Great Halloween Costumes for Running
Because it’s that time of year, we’re republishing a great post on quick and easy Halloween costumes for running, because that fun run will be here before you know it! Get ideas and inspo below.
Double-stroller pushing supermom Jill, with Clark Kent and her petite Superman. “Daughter not included because she HAD to be a fairy that year,” she adds.
We wanted to pull together a post full of run-able Halloween costumes, which, as you likely know, are different than regular Halloween costumes. A run-able costume has to be exactly that: fairly comfortable and can accommodate a range of motion and a little sweat. Sure, over a few miles, you’ll probably notice that you’re not in your favorite gear, but with the right costume, you won’t be so annoyed or weighed down that you can’t keep running. (And keep in mind: if you’re running in a costume, we’re hope you’re for spooks and giggles, not a PR.)
Most of these great costumes come from our Facebook page, while a few are from a neighborhood six-pack run I did last year.
Mary Jo—the first black cat we’ve ever seen wearing a Garmin—and her feline daughter.
Dilberts. Love the wired ties, although not sure how running-friendly those heads are.
A little Miss USA Action—a tiara, a sash, a cape, and a beer, I guess—will keep them talking.
Two badass mother runner wannabes and me, a weak witch. (My mocked-up costume: Badass Witch Runner: I’ll get you my pretties!)
Batman, or rather, Batwoman ready to take on her third half marathon. Who says running with a cape doesn’t make you faster?
And then we have a whole flock of ’em!
These two Wicked Queens obviously took the award for ‘fairest of them all’ at this race.
Thing 1 and Thing 2. Always love this idea.
A very creative Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter. Don’t worry. They put ice packs in his hat to keep anyone from actually going crazy.
Laura as Mrs. Incredible- I wonder if she even needed to stretch before this race…
A fierce ninja standing next to her running partner in crime- Rainbow Bright. We enjoy the throw back to the 1980’s.
While I know sugar skulls aren’t usually eaten, this mother runner’s costume speaks to my sweet tooth! Dio de los Muertos!
If you have to have a mouse in your house, this is the one we’d vote for.
Tracey, as a Zombie, looking dead in more ways than one after this half marathon.
Head’s up: Don’t mess with this crew. Powerful stuff here.
Meghan and her Energizer Bunny: Which one keeps on going and going and…?
Wonder Woman: Always a Winner.
All pretty in pink, with beautiful faces—and a Boy Scout—to boot.
A jellied BRF without her PB is like a fish without a….
Minion!
The swiftest–and cutest–football players out there.
Love this candy corn witch!
Got some other run-able costumes you want to add to the list? Comment below, or email us at runmother [at] gmail [dot] com and we’ll put ’em up. Thanks!
#231: A Conversation with Heather “Dooce” Armstrong
Sarah and co-host Adrienne Martini are delighted to have a gab-session with Heather Armstrong, the genius behind the highly successful, long-running “mommy blog” Dooce as well as Manic Rambling Spiral, a pithy podcast about single parenting. Like in her NYT best-selling memoir It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, a Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita, Heather speaks candidly on her depression and how her most recent episode was precipitated by marathon training and a sub-basement-level of Vitamin D. Hear how Heather hopped into the Chicago Marathon so last minute, she didn’t even pack her running shoes when she headed to the Windy City last week! The conversation then shifts to single parenting with Heather admitting the hardest things about guiding her family solo—as well as the up side to the journey. Pre-Dooce, Sarah and Adrienne show their age by talking about full v. half-slips, plus they bond over the acronym YDY.
*To find the Saucony layering pieces, shop the Saucony website, where you always get free express shipping and free returns.
*Visit the re-vamped Mother Runner Store: All orders in October include a free #BAMR temporary tattoo, perfect for sporting at your next race!
*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. We’ve also joined the Acast podcast network, download their app to hear our podcast and many others like it!
