November 2019

#391: Is 2020 Your Year to Run a Marathon?

Sarah and two Train Like a Mother Club coaches, Amanda Loudin and Liz Waterstraat, circle up to debate the should-you-or-shouldn’t-you aspects of taking on 26.2 in 2020. The trio covers:

-the slightly scary, and completely thrilling, reality of undertaking a marathon;

-the make-or-break importance of training consistency;

-pointers on deciding if you have room in your life for all the miles;

-advice on choosing a training plan; and,

-the importance of not overfilling your stress bucket.

And Sarah makes a big (for her!) 2020 announcement. (Hint: It’ll happen in Missoula, MT.)

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Dry Martini: The Fates Have Spoken

This week on the AMR podcast, Sarah and I talked with three mother runners who, like me, are on a quest to run in all 50 states. We discovered some of us are more organized than others. For example, Penny has a firm plan. At best, I have a loose organizing principle. 

Assuming my ability to comfortably (for reasonable definitions of “comfort”) complete a half marathon lasts into my 60s, I have about 15 years to snag the remaining 40 states I need. If I’ve done the math correctly, if I can knock off three or four a year, I’ll get to all 50 states before my body says no masIn 2019, the three states I checked off were Wisconsin, Louisiana, and Arizona. I’d been toying with squeezing in the Rehoboth Seashore Half on December 7 but wanted to see how all of the downhill in Tucson felt before I committed to a race just a couple of weeks later. 

After running down Mt Lemmon, I felt pretty good, all things considered. That quickly morphed into feeling kind of terrible once the endorphins wore off but a decent night’s sleep and some ibuprofen propped me up by Sunday morning. I wouldn’t say I wanted to run 13.1 more miles right then. I could, however, imagine the possibility that I might want to in a few weeks.

That morning, shortly after watching the NYC marathon with BRF Lisa, I flipped my laptop open to register for Rehoboth. Which, I discovered, was full. The half holds less than 2000 runners — and the race is a popular one, made even more so by being voted a favorite in the state. Rather than spend time kicking myself for not jumping in sooner, I added my name to the waiting list. The fates would decide if I’d be running it this year.

With 114 people in front of me, I figured I’d never make it off of the waiting list.

I promptly forgot all about it, what with re-entering my actual life after three successive weekends away. While I was galavanting around the country, our household routine hit its usual late fall level of chaos. My husband was in weeks worth of evening rehearsals, as was my daughter, who was Juror #2 in her high school’s production of Twelve Angry Jurors. At my actual job, I had to get a print publication into the proofing stage. My son … well, I’m never sure what my son is up to. He’s 14. He seems to be fine.

I laced up and ran through it all, because that is what I do. Every single one of those runs was decidedly meh, especially after the really cold weather moved in. Maybe, I thought, Tucson took more out of me than expected. After a tedious Saturday six miler, I decided it was a good thing that Rehoboth was full. The idea of doing twice that distance plus a little made me want to cry a little, then barf.

You can guess where this is going.

Most of my runs have looked like this lately. Just enough snow to be irritating but not enough to be worth running inside.

Shortly after that terrible, very bad, no good six-mile run, I got the email letting me know that my number had come up. I had 24 hours to decide if I wanted the spot or not. My first inclination was “not.” Hauling myself to Delaware and back again to run for a couple of hours didn’t seem like fun. I texted my husband to let him know I was 85 percent certain I would not be making the trip.

Then I started to poke around the race’s website. Since there’s also a full marathon, both it and the half have a seven-hour time limit, which I’m pretty sure I could manage even if I walk the whole way. Heck, I might even be able to stop for a real lunch. The maps showed how much of the course was either along the shore or on trails. Trails are my favorite. Plus the shore in December shouldn’t be too hot.

Even with all of that on its side, I still wasn’t sure I could work up any enthusiasm for the actual running. In search of guidance, I opened my dilemma up to Facebook, which might be the closest our age has to consulting an oracle. Most commenters said to just do it because the fates decided for me. One sage pointed out that, with striving toward 50 races, a few of them will be run when I’m not totally feeling it.

Because of that last suggestion, I pulled the trigger and paid my money. Barring last-minute weirdness, I’ll be in Rehoboth on Dec. 7. And if the fates are feeling truly kind, running friend Marianne will be there with me. Once she found out about my last-minute plan, she put her name on the waiting list, too. May the odds be ever in her favor.

via GIPHY

Question of the week: have you left a race entry up to fate?

#390: How to Run Races in All 50 States

Sarah and Adrienne chat with three mother runners in pursuit of running a race in every U.S. state. Marvel as:

-67-year-old Penny describes the finish-line feeling of completing a second marathon in a single weekend;

-Sara details her plans to travel and rack up states after her kids fly the nest;

-Lisa tells stories about also running marathons on five continents (so far!);

-Lisa shares cost-saving secrets; and

-they tell their favorite marathons and half-marathons. (And here’s great guide for finding more!)

