#318: 6th Annual Summer Reading Podcast!
Sarah and co-host Ellison convene for what is one of their favorite days of the year: the recording of AMR’s annual summer reading episode! But the duo soon realizes it should be labeled a pop culture show, as they take frequent tangents to discuss their current favorite British TV shows (“Crashing” for SBS; “The Split” for Ellison) and new podcasts Sarah is listening to (“The RFK Tapes” and “The Gateway”). Speaking of podcasts, Ellison shares why her show, “The Book Bully,” has been on hiatus. When the conversation dwells on books (starting at 18:15), the recommendations run the gamut, from Scandinavian noir to several “quirky” novels to a novel with a “meta” conceit both SBS and E adored! Laughs—and a few tears—abound on this delightful conversation between two dear friends.
Phone number for leaving questions for new bi-weekly “call-in” show: 470-BADASS1(470-223-2771)
BOOKS MENTIONED (apologies for list not being 100% complete—lots of suggestions flying around!):
Snare by Lilja Sigurdardøttir
Lawn Boy by Jonathan Evison
What You Don’t Know about Charlie Outlaw by Leah Stewart
The Word Is Murder by Anthony Horowitz
You Think It, I’ll Say It by Curtis Sittenfeld
How Hard Can It Be by Allison Pearson
French Exit by Patrick DeWitt
Clock Dance by Anne Tyler
Advice for Future Corpses by Sally Tisdale
Stay hydrated with Nuun Electrolytes: Visit nuunlife.com to receive 20% off your order when you use promo code AMRHYDRATE
For a vehicle that’s friendlier to the environment yet can hold you, your family, and all your summer gear, check out the Chrysler Pacifica Hybrid. Learn more at Chrysler.com
Running Through It: Cathy + Childhood Anxiety and Depression
Cathy, on her beloved trails.
[[Happy to return to the Running Through It series; today, Cathy, a Colorado-Springs-based #motherrunner shares the story of her teenage daughter Lily, who suffers from anxiety + depression. “Lily has always told me it is ok to share her story,” says Cathy, “She wants others to know what living with anxiety and depression can be like.”]]
When my children were younger, the days were full of joy, energy, and play. We stayed busy with friends, library reading programs, hiking our favorite trails, messy craft projects, and knock-knock jokes. I tried to find the balance between not too busy and not too much down-time.
Really, I was like any other mom who was trying to do her best. And yet, when my daughter was 8 years old, a tiny voice whispered in the back of my mind, “I think there’s something wrong with Lily.”
When all you want is for your kids to be happy and healthy, that tiny voice scared me beyond words. And as another year or two went by, despite my best efforts to silence that voice, fear began to creep into my heart that, indeed, something was not right.
Lily, who had always been a spitfire and was adored for her strength, began to seem unable to control her anger. Her separation anxiety when she was away from me, which had seemed normal for a toddler, morphed into crippling anxiety about leaving our home. Her silly sense of humor, which had always entertained her peers, started to alienate her as she began to have a difficult time relating to others. By the time she was 10, we were seeking help with a counselor, and not long after that, while her world continued to deteriorate, a psychiatrist.
When Lily was in 5th grade, our lives imploded. At this point, her anxiety was so bad she could not go to school. Her anger was so random we were walking on eggshells. More days than not, she curled up on the couch and cried for hours on end. The diagnoses came with the weight of the world—Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, and probable Bipolar Disorder.
It was too much. She was suffocating. We were suffocating. The walls closed in.
Cathy’s best running dog, Pirate. When he’s not running with her, he gives Lily some much needed emotional support.
About this time, my running began to take on a more meaningful role in my life. I had been running since college, but always for fun and always casually. When Lily’s illness started to consume our family, running was no longer for fun, it became a necessity. To get outside and breathe fresh air, to feel my legs burn and my arms pump, to remember that I was someone outside of this miserable illness that was swallowing my daughter, and to prove that I could run 5 miles, 7 miles, 13 miles.
The more chaotic the mental illness symptoms were, the more diligent I became in practicing self-care through running. I failed miserably in self care in other ways, like letting people help us—this is a whole other issue entirely, but it’s hard to talk about mental illness still to this day, and people were put off by Lily’s symptoms—but I made sure I could still run, often getting up at 4 am when Lily was most likely to be asleep.