The Running Retreat Recap You Haven’t Heard: Melissa’s Story
Role Mother and marathoner Melissa has been documenting the ups and downs of wave 1 of the Heart Rate Challenge, which culminated with the AMR Run + Refresh Retreat at the end of September. After 20 weeks of training, she got to show off her HR skills at the Happy Girls Half. Here’s her race report:
Before I go into any details about my race, let me just say to everyone: Start saving your #foundchange for next year’s AMR Retreat. It was a terrific experience! Not gonna lie, I was more than a little nervous about going. Even the night before I left for Spokane, I lay in bed thinking, “I’m about to fly HOW far to do WHAT with people I’ve never even met!?!” I was a total panick-y wreck, but all was calmed when I walked into the Red Lion Hotel and found my BAMR people.
My people…
First, I must give a giant Florida girl nod to the weather in the Pacific Northwest. After a truly sweltering summer and 20 weeks of HR shuffling through 100% humidity, I was ecstatic to find dry air and temps below 70. As matter of fact, way below, as in, on the morning of the race I was freezing. I wore Saucony long pants, a running tank, a long sleeve pullover, and gloves. (Yes, gloves, because I hadn’t seen a temperature below 75 for over seven months–don’t judge.) Meanwhile, while standing in a corral, I met a native Washingtonian wearing only a sports bra and shorts. (And I think she may have even been sweating.) We both had a good chuckle talking about our respective climates and joking about our choice of wardrobe.
My plan for the race was that I didn’t actually have a plan, beyond the non-EAT plan. Honestly, the three hour time change had hit me pretty hard. I had been staying up way too late, and then waking up at around 4 a.m. everyday since I’d arrived, and by race morning I was pretty beat. I told myself because of the travel and the excitement of being at the retreat, this would not be my defining half marathon race after HR training. My typical half marathon time is anywhere from 2:15-2:40, but for this one, I gave myself zero time expectations. I was just going to go out there and enjoy the scenery of all the “Christmas trees,” while deeply inhaling fresh dry air that didn’t taste like wet sweat and sunscreen. I would do my best to stay at or around 140, with some surges if I felt good, and no guilt if I found myself walking on unsteady terrain (which I did, but we’ll get to that later.)
I started the race right behind Dimity and a few others who were keen on keeping things at or around 140-160 ish for the duration, but my heart was beating so fast because, wait a sec, I AM RUNNING BEHIND DIMITY? How is this real? She only lives in my ear buds!
That’s me in red. And gloves. Yes, gloves. And the famous Dimity!
The first few miles made me realize two things. 1. This is a really gorgeous part of our country and 2. Holy crap this is a real trail run, as in, TRAIL run. I found myself soon running single track on what felt like the side of a small mountain, leaping side to side over large rocks, roots, brush, and what had become the joke of the weekend, SCREE. For those in the dark, scree is loose gravel and stones that cover a slope. Sandy beaches? I can run on that. Scree? Uh, NOPE. I slowed it down quite a bit, and luckily had decided to wear trail shoes that morning. I was not prepared for just how much of this race was NOT on pavement, and how much was truly trail running, on ALL types of terrain. I so desperately wanted to look around at the scenery, but had to really stay focused on the path in front of me, and try my hardest to not land sideways on an ankle. I would not be the second BAMR to fracture her ankle in Spokane.
I remained close behind D and a few other HR ladies, stopping here and there for pictures and selfies. They got a bit ahead of me and out of my sight, but I was feeling great so I didn’t mind. I felt the best around mile seven, that part of the trail was shaded and had soft ground, and I felt like I was really getting my mojo on at that point.
And then I panicked. You see, one of the other BAMRs passed me fast on the left, and I happily cheered her on. A few minutes went by and she flew back by me going the other way, exclaiming, “I’m lost. I’ve ran 11 miles so far, and that’s not right.” Suddenly, my mojo was gone, and my mind started imagining all sorts of irrationals scenarios. I caught up to Debbi, a BAMR I had gotten to know at the retreat, and from behind I hollered to her, “Are we lost?” She replied, “Nope. We’re good.” Not convinced, I asked, “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure,” she replied. I then mumbled to her (and myself) “Just in case we are, please tell me you have a knife and matches in your fuel belt because I watch a lot of Dateline and they always start out a lot like this.” The next few miles felt awkward and uneasy, as I was still trying to tell myself I wasn’t lost, and wishing for smooth pavement.
