#198: Becca Pizzi: 7 Marathons, 7 Continents, 7 Days (Yowza!)
Eating desserts, ugly crying, and popping on planes: All these topics—and more—are covered in a rip-roaring chat Sarah and Adrienne Martini have with Becca Pizzi, the single mother who recently became the first American woman to run seven marathons on seven continents (that’s all of ’em!) in seven days. Becca shares all the dirty details, including what one of the hardest parts of the undertaking was (the answer will surprise you!) and how she ensured the proverbial chute was empty before each race. She tells of her year of training, which included running 70 to 100 miles per week, yoga, strength training, and CrossFit, that enabled her to complete the 183.4-mile, “unbelievable test of endurance and strength.” Becca shares how she borrowed wisdom from quarterback Tom Brady and how one flight attendant went way above the call of duty after Becca suffered an injury in the penultimate marathon of the quest. Finally, find out how a pink burka enters the narrative!
If Sarah’s end-of-show plea sways you, here is the best way to buy Run Like a Mother, Train Like a Mother, and Tales from Another Mother Runner. (Or listen to the audio version of RLAM on Audible!) Thanks in advance!
Half-Marathon Race Report: Heart Breaker Half
Cruisin’ to the finish line…
Before Sunday, I hadn’t toed a starting line since November 23, 2014. That breaks down to 448 days, nearly 15 months. So maybe it was good my best running friend, Molly, and I take too long warming up, performing coach-prescribed strides, lunge matrix, and flexibility drills, leaving us to dash to the half marathon starting area with only about a minute to spare before the start!
In a light drizzle under grey skies, I cross the starting mat to run 13.1 miles through the countryside a mere 20 minutes west of downtown Portland. Molly and I had agreed to run separately but before we even hit the 2-mile mark, I hear her upbeat voice say, “I’m used to running beside you, so that’s what I’m going to do!” On the drive over, we had joked we were Amy Cragg and Shalane Flanagan so it felt right to run together.
We slog it out up a nearly steady, mile-long hill to Mile 4, then slow to a walk to drink water from the aid station and ingest a GU Energy Gel. (Root Beer for her; new Cucumber Mint down my gullet!) Molly takes off down the backside of the hill, while I take care not to jam my pin-and-plate ankle. (Bri, the beloved coach I’m working with to train for Boston Marathon had cautioned me to take it easy on the descents.) The scenery is lovely: wide-open, verdant fields dotted with gorgeous weathered barns and bordered by fir trees in the far distance. An utterly charming cottage on the left; a row of extravagantly espaliered fruit trees on the right.
Ready to run your first—or fastest—5K this spring? Sign up for the Train Like a Mother Club’s 5K: Run/Walk Challenge or 5K: Race Challenge and you’ll be ready to write your own race report, too!
The plan is to ease into the race, then start dropping the pace every few miles. But my coach and I hadn’t bargained on how hilly the rest of the two-loop course is. I ditch the plan, replacing it with, “Stay at a rate of perceived exertion (RPE) 5 until Mile 10, then dial up the pace for final 5K.” I focus on effort, rarely looking down at my GPS. In the 448 days since my last race, I have forgotten how much mental intensity and resolve it takes to keep my foot continually on the proverbial gas. Hill and after hill, and I still have to maintain the intensity on the flats. I keep my gaze forward, watching Molly in her aqua blue tee nimbly cut a path through runners in more Valentine’s Day-appropriate hues.
A major hill greets runners at the end of the first loop, which I quickly realize means it’ll also taunt us on the approach to Mile 12 before turning toward the finish line. While I remain committed to running RPE 5, I give myself a new goal: sprint for the finish after that motherloving hill. A misplaced aid station means I ingest my next GU (Jet Blackberry) a half-mile before following it with water. A Tastefully Nude GU at Mile 11 provides a much-needed carb-boost, and I conquer the long-dreaded hill more quickly than I anticipated (read: dreaded).
See ya, hills! Steps from the finish line.
Turning the corner, I set my sights on a few male runners ahead of me. Giddy-up! As if on cue, Ariana Grande comes on my playlist, encouraging me to Break Free. A quick glance at my GPS tells me I’m finally breaking 9:00. The musical motivation continues as Alicia Keys tells me I’m a Girl on Fire, and that’s what I feel like as I hit the track for a half-lap approaching the finish arch. Molly high-5s me after I cross the finish line, and I bask in a sweaty glow I realize I’ve missed these last 14 months.
