#340: Planning Your Race Calendar
With an eye toward the New Year, Sarah and co-host Amanda Loudin discuss the ins-and-outs of planning a successful race calendar. Answering a variety of questions from BAMRs on the AMR Facebook page, they start with debating “the sweet spot,” the optimum number of races per year. Amanda, a coach for a decade, talks about the importance of making decisions about your goal for the year—then making choices to set you up for success. Coach Amanda explains why she’s not a fan of “over-racing” and she dazzles SBS with the concept of “results-oriented running.” Amanda details how to be half-marathon ready at all times. The coach outlines how to tackle several endurance races in one season, and what a runner’s focus must be between races. Find out what the “desire factor” with marathons is—and which one of the duo feels it creeping back into her soul (soles!?). And, naturally, the duo wraps up the conversation with a detour into the realm of paddle spots. (Are you #TeamPickleball or #TeamPaddleTennis?)
In the intro, the chitchat goes to the dogs—literally: Amanda and SBS talk about their pooches (whippet and French bulldog, respectively). Amanda puts on her coach’s hat for the meat of the show at 15:56.
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Running Through It: Davina + Childhood Mental Illness
Davina, coming in strong and happy during her first marathon.
[[Today on the Running Through It series, Davina, a Colorado-based #motherrunner, chronicles the journey of her 12-year-old son’s mental illness + her first marathon.]]
I woke up that morning and did what I do most mornings: laced up my shoes and went for a run.
But unlike other mornings, what came to follow is part of a long journey that we have been walking through with our son. After a quick stretch, a long drink of NUUN Energy, a shower, and definitely not a big enough breakfast, my husband and I drove to a juvenile detention center to discharge our 12-yr-old son after a very long three-month stay. We then flew him to Atlanta to check him into a residential treatment facility that specializes in Autism, Disruptive Mood Dysregulation Disorder, PTSD, anxiety and depression—just to name a few of my son’s struggles.
Three days before Mother’s Day this year, our son was taken from our home by police escort and admitted into a psychiatric hospital. The months leading up to this event had been filled with several inpatient and outpatient hospital stays, monitoring his constant obsessions over suicide, death and all things dark.
A bike-run with my son in April.
Our weeks had revolved around therapy and watching him around the clock to keep him safe. Intense is not a big enough word to describe the turmoil and daily battle we were living then—and honestly had been living for years. By May, we had found that we could no longer keep him safe: safe for himself and safe to others.
Ironically enough, the week after my son was removed from our home, my marathon training plan began. Over the last 20 years, I have run countless half-marathons yet have struggled to go further due to undiagnosed Lupus, pain and lingering injuries.
Last year when my BRF suggested we try the Galloway Walk/Run method for long runs, I jumped right on board. For my body, the Galloway Method has revolutionized my running; the recovery has been night and day, and with the new addition of correct medications for Lupus, I am training to run my very first marathon in September.
The miles I have run in the last three months have been therapeutic to say the least. They have been filled with lots of prayer, tears, listening to podcasts (AMR, a constant companion), and self-care. Long runs with BRF’s have provided necessary and appreciated verbal processing, comfort, encouragement, and laughter.
I have learned the importance of making my health and mental state a priority. I have taken advantage of insurance-covered massages ($21!) and chiropractic visits and find that extra yoga stretching and foam rolling is a great excuse to binge watch favorite TV shows.
My parents are part of my strong support system, and they make an amazing aide station as well-complete with dark chocolate, bananas, signage and cowbell.
I have always said that running makes me a better mom, wife and productive human being and I stand by that belief now, more than ever.
Parenting children is not for the faint of heart, especially those with special needs and the siblings of those with special needs. My 10-year-old daughter is in desperate need of my undivided love and attention. I tried to give her special experiences over the summer: just her and me, incorporating her into my exercise routine-yoga, bike while I run, paddle boarding, swimming laps and so on. So far, she does not enjoy running, but I won’t give up hope!
I have also learned that as a parent you are your child’s #1 advocate when it comes to mental health. Running has gotten me out of bed in the morning, cleared out the cobwebs of brain fog, and given me the endorphins that I need to fight for my son who would otherwise get dropped through the cracks of a judicial system, one that is not equipped to support adolescents with mental health struggles.
A person must have grit and tenacity to be a long-distance runner. To run through fatigue, pain and self-doubt takes guts and incredible courage. You need perseverance and creativity to keep going when you just want to quit; or to change strategies when injuries pop up, schedules unexpectedly change, and weather just wants to rain on your parade.
I have found that my personality as a runner has transferred to my parent advocacy. My mother-in-law calls me a Tiger Mama, describing the tenacity, never-giving-up, perseverant attitude and attention that I must pour into helping my son. I do not give up easily and I absolutely hate the phrase “I quit.” (I will also make endless loops in a parking lot at the end of a run just to make the exact needed mileage. Yes, a Type A personality.)