The last three miles were very tough, as there were some very steep hills, and we were running head on into the warm sun. I had to laugh because there were several people next to me sweating profusely and complaining about how hot it was. Hot? It was probably 70! I passed them like, “Heat? This isn’t heat! It’s a cold front! Watch this ladies!”
The heart rate crew!
As I came across the finish line to the sound of SBS calling out my name and “She is here all the way from FLORIDA!” I couldn’t help but feel like a total badass. I ran straight into the welcoming hugs from the other retreat members who had finished before me, and many of us non-trail runners had that look like, “What did we just run on?” It was the longest time I had ever been out on a half marathon course, but in no way did I feel defeated, undertrained, or overly exhausted. Even the next day I experienced minimal soreness, and after the long trip home sitting straight up on a plane for 6+ hours, I still felt pretty damn good. All those silly toes and wacky stretches did the trick.
I plan to do some type of repeat and/or modified version of the 20-week HR training starting very soon, because the cooler temperatures soon here in Florida will make the more frequent runs less miserable. And next up on my race calendar is the Disney Full in early January, a race I have done every year for almost a decade. And the best part? There is no scree on Main Street, U.S.A. Yipppeeee!!! #magickingdomorbust
A (Must-Read) Tale of the Tufts 10K, Two Generations of Mother Runners, and The Photo
by Sarah Luehrman Axelrod
Long before I became a runner, I had the perfect reason to run: a photo that I love more than any other photo. In my mind, it’s The Photo. I’m 15 months old and pinned to my jacket is a race number, which belongs to my sweaty and grinning mom. It’s her 37th birthday: October 12, 1987, and she’s crouching behind me with her arms around me, glowing with the satisfaction that 6.2 swift miles can bring.
I don’t remember The Photo being taken, but I can well imagine the story surrounding it: My mom running the Tufts Health Plan 10K for Women in Boston, my dad cheering for her along Commonwealth Ave, near the finish, holding me up so I could see Mommy run.
Ann Roy Luehrman, my mom, started running in the mid-1970s, and almost certainly ran the Tufts 10K in its first year, 1977, when it was called the Bonne Bell Mini-Marathon. The race became an annual tradition for her. Not only did she love the atmosphere of a women’s race, but the race was always run on Columbus Day, which falls on or around her birthday. She loved celebrating each new year of life by crossing a finish line.
Athletes,1987: Sarah (in pink) and her mom.
She missed the race in 1986, since she had given birth to me three months prior, but she was back at it in 1987 (the year of The Photo) and almost every year after that, except 1989, when baby #2 was a month away from making his appearance. 1992, however, was her last Tufts. In August of 1993, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Although she lived for seven more years, during which she went through periods of being in reasonable physical shape, she did not run any more races. She died in May of 2000.
I was seven when she stopped running, so I don’t remember her days as a runner very well. She worked full time and she would usually run at the end of her workday before coming home to us. She didn’t run with a stroller, and now I completely understand why: uneven sidewalks and potholes galore, not to mention alone time.
Mom started running in her late 20s while dating a runner, one who encouraged her to run to lose weight. I don’t know how well-meaning and/or subtle this comment was, but I am certain it registered with her as body shame.
Nevertheless, she rapidly made running something that she owned. While she was dating my dad, she was also preparing to run the 1982 Boston Marathon, her first. Outside of business school, her training was her life. She fretted about snowstorms in February and March interfering with her training, but even with snow, ice and slush on the ground, she preferred the Charles River path to the treadmill.
She trained with a running group, and she was very serious about getting every single run in, no matter what. She bought her Reeboks at Marathon Sports in Cambridge, a running institution.
The Boston Marathon finish line, where she is hugging her best friend Chris. She is wearing what looks like a cotton shirt. (Ouch!)
