Dry Martini: Bored Now
One of the upsides of living in a relatively small town is that there isn’t much traffic on your normal running routes. Odds are good you won’t run into other runners when you go for an Eminem on a Saturday morning. If you do see another runner, you will know them. You definitely can pick a route where you’ll only have to cross one major intersection, which, comparatively, isn’t all that major at all.
There is a family of black squirrels that live near the track on campus. While black squirrels are cool to spot because they are rare around here, I tire of spotting them all the time.
If it’s nature you want, you (and by “you,” I mean me) can be surrounded by trees before your Garmin beeps its first mile. Soak in that nature with the deer and the squirrels and the sound of your own feet without ever being that far from your own bathroom. At most, you’ll run into dog walkers and the odd high school student cutting through the woods to get to the building.
It’s peaceful, mind, and predictable. And, right now, is boring the Balegas right off my feet.
I tire of seeing the same old stuff on every. single. run. If you add it all up, I’ve likely sweated through a bazillion miles in all seasons on these small town streets and paths. I can tell you exactly how far it is from my front door to nearly any point in a twelve mile radius. I know when to look for an uneven bit of sidewalk or an especially blind curve. While I tend to take an almost neurotic amount comfort in the familiar, I am so very, very, very sick of it.
So this weekend I decided to build a lamp rather than curse the dang darkness.
It wasn’t sunny, thankfully, but 77 degrees with 90 percent humidity is still not my favorite.
The internet is a wonderful thing (for the most part) and I discovered that there is a rail-trail about 30 minutes from my house. Rail-trails are multi-use paths repurposed from defunct rail lines. One of their major selling points, besides the whole recycling angle, is that they are generally flat and straight. Which, when you live in a mountainy part of the Northeast, is hard to come by.
The Catskill Scenic Trail is almost a marathon long. It connects the quirky hamlets of Roxbury and Bloomville, New York — both of which make my town of 15,000+ look like Manhattan. The trail goes through farm land, across an inconveniently placed parking lot in Stamford, and then through more farm land. It is, as promised, mostly flat, with the only real elevation near a couple of county road crossings.
On Saturday, I convinced my non-running husband to go for a bike ride on the same trail that I was running. The plan was that we’d start at the same time, then I’d text him when I hit the four-mile mark and turned around. Then he’d turn around. That part of the plan worked and we met back up about a half-mile from where we’d parked the car.
Some of the markers from the old railroad days are still there. Not sure what “K 71” means because “K 73” was way less than 2 kilometers away — and because we don’t use kilometers here.
Before I go on, I’m going to highlight what was wonderful:
- The husband and I got to spend some quality time together on the drive out and back.
- I was running in a new place and seeing new things and totally not bored.
- My training plan called for eight miles and I ran eight miles. All the winning.
What wasn’t wonderful was that I felt like deflated crap nearly the entire time. Not sure if it was a result of the heat and the humidity, which was mighty that morning, or the intensity of last week’s training, or hormones, or sunspots, or the shifting of the tectonic plates but I was wiped out before I even hit my first mile.
Adding insult: if I slowed down at all, every single pointy bug in the tri-county area would realize I’m tasty.
Still, even during the endless slog, I couldn’t help but enjoy the rolling hills and occasional babbling brook. There were barns both old and new. The smell of cow filled the air, off and on. I saw, maybe, six other people. By all accounts (except how I personally felt), It was lovely. And it was even more lovely to stop.
I’m smiling because I only have five more minutes to go. Mt Utsayantha is off in the distance.
Once I got home and showered and fed, I lay down with the dog for “just a minute” and woke up an hour later, if not refreshed, at least marginally less wiped out. I didn’t wake up with fleas. I did wake up covered in dog hair, which is my default state.
It turns out that this same trail is used for a half marathon, which I had no idea even existed, despite being practically in my backyard. While I’m not up for 13.1 this weekend (because I have Beach-to-Beacon right around the corner), I’ll definitely keep it in mind for next year.
I’ll run the trail again before that. I’m thinking it’s absolutely stunning once the leaves start turning and the air gets crisp and I get sick and tired of my routine routes once again.
This week’s question: Do you get tired of the same old scenery? What do you do about it?
AMR Aid Station: Help! I don’t ever seem to find time for me.