Molly and me with a post-race glow.
The conclusion to this half-marathon race report: After nearly 1,800 feet (!!) of climbing, Molly finished in 2:05:10; I ran 2:07:30. We finished 4th and 5th in our age group of 21 women.
Core Strength Move For Runners: the Plank
We are over the MOON to welcome certified personal trainer Angie Krueger to the blog for a series of strength-training moves every runner needs. Aside from having run 27 marathons in 27 different states, Angie was recently featured on AMR’s podcast (episode 194, where she explained, among other things, what “cough muscles” are and how to activate them for better results. Intrigued, aren’t you? See below.). Here, she shares the first in a six-part series. Come back every other Tuesday for a follow-up move to help you #findyourstrong.
She’s pumped! Angie Krueger (left), teaching a BodyPump class.
The plank is one of the “core” moves for runners. If you have a strong core, then you are able to hold yourself upright while you are running and not have that forward lean that relies strictly on your quads (which makes you more fatigued) and lower back. A plank isn’t that difficult to do, but finding those correct muscles and utilizing them the whole time is what makes the plank a very difficult exercise. Start off by holding for up to :30 seconds at a time. Stop the second you feel you can no longer maintain it. The best way to start is by finding a mirror (not to make kissey faces in, but to watch for the perfect form).
Step 1. The most important one. Put two fingers on your belly button and cough. Feel the muscles that contract when you cough. Those are the multifidus, the deep muscles of the belly–the ones really needed to do a plank. We call them the cough muscles.
Proper form, as demonstrated by powerhouse Angie
Step 2. From your forearms, engage those cough muscles tightly as you align your body from your head to your heels in one straight line. You need a slight pinch of the shoulder blades and you need to squeeze your thighs tight and focus on a slight pinch between your glutes (butt cheeks) like you are holding a $100 bill.
Step 3. Hold up to :30, squeezing all of your cough muscles, resting for 10 seconds, then returning to plank position for an additional :30. Continue until you can no longer hold that form.
Make sure to keep your backside level (no booty peek-a-boo!)
…Or sagging.
If you need a beginner option, end at knees (as opposed to toes). If you need more of a challenge, try the plank palms to elbows: put one hand down and press up to both hands, then back to forearms, while still holding those muscles tight. We are not log-rollers, so no rolling your body!!!
We’ll see you back here in two weeks for your next core strength move. By then, we expect abs of steel from all your planking!
Ready to run your first—or fastest—5K this spring? Sign up for the Train Like a Mother Club’s 5K: Run/Walk Challenge or 5K: Race Challenge!
#197: “Ordinary” Mother Runners Running Olympic Marathon Trials, Pt. 2
Sarah and Dimity co-host this second of two extra-special podcasts building excitement and anticipation for the Olympic Marathon Trials, which take place in Los Angeles on Saturday, February 13 (and will be broadcast live on NBC starting at 1 p.m. EST). On both podcasts, Sarah and her co-hort talk with three “everyday” mother runners who qualified for the Olympic Marathon Trials and will be running them: On this episode, it’s Sarah Robinson, Heather McWhirter, and Andrea Duke. These three mother runners share their tales of qualifying and getting to the starting line, including Andrea’s amusing tale of how, 14 years ago, she was “a social marathoner eating Cheez-Its from a bowl held out by a kid at Mile 10.” Now her PR is 2:41, and she’s gunning for her “golden ticket” to Rio!
Draw inspiration from Andrea’s message of “You never lose: You always learn something.” Get teary when Heather describes the Trials as, “It’s my Olympics.” Soar along with Sarah “Mac” Robinson when she talks about finding “joy in running and the process of holding a goal loosely.” A standout episode, for sure. Another Mother Runner thanks the women’s running apparel company Oiselle for connect them with these amazing women: All of them are part of Oiselle’s Haute Voleé team.
*Please download the free app for the podcast network Another Mother Runner is now proud to be a part of: acast. Then, when you listen via the acast app, you can share a “moment” from the show via social media or email. Simply click on the little arrow coming out of the square below the podcast as it’s playing, then choose Moment. You’ll then have a shareable link to send to friends or into the worldwide web!
*And while you’re on the web, please follow Another Mother Runner on Twitter and Instagram: We’re @TheMotherRunner. Thanks!
Dry Martini: Crazy Love
Oh, taper. I don’t tell you enough how much I love you, even though you make me crazy.