She finished the marathon in about 4 hours, happy and proud, and Dad took her home, made her dinner, and put her in a warm bath, which he continually filled up with warm water. She may have started running in response to feelings of inadequacy about her body, but I can only imagine that at the end of 26.2 miles, soaking in that bath, she felt like a badass.
Over the years, I stared at The Photo for hours, but I had a hard time believing that when it came to athletics, we had the same genes. The idea of running a mile, let alone a 10K or 26.2 miles, was frankly ridiculous to me. My mom had hiked the Kaibab Trail into the Grand Canyon on crutches, just a few weeks after an emergency hip replacement. She had come back from many cancer-related crises that everyone thought would be the end for her. I remember one occasion when she regained consciousness for the first time in days; she immediately asked if I had practiced my piano that day.
This was my truth: She had had strength that normal people didn’t have. I was just an out-of-shape teenager who scrupulously avoided the subject of my weight. I told myself there was an unbridgeable disconnect between her strength and my lack thereof. When I accepted that situation, I didn’t have to take responsibility for how unhealthy I had become.
A year into college, in a story that is likely familiar to many, my narrative changed. I decided to admit that I wasn’t actually happy with the state of things. I weighed more than I ever had. I took a deep breath and told my dad and stepmom that I was joining Weight Watchers. They immediately joined with me and we counted points together. Turns out, a daily muffin on your way to work is half your points for the day. It was humbling, but my family made it no big deal.
In an effort to start banking some Activity Points, I started meeting my best friend at the town reservoir every morning at 5:00 AM to run (THAT is a best friend). One minute on, one minute off, two minutes on, two minutes off, and so on until it was time to go home and take a shower. By the end of that summer, I could run five miles without stopping.
My sweaty run/walk intervals slowly wore down my mental wall between my badass mom and me. Maybe I was not in a different category. Maybe I was more like Mom than I thought. I rode the wave of that realization through my first 5K, a Komen Race for the Cure in South Boston. In the last mile, when I knew the finish line was close, I gritted my teeth and thought about her. This is for you, I told her.
In Tuscany, there are no bananas at the finish line. Just prosciutto.
That first 5K was followed by a 10K with my dad, a half-marathon and finally a marathon in Florence, Italy, which I trained for and ran during my semester abroad.
Despite my running successes, when I closed my eyes though and thought about running, The Photo kept coming back to me, reminding me that there was more. I moved back to Boston for graduate school and as soon as it was humanly possible, I registered for the October 2009 Tufts 10K. Upon registration, I received a confirmation email inviting me to share my why-I’m-running story. Without giving it a second thought, I hit reply, and I put it all out there. I even attached The Photo.
About a month before the race, I received an e-mail, saying I had won the Special Story contest. I was invited to a special pre-race dinner at the Park Plaza Hotel the night before the race, where I would read my story. Of course I accepted, and Tristan, my fiancé, and I took the train downtown, unsure of what to expect.
As it turned out, the Tufts 10K is now the USA Women’s 10K Championship. Read: we were seated with a field of elite runners who were hoping to win the race the next day.
I nervously attempted to make conversation. “So, have you ever run this thing before?” I asked Molly Huddle, the defending Tufts 10K champion. Molly was too gracious to set me straight, but one of our other tablemates chimed in: “Actually, she’s won this thing before.” Molly would go on to win Tufts the following day, too, and eventually set an American record for the 10K at the Rio Olympics in 2016.
As we ate pasta with Molly and her tiny, fast-looking and friendly ilk, we listened to the race director tell the elite women where to go for their drug test before the race start and where the tight turns on the course were; when you’re trying to win, I guess you need to know that stuff. When lemon sorbet was served for dessert and Molly and her friends sighed, disappointed that it wasn’t cake. I knew I liked them.
Next up was to speak none other than Joan Benoit Samuelson, the Olympic-gold-medal-winning runner from Maine. Naturally, my story had to follow Joan’s speech, and I was visibly shaking as I stood at the podium and told everyone in that room about my mom, and about the excitement tinged with sadness of running my first Tufts without her on what would have been her 59th birthday. When I finished speaking, my heart was full and I was on the verge of tears. Mom had brought me here, to this room with these people. It was too much.