The past several years have been excruciating. Lily is enrolled in an online school so she can stay home, but she needs much assistance from me. Most of my day is spent as caretaker to her. Each week is filled with counseling appointments and therapy. We are on our 4th counselor and 3rd psychiatrist. Insurance is a nightmare, while psychiatrists and counselors switch practices, retire, and sometimes just aren’t a good fit. Most don’t take our insurance and we pay out of pocket. We have tried multiple medications, some with horrific side effects, and seen minimal success.
We have rearranged our lives, lost friends, ended family vacations, questioned our faith, enacted a suicide prevention plan, and learned not to plan for things more than 24 hours in advance. But the very worst of all is that Lily has been robbed of some of the best years of her life. She has had to watch former friends move on in the world, go to Homecoming and Prom, start to practice driving, and earn more independence. She wishes more than anything to not feel sad, to not feel anxious, to not feel incapable, to not feel worthless.
Lily is now 17, and I can happily say that she has experienced more stability from her illness recently. While other parents cheer their children’s grades or college acceptances, we cheer for Lily’s ability to walk into a store by herself and purchase something. We cheer for days she gets dressed and takes a walk. We cheer when we see her smile. We cheer her endless courage and relentless fight against a misunderstood and monster of a disease.
In a word, she is spectacular.
When it comes to mental illness, routine and health are vital. I have found that routine and health are vital for caretakers, too. Even better, for me, were running goals. During one of Lily’s harder years, I decided to begin heart rate training with the Train Like a Mother Club.
I ran my first marathon, and I was hooked with the training plans and accountability from so many other amazing BAMRs. On Lily’s worst days, when nothing went well, I could tell myself, “At least you got to run today.” I could continue to care for her because I had taken the time for myself. When my marathon training was finished, and my first marathon was successfully under my belt, I wanted more. More structure. More goals. More love.
After The North Face San Francisco 50k (6,700 feet of climbing and 32.4 miles). “I am damn proud of those numbers!” she says. #asyoushouldbe
Four training plans later and this fall I finished my first 50k, essentially giving mental illness the middle finger. I want to go longer, farther, higher, harder. “Come at me!” I inwardly scream at this disease. “You can’t stop us!” In 2019, I want to run my first 50 miler.
There is no end with this illness. There is no cure. We hope and pray for long seasons of stability, and we brace ourselves for when the bottom falls out. I doubt I will ever reach the finish line of this particular race, and that is why I am so, so grateful to be a BAMR and have other finish lines to cross. I celebrate them with you.
And to all the other mothers out there who are raising a child with ongoing medical needs: Run.
Buy the running shoes even when the medical bills pile up. Run.
Invest in a goal race to keep you looking forward to something. Run.
Run for your own sanity.
Just run.
Have you Run Through It—a challenging situation or stage in life—at some point? We want to hear from you!
Write up your essay (no more than 1,200 words, please), then email it to us. We’ll be in touch when we can publish it. Thanks!
Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim: Training + Logistics
This post is the third—and final—post about Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim-to-Rim. Read up on the Physical Challenge (Part I) and the Mental Challenge Part II).
I informally coached Jo + Jess (the J-Team) for our Rim-to-Rim hike in early June. Our collective goal: to be strong + capable enough so that the day was fun, not a grind. I’m happy to report that it worked: We had a day full of many happy miles. Our pace was steady and legs were strong. The only thing we didn’t really prepare for was the heat, but unless you’re up for bringing a bike trainer in the sauna—we were not—we just had to trust we were fit enough to handle it.
In addition to knowing we didnt have to worry about our fitness, we also didnt have to fret about getting lost–a frequently occurance for Jo and I on adventures.
Training for Rim-to-Rim Hike
Depending on your route in the Canyon, your mileage will be in the 20-25ish range. As such, a marathon training plan is a smart way to structure your training. I used the basic premise behind the Incredible Heart Rate Marathon Program and 26.2: Go the Distance as our scaffolding for Jo, Jess and myself. We would work out five days a week, and gradually increase the longer efforts on the weekends. Jo likes to do Pilates and yoga, while Jess was into a strength class at her local gym, and I had to continue to keep up basic physical therapy moves, so I folded that into the training as well.
Even though we were thinking like marathoners, we didn’t run much. Instead, these were our important tenets of training:
- Train on stairs. The J-Team have the J.J. Hill Stairs nearby; I have Red Rocks nearby. Athletic stadiums, hotel stairwells, and anywhere else where there are copious stairs are great options.
Eleven trips up and down the J.J. Hill Stairs of Pain, then four hill repeats on nearby Ramsey Hill. As much up as down: perfect!