Over the last few days, I’ve taken care of vital race prep. I had a pedicure, because I’m one hundred percent certain that my roommates in Austin this weekend don’t want to see my feet after they’ve spent three months jammed into snow boots and running shoes. Plus, I really like getting pedicures and will use just about any excuse I can find to book an appointment.
For those scoring at home, the color is OPI Suzy and the 7 Dusseldorfs. Yes. Really.
I also used “race prep,” as an excuse to let my friendly neighborhood acupuncturist/massage therapist work me over with needles and oils. Or, as I like to call it, a wild Friday night.
After many years of getting various kinds of body work — and actually having studied massage therapy back when I was broke and living in Austin — I’ve finally worked out my grand theory of what makes a good practitioner. It is this: she can find the six spots that you didn’t realize really needed some attention until she started poking at them. I had no idea how tight my piriformis muscles were until Laura had to scrape me off of the ceiling after poking my upper rump.
I’ve also been running a little during this taper but nothing crazy far or crazy hard. All of that work happened last week when I had my last long run, which was ten miles with two sets of three mile repeats at my 11:22 (no, not 11:20 or 11:25) race pace. So the plan was: one mile easy, then three at RP, two easy, then three at RP, then one easy.
The first group of speedy three went OK. By the third RP mile, I was flagging a little but pushed through it. During the first recovery mile I sucked down an espresso GU and some water. Then during the second recovery mile, I realized that I would need to GU during the last of my RP miles and that I still haven’t mastered taking a GU at any real speed without choking or smearing it all over my face.
Still, nothing wagered, nothing gained, etc. And I was alone on the track so I wouldn’t embarrass myself if I wound up with half-frozen energy gel in my hair.
This isn’t from my last hard run because I was more concerned with not dying than with taking pictures. This was from the easy run a few days later. Just FYI.
Even without the threat of GU-related mayhem, that last bunch of RP miles was rough. I had to break out some of SBS’s mantras, the ones where you refer to yourself in the third person like some kind of psychopath. “Adrienne is strong,” I told myself. “Adrienne is doing this.” As dorky as it felt, it worked.
Until the start, that is, of the third mile, which is when I nearly did myself some serious harm with the GU. I had to come to a dead stop until I could rinse it out of my sinus cavities with some water, which knocked my pace way off. And it was then when I realized I had two choices: pick it up enough to finish out the mile at a respectable-but-not-race pace or haul booty and get back to 11:22. For the first time in, like, ever, I chose the second option.
That last 3/4 of a mile sucked in all of the ways a run can suck. I again thank my lucky stars that there was no one else around to hear the wheezing and see the grimacing. I didn’t even have enough energy left-over to swear, which tells you something. But I did it. And felt surprisingly good once I finished up that last mile and started the easy mile back to my house.
Oddly, my epic struggle made no impact on the rest of the afternoon. Usually, after any double-digit run, I’m wiped out enough to lose all interest in doing anything more than lie on the couch. After that run, I tidied up and cooked dinner. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I was back to myself the next morning was another story, however, when I could just barely leverage myself out of bed. Still, we take our moments of glory where we can.
There’s no glory in the taper, though, just a lot of delightful carbs and sitting. I’m at the stage where the antsies are setting in, where a slower than anticipated 3 mile run makes me wonder if I’ve lost all of my fitness. Add to that the madness of packing for a trip from the frozen Northeast to the significantly warmer Lone Star State — I just realized that I’ll need my parka for the start and end of the trip but don’t know where to stash it in-between — and, well, I’m starting to second guess every last idea I’ve ever had.
As one does.
I’ve used some of my taper to finish two knitted knockers. That “nipple yarn” has since been woven in, by the way.
I’m doing my best to focus on gratitude that I’ve gotten this far this winter. The weather, surprisingly, was conductive to a mostly outdoor training cycle, including many happy miles on a non-frozen track. With very few exceptions, I’ve hit my paces and distances. My kids’ various winter sicknesses didn’t take me down, too. And Serial launched a new season, which has provided me all of the distraction I needed when it got hard.
While this helps re-focus my nervous energy, it’s still there. I could stand a hand, BAMRs. How do you help keep the taper crazy at bay?
Rocky Raccoon 100: An Ultra-Long Ultra-Marathon Pacing Report
Yep, I look drunk–and the race hasn’t even started yet.
