretty. I’ll need to draw on my Bad A$$ Mother Rider strength for that one.
The fourth piece of paper, the one I’m most excited and nervous about, is the Fall Back Blast 50K in November 2015, a 50K trail race. In Wisconsin. In the winter.
The ultra has been a quiet goal of mine for a few years. So when Karen, a fellow mother runner I met in Little Rock, mentioned she was running this 50K, it did not take much prodding for me to sign up. I was more than halfway there; I just needed the right race for me, and this particular one seems ideal.
I realize this might be a crazy goal to chase after; I’ll be eleven days short of Clara’s first birthday when I toe the line in Eau Claire. And I’ve been reluctant to put it out there in the world – on the Internet – because to say so would be to truly commit, which is a little scary. But 2015 is different. This is the year I decided to go out on more limbs, break more rules, step away from convention and really put myself out there. I also reason with myself (and will with my mom, when I tell her about my crazy running plans) that this is a “baby” ultra. It’s not like I’m running Western States 100 or something.
The Road to Strong hasn’t been easy. At first it was tough seeing slower paces and feeling like my body wasn’t cooperating. I was longing for the runner I was and for the runs I’d had a few years ago, but in reality, they were nothing special. This weekend, something I heard on the AMR podcast with Katie Arnold struck a chord with me, big time: I am not running back toward the runner I once was, but the moving toward the runner I am going to be. (sorry for the awful paraphrase, Katie!) As someone who can get stuck thinking wistfully of the past – of paces, of PRs, of jeans I wish I could still wear – this was something I needed to hear.
So I’m thinking ahead and dreaming BIG of the Future Runner that is Me. I have no idea what she will look like or what she will do, but I’m excited to find out. And the best thing is, she is forever evolving. Even after I’ve crossed the next finish line.
#168: Tales from Another Mother Runner Essayist Katie Arnold
Dimity and Sarah have a digital sit-down with Katie Arnold, an ultramarathoner with two young daughters, to discuss a wide range of topics. Find out why D & S quickly dub this long-time runner, “Katie of the Massive Quads,” and how legendary Dean Karnazes figures into Katie’s journey to tackling—and often winning—ultra-distance races. Katie opens up about how running has brought her through hard times, including the death of her father, and how running allows her to “be wild” in her own world. After reading from her essay in Tales from Another Mother Runner, Katie talks about “free-range parenting,” a topic she often explores in her Outside Online column, Raising Rippers. This conversation leads to a revelation by Dimity about her childhood cross-country skiing adventures. Finally, discover why the mother runners suspect Katie Arnold has a Snow White quality about her.
*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
Throwback Friday: Ten Ways to Stay Cool(er) While Running
What’s harder: walking on hot coals or a 10-mile run in 85-degree temps with 85% humidity? I’d vote the latter.
A post from July of 2011, which is oh-so relevant today.
You have to love all the it’s-hot-out-there headlines. Like no duh…I read my minivan’s thermometer. What the headlines don’t tell you: how to stay cool if you’ve got to run because you’ve got a marathon in October, because you’re addicted to endorphins, because, by the end of July, you’re ready to drop your kids off at a lemonade stand in Nebraska and never look back.
So I’m going to give you my best ways to beat the heat. Notice I said beat the heat. I have no interest in trying to join it, to acclimate to 99-degree temps. If you’re more inclined to scorch yourself, there’s this race called Badwater you might want to check out…
1. Get up early. Wow: that’s an innovative one, Dimity. Haven’t thought of that. But seriously, get your glutes out of bed before the sun rises. My biggest motivational trick these days as I’m contemplating bailing: instead of thinking how much I don’t want to get up, get dressed, get out there, I picture myself coming in from the run, on my last stretch of road. How good I feel, how glad it’s done. (That said, I understand the humidity is worst in the early a.m. hours, so I’m not sure if it’s better to run at night when it’s not as damp but more hot? Southerners: can you enlighten me?)
2. Trade cool-ish temps for visual excitement. If there’s a shaded stretch of road for one mile, and I have a four-mile run on tap, I may crank the tunes and run that sucker four times. Boring? Absolutely. Will I avoid wilting? Absolutely.
3. Plan your route wisely. Think about where the shade is and where the tough hills are. Hit the latter first, and aim for the former toward the end of your run. (Kind of like how, if I must choose, I always head into the wind first: makes coming home just a little bit easier.) If you’re carrying a water bottle and will empty it during your run, plan a loop where you can refill either at a friend’s house or at a 7-11 or a Starbuck’s. I won’t lecture you about heat and hydration; just know it’s ultra-important to drink up.
4. Freeze a bottle with nuun-laced water or sports drink–leave about an inch at the top for expansion–and either carry that on your run (alternate which hand holds it, as it’s a little hefty) or plant it somewhere on your route, pre-run, so you can enjoy a cool beverage for your later miles.
5. Similarly, if you seed your long run with water, put ice cubes in a cooler or Thermos, and hide it. Then, when you get to it, stuff your bra or your hat (or anywhere else you’d like) with the ice and pour what has melted over your head. (You can also grab ice from a 7-11: come in all red faced and sweaty and say you need a few piece of ice, and I promise, they won’t care.)
The ice vest that might have helped Deena Kastor win the bronze in the 2004 Olympic marathon. (from wired.com)
6. Take a cold shower before you head out. Disclaimer: I have never done this, but the idea sounds good. I cribbed it from the ice vests the marathoners in Athens wore before their Olympic race. The vests were designed to lower their core body temperature so that it took them longer to feel hot. A cool-ish shower may have a similar effect (again, just guessing…anybody done this by chance?).
7. Run to a pool or lake, jump in and cool off (or do a swim workout for a duathlon), then run home. If you’re feeling bold, just swim in your sports bra and shorts.
8. Don’t run. Ride your bike isntead. Not a cruise-along-to-get-a-coffee ride, but a ride that mimics the intensity of a run: your heart is pumping, you can hear your breath, you’re working. I just did a 90-minute ride today, and felt great…until I stopped to eat a GU. I stopped, and so did my A/C, a.k.a. the self-created breeze. I felt uncomfortable immediately. Don’t have a bike? Rent a road bike from your local bike store for a week. We’re coming up on the end of the season (read: good deals will be starting soon) and if you talk nice, you might be able to get a sweet deal on a fast ride.
9. Hit the gym. The treadmill isn’t so bad when you do speedwork (like one minute easy, one minute hard) or when you’ve got a good show to watch. Or, better yet, mix it up with the strength/treadmill combo workout that is on page 113 of Run Like a Mother. Because there are burpees involved, I still haven’t done it, but I’ve heard from regulars that it’s a tough mother.
10. Keep some skin covered. In Colorado, I feel like the sun just penetrates my skin, torching cells, and creating havoc. I don’t run in long sleeves, but I wear a T-shirt more often than a tank: Not only do I suck at getting sunscreen on my back/shoulders, but I like the tiny draft I feel like I get with a shirt, instead of having a tank cling to me.
I’m sure I’ve missed some…other ideas? How do you keep your cool while getting your run on? (Besides, um, moving to Portland or Seattle.)