In the introduction, Adrienne talks about her own 50-state quest, having just run half-marathon #10 in Arizona. The first guest joins the convo at 18:23.

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Mother Runner of the Month: Laurel Short

Give it up for our Mother Runner of the Month this month: Laurel Short, a 36-year-old nurse practitioner (specialty in physical medicine and rehabilitation) and mother of two in Leawood, Kansas.

Valerie, a fellow Kansas City #motherrunner, nominated Laurel after the two met at the kick-off for Race Like a Mother: Kansas City.

“We made plans to do our long training runs together, and I was hopeful to have a marathoner help me, the novice. We kept in touch with each other and our training via text through the summer, and when the longer runs popped on the schedule, Laurel appeared like an angel,” says Valerie, “She checked out routes for us and set up meeting points. She coached me through the long runs (and the long, humid 20-miler that almost had me in tears), and she was there on race day, too, with her upbeat attitude and contagious smile. Her reassuring words via texts, after a training run and during the marathon carried me to the finish line.”

Kicking off Racing Like a Mother—and a friendship for Laurel and Valerie.

Grapevining into Running: I started running when I was 17, after discovering the benefits of exercise in a high school aerobics class. My dad was a runner, and he asked if I would train for a 5k with him. We ran the race together, and I was hooked on the “runner’s high” as soon as I crossed the finish line.

Racing Background: The first few years after becoming a runner, the routine of logging miles was wonderful for exercise and stress relief in college. At age 21, I ran my first half marathon, also with my dad. I progressed to completing many half marathons and now a total of six full marathons, along with some 5k and 10k races sprinkled in.

Fave Race Distance: The half marathon. I completely identify with the AMR motto of the half marathon being the “sweet spot.” In half marathon training, I still get a long run in on the weekend, but can push the pace more than the full marathon. (Though I am hoping to gradually get my marathon pace closer to what I can run for a half!)

Back to 26.2: I had the “itch” to jump back into a full marathon distance, as my last was in 2014 and life settled down this year to provide the space for training. I was on the fence about a specific race, and when Dimity told me about the Race Like a Mother program during the Eau Claire retreat I knew it was a sign to choose the race in my hometown!

Celebrating with the family post-26.2.

BRF: Found!: At the program kick-off for the Race Like a Mother program, Valerie and I ran together. You know the feeling you get when you click with a new friend? I learned it was Valerie’s first marathon training cycle, and we fell into a natural rhythm of running pace and chatting. We quickly decided to exchange contact info so that we could meet up for long runs.

Speedy Stops: Valerie and I had a running joke of how fast I could make a pit stop, though in the race I was concerned about cramping from stopping to sit in a port-a-pot…so told Valerie I would rather pull a SBS and “let it go.” That’s what black shorts are for, right?

20 Tough Miles: We did our last 20 miler on a Friday. We started very early, but it was still hot and humid in the Midwest. Between the humidity and 3 miles of race pace from miles 15-18, it was tough. After the race pace portion, Valerie was feeling anxious about not being prepared for the race. I was able to reassure her that’s why we do the hard effort! We finished feeling accomplished and ready to taper.

Friends that Marathon Together: We decided to start the marathon together and reassess plans during the race. We had trained with 60-second walk breaks after each mile, so we stuck with that during the race. Even before the halfway mark we could tell our paces were matching, and mentally it felt so good to be together.

At mile 20 we each turned on our Aftershokz headphones to help zone in for the final six miles. We separated just slightly in the last mile. I turned around at the finish line and saw Valerie coming into the finish chute. There were many tears of joy and an emotional embrace after she crossed the finish line!

Valerie + Laurel celebrate a marathon finish line and plenty of miles together.

Three Keys to a Great Long-Run Route:

  1. Loop routes are more interesting than out and back. I like to use an app such as Map My Run to plan routes. Creating and naming routes adds to the fun of training!
  2. Think about details like bathrooms and water refill locations. If time allows, I love finishing at a favorite coffee shop or breakfast spot.
  3. Try a new part of town. Our favorite long run was in an older part of town with great local landmarks and scenery. It felt like an adventure, and the miles passed quickly. This really helps create the attitude of “we GET to do a long run” vs. “we HAVE to do a long run.”

Three Keys to Help A First-Time Marathoner: 

  1. Two main goals for long runs are solid pacing and keeping a positive mental attitude. Doing the long runs at a slow pace with walk breaks really helps with recovery and injury prevention. Try to focus more on perceived effort versus a specific pace.
  2. It’s amazing what a boost you can provide with words of encouragement on a run or even a quick text mid-week.
  3. Share what works for you while recognizing we each customize our own training toolkit. For example, your favorite pre-run meal or run fuel might not work for your training partner. But if you have done multiple marathons, chances are you have vetted lots of techniques and can provide solid options for a first-timer!

    Know somebody (it may be yourself!) that is deserving of the Mother Runner of the Month title?
    Submit a nomination!