Joan, Sarah, and soon-to-be-wedding-host Jane.
Moments later, I was shaking hands with Joan, my heart pounding as she thanked me for my story. Moments after that, she was introducing Tristan and me to her friend, Jane, who happened to live in Tenants Harbor, Maine, the town where my parents spent their summers and where we had decided we’d be getting married the following year.
When Jane asked if we had a venue in mind, we confessed that we didn’t. She replied that she had actually hosted two weddings on her property, and that we’d be welcome have ours there. Such a nice offer, we said to ourselves as we walked home in disbelief, but you never know if people really mean it when they offer something so generous to complete strangers.
The race itself could have been a total letdown after that magical night, but I remember it as one of my best races ever. It was a perfect day, sunny and in the 50s, and Boston Common was a sea of women cruising the Luna Bar samples, waiting in line for porta-potties, and talking excitedly. I got choked up as I crossed the starting line and ran down Charles Street towards the Longfellow Bridge. Dipping into the first underpass, the whole crowd whooped, and the sound echoed through my whole body, already buzzing from the high of just being there.
I ran hard that day, and I finished in 55:06, which is still my 10K PR. More exciting than seeing that time on the clock, however, was seeing Joan again at the finish line. She had finished in 36:29 that day, just four and a half minutes behind Molly Huddle. Then, she stood there for the rest of the event, shaking hands with every single finisher. Somewhere inside myself, I found the guts to say, “Hi Joan! It’s Sarah!” as I approached her, and she hugged me, and said “Wow, Sarah, congratulations! You ran a really great time!”
Sarah’s running mom directly landed Sarah and Tristan in this lovely wedding spot. Nice choice.
A little less than a year later, Tristan and I were married in Tenants Harbor, in the field on the water’s edge behind Jane’s house. It was a bright August day, not too hot, wildflowers everywhere. When my dad made his toast, he encouraged the guests to ask me for the story of how we’d found such a perfect place. Jane’s field and the Tufts 10K are now part of our family story.
My Mom and I never got to run together—I should qualify that together: in person together—but that doesn’t mean I don’t carry her with me on every mile. This year, as I ran my fifth Tufts 10K, and my first as a mother runner. I check in with my mom just before every single finish line I cross, just to make sure I don’t wimp out on that last sprint, when my stomach is rebelling and my mind is close to giving way.
Monday was no different; I sought her out in my mind as I gutted out the last mile, my fastest mile since having my daughter Rosalind 13 months ago.
Like Mom in 1987, the race was a celebration of both my body’s recovery from childbirth and a new, toddler-sized reason to run. I scanned the crowd anxiously for Tristan and Ros as I raced that final mile along Commonwealth Avenue. When I saw their faces and high-fived them at the 6-mile mark, I was ready for my last .2. I finished in 1:00:14, with my strongest, fastest kick ever.
After I finished, I walked right past the line for bananas, looking for my patiently waiting family. Ros grinned at me despite having skipped her nap, and I scooped her up and knelt down on the ground with my race number in front of her jacket.
This day only needed one more thing: The Photo, Version 2.0.
The Photo 2.0: Nearly three decades, one blankie, and one generation later.
It will live next to Version 1.0, in a place where I can see it every day.
Twin Cities 10 Miler + Marathon Weekend in (about) 10 Pictures
CliffsNotes version of the Twin Cities 10 Miler: Ah-Maze-ZING weekend.
Ok, 10- or 11-picture story:
1. The weekend started on Friday afternoon, where Sarah and I gave a talk about maximizing both race day performance and enjoyment. The best laughs always come from how to get a good race day picture, but this MSP crowd was engaged and awesome throughout. (And no, we didn’t expect anything less!)
1A: The surprise hit of the expo? Our Run the Twin Cities: Many Minnesota Nice Miles Hoodie. It was so popular, we are still taking orders on it. If you want one, check it out and order here. We are placing the order at 1 pm ET TODAY (Tuesday), so if you’re on the fence, jump to one side sooner than later!