Real stairs, as opposed to a Stepmill or Stairmaster, are preferred because you get no mechanical assist, and you can go up as well as down.
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Lookout Mountain for me: down, up, down, some up, little down, all the way back up.
- Do your long hikes on hilly terrain. If you live near any mountains, head there, and ideally to the top to start so you can mimic the downhill of the Cnayon. My two longest hikes were on Lookout Mountain; I started at the top, went down about 1,700 feet, then climbed back up, went back down again, and climbed up again. The J-Team don’t have mountains at their disposal, but they do have Afton Alps, a local ski area where they did hill repeats for an hour at the beginning of the workout. Hiked for 2 hours on hilly terrain, then did another hour of hill repeats.Ideally, if you’re headed from S to N Rim in one day, your longest hike should build up to around 18 miles and include 2,500-3,000 feet of climbing/descending.
Jess took this picture of her calf on the trail, “Just because it looked so strong.” Damn straight, sister.
- Get strong, especially around your ankles, hips, and knees—the joints that take the brunt of the downhill. One-legged squats with good form are key; we did them 2-3 times a week. This Back to Basics routine has everything you need—you just need to do it three times a week. Jo also took a weekly Body Pump class, and Jess really loved her strength classes + crowd at The Dungeon, which she did 2-3 times a week.
- Emphasize climbing at the gym. Two staple workouts of the week: An hour on Stepmill or Stairmaster (build up to 60 minutes, and keep the pace sustainable)‚ and an hour of walking quickly on the treadmill on an incline (changing it up between 5-12%, build up to an hour). The other cardio days were easy runs, swims, rides, always leaving enough time to make sure to get in strength.
Other training things to consider:
Hiking poles! Use them. I admit, I didn’t want to use them initially–and yes, that was my ego–but once I tried them on a long hike, I was sold. Four hooves are better than two, especially when you’re heading down and your joints feel every.single.step. On the flats and some of the ascents, I carried them in one hand.
Practice with your Canyon gear! If you are carrying a hydration pack, use it on all your long runs. Ditto for a backpack, special jacket you have to have, whatever. This also goes for nutrition and hydration.
Eat. Eat. Eat. If you are hiking, it doesn’t feel as intense as running. Still, you are working hard for a full, epic day. On long hikes, we practiced eating (or drinking) 200-300 calories an hour, starting from the first hour, even though you likely feel full from breakfast.
Yes, that sounds like a lot of food—and we were probably closer to 200— but we really wanted to avoid that nauseous feeling that can be caused by too much water sloshing around in your belly, not enough calories in your belly, heat, overexertion, and a host of other things. Once you get to that place, it is extremely hard to get more food down, especially when you’re in relentless sun and staring down hours of climbing. You’re in for a rough day.
Having a steady stream of calories is vital; we witnessed that first-hand the night before our hike. While dropping a car at the north rim, we saw a group of women coming out from Rim to Rim. One of them was as pale as blank screen; she hadn’t been diligent about eating and drinking, her hiking mates said, and it took them over 2 hours to cover the last two miles.
Stuff we ate: tortilas/bagels with peanut butter; date/coconut balls or other DIY energy bites; GU gels + chews; cookies like oreos; gorp (without chocolate in it…otherwise, it’ll melt into a cow pie); potato chips. We also had salt tablets.
Drink. Drink. Drink. This is a no-brainer, but it deserves to be mentioned. We all carried 60-80 ounce bladders in our hydration packs, and had two hand-held bottles among us as well, and refilled at every opportunity, even if the bladder was half full. We sipped frequently, not relying solely on thirst to be our indication of when to drink. Happy to say we all emptied our bladders—both the ones on our backs and the ones in our bodies—plenty of times during the day.
Rim-to-Rim Logistics
If I have one bit of advice about logistics, it’s this: Plan far in advance, and coordiante your reservations before picking the one specific day you want to hike. Because the Canyon is so popular, availability will play more of a role than if you were, say, hiking a 14’er in Colorado. If you are going to stop or start on the North Rim, you need to wait until mid-May, when it officially opens for the year. (It was open on May 15th this year.)
The Kaibob lodge. No wi-fi, no TV, questionable taste in bedspeads, but exactly what we needed: clean + hot water for three full showers. Lots of laughs too, even with a sore knee and stubborn sand in my eye from the trail. (Thank you again to the J-Team, who snuggled in close so I could have my own full size bed that night.)