This past weekend, I had a fun adventure: pacing my friend Katie at the Rocky Raccoon, a 100-miler race in Huntsville State Park, right outside of Houston. My plan was to run for 20 miles with her; the course is five, 20-mile loops, and I was going to accompany her from miles 60 to 80. I ended up going a little further, but I’m getting ahead of myself…
The runners took off at 6 a.m, and pacers aren’t allowed to join until mile 60, which means I had a little time to kill. Because the cell service was outstanding, I decided to document #dayinthelifeofanultra on Instagram, which I’ll share again…but this time, with added commentary. (Like the “behind the scenes” on DVD’s, right?)
The start was incredibly low key. Around 5:58, the announcer said, “The start is in two minutes.” Everybody ambled towards the timing mat, and then took off in a sea of headlamps. I felt none of the nervous energy I feel before road races, but that’s probably because I wasn’t racing. I headed into town for a few essentials. Starbucks and Pretzel M’n’M’s for me, tampons for Katie, whose period just started that morning. (Seriously, universe? Like 100 miles isn’t hard enough?)
Then I headed back to the park to set up Katie’s aid station. A lot of people had tents and coolers, and we had Katie’s roller suitcase filled with everything she thought she could possibly need. This was Katie’s ninth 100-miler, so she’s kind of a pro at essentials by now. She packed everything from beef jerky to ginger, Hyland’s Arnica tablets to rain ponchos. Fortunately, we didn’t need much of anything beyond the ordinary.
Katie came into the start/finish area all smiles. One lap completed in 3 hours, 30 minutes, which is about 10 minutes faster than she wanted to be going. “Coming off the taper, it just felt so good to run,” she told me later, “I tried to slow down, but it just felt so good.” I handed her two GUs, a five-hour energy, and refilled her water bottle, and she was off again.
Then I went back to the car to finish my book and nap a bit. I knew I’d be up for the majority of the night, so wanted to bank some sleep. (Plus, we got up at 4:15 CT–3:15 MT–that morning.) I have to say, I had unexpectedly peaceful day. I read, ate MnM’s, napped, took a short walk. I didn’t want to hang out too much in the start/finish chute too much, because I knew I’d expend too much energy in the sun, chatting. The day recharged my batteries in many respects.
Katie came in again around 1:15. 40 miles done. She looked so good; I couldn’t believe she had been on her feet for over seven hours. She told me she was starting to feel it, but it didn’t appear that way to me.
After she took off, I headed over to an aid station where I could see her again. It was less than a mile walk on the road (my route) and three miles by trail (her route). Snapped a couple shots of the vittles they serve at ultra aid stations. Emphasis is on quick sugar and salt. Oh, and caffeine.
Katie drank a Dixie cup full of Coke at most aid stations: fuel and caffeine. Her secret weapon, which she discovered at a previous running of this race? A GU, chased by Coke. At dinner on Friday night, we talked about things I could do to help her through the night. GU + Coke was at the top of the list, as was taking three deep cleansing breaths, asking her what she thought was going well, telling her about other racers, telling her stories, reminding her to relax her shoulders. I’d get to employ a few of these tactics shortly.
Around 5:30, I went over to the start/finish, pockets loaded with everything from salt tabs to batteries, ready for a little taste of the ultra. (That’s the best thing about pacing: you can take a bite of the burrito, but you don’t have to finish the whole freakin’ thing.) The weather was nearly perfect, and I was just ready to roll. Katie came in before dark, but we had our lights ready, as we knew we’d be in the dark soon.
I didn’t have the opportunity to take many pics during our loop. Katie kept a very steady pace, and was diligent about not stopping at aid stations too long; they’re a huge time suck, especially if you sit down and get comfortable.
A few highlights:
—Katie was laughing about how she felt like she was sprinting and I was just strolling, and I started to tell her about how I’ve always been a fast walker. I told her I remembered walking faster than SBS in San Francisco, even though I was in a boot. A guy a few feet in front of us turned around and asked what my name was. I told him, and the Another Mother Runner connection was made: so fun! His wife (Stacy, if I’m remembering correctly) listens to the podcast, so we called her. “Hi, this is Dimity in Denver,” I said, and she cracked up. We chatted for a bit, I told her her husband looked great (it was his first ultra), and she told me she is running the Austin half-marathon this weekend. Hope you have a great race, Stacy!
