AMR Aid Station: How do I know if I’m ready to run a marathon?
Welcome to the AMR Aid Station, a new feature on the Another Mother Runner. At the AMR Aid Station, we will answer and explain your burning + interesting #motherrunner questions, so if you have any, feel free to tweet us @themotherrunner with your question and use #AMRAidstation; you can also comment in below or email us.
“How do I know when/if I’m ready to run a marathon?”
For mothers, this is a particularly loaded question.
You’ve got a lot going on already. Are you sure you want to spend precious time training when you are not attending to your demanding responsibilities as mother, spouse, worker bee, desk jockey, chauffeur, short-order cook, dog-walker, grocery-shopper, laundry chieftain, vacuum-wielder, toilet-snaker, book-reader, and all the other things you may (or may not!) do?
Okay, yes, me too. Let’s get out of the house NOW!
Mom? Do you want to play Princess with me? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? (My child in 2008.)
Truth is, there is no one-size-fits-most answer. So many factors go into marathon-training calculus. Marathons are hard. You don’t want the experience to suck.
Be honest with yourself when you answer these questions. If you’re not ready to tackle 26.2 right now, no biggie. Marathons will always be there for you.
If you ARE ready, go you! And of course you’ll check out Train Like a Mother programs, cause they got your back.
1. How old is your youngest child?
Less than a year?
Sure, some women bounce back post-partum to the best shape of their lives. (Really? Is that actually true?)
Paula Radcliffe won the 2007 New York City Marathon 10 months after giving birth to her daughter, Isla. But she also held the marathon world record of 2:15:25, a time that stands today. AND she suffered a sacral stress fracture.
You are not Paula Radcliffe.
Even if you’re an adoptive mom like me (and my daughter was nearly 1 when I got her), your mind and body are going through the shock of living on someone else’s sleep, eat, pee/poop schedule. Wahhhh! Adding stress to a stressful situation is not a recipe for success. Pass.
I wore my finest Rock & Roll Arizona Marathon T-shirt to meet baby Ya Ping in Chang-sha, China, in 2005. She wasn’t impressed. :)
If your youngest child is in the 2-7-year-old range, everyone here totally understands the urgency of getting out of the chaotic house to do something far away from all the screaming demands. For long periods of time.
In fact, Dimity’s and Sarah’s kids were in the 2-7-year-old range they started on this whole AMR party in the first place.
And if your youngest is over the age of say 10 or so, heck yeah, go for it! (Unless you just want to take a two-year nap, which we also totally understand.)
Consider this: 52% of runners live in a household with NO CHILDREN under the age of 19, according to Running USA’s 2017 National Runner Study. And another 16% had just one child under the age of 19. And 68% of runners are married. So that means…
In a majority of running households, the grownups outnumber the children.
2. How many days a week do you run and/or work out?
“Four or more” is the answer I’m looking for, though some coaches have different opinions. Your muscles, tendons, and joints need to be accustomed to the rigors of running before you start ramping up the distance (and the rigor). Speaking of….
Look how happy I was in my first marathon! Well, I was 27, and this was FIFTEEN YEARS before my daughter came to me. (New York City, 1989.)
3. How long have you been running—consistently?
This is the correct answer, according to coach Budd Coates of Runner’s World: 3-5 days of running 3-5 miles at a time, with a weekly long run of 8 miles, consistently for a year.
4. Have you run a 5K or a half-marathon since the arrival of your youngest?
Yes: Yay! Proceed to the route.
No: Hmmm. Why not? Did you just have a baby?? Why are you reading this?
Yes, there are people who do a marathon as their first post-partum race. And some go on to complete many marathons. But it seems really risky to me. Why would you do that to yourself?
PS Even if you ran marathons pre-kids, you still want to ease back into training.
5. Have you been pain-free for the past six months?
Yes: Whew. Pat yourself on the back. Proceed to the route.
NO: Oh, dear, I am sorry. What hurts? Your shins? Your butt? You do know that throwing mileage on an injury isn’t going to make the pain go away, right? You are not Paula Radcliffe.
Nashville Marathon, 2005, four months before we flew to China to meet our baby! My first sub-4 marathon in many (IVF) years.
6. How much “free” time do you have?
Hahahahahaha.
As a mother runner, you don’t find “free” time, you make it. And I don’t have to tell you it isn’t “free”—it comes with a cost.