2. Sarah thoughtfully took Pole Position on the AMR booth at the expo and organized a handful of enthusiastic volunteers, which gave me time so I could head to the shake-out run on Saturday morning. We had a great crowd of #motherrunners from South Carolina, Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Wisconsin, among other states, who didn’t bat an eye when I said, “Silly Toes!”
3. We ran for an easy 30 minutes (not slow enough to be a true shakeout, according to Coach MK, but it was cold and we were not all HRT’ers!). Then gathered for a pic or three, and then really gathered with warm, java beverages and laughed and chatted and did some Q + A about tomorrow’s marathon, heart rate training, life.
I know it shouldn’t surprise me at this point, but it still does: There is an immediate, intimate connection between #motherrunners; we all come in as strangers (as in: probably never met face to face) and leave as fast friends. I wish they sold a #motherrunner essential oil that somehow captured that vibe. Eau de badass + estrogen + sweat? I’d buy a case.
4. I had some good canine chats with my pal Finn, one of two BRD’s who belong to my friend Jo, with whom I stayed. Finn was pissed he couldn’t run the 10-miler with me, so he was acting indifferent.
5. Sunday morning, I got up and felt a little nauseous. I decided to cool it on my nightly beer for about two weeks prior to the race, but on Saturday night, anxiety got the best of me and I ended up eating 3 chocolate chip cookies (low sugar ones, but still) and a few handfuls of pretzel M’n’M’s after laying low on sugar for weeks. Not the best choice.
I came down to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and #BAMNR Jo had thoughtfully put this on the mirror. Time to get the focus off the belly and onto the race. I was really concerned about starting too fast, so I thought about going out in the front of Corral 2, instead of Corral 1, my assigned corral. Then, as I was doing my slow warm-up, I heard the announcer say there were only three corrals, I decided to stay put in Corral 1. I stationed myself towards the back and to the side, and chatted with another mother runner (Nancy? Sorry! I was distracted.) about swim team. I concentrated on taking deep breaths during the national anthem. I stayed calm and really was ready to finally.just.run.this.thing.
Numbers alert, Part I. My 10.2-mile race in Polar Flow.
6. Then the gun went off, and so did I. I had a pretty basic plan: heart rate <160 for first few miles, <170 for the next few, and then after cresting the hill at mile 7, Go. When I saw coach MK at mile 9, GO.
Coach MK and I didn’t really want to have hard and fast rules because it was shorter than a half-marathon and marathon, we didn’t know how my heart rate would behave at sea level, and I really wanted to be the boss of my own effort.
I took a few miles to get used to running with people around me and, quite honestly, I was a little annoyed I couldn’t find a rhythm. But my heart rate was low—thank you cool, sea level morning!—so I couldn’t really complain.
Oh wait. I can complain about one thing: the 1:25 pacer. He needed to be running 8:30’s. My first few miles clocked in at 8:16, 8:06, 8:37, yet he and his balloon posse were way ahead of me. After about mile 3, I didn’t see him for while. (Spoiler: I will see them again!) I realize he was giving his crew a cushion for the slight incline from miles 5 to 7, but I hated that he was being so aggressive with his pace.
More than that, I hated that I cared so much that he was in front of me.
After all, I was supposed to be running my own race.
We went under the wall around mile 4—mile 20 for marathoners—and I finally found some mental space and a groove. I had my screen on my Polar M400 exclusively on heart rate and overall time, so I just glanced at it regularly. I kind of regarded it with curiousity, the way a cat watches a goldfish in a bowl. Interested to see what it was doing, but not entirely sure I could control it.
For the first half of the race, the miles mostly ticked by. The automatic lap at each mile flashed my splits: mostly in the sub 8:30’s. The GPS was a little off—my M400 said the race was 10.2 miles, not 10, which I’m pretty sure it was since it was the USATF 10-mile championship.
I knew things were getting harder when I subconsciously shifted gears from looking for the next mile marker to thinking about getting through another five minutes. Running sub-9 minute miles meant a five-minute chunk got me over the halfway point of a mile, which felt like mental relief.