Celebrating with my BRF after the marathon!
Because Colorado does not have a state-run mental health institution of any kind for long-term rehabilitation, I have spent the better part of the last 3 months researching and filling out applications for residential facilities across the nation. Advocacy has become an entire job in itself, but one I will never regret as I battle for my son’s health and future.
Currently, I am in the last 5 weeks of my marathon training plan (Train Like a Mother Go the Distance) and I see the end in sight. My life of parenting is like marathon training, yet without a race on the horizon. I cannot see what the future holds for either of my children. Some days are super long and tough, some days offer rest and relief. Some days are filled with hope and clarity, some days you just slog through with fatigue, heartache and pain.
Yet the journey is worth the challenge. I hope to one day be at their “finish lines” of life and celebrate with them their victories. And as tough as parenting can be, I would not trade my children for the world; they are worth every ounce of blood, sweat and tears I may shed in this race of life I run.
A birthday visit.
Mid-October: Update
After United Health Care and Medicaid denied further residential level of treatment (after only 2 months) we had to bring him home from Atlanta. Thankfully the county has agreed to pay for 90 days of residential treatment at a facility in Denver, but after 90 days we face the very real possibility of paying the county child support to keep him there. My son is doing well and being safe and making good decisions. However, as we know with mental health, no one changes in 3 months, and his “cognitive distortions” may take months to years to change.
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!
Running with Kids: On Their Own Time + Terms
The most favorite way for kids to “run” with their moms? Likely.
Hey, BAMR, did you run with your kiddos on Thanksgiving?
And no, I don’t mean chasing your 3-year-old around the dining room table promising that if he tries just one bite of Grandmother’s sweet potatoes, he can have an early chocolate Santa Claus. C’mon! Just. One. Bite. Eeeeeeeeee!
Given all the food anticipation, it’s probably no surprise that Thanksgiving is the most popular holiday for races, according to the 2017 National Runner Survey; 54% of respondents participated in a Turkey Trot.
People often assume that because I have been a working member of the running-fitness-health industrial complex for more than 20 years that
1) My kid runs, and
2) I will have something more insightful to say about their own child’s exquisitely fast time in a local cross-country meet than “Wow.”
Nope and nope.
Nina, then 7, scored pumpkin bread at her first Thanksgiving 5k (ish) in 2011, which she was NOT happy about doing. “When I am 18, I will still be recovering from this 5K marathon!”
Now it is true that I know of some local fast runner mamas whose offspring are clearly blessed with the genetic destiny to run hard, fast, well. I read about their kids’ times in the local newspaper (dead-tree edition!) and think, “Wow.”
And as I remember my two years of high school track, I was not the absolute slowest person on the worst team in the city, and I never got lapped in the half-mile, but that was 40 years ago, so it’s entirely possible that I was and I did.
My Nina, now 14, hasn’t chosen running (yet). She swims.
She has run a few 5Ks only under duress.
That’s okay. I feel like Nina can learn to love running any time in her life.
If not now, maybe between rotations in her medical residency or after she has to do the morning shift at Starbucks on Black Friday.
Nina, at age 10, ran this 5K in 2014 only because the rest of the family was running, too. No choice! She complained mightily, but look at that form!
Of course, how your kid “runs” changes over the years (as does everything else in her life). A “run” for a 5-, 10- or 15-year-old are three entirely different undertakings.
Recently, a boy from Nina’s competitive swim club, who quit swimming to focus on running, did a marathon. A Fairly Big City one. He is 15. His time was 3:47. Nina asked what I thought of that.
I was surprised the Fairly Big City Marathon allowed kids under 18 to participate (the age minimum for the New York City marathon). Presumably he really wanted to do it—you can’t force a 15-year-old to run 26.2 miles unless he really wants to.
Wow. That’s what I think of that.
Running will be there when Nina is ready. We all come to it in our own time and on our own terms.
All that said, we DID run on Thanksgiving, as have every year since 2011. This year “we” included Nina, my boyfriend, Rick, and me; my sister and her boyfriend; and my mother.
My sister’s running club in Reston, Virginia, holds a “family fun run” around the trails of a county park every Thanksgiving. There’s no entry fee, no bib numbers, and the “5k”-ish route is marked with flour arrows, which means those of us not in front might get confused, take a shortcut and run more like 2.5 miles. Oh, well!
Walkers (e.g., my mother) do an out-and-back 2-miler.
Winners are allowed to pick whatever they want from a picnic table loaded with pie, mugs, t-shirts, duffel bags, bottles of wine and whatever else the club president has cleaned out of the club closet.