Be real when you consider this: A marathon training plan will require at least one 20-mile run. How long will that take you, at your slowest, most conservative pace? For me, it’s around 4 hours. Plus time to eat, drink, and prepare before hand. And after your long run, you might even want to shower, eat, foam-roll, and nap—if you are so blessed—without a small child following you into the shower to ask what’s for lunch? And do you want to play Mafia Princess in a Tent? (What happens when you raise a daughter in New Jersey.)
Add onto that at least three other one-ish-hour weekly runs and soon we’re talking 7-10 hours. Yikes!
Plus, you will be tired. So tired.
You can see how incredibly delighted my daughter, then 2, was to cheer me on in the 2006 Durango, Colorado, marathon.
7. Is your family on board? No, really.
“When a mom trains, the whole family trains.”
Sit everyone down—kids, spouse or partner (if you have one), other caretakers (if you have those)—and explain what you are all getting into. The training, the commitment, the victory of reaching a goal—together, right? Yay! Cupcakes help.
The short answer: You are ready for a marathon when your body, mind, and family are all in sync.
This is making me feel all fired up to train for a fall marathon!
What about you? Are you ready for a marathon? If you’ve run one already, do you have other questions that should be addressed?
#306: The Effect of Social Media on Running
Dry Martini: Sometimes, It Snows In April
Before I forget, because forgetting things is my super-power, I’ll be hosting a Cherry Blossom meet-up this weekend in D.C. We’ll gather at the Potomac River Running D.C. store at 1 p.m. on Saturday, April 7. There will be conversation, snacks, and swag, including some of those rubber bracelets Sarah talked about during a recent podcast. No RSVP or ticket is required — but please leave a comment if you think you’ll drop in. I’d hate to run out of snacks.
And just FYI because it would be weird if it came up and I’d never mentioned it: April 7 is also my birthday. It’s not a big one; I won’t be moving up an age group. Being in a room full of BAMRs and with access to snacks is gift enough.
Right now, the weather folk are calling for *snow* in D.C. on Saturday. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m not saying that the frozen precipitation is all my fault — but I wouldn’t rule it out. This winter just won’t make like a tree and … it’s been so long since I’ve seen leaves that I can’t complete the saying without sobbing a little.
A recent long run. Note the grimy snow in the background.
We did have gorgeous (for us) spring weather for about ten hours on Easter Saturday. I felt almost naked in capris and a long-sleeved top during my quick six-miler. By Sunday, it was gray and gross again. Spring will bounce right back, I thought, as I laid out my running gear before bed, because I knew I had to get up early to get my Monday run done. At worst, it looked like it would be in the low 20s.
I didn’t even bother to look out of the window before strolling onto our back porch at 6 a.m. One step out and I nearly fell right on my rump because I slid in a 1/2” of snow. Which would later be an inch of snow, by the time I made it up to the track, made like a hamster on a wheel, and got home.
Fun.
My view from the track on Monday. Woo.
I know it will change. I do. It always does. Before I know it, we’ll have our two weeks of mud and then it’ll be summer. All I can do is run through it.
Woman can’t live by run alone, though. For the last two years or so, I’ve made sure to get some simple strength training in. My usual routine of bridges, squats, and fire hydrants had started to bore the stuffing out of me so I was super glad to see Dimity’s strength routine pop into my email. While I don’t do every exercise on the sheet — planks of any variety aggravate my chronically wonky shoulder — I spend about 30 minutes on non-running mornings working my muscles in a non-running way. That half-hour spent grunting on my bedroom floor (get your mind out of the gutter) seem to help keep all of my aging parts in working order.
Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’ll likely develop a chronic use injury. The universe can’t resist a sweet, ironic burn.
Much like Dimity’s weimaraner Mason, my corgi Lucy can’t resist “helping” with clamshells.
While I’m looking forward to running around the Tidal Basin and under the cherry blossoms this weekend, I’m really, really looking forward to watching the Boston marathon on April 16. I’m pulling for my bestie Shalane (if we’re in the same picture, we’re best friends, right?). I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t admit that I also want Desiree Linden to cross the line first.
As much as I love Shalane, Deena, Sara Hall, and Molly Huddle, Des has always been the runner I aspire to be. She grinds out the work without ever seeming worn down by it and clearly means business from the moment the gun goes off. Off the track, she hangs with her dogs, reads, and tweets — just like me, come to think of it. We’re totally twinsies, except for pretty much everything but dogs, books, and twitter.