A few weeks ago, this post and the following replies popped up in a Train Like a Mother Club private Facebook group. It was so well-received—and the suggestions were so helpful—that we thought it would be helpful to the greater AMR community as well. (We have removed all names and important identifying characteristics from post + comments.)
I don’t ever seem to find the time for me.
I’m beyond frustrated. I was absolutely LOVING this program and getting every workout done no matter what it took. Then, life took over.
I’m pissed with myself because I don’t ever seem to find the time for me.
Children’s summer reading program and workbook time 
✅, children’s therapy sessions ✅, working on scheduling swim lessons that my husband swore he’d take care of 
😡, and I’m still at work late now so we can hopefully enjoy our half-day Fridays that don’t always happen ✅.
Everyone and everything seems to get a big ole ✅ but me. I’m frustrated, overwhelmed, dreaming of a summer family vacation that won’t happen.
I’m tired of always finding myself last on the to-do list of life.
To my fellow BAMRs: How do you make time for you? My only time seems to be extremely early in the morning and you can guess who doesn’t like that time slot? My DH.
Thanks for letting me rant. Back to work. Maybe I’ll be home by 7:30 before the children are in bed.
How do you make time for you?
The tribe answers:
I don’t always get a workout done, but I vary my times based on when I’d have pockets of time in my day. Busy evening? I try to do it early (or late if need be). Made it to the end of the day and still haven’t done it? Forced myself to at least do something. If Tuesday is nuts, I swap a workout day. Also, I usually look at and plan the whole week over the weekend so I know how best to tackle it… And of course as moms, unexpected things happen. Then I just do the best I can and try again tomorrow.
Two thoughts:
First: I once heard a pastor’s wife speak to a group of moms I was part of. She said, “Make a list of everything you do for each individual family member. Then list what you do for yourself under another column. You’ll most likely see your column is far shorter or bare.”
Then she said something I’ll never forget: “People will always take what you are willing to give.” And once you give, it’s hard to take away. Asking for help or dropping things from other columns is the only way to make your column stand out a bit more.
Secondly, another person I follow on social media said, “You’re only one bite or one workout away from getting back on track.”
My favorite blogger, Beth Woolsey, says any number of kids is a lot of kids, and I wholeheartedly agree. It is HARD, and you get to feel like it is hard. The best thing about this community is that you get to bitch, too. We’ve been there. We are there. And we’re here for you.
I have no magic answers but much sympathy There is nothing more frustrating than feeling like you are giving everything to everybody and there’s nothing for you. (I think The Giving Tree is a horror story.) In these situations is when I decide, you know what? I am gonna be a b*tch and just demand what I want and steamroll over who or what is in my way. It’s not my usual way to roll but sometimes a BAMRs gotta do what a BAMRs gotta do.
Rant, rave, be pissed! But remember, if you can’t take care of you, there is no you left to take care of others. Make it happen so you can be the best you for all of the sh*t life throws at you!
I have been where you are and completely understand. To make the time, I started getting up early. I mediate (Headspace app), coffee and exercise or catch up on reading. If you get a chance listen to the book Girl, Wash your Face by Racheal Hollis. It is this very topic.
Truthfully, some days I win and some days I get super pissed off at myself for not taking a little me time. I’ve gotten better in the last year about fighting for my run time. That said, when what I need is a nap or a bath I still wimp out a lot.
Be angry. Be sad. Feel all the frustration. Try and channel it into making some time for yourself tomorrow. If you keep at it, it will get easier to do. It won’t be perfect in a week. Nothing real moves that fast, but kinda like meditation if you keep coming back to your focus, it’ll get easier (or so I hear, I can’t meditate to save my life at the moment 
🤣).
Be kind to yourself and lower expectations on yourself and raise them on others in the household periodically …. let the little stuff go …. and hang on because it’s not easy and there’s never enough hours in the day. There were years I did not find time for me and felt stretched in every direction … I think everyone muddles through in their own way.
One thing that gives me a little sanity once in a while was the power of the word “no”, usually when asked to take on something else when I was already overloaded…saying no sometimes is essential to finding those little pockets of me time.
Parenting is hard. Science Alert: having kids does not make us happier. Add meaning to our existence? Yes. Make us happier as a person or in marriage? No. My three daughters are between 16 and 21, so I’ll offer what I’ve been reflecting on (it may be unpopular).