Another five minutes got me into the next mile, which would then be over halfway done when another five minutes was gone. With about 15 minutes left to go, five-minute chunks turned into 2:30 chunks, which turned into one minute.
Numbers alert, Part II.
7. The pavement on Summit Avenue had been repaved the week before: even though it was still black and hard, it felt fresh and smooth. Springy even. I didn’t stop for any water or gels. I high fived two people that were conveniently located close to me, but other than that, I didn’t have the mental capacity to really engage. I didn’t talk to anybody. I put my arms up for a picture somewhere in the middle of the race, but immediately regretted it. Too much energy. Probably didn’t get a good shot. I was in my zone.
I did, however, see my 1:25 pacer pal somewhere around mile 8ish. Gotcha! I passed him and never looked back.
Next up: Coach MK and her husband at the top of the last hill, right after mile 9. They were right in front of a tunnel, and “We Take Care of Our Own” by Bruce Springsteen was blaring. Damn straight we do, Bruce. I again used too much energy getting excited by the combo (MK and Bruce?!); my heart rate hit 180. Still, I pushed my accelerator as far down as it could GO.
The last mile is truly downhill, but still, it was Hard. I was ready to be Done. I counted my steps. I repeated I am strong, I am l;ght. I counted my steps. I repeated I am strong, I am l;ght. I counted my steps. I repeated I am strong, I am l;ght.
I may have been a bit too ambitious because I kind of petered out a little before the true finish line, but no matter. Room for improvement. And my finish line picture, I can tell you, will not be good. I was not smiling or raising my hands in the air. I was solid, though, and ran a 1:22:54, almost two minutes faster than I ran the same course in 2012.
Since you’re still reading, here is what I’m most psyched about: A near two-minute difference between my first five miles and my second five miles. My first half was 42:17, my second was 40:38. And the passed/passed by number in the second half. 154 vs. 40. Most deliberately, smartest, most well-executed running race I’ve ever done. Thank you heart rate training, thank you Coach MK, thank you Twin Cities.
8. Then the true fun began. We sped back to Jo’s house, I changed my clothes (no shower!), wolfed down an egg sandwich, and jumped on a bike. We rode around the marathon course, cheering on #motherrunners and runners dressed as pink tigers and Prince and everybody in between. We saw Amy Blake and Amy Blake’s husband a few times.
I know it can be said more eloquently, but the whole marathon experience reaffirms my faith in humanity, especially during divisive political times. People testing their own personal limits while being cheered on by strangers who absolutely believe in—and are in awe of—them. How can you not smile and soak it all in and wonder why everybody doesn’t just run?
We need an essential oil for that as well, please.
9. The bike brigade also followed another Amy, a good friend who was running the marathon solo. (Usually, there’s a flock of #BAMNRs running the race together.) Amy would stop, take selfies, chat, laugh with her crew. Definitely the most enjoyable way to run a marathon. She was always smiling, looked better at mile 20 than I’ve ever looked in any run, and just universally rocked it.
10. We finally made it to mile 25, where we were parked with (ahem) celebratory Bloody Marys and peanut butter pretzels. Thinking about heading back to shower before getting on a plane home and then Deanna, a #motherrunner in the heart rate program, came through. I met her at the expo, and immediately loved her: she is one of those women that you know within seconds of meeting her that she is a Force.
Deanna is a leukemia survivor and easily possesses more resilience than the whole marathon field combined. MK and I were so lucky to snag a pic with her before we sent her on her way to conquer her final mile.
I didn’t shower until I landed in Denver but have no complaints. (My seatmates might not say the same thing.) I couldn’t ask for a better way to bookend the weekend.
I continue to be just floored by this community and all the strength, humor, spark, compassion, and love we attract and create.
Yes, I’m proud of my 10 miles and the year-long journey it took me to get to the finish line, but I’m way more proud that We Take Care of Our Own.