I suspect I’ll be surprised by who the winner is. I’m certain I won’t be surprised if it snows on Patriots’ Day. That’s almost a garauntee.
So will I see you in D.C.? And who do you want to see win Boston?
Running Through It: Rachel + a Brain Tumour
Rachel, finishing a 5K Parkrun in the pouring rain, the day before she underwent a 7-hour surgery to remove a brain tumour.
[[Today, Monday brings us back Running Through It series; today, we hear from #motherrunner Rachel, a 46-year-old Australian, mom of two teenagers and university-qualified nutritionist.]]
It’s been a year now since my world was shaken sideways.
But let’s back up. I was training for a half marathon in the Australian Running Festival held in Canberra in April, with my sights set on the Chicago marathon later in the year. My family and I were on a much anticipated ski trip to Telluride with friends from New Zealand.
I’m not a great skier, but I’m OK. We had lovely ski in-ski out accommodation, but to ski out we had to ski over a bridge. Everyone else in our party managed it effortlessly. As the week went on, I was finding it harder and harder to navigate. Crossing it was extremely anxiety inducing; the bridge appeared to me to be very narrow, with a great fall either side.
Strange for a big resort wouldn’t you think?
Returning home to Australian summer, I found that our once bright kitchen seemed very dull. I was complaining about the lighting. After a routine eye test at the optometrist, I was referred to an opthomologist. It became clear in her office that something was wrong with my peripheral vision, and she referred me for a brain MRI.
Now you’d think at that stage I’d be concerned. Our medical system in Australia is pretty conservative with plenty of routine, preventative tests,, so by the time you’re 46, you feel like you’ve had many tests for things that turn out to be nothing. I was totally unprepared for the call later that afternoon that explained they’d seen a large tumour [we’ll use the Australian spelling through this essay] on the brain MRI.
Although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I was pretty lucky as the doctors could tell this particular tumour (a craniopharyngioma) was benign.
The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of visits to the neurosurgeon and endocrinologist and other specialists. Running became my time to process (as best I could) the enormous news. Leading up to the surgery I was allowed to keep running as long as I kept my effort gentle. Because my vision really was not great, I had to be careful about not falling over.
My surgery was scheduled for the 30th March 2017, just 12 days after finding out about the tumour.
Before I underwent suregery, I was determined to log my 50th parkrun, a free, weekly volunteer-run 5k in various places around the world (they are in 1420 parks!). On your 50th parkrun you get a free teeshirt. (Priorities right?)
I was so grateful to be out there running but absolutely terrified about what would happen the next day: Whether I’d get through it and what the future would hold. I had been read an enormous list of potential side effects. I was worried about how the situation would impact my two beautiful teenagers – Rose (16) and Sam (14). I was worried about the burden my husband would have to face. I was worried about the impact on my brain. Would I still be “me” after the surgery?
Surgery lasted seven hours, and was completed by the most compassionate surgeon you can imagine. I had held it together pretty well saying goodbye to my teenagers and again to my husband, but was in pieces in the pre-op room. My neurosurgeon sat on the edge of the bed, looked into my eyes and told me it would be OK.
I carried with me a beautiful prayer by one of my dear BAMR friends, Natalie; the prayer included these lovely lines: Please guide Rachel’s expert medical team that they efficiently and effectively remove the spot that is obstructing her vision. Please grant Rachel the invitation to surrender her fears with the knowledge that all will be, and indeed already is, well. Heavenly Father, thank you for giving Rachel a beautiful circle of family, friends, and community to support her continuing journey to even greater wellness.
Another BAMR friend, Sharyl, was given the job of sharing updates from my Australian friend who fielded all the inquiries from the group of BAMRs that I had been lucky enough to meet at the first AMR Retreat in Little Rock, Arkansas.
The previous year I had been one of the runners in the heart-rate training marathon program. Little did I know that program was preparing me for the stress of surgery. Every time the nurses checked my heart rate they’d comment on how low it was! I was able to proudly tell them it was because I was a runner.
The surgery went fine. As soon as I was conscious, I made sure I could remember my wedding day and the birth of my two kids. I had to tell the doctors over and over the name of the Australian Prime minister which was a bit funny as it had changed quite frequently in recent years.