There are only three non-camping places to stay on the North Rim; we ended up getting a room at the Kaibob Lodge, which is 15 miles from the Rim–not exactly a short commute to a bed after a long day. (The Grand Canyon Lodge is about 2 miles from the Rim, which sounds walkable…and it is, but it could still be a long two miles after a long day.) As of this writing (June 2018) as far as I can tell, there are no shuttle services or taxis that pick you up on the North Rim and take you to your desired spot.
As such, having a designated driver would be great. We didn’t have that option, so we spent a lot of time driving; about 10 hours the day before the hike, and about 7 the day after. That’s a lot of sitting and driving, so if you’re making a weekend trip, be prepared for the general weariness long travel can bring on.
Even if you can’t snag a room at th Grand Canyon Lodge, sitting on the deck with a cold one and taking it all in: a Must.
Basic of our trip: After landing in Phoenix, the J-Team and I each rented a car. Stopped for lunch in Flagstaff. Drove to the North Rim and dropped a car and grabbed a quick bite. Drove back to the South Rim, where we arrived at our hotel at 11:30 pm. We woke at 4 am, left a car in the back-country lot, and were hiking by 5:05 am. Done by 5:10 pm or so. Hopped back in the car, headed to the Grand Canyon Lodge for a celebratory beer, then drove to Kaibob Lodge for a burger and bed. Up early, good breakfast, back on the road. Four or so hours later, back at the other car on the South Rim, a few pics, then back to Phoenix, where it was a balmy 106 degrees.
Driving back, we stopped to take some pics. If we ever release a #motherrunner album, this will be the cover.
We met a handful of people who were hiking South to North one day, spending the night on the North rim, then hiking North to South the following day. After finishing one day, that option didn’t sound super appealing to me, but then again, I trained with the perspective of just going one direction. I may have felt differently after if I knew we were making it a double-header.
And if you’re a runner, and can do Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim in one day, you solve many of the logistical issues starting and ending in the same place.
You can write a whole website on logistics—and others, much more in the know than I am, have. Grand Canyon Hikers on Facebook and the Rim to Rim website are both super helpful.
What did I miss? If you’re a local or have hiked or run the Grand Canyon, what would you add?
Running Through It: Rhonda + Parkinson’s Disease
[[Today brings us back to the Running Through It series; Tish profiles Rhonda Foulds, a #motherrunner who is Running Through Parkinson’s Disease. She taken her weight—as well as her disease—under control and recently set an ambitious goal to qualify for Boston.]]
Rhonda Foulds was a 35-year-old mother of three young boys training for her first marathon in 1999 when she noticed her right pinkie was shaking badly, uncontrollably. Huh, that’s weird.
Was it nerve damage? Maybe overtraining, as she’d been adding extra miles to her normal routine. Finally her husband talked her into going to her doctor.
“The doctor noticed things I had not, like my right arm wasn’t swinging properly,” Foulds says today. “He said, ‘I think you have Parkinson’s.’”
No way, she thought then.
And says today: “Parkinson’s wasn’t new to me; my dad and an uncle had it. But I was only 35—I didn’t know people that young could have Parkinson’s.”
(Science sidebar: Parkinson’s disease is a neurodegenerative disorder that affects dopamine-producing neurons in a specific part of the brain, according to The Parkinson’s Foundation. Symptoms include tremors and balance problems. It progresses slowly; there is no cure. Michael J. Fox was 29 when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 1991, and 36 when he disclosed it to the public. His foundation has raised tons of money for and awareness about the disease.)
The next five years were rough: She didn’t run that marathon; she quit exercising and gained 100 pounds. Though she still worked at Wells Fargo Bank, her physical and mental health declined precipitously.
“I had depression and anxiety,” Foulds says. “I didn’t do anything to make myself feel better.”
By the time she underwent an experimental surgery in 2004, she relied on more than 25 meds and an electric wheelchair because her legs were so shaky, she was afraid she’d fall. “I could walk,” she says. “But I was just so exhausted.”
In a surgery called deep-brain stimulation, doctors implanted electrodes in her brain and connected them to a stimulator placed in her chest. She relies on it to this day.
Returning to her previous fitness was a slow process. She began walking and riding a recumbent bike around her neighborhood in Justin, Texas. Then she read that to ease the symptoms of Parkinson’s, you have to work up a sweat, and casual walking wasn’t going to do it. So she went to the local park and ran a few steps.
Rhonda with middle son Zach, a former Marine, who encouraged his mom to return to running. (PS Love the runner tan lines!)