And that title, btw, will be the name of our #BAMR essential oil. xoxoxo
Marathon Tips from Olympians Amy Cragg, Meb Keflezighi, and Desiree Linden
About two weeks ago, Christina Marcuson (left) and Katie Ormson (right) attended a Fleet Feet Chicago event on behalf of Another Mother Runner. They weren’t there shopping for new shoes, though; they were attending “Breaking Through the Wall,” a panel discussion with an expert crowd that included Olympic marathoners Amy Cragg (middle; above); Meb Keflezighi, and Desiree Linden. (Um, can you say awesome!)
Christina, an army wife, has four children: ages 25, 21, 16, and 14. “I went back to school recently so I am struggling with finding time to train,” she says, “However, running is my ‘me time’ and I need it to remain sane in the chaos of my life!” She’s taking on her first marathon in Las Vegas at the end of November.
Meb told Christina he LOVED her tee, and was wondering where he could buy one. #kidding
A mom of three, Katie is training for her 15th half-marathon—the Cocoa Beach Half-Marathon—and has been a runner since high school. “I have been a runner since high school, but I just starting racing in the last 4 years,” she says, “I ran my half PR in Wisconsin in May of this year of a 1:54. I just turned 50, and am getting faster as I get older!”
Christina and Katie took notes for the AMR tribe so fall marathoners can have their best races yet!
The expert panel lasted 90 minutes.
Make a List: Amy Cragg makes a pre-race list that goes into documents everything down to what stretches she’ll do and when. I—Christina— believe developing a detailed checklist would help me manage some of my anxiety about tackling my first marathon. Actually, I feel I need a couple of checklists: Packing, Food, and Training. I have been thinking about developing these checklists ever since I left the event and I already feel like the marathon is more manageable. Whew.
And Check it Twice: Amy’s detailed list contains what and exactly when she will eat and drink, all the gear she will need, transportation modes, who she needs to speak with pre-race. (I’m pretty sure it also contains when she needs to poop, but she avoided giving us that detail.) The benefit of her prep? She able to relax and keep anxiety to a minimum, knowing she is doing all she can to be at her best when she toes the starting line.
Desiree Linden eats her Wheaties with a laugh.
Control the Control-ables: That’s Desiree Linden’s mantra on race morning. A hot, sunny day (not a controllable!) at Grandma’s, my—Katie’s—last marathon should have told me to reduce my race expectations, but I had trained so hard and was so ready for a fast race that I let an ‘uncontrolable’ get the best of me and ended up with my slowest marathon time. Lesson learned, I hope.
Laugh. I—Katie— can definitely get behind Desi’s way of staying relaxed on race morning: having breakfast with the funniest person she can find.
It’s not just about the miles (Christina): : All three runners agreed that to be your best, you have to be diligent about training, sleep, and diet. We need all three legs of the stool or it will not stand. And the most important part of all three? Consistency. One good meal doesn’t counteract a week of bad eating, nor does 8.5 hours of shuteye one night make up for too many 1 a.m. bedtimes. Frankly, I—Christina—have been focusing all of my energy on the training and I let my diet and sleep falter. Glad I have a little more time before I go 26.2.
The marathoners reliving the Meb: push-ups at the Rio finish line.
Send Your Energy Elsewhere. Meb, sweet Meb talked about how he likes to joke around, pray and relax before a race. Encouraging others is also something that brings him joy. Having the ability to keep others relaxed and enjoying the race experience has the pay it forward ability to keep Meb enjoying the experience as well.
Amy Cragg: all smiles post-Rio. (Hey: a 9th place finish would leave one on my face for years!)
Know Your Why. Desi Linden revealed only 10% of her races were good, which means 90% of the races she had to push herself through to the finish. Wow! This was my “ah-ha” moment. I—Christina—cannot only focus on the mechanics of my body and specifics of the race, but why I choose to run in the first place. This translates into tapping into the mental stamina that I need to finish my first marathon.
Part of my why comes from my husband. When he was deploying overseas for the first time, he left me a note that said, “You are stronger than you think”. I thought maybe I am and I can survive a year with four kids alone. Now I run to keep proving to myself that I am strong enough and to push the boundaries of that strength. Recently, my husband told me that he is deploying again in January. I guess 2017 will be another full year of running for me!