However a couple of days after the surgery, I had a seizure due to hyponatremia, which is known among runners and is caused by low sodium levels in the blood. This seizure meant I would have to give up my drivers’ licence for 6 months: a burden to anyone with active teenagers! It also extended my stay in hospital to 2 weeks. It felt so strange to go from a fit person to being only able to walk gingerly for a few steps.
Eventually I came home. How blissful that was.
Instagram Post: I know 2.2 km isn’t remarkable but 1 month ago I had a benign brain tumour partially removed. It was a long operation, involved 2 trips to the ICU and 2 weeks in hospital. I’ve been walking every day but tried a 1 km run a couple of days ago and pushed it to 2 km this morning. Waking up to beautiful blue skies every day has been an absolute joy as has the support of my beautiful family and amazing friends #blessed #motherrunner #slowandsteady
My neurosurgeon looked so happy when I asked him whether I could run at the 6-week checkup. He said yes, and of course, I took it easy. The first run felt blissful; for a few moments there I was able to forget about what I had been through. My mantra that was with me through five marathon—I am here now (from Dimity!)—has become my mantra for running through recovery.
It took a good few months before I was prepared to run up a hill or add in any speed work. I still claim that the surgery means I can’t do a burpee EVER AGAIN! (That’s my story, and I”m sticking with it!)
Non-running friends could not understand why on earth I was running, but it was so important to me. The miles helped me immensely with processing the enormity of what I was facing, Plus, I wanted to show my kids I was OK. When I was running, I could just tune out from the worries and feel like my old self again. I didn’t care about pace or distance. Having my vision restored meant I could appreciate the beautiful blue of the sky, the changing autumn leaves, and the colours of the bay which I run around.
Way better than a PR: Ringing the bell a thet hospital to mark the end of radiotherapy treatment.
After three months I had to face radiation therapy. I was fixed with a face mask which was screwed to the hospital bed so I couldn’t move for the 30 minutes of treatment. The radiation was daily for 6 weeks. At this stage again I was blessed by my friends. I couldn’t drive there, so there was a daily roster of friends assigned to take me to the hospital and keep me company. It’s funny; if I had been able to drive, I would have brushed off suggestions of help. It turned out to be such a blessing—like a coffee date without the coffee.
I kept running through the radiation treatment, but it was so tiring. The only thing I can compare it to is the tiredness I felt with a toddler and a newborn. I was running 3 days a week and going to the gym for strength work 2 days a week.
People asked why I didn’t give myself a break. My answer? I was so determined to show my kids and myself that I was “just like” my old self. One of Sydney’s iconic running events, the City to Surf, a stunning 14km run from the City to Bondi Beach with 60,000 other runners, was the week before I finished my treatment. I decided to run it with my rock—my husband—by my side.
Rachel, finding her strong in so many ways.
Finishing that event made me so proud. My virtual BRFs stepped in here too. Pat, one amazing BAMR sent me a wonder woman footnote and her “found my strong” medal and tee. That sent me to tears. The love of our tribe has been strong.
So now here I am, a year on, and my world is slowly coming back upright again.
The tumour is attached to my pituitary so it will never be gone. But the surgery and the radiation have reduced it significantly. My vision is great and I can drive again. I experienced a load of side effects, including instant menopause, complete loss of smell (we hope it will return), a sluggish thyroid and about 10kg of weight gain due to the steroids and my poor, confused pituitary gland.
I’ve found the weight gain really challenging. I am a Clinical Nutritionist and I help a lot of women with weight issues. I try to remember that the steroid medication led to the weight gain and it is so important for managing brain swelling. That, of course, is so much more important than a few extra kilos, but it’s frustrating when you can’t fit into your old clothes. I also miss being able to smell. I’m a keen cook and I’ve learned the hard way to make sure I set the oven timer due when I make my favorite granola. (It doesn’t taste as good burned.)
I am back in a Train Like a Mother plan, focusing on a half marathon in May. It took me a long time to want to sign up for a race as I know it will be at a much slower pace. (Yes, I am still struggling with my ego.)
That said, I have a new-found appreciation for my girlfriends, both the ones in Sydney and those around the world. I’ve also returned as a run coach for a local women’s learn-to-run group and I’m now the event director of a new local parkrun.
Running through it has helped clear my mind in dark days and helped me reflect on how truly lucky I am.
I am here now.