Aside from the top 3 men and women, prizes go to oddball categories like the first dog, the best turkey hat, the person who traveled the farthest (Carson City, Nevada) and the oldest participant. An 89-year-old dude was sure he had that category sewn up, but my mother, age 90, crushed his dream.
My non-running endurance swimmer shot off the line—as she always does. It took me two miles to catch (and pass) her.
She complained, “I hate running” and waddled around the next couple of days like a cowboy just off a two-month cattle drive from the Texas flatlands to the Arkansas railhead.
Ain’t we got fun?
This sweet down vest keeps Mother Runners warm during Turkey Trots or any other run, for which we are very grateful. Thank you, Dimity and Sarah!
Of course, I do know that a 2.5-ish mile run on the morning of Thanksgiving burns the calories of perhaps a bite of pecan pie. Just. One. Bite.
That didn’t stop me (or anyone in my family) from having some of the pecan pie, the apple/peach pie, the pumpkin pie AND the equal-holiday-opportunity cheesecake for good measure.
The run will be there for us—whenever we’re ready. On Thanksgiving or any other morning, for that matter.
DO YOUR KIDS RUN? DOES ANYONE ELSE IN YOUR FAMILY RUN? DO YOU RUN WITH THEM? IS IT A LOVE-FEST OR GRUMBLE-A-THON?
#339: TMI Topics with Author Mara Altman (and Molly!)
Sarah and Molly tuck into another round of TMI topics with Mara Altman, the author of Gross Anatomy: Dispatches from the Front (and Back) (and mother of toddler twins!). The trio quickly goes there, talking about “hoohoos” and hemorrhoids. The first of many fabulous lines uttered by the guest is her admission, “I’ve always had anal issues.” From there, the conversation naturally (naturally!) moves to poop and buttcrack-chafing. Molly admits her love of B.O., prompting Mara to confess what helps her overcome writer’s block. The guest tells the origin story of PMS, which leads to a thought-provoking discussion about it really being a “permission slip for gruffer feelings.” Later, laughs abound as the talk turns to “crotch torture” and hot-boxing. Molly puts a great “you be you” bow on the episode.
In the intro, Molly and SBS talk about #foundchange (natch!) plus winter running apparel and Mercury Mile fabulousness. The guest joins the show—and the TMI talk starts in earnest—at 15:00.
Note: This episode is rated R, not suitable for most family road trips.
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TRAINING FOR MY FIRST MARATHON: THE THREE R’S BETWEEN RACES
Cross-training doesn’t begin with an “R,” but it most definitely fit into Pam’s week of post-race recovery.
[Follow—and cheer for—Pam, a #motherrunner of two in Decatur, Georgia, as she trains for her first 26.2. Previous entries.]
On October 27, I raced harder than I ever have in my life and, consequently, needed to take some time before digging deep into the TLAM 26.2 Go the Distance marathon training plan.
In the past, I’ve found myself itching to return to training before the injury window was safely closed.
Related: Previously, I hadn’t raced an entire half-marathon to the full extent of my ability.
Recover
I take a full week off running before a week of slowly easing back in. I spent so much time and energy NOT running, I’m not sure where the week went. I know I went to bed a little later than usual (think 9:XX rather than 8:XX) because my alarm wasn’t set to go off at 4:30.
I spent my lunch breaks actually eating lunch. My rear end made far more contact with the couch cushions than it had in months. The only time running even entered my mind was when my quads screamed at me for daring to stand up from a chair or walk down the stairs.
I also threw nutrition largely out the window. Sure, I tried to make sure I got enough protein, fruits, and vegetables so my muscles could fully recover, but I also devoured Kit-Kats and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups (filched from my daughter’s Halloween stash, natch!) with wild abandon and zero remorse.
Reconnect
It turns out that when you’re not running 30+ miles a week, you have time to hang out with your husband, your children, your friends. Many of those hours on the couch were spent next to my husband as the Florida Gators battled it out on mute.
Reconnecting with BRFs: as important for the soul as exercise is to the body.
I brought my four-year-old daughter with me to a BAMR brunch hosted by my BRF Meridith, and then we went to the park, where Amelie demonstrated her newfound ability to pump her legs on the swings.
The next day I spent some one-on-one with my toddler, snuggling and reading books. Mostly potty books. (Sidebar: She loves reading potty books and sitting on the potty, but has seemingly made no connection between those and her actual bodily functions. Go figure.)
My favorite part of reconnecting (sorry, husband and kids) came the Sunday a week after my race. A number of our local #motherrunners were participating in the Alpharetta Women’s Half Marathon. My BRF, her eight-year old Carolyn, and I stationed ourselves with signs near the top of a beastly hill near mile 12. I joined some of my friends for a mile here or half a mile there, heading back toward our sign spot each time.
Bonding with Moms Run This Town pals at sunny-but-chilly half-marathon.