—Peppermints are another of Katie’s secret weapons. She asked for one and I grabbed one out of my pocket and unwrapped it for her. She put her hand behind her back for a quick handoff, and somehow, I took a big fall as I gave it to her. The trail is pretty root-filled, and I was focused on getting the mint her hand, not my feet over the terrain. I was fine, and we had a good laugh. I tripped and fell two other times: neither was particularly hard, and I very much appreciated the loamy trails of Texas. Nothing like the rocky trails of ‘rado.
When night falls, the aid stations start heating up. There is still the sugar smorgasbord, but there is also warm, salty, cheesy stuff. At one aid station, there were slices of sausages, which were like magic bullets to Katie. She ate three of them, and ran her fastest mile of the night, which included some uphill segments.
What was also propelling her uphill: a text I received from her husband with the athletic results from her kids for the day. Her son, a collegiate runner, got second in the 800 in his first indoor track meet, and her daughter, a swimmer, broke her PR in the 50 free. “I started them running as kids,” she told me, “A slushie for a mile.” I broke one piece of news to her each mile—there were about five races at each of the two events—so that was a nice carrot to dangle in front of her.
No slushies for us, but we kept a steady pace. Her miles ranged from the 15:xx to the 18:xx. Although her period was cramping her both literally and figuratively, she did her best to focus on mind over bleeding uterus.
Didn’t see any critters in the park either, except for this beauty at an aid station, although a sign near the entrance warned of alligators.
As I mentioned, I was walking for most of my stint. It wasn’t like I was running 9-minute miles, exhausting myself. I really wanted to help Katie for the full 40 miles; leaving her in the dark at mile 80 felt like dropping my kid off at the side of the road, saying “see ya!” and then driving home.
But I knew 40 was not smart a smart call for me, no matter what the pace, so we came up with a plan: I would go 23 with her, which would take me to the aid station where I could walk less than a mile back to the car. She picked up a pacer at the next aid station, where she would do a seven mile loop, then drop the pacer back at the aid station. I would walk about 2 miles up the road to meet her, and go the final 4.5 miles with her. So she was alone for just 5.5 miles on her last loop, and I would cover nearly 30 miles.
Before I left her at mile 83, I had her do a GU and Coke chaser. She didn’t love me for it—if she and her stomach had her way, she would’ve eaten nothing on the last loop—but I wanted to send her off with a zing.
I headed back to the car to drool for a bit. Katie has run Rocky Raccoon three times previously, and her PR is 23 hours, 47 minutes. I wanted to help her get a new PR—or at the very least, get her under 24 hours, which meant she would get the extra-special belt buckle. (Anybody who finishes in under 30 hours gets a belt buckle, but sub-24? An extra-special one.)
So I rose at 3:30, and walked up to the aid station, where I hoped her headlamp would come through around 4:15. 4:25, no Katie. 4:30, no Katie. I started to get a little frantic, doing the math. Finally, at 4:32, she appeared. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do,” she said as she saw me waiting, “Whatever I need to do to get under 24 hours.”
I commanded her to take off, and said I’d catch up with her as soon as I put away her headlamp we just replaced. We just focused on strong, forward motion. Fifteen minutes later, said, “Do I have time to stop and pee?”
“No, not really,” I said, “Can you hold it?” She said yes, but then I recalculated, and gave her the thumbs up to squat.
Empty bladder and strong spirit, she “sprinted” and I “strolled” through the last few miles. We chatted a bit with a man from Philadelphia in the 65-59 year age group (wow!) but mostly, I just kept saying, “Looking good, Katie, looking good.” I mean, honestly, she was still running after 23 hours and 98 miles on her feet. Crazy, but also impressive.
Turns out, she could’ve squatted for five minutes and still made the cut-off. She finished in 23 hours, 48 minutes, one minute off her PR. That’s cool, but what’s even cooler? How physically fine she was post-race. I mean, she was a little pukey in the car—I thought I was going to have to pull over at one point—but in the airport that evening, her walk did not look like the walk of a 100-miler. She did confess to stairs and the depth of the toilet seat being a problem on Monday, but that happens after a half-marathon, right?
(And those 30 miles treated me right too! Very little pain, with the exception of my left foot, which I think caught the brunt of one of my falls…a few days off, and I’ll be fine.)
A few have asked if I’ve caught the ultra bug. If ultra means 50K, then yes, I have. But if it means 100? No interest in that bug. 100 miles on my own feels like just too far to the right of crazy. But I’d absolutely pace again, especially if I get to see an alligator next time.
Have you ever paced an ultra? Have interest in running one?