I look back on all the Kindermusik classes, elaborate birthday parties, holiday extravaganzas, trips, and feel like maybe I peaked too early! They don’t remember it much and I sometimes wish I had not been such an “industrious” mom so early. One more book at night may have been a better choice much of the time. It’s a 20+ yr job/child after all! (Yes a marathon 
🙂) Maybe I’m wrong and I’d still feel drained now but those are just my 2 cents. ((Hugs))
It’s HARD! I work from home, so I feel like laundry, cleaning, cooking, etc. all fall on me, because I’m here during the day (working, but here). So, this is what I’ve come to realize: SO MUCH of what I do, I do because I think I should and NO ONE else in my house would care if I didn’t dust/vacuum one week, for example.
So I’m learning to let little things go for a bit and I KNOW that I’m a better mom when I work out. I get up early 4-5 days/week to run, but the days I don’t, I usually make my XT or rest days and go for a walk with the kids to the park or go to the pool and swim with them. They love it, I don’t feel TOTALLY lazy and it keeps me sane.
Ok, your turn: How do you make time for you?
#320: Try a Tri: Triathlon Tips and Advice
Sarah and Dimity talk up triathlon—the joys + the challenges—in this extra-long episode. The BAMRs are first joined by Jennifer Harrison, one of theTrain Like a Mother Club triathlon coaches with an illustrious personal tri career (even if she can’t remember whether she won her first swim-bike-run race or not!). Coach Jennifer highlights the beauty of swim-bike-run events, then reveals the ideal number of workouts for sprint and Olympic-distance races. The trio spends a long time talking about swimming and, yes, Coach Jenn addresses fear of sharks. She shares numerous wetsuit tips, as well as tells the #1 thing a novice triathlete should spend funds on. Dimity also shares money-saving gear advice. The next guest is Jessica Hughes, a mom of three who details how she progressed from her first tri in May 2017 to now training for a half-Ironman-distance race (1.2-mile swim; 56-mile bike; 13.1-mile run). Jessica is sure to allay any swimming concerns a wannabe-triathlete has, as she reveals a make-you-laugh anecdote involving a wetsuit and she recounts how she sidestroked most of her first tri! There’s a lot of talk of mindset from both guests.
Nuun-drinking game? Chug every time someone mentions teens getting driver’s permits!
In the intro, SBS shares news of her 92-year-old, recently widowed mother’s big decision, and the duo discuss the joy of dog parks. The first guest joins the conversation at 19:20.
REMINDER: Phone number for leaving questions for new bi-weekly “call-in” show: 470-BADASS1(470-223-2771). We’re aiming for Another Mother Runner Answers to kick off on Tuesday, July 24!
To save $30 on a purchase of AfterShokz Trekz Air or Trekz Titanium headphones, go to amr.aftershokz.com and use code AMR30 at checkout.
Stay hydrated with Nuun Electrolytes: Visit nuunlife.com to receive 20% off your order when you use promo code AMRHYDRATE
Running Through It: Stephanie + Skin Cancer
[[Happy to return to the Running Through It series. Today, Stephanie, a New Orleans-based #motherrunner, who submitted this essay to us in early February; she has since hiked the Grand Canyon with her family. ]]
Yesterday, I got to ring the bell. For those of you who are not members of the Big C Club, ringing the bell to mark the end of active cancer treatment is a powerful moment. In my case, my indescribable husband and wonderful MD Anderson nurses gathered around while I tearfully read the inscription. (And hey, I just noticed it had references to running!):
Ringing out
Ring this bell
Three times well
Its toll to clearly say,
My treatment’s done
This course is run
And I am on my way!
— Irve Le Moyne
It was surprisingly bittersweet. I was simultaneously thrilled to be leaving behind a year of frequent infusions, but nervous about a future without my golden immunotherapy medicine helping my body destroy any remaining cancer cells.
It took us 2 years, 4 surgeries, 17 immunotherapy infusions in a clinical trial, and innumerable visits to doctors, but I made it: From Stage III Melanoma to Cancer Free.