“It made me feel so much better,” Foulds says. “Oh, my god! This is it! This is the secret!”
Even just a few steps did the trick. “I don’t know if it was adrenaline or endorphins or a runner’s high,” she says, “but a light went off in my brain. It literally woke me up.”
(Full-disclosure sidebar: I had the honor and the privilege of meeting Rhonda Foulds in person when she was the Reader’s Choice Winner of the 2016 Runner’s World Cover Search, which I helped judge and where I then worked.)
Rhonda discovered the motivation of goals: first a 5K, then a marathon, then the 50 States Marathon Club.
By 2016, Rhonda Foulds had run 44 marathons—including the Dallas White Rock Marathon she didn’t get to do in 1999 when she was diagnosed. She had lost 100 pounds (though she’d gained back 40.) Even better: running had eased her symptoms so successfully, she was off ALL her meds!
“Motion is lotion,” she told me back then.
Rhonda at the 2017 Hachie marathon, in Waxahachie, Texas
AND HER STORY IS STILL GOING STRONG!
Rhonda Foulds, now 55, posts avidly about her journey. She’s up to 80 marathons, as well as one 50-miler and several 50Ks. Her three sons are grown and served in the Army, Navy, and Marine Corps. She has run the Boston Marathon five times, qualifying in the mobility-impaired division (which requires a 6-hour marathon finish).
Her Facebook page caught my eye recently because of two new goals: To qualify for Boston in her age group (which requires a 4:10 marathon) and to get down to her pre-baby weight of 138.
Quite honestly—and yes, I know this is shallow—her photos caught my eye because, well, SHE LOOKS FANTASTIC!
In six months, Rhonda has lost 50 pounds. Impressive!
“I decided in December that I was sick of being ‘fat,’” she says. “I was going to try to get the weight off not to look better but to feel better.”
In six months she’s lost 50 pounds. Applause!
But how? “Mainly keto,” she says. “I cut out sugar, most carbs, and all processed food. I eat a lot of chicken, avocado, and coconut oil.”
No sugar? asked the cappuccino-chocolate-chip ice-cream-aholic. Isn’t that … hard?
“I have been a sugar addict my whole life,” she says. “It was incredibly hard the first three weeks, and I wanted to give up. But I felt so much better so quickly, and after about a month I thought, ‘I don’t crave it anymore.’ Once I had fat in my diet, I didn’t crave sugar.”
(The Michael J. Fox Foundation cites anecdotal evidence of the ketogenic diet’s effectiveness with Parkinson’s; if you are considering a keto diet for any reason, please consult your doctor and a nutritionist.)
Changing her nutrition allowed her to quit taking two drugs she’d come to rely on. “I was starting to have a weak and jittery voice,” she says. “It’s given me more clarity. I don’t have the fogginess I had. I don’t know for sure if it was the diet, but I can see the difference.”
Her neurosurgeon checks her blood every month, and has Foulds take her blood pressure every day. “All good,” she says.
“Because I ran so many miles for so many years, I thought I could eat what I wanted,” Foulds says. “I was able to run long distances, but I didn’t necessarily have a healthy body.”
“You can’t outrun your fork.”
Not that it’s all been flowers and sunshine. She bonked pretty hard in a marathon in April. “I was delirious,” she says. “I haven’t figured out how to fuel; I have to have some carbs to run races.”
And she’s modified her 50 States Marathon Club goal to 50 races of any distance in each state.
For the summer months, she’s sticking with shorter races. In October, she’ll run Chicago Marathon for a charity, and then her goal is to go after the 4:10 marathon in Houston in January. She’ll work with a coach and a nutritionist to dial in the fueling. “If I don’t make the time goal this time, that’s okay,” she says. “It’s all about the journey.”
Last week she ran a 5K in 31 minutes, or five to eight minutes faster than usual.
Rhonda has run Boston five times in the mobility-impaired division. She aims to qualify as an age-grouper.
“Pretty much I’ve got Parkinson’s under control,” she says. “Things change day to day so you never know, but I’ve got it pretty sewn up right now.”
Rhonda Foulds has faced some pretty significant challenges. What is her advice to other mothers facing hard times (even if they’re a different kind of difficulty)?
“It’s all in what you tell yourself,” she says. “I told myself before, ‘There’s no way I can run a marathon, especially with Parkinson’s.’ What you tell yourself becomes reality.”