And then I came across a woman who was walking, maybe a mile from the finish, and clearly fighting back tears of frustration or defeat. I began walking next to her and asked what was wrong. She said her hip was cramping up, probably from lack of training. I engaged her in conversation about past races (including a 17-mile stretch of the Georgia Jewel, a trail ultra in the mountains), and after a few minutes of chatting, I asked if she could run a few slow steps. She could, and she did. As her confidence grew, she began to pick up speed, and before she knew it, we began picking off people left and right.
I jumped in with other miscellaneous women after that, many within the final tenth of a mile, making sure to leave before the finish line so I didn’t photo bomb. I told them about Alex Hutchison’s promise of the final kick and jollied (bullied?) them into running again.
One woman grabbed the hand of a walking stranger as we passed, and the two of them ran hand in hand across the finish.
Re-Focus
Once I had completed the recovery and reconnect phases, I committed myself to focusing once more on training.
Because I’m training for my first marathon, I wanted to make sure I am well-acquainted with the plan’s ins and outs before taking those first steps. Because this plan has cross-training days built in each week, I set up my bike trainer (a basic metal stand that turns my road bike into a stationary bike) in front of the guest room TV. I entered all of my workouts into my Garmin. I plugged some numbers into a race calculator to figure out my race pace for training purposes (9:30—woohoo!). Finally, I did the math and established my various heart rate zones based on my max heart rate.
Full-gas marathon training, look out for BAMR PAMR!
Spoiler alert: Check out the AG prize.
P.S. Race
I should also note I signed up at the last minute to race the Run for Justice 5K in my neighborhood on Saturday, November 10. Not my fastest 5K by a long shot, but I managed to snag second in my age group and win this shiny new—wait for it—gavel!
Peter Sagal’s Incomplete Book of Running is More Than Just Jokes
Most mother runners know Peter Sagal’s speaking voice. The Wait, Wait … Don’t Tell Me host has been in our ears during countless long runs. If you are not a fan of the NPR quiz show, which seems impossible but I am certain there are a few, you might have heard him on the AMR Father’s Day pod last year.
Peter after a 26.2-mile tour of the Twin Cities in 2013.
While Sagal’s voice is one I could pick out of a line-up, the rest of him an enigma. I knew he was a runner and loved his Runner’s World columns. I knew he’d gone through a divorce and depression and liked Game of Thrones. But other than the barest outlines, most of which were shaped to use jokes to hide any actual human responses, these details didn’t offer any insight into who he was as a person. Sagal kept his public persona on lockdown. “You will only see what I want you to see,” it said. “There will be no accidental slips of vulnerability.”
Which is fine, mind you. People, even famous-in-certain-circles people, get to be who they are. Plus, I deeply understand the appeal of using humor and intellect to keep others at arm’s length.
In The Incomplete Book of Running, Sagal lets us see how running has changed who he is, which means he’s had to pull the curtain back a bit on who he has been. And that, reader, makes all the difference. Rather than this book reading like a self-depreciating but ultimately unsatisfying monologue about the indignities of running, he uses running as a metaphor for becoming who you were always meant to be.
Sagal covers his life’s most tumultuous year, which is bookended by the Boston marathon. His year starts with a bombing, both literal and not, and ends with a potential DNF, also both literal and not. Sagal doesn’t stick to just those 365 days; however, he weaves in and out of his 50+ years to make his points about life and running and how the two are inexorably intertwined.
Granted, this Incomplete book is not all deep, meaning-of-existence stuff. There is running advice, like this bit on how to become a runner: “Get up. Start. Go. Move. Take a rusty first step, like the Tin Man. You will squeak. Go.” There are observations about the lunacy of being a runner, like this bit that I couldn’t help but snicker with after my epic half in a nor-easter in Cape Cod a few weeks ago:
Sagal offers sensible advice about gear and PRs and aging and diet. What you won’t find are grant self-help pronouncements, where Sagal tells us how to be a better person via running. Instead, he offers up very specific moments from his growth as a runner and how they’ve changed him. Runner’s World stories — about his red underpants race, about his explosive colon, about guiding blind marathoners — are smartly expanded. Their specific-ness is what makes them feel universal, too. For example, while I’ve not run red undies down the streets of St. Louis (yet), I can understand the larger message of how running for a cause, rather than for yourself, can change you.
As fun as those essays are, they work foot-in-shoe with what Sagal wants us to know about how running has helped him through some tough life events and into almost-joyful acceptance. To do that, he has to reveal the tough life events in question, which is what moves this Incomplete book from an amusing diversion to an honest reflection that lets us empathize with Sagal’s larger story about falling apart and pulling yourself back together. Again and again and again.
This is a running book that won’t tell you how to run faster or farther or be fitter; instead, Sagal will show you how running can make you into a better human.
With, of course, some jokes to make it all easier to bear.