When I got the diagnosis, I was terrified. I had a young acquaintance who had died from melanoma, a sinister cancer (as they all absolutely are) that disguises itself as a protein to trick your body’s own immune system into leaving it alone so it can replicate on its merry way. She left a loving husband and beautiful young kids behind.
In spite of my fear, I needed to figure out a way to cope. This was a door that I had to go through no matter how much I didn’t want to. The radiologist who did my biopsy and had the unenviable task of telling my husband and I that I had metastatic cancer very compassionately told me, “Please don’t worry. Just take care of this.”
And, I am so, so thankful that is what my family, my friends, and tribe of doctors, nurses, office staff, and volunteers did.
I had three surgeries (one of which removed 22 lymph nodes and lasted 5 hours) at MD Anderson in Houston, which removed all the cancer. However, I was still at very high risk for recurrence, so I was nominated to participate in a clinical trial for an experimental use of a new immunotherapy drug called Pembrolizumab.
Immunotherapy drugs are epic breakthroughs in cancer research. Primarily funded through the Cancer Moonshots Initiative of President Obama’s Administration and led by Vice President Biden, immunotherapy drugs work in different ways. That said, their fundamental premise is the same: Teach the body’s own immune system to recognize cancer cells (which are geniuses at hiding) and destroy them. The goal is to have specifically targeted medicines to destroy cancer versus medicines that are less tailored and cause collateral damage to healthy cells.
I had one year of IV infusions every three weeks, along with countless tests. My husband and I would drive five hours from the New Orleans area to Houston on a Wedensday or Thursday night after work, eating Mediterranean takeout and listening to comedy podcasts. This was our version of date night.
Our boys would stay home with my mother-in-law and maintain their regular routine as much as possible. (Truth be told, though, I think they had to grow up a little too much over these two years.) We would return home late Friday night and then launch into lacrosse tournament-soccer tournament-birthday party-school project madness Saturday morning.
I ran through it all. I immediately got an AMR “Stay Strong” bracelet (thank you!), which I wore to every appointment – along with a lucky pair of earrings my sons and husband gave me.
In the beginning, I ran —often sobbing or numb—because I didn’t know what else to do. My mind whirled. I ran to leave my anxieties on the pavement and not pass them on to my kids. I ran for my own sanity.
I ran to dissipate my anger. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I lived a healthy life. I was a good person. I always helped people whenever I could. I tried my best to do the right thing. I made good choices. I had no family history of this disease. Why me?
I ran as an act of hope. I ran to savor beautiful moments in nature. I ran in cancer fundraisers and in AMR Strides fundraisers to help others, to connect, and to feel like I was actively doing more than wallowing in my own sorrow.
I ran to get stronger. To recover from surgeries and withstand all the tests and treatment. I ran because I always did and this wasn’t going to stop me. I ran to show my kids I was still Mom and I was still strong.
I ran because I could. I ran for all the people I met along my journey who would never have the chance to run—or ring the bell.
Sometimes I had to lie in bed on painkillers or walk, but mostly I ran.
Stephanie and her boys, all smiles after a tough year.
Next week, my family and I will hike in and out of the Grand Canyon. I am so grateful and excited (and hope my running has kept me in shape enough for this)! It is time to experience one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It is time to enjoy. It is time to celebrate.
P.S. I have to leave two tips.
1. BAMRs, please run covered and with sunscreen! I l use Alba Botanica Pure Lavender SPF 45. I used it in the Canyon, but we had sleet, snow, and rain most of the time, so I didn’t need the sunscreen so much. :)
2. Also, if you or someone else is facing cancer, this site helps you find clinical trials supported by the National Institute of Health.
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!
Sarah’s Celebrating a Marathon Anniversary
Twenty years ago this month, as I lay on the maroon-and-navy sofa in my San Francisco flat, I vowed never to run another marathon. I was splayed against a jumble of throw pillows, with my beyond-fatigued legs propped up. My quads felt as heavy and stiff as concrete pillars, and I quietly groaned when a spasm gripped one of my calves. I’d just completed the San Francisco Marathon, my first, and I swore, my last 26.2-mile race.
En route to my marathon PR on flat Eugene Marathon course in 2009. (Yeah, I was intent: No time for smiles!)
Yet in the two decades since that partly sunny Sunday, I’ve racked up 13 more marathons.