“If you say you can’t, you can’t. If you say you can, you probably can! If you tell yourself, ‘I’m going to go out there and do it,’ you have a much better chance than if you didn’t try at all.”
True story!
I am so impressed with people who make life-style changes and choices and stick with a long-term goal. It’s hard! Yay, Rhonda!
Have you Run Through It—a challenging situation or stage in life—at some point? We want to hear from you!
Write up your essay (no more than 1,200 words, please), then email it to us. We’ll be in touch when we can publish it. Thanks!
#317: Live in Anchorage: What It’s Like to Run in…Alaska
Sarah and Molly are the hosts of this episode, the first in a series we’re kicking off, traveling around the U.S. to hear from mother runners about what it’s like to run in their city. The ladies literally go big for this one—Anchorage, Alaska, with bonus points for recording on the summer solstice! The duo sit down (and crack open a cold one) with three runners at Skinny Raven, a super-cool running store. Listen to how Kristin, Mandy, and Karen stay active in the cold, dark winter–then delight in the mania of nearly round-the-clock summer sunshine. Other topics touched upon: dealing with wildlife, bugs, running while pregnant, and the many joys of alpine running. It’s a fun, freewheeling episode!
In the intro, Sarah + Molly talk about their impressions of the 49th state—it’s the first time in Alaska for both of them. The first guest joins them on the couch to chat at 13:52.
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New Aaptiv members: Save 30% off annual membership by visiting aaptiv.com/AMR30
Dry Martini: Goals and Donuts
Let’s just pretend that whole timed mile thing a few weeks ago never actually happened. Or, better yet, let’s do what all of the coaches/positive thinking gurus tell us to do: The timed mile was an experience that was worth having even if the result wasn’t what I wanted.
(Short version: because I’ve been feeling zippy lately, I ran a timed mile a couple of weeks ago. Given that I ran it after a solid six-weeks of non-stop travel and tend to freak out about running fast, it was a lot less zippy than I knew I could do. Which made me sad and frustrated and a bunch of other frown-y face emoji.)
The humidity fairy visited Upstate New York. We don’t like the humidity fairy.
For the record, getting faster is not a golden glitter unicorn that I’ve been chasing. I’ve embraced my back-of-the-pack-ness. I’m generally happy to just be out for a run no matter the pace simply because I enjoy it. (Mostly. (Especially after that first mile. (Even more when the scenery is interesting. (And when I get a medal at the end.))))
Still, I do like to set a goal, simply to keep things interesting. Usually, that goal is distance-related — but I’ve run out of distances to strive for. That may change if I give into the 1% of me that wants to run another marathon. Right now, the other 99% of me has done a pretty good job of slapping some tape over that 1%’s mouth and shoving it into a steamer trunk in a dark attic.
…. I’m realizing that my sub-conscious might be full of thugs. Huh.
Anyway.
Because I’m out of distances, I’m ready to see if I can run the standard ones a little faster than I have in the past. My fast is not your fast, of course. But it matters to me.
Which is why I’m gunning for a 10K PR on August 4 at Beach-to-Beacon in the OG Portland. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider trying to run fast in any Northeastern race in August — it gets wicked humid here and I am a delicate flower — but the mostly flat course skirts Maine’s coastline and there should be some nice breezes that early in the day.
Worst that happens is that I go for a nice scamper on a summer morning; then go to the Holy Donut. If I can stay uninjured and relatively well rested, I believe I can beat my current 10K PR of 1:08, which I set in Newport, Rhode Island, about 18 months ago. And then go to the Holy Donut.
My dog has the same feelings about baths that I have about the humidity fairy.
What fuels this faith is a tempo run last week. Coach Christine and I were waffling about setting ideal tempo paces based on what was likely an inaccurate timed mile. Rather than go with a number, I went with keeping my effort at 80%. Which is exactly what I did until I was three-quarters through the first tempo mile and saw a number I’d never before seen on my watch. By the time Herr Garmin tweedled out the mile’s end, I’d run a 9:53.
I KNOW. I wasn’t really even a huge push, frankly — and 45 seconds faster than my time trial.
The second tempo mile wasn’t quite as energetic, mind. I think my brain was still getting over the shock of not seeing a double-digit at the start of a time.
So I have reason to hope as well as a concrete goal to focus my energy on. Who knows if that motivation will survive the next six weeks of summer heat, travel, and my teenagers? My emoji are cautiously optimistic, though.
Question of the week: do you always have a running goal? Or do you just kind of run for running’s sake?