The following year, the siren call of the New York City Marathon grew too enticing, and I hoofed through the five boroughs. That 1999 NYC 26.2 ended up being my last pre-kids marathon; I didn’t cover the distance again until March 2003, when my older daughter, Phoebe, was 14 months old.
Since that time, I’ve run at least one marathon per year more often than I haven’t. (For a full list, see far below.) My favorite marathon is either Big Sur (The stunning natural beauty! Those views of the Pacific! Those unrelenting hills!) or Twin Cities (Those enthusiastic spectators! The kaleidoscope of fall leaves! The sparkling lakes!) At my hometown-honey marathon (Portland), I qualified Boston Marathon for the first time. A squeaker time (by 65 seconds, back when such a time actually got you into Boston!) in an unrelenting torrent of rain.
H-O-T: This is actually the halfway point of 89-degree Boston marathon. Look closely and you’ll see I’m literally drenched in sweat.
Eighteen months later, I ran my first Boston, one of the hottest on record (89 degrees), in what still stands as my slowest marathon time. Two years after that race, with a phenomenal coach who guided me through savvy training, I BQd exactly three minutes faster than I had when I was four years younger.
In 2016, during a yet-again too-hot trek from Hopkinton to Boston, I seriously debated if I should call it quits at a baker’s dozen and have that prestigious race be my last marathon. Thirteen is a special number for graduates of the university Dimity and I both attended, so it seemed somehow right that I should run 13 marathons.
All smiles before marathon #13
Yet just like it only took me about a year to shake my “one-and-done” attitude toward the marathon distance, I resumed 26.2-training only a little more than 12 months after that I-should-call-it-quits-after-this-Boston race. There are a few reasons why I can’t completely divorce myself from marathons.
One: It’s kinda part of my job to run ’em.
Two: I love—absolutely adore—training for them. The commitment. The sense of purpose. The pride of completing one longer run after another, week after week. The personal growth that comes with digging deep and discovering some coarse moral fiber tucked behind the flossy, squishy bits.
And now Three: I’ve got a plan. A long-term plan. I hatched it this spring, and I’ve kept it tucked tight until now. I aim to complete at least one marathon in each decade. I ran my first 26.2 at age 32 and did two more marathons that decade. (Pregnancies + babies sidetracked me a bit.) My 40s were prodigious, racking up nine marathons; so far in my 50s, I’ve taken on two of them.
In finish area w/ my race-twinsie, BAMR Lisa, after my 14th marathon, Twin Cities. (Only one of two 26.2s I’ve repeated–other is Boston.)
I’m currently sidelined from running due to a mild case of pesky plantar fasciitis, yet even before that malady kicked in, I knew this body o’ mine has a limited number of marathons left in it. My current plan means I’m going to parse them out. No more marathons just cuz. I’m going to choose my races judiciously to optimize my chances of completing a marathon in my 60s and one in my 70s. (Despite my excellent genes—my mother is 92!—even I’m not cocky enough to throw down a claim of doing one in my 80s. Yet.)
To those of you BAMRs in your 20s, 30s, and 40s, you might scoff at my caution, but let me tell you, sisters: With each passing year, maintaining a consistent running life gets more challenging. If it’s not a foot thang, it’s a low-back issue, hip tightness, or a creaky knee. For now, I’m enjoying swimming, biking, strength and barre classes, and Cyclebar—and daydreaming about returning to running. That racked-and-wrecked Sunday 20 years ago this month is a distant memory that now makes me chuckle.
My Marathons
1998: San Francisco
1999: NYC
2003: Napa Valley
2007: Nike Women’s (CA)
2009: Eugene (OR)
2010: Big Sur + Portland (OR)
2012: Boston + Twin Cities
2013: Vancouver (B.C.)
2014: Victoria (B.C.) + Philadelphia
2016: Boston
2017: Twin Cities
Do you have an age-related running goal? Marathon-related goal? Toss ’em out there! We love to hear them!
AMR Aid Station: Will I Ever Get a Runner’s High?
Welcome back to the AMR Aid Station, where we answer and explain your burning + interesting #motherrunner questions. iI you have any, feel free to tweet us @themotherrunner with your question and use #AMRAidstation; you can also comment below or email us.
Today’s question:
WILL I EVER GET A RUNNER’S HIGH, OR DOES IT JUST SKIP SOME PEOPLE?
Does a runner’s high even really exist?
According to copious research conducted over a number of years by multiple experts from a variety of prestigious academic institutions around the world, the official scientific answer is: Maybe.
During the first running boom of the 1970s, endorphins were discovered as the body’s natural painkillers, and runners quickly claimed them as their reward for all their hard work, as Amby Burfoot explained in his Enduring Questions column about the runner’s high.
The theory went like this: When our ancestors had to chase down food, survival depended on an ability to run fast and long, and our brain released feel-good chemicals to mask the pain of our efforts.
Only one thing.
“The endorphin theory had several problems,” as Amby wrote, “the most serious being that endorphins are too large to pass through the blood-brain barrier that border-patrols your gray matter. And if something can’t get into your brain, it can’t make you high. Too bad.”
Gina Kolata, long-time medical reporter and writer for the New York Times, debunked the endorphin theory in her book Ultimate Fitness: The Quest for the Truth About Exercise and Health. One of the experts she cited said, “I believe this endorphin in runners is a total fantasy.”
My mother (center), 87 in 2015, won a gold medal in the 85-89 division of the Senior Olympics 5K. I’d say she and her podium-mates look pretty high on their accomplishments. :)
Maybe. But what about those days when you DON’T get to run, because life got in the way, and you are crabby, irritable and snappish with your children, significant other, and/or small dogs?
Personally, I feel very comfortable blaming endorphin withdrawal.
Luckily, a group of German researchers got on the case and discovered that endorphins flood the pre-fontal and limbic regions of the brain during “comfortably hard” runs. Ah ha!
And other researchers found this: During a moderately stressful workout—say a tempo run—your body pumps out endocannabinoids. Yes, that’s the natural version of THC—aka the chemical that gives weed its potency.
“Scientists believe the endocannabinoid anandamide has an especially potent ability to lift mood, dull pain, and dilate the blood vessels and bronchial tubes in the lungs,” Dr. Jeff Brown writes in The Runner’s Brain. “When your brain and body cells release enough of these happiness molecules, you get the rush of good feelings that lead to the runner’s high.”
Now we’re talking!
Running with your pals in races like the Ragnar Relays may induce feelings of euphoria or silliness. Which counts!
Okay, but HOW, you ask?
HOW do you get the elusive runner’s high?
1. Run Faster
The “easiest” way to trigger feelings of euphoria and invincibility is to run faster. Don’t kill yourself. Researchers say 75% of maximal effort does the trick. One simple workout is to go to a track and run 8 laps, doing the straightaways faster and recovering on the curves. You can also do this on the road, running fast between telephone poles, say, and recovering an equal distance. Bonus: You will feel like SUCH a BAMR afterward, I promise that counts as “high.”
BRF’s in Dallas; bonus when you run AND get a medal.
2. Run with your BRF (Best Running Friend)
You already know this from your last good run with your BRF, when you laughed so hard you gasped and went home feeling like all was right with the world. A study out of Oxford showed that athletes who exercised together produced significantly more endorphins than those who worked out solo.
3. Run Longer
When you first started running, going a half-mile without stopping felt like a major accomplishment. It was! It is! Likewise the first mile, the first 5K, etc. I realize it isn’t practical, or even wise, to just keep adding miles upon miles. You are not ultramarathoning champ and former Olympian Magdalena Boulet. Neither am I! But adding an extra mile to your long run every other week or so does trigger that awesome feeling of empowerment. The German study found the sweet spot to be two-hour runs at a moderate intensity.
It also might make you tired and hungry, needing a meal and a nap. Which, if you’re lucky enough to have the time for both, definitely makes you feel good.
4. Just Run
Not every run is going to be fantastic. But the more consistently you run (with recovery days, of course), the better your chances of finding what makes you happy with your running.
In her book on the power of positivity, Let Your Mind Run, Deena Kastor advises finding something to feel grateful for on every run: if not your Olympic speed, then maybe the smell of honeysuckle, the hawk that landed on the telephone wire, the knowledge that all that humidity-induced sweat will make you a stronger runner come fall.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself lately, anyway–and it’s working. I’m calling it a runner’s high.
(After all, you know what the T-shirt says: It’s all good. I ran today.)