#389: Running During Pregnancy and Postpartum

Sarah and Molly talk about the quintessential mother runner topics—running during pregnancy and postpartum—with Kate Mihevc Edwards, a physical therapist and co-author of the new book Go Ahead: Stop and Pee. Interspersed with empathetic laughter, the trio talks about:

-the metric for gauging exertion when running during pregnancy;

-stroller-running tips and arm-swing advice for all runners;

-how to return to running after pregnancy;

-the importance of seeking professional help for postpartum incontinence or leaking; and,

-butt- and chest-gripping (it’s not what you think!).

In the intro chitchat, learn in which scenario Molly and producer-Alex agree the best plan of action is to, “grab a beer; run like hell!” The guest enters the scene at 14:56.

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Dry Martini: Dreams Stay With You (a Tuscon Race Report)

Look! Both feet off of the ground!

“I’m not expecting to grow flowers in the desert

But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime.”

— “Big Country” by the aptly named Big Country

I feel like I’ve written about this song before (but google isn’t helping) so skip ahead if you’ve already heard this. One of my formative memories of my freshman year at college was dancing a little drunkenly on a low table belting out this song with my new (and still) friend Callie at a fraternity party in 1989.

So many details in this sentence are decidedly not me, both before that moment and after. That was the first and only frat party I’ve been to. I was sorta drunk, which isn’t really my m.o. I was dancing (!) on a table (!!) and singing (!!!). And, yet, it is one of those moments where I was completely convinced the world was vast and wonderful and that I belonged someplace in it.

In the 30 years (!!!!) since, that wash of well-being crashes over me again every single time I hear “Big Country,” which is why I put it on my running playlist. It seems to randomly come up whenever I most need to hear it. This time around, it was in the middle of mile four in the (incredibly well organized) Revel Mt. Lemmon half.

“Big Country” came on shortly after this.

The run was going well enough that I didn’t need the song to give me a boost. The 5,000 feet of downhill was still super fun. I was flying and nothing hurt. (Yet.) The view was simply spectacular and I was taking it all in, if only because a saguaro-filled landscape is so far beyond my daily existence that it will always be a wonder.

When the opening bars hit my Aftershokz, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. 

Getting to Tucson from Oneonta had been, at best, a test of endurance. One of the first storms of the winter was parked over Chicago. Planes were delayed or canceled or both. Lisa and Carol, my roomies for this adventure, spent 18 hours getting from New Hampshire to Arizona, via lovely ports of call like Baltimore, Nashville, and Las Vegas. I arrived more or less on time — but my luggage did not. Because it never does.

My Garmin was in my checked luggage — yes, I live on the edge — and must have gotten bumped while waiting to catch up with me. It had quite an adventure in Denver.

Once all were rested, reunited with luggage, and showered, we took in the Desert Museum, which is amazing. Seriously. If you are in the area, go. We also commenced to eat our way across the city, based solely on suggestions in my last post. Seis is a delight. Again, if you are in the area, go.

We hooked up with Natalie, one of my OG Little Rock crew who was running the marathon, and Laura, my best acupuncturist friend from Oneonta who came down on a lark to run 13.1. We carpooled to the race finish, just to fix it in our minds before the next morning. After a quick trip to Whole Foods to pick up provisions, we went to bed.

We also took your recommendations and went to El Charro (so yummy) and eegee’s for an eegee (so … interesting).

The upside to traveling west is that a 3:45 wake-up feels like a perfectly reasonable 6:45. It wasn’t until we were on the bus riding up to the starting line that it began to sink in that we were about to run down the very, very steep road we were climbing. Our bus driver’s jokes — dude’s joy in his work was infectious, frankly — kept the mood light. Then, after a short wait and a port-a-john visit, we were off.

Running downhill feels amazing until it doesn’t. For me, that point was around mile eight, as we made the transition from mountain amazingness to flat suburban meh-ness. Also: the sun came all the way up and there was nearly no shade. The arch of my left foot developed a stabby pain. It traveled up my left calf, which became an unhappy slab of granite, and into my left hip. My right side compensated as best it could. The hitches in my get-a-long grew from there to the finish. I did, however, find a dime. Upside.

The last few miles, in a nutshell: Irritating. Scenic.

Did I spend the next 24 hours feeling worse than I did after running a marathon? You bet. Would I do the same thing again? You bet. Believe it or not, I’m looking at other Revel runs because this one was so wonderful, despite the pain.

Running down a mountain in the desert that includes a weekend with running friends will always be worth several different sorts of pains in the heinie. A week later, my body is starting to feel like my own again. I’ve finally unpacked and caught up on most of life’s requirements, like grocery shopping and bill paying. The winter gloom is settling into my part of the country but a couple of days in the sun makes the grey skies almost enjoyable. 

After the race, we spent a good 15 minutes picking the world’s sharpest seed pods out of our shoes. Stepping on them in bare feet was worse than stepping on a Lego.

One of the reasons why I’m on this 50 states quest is to have these little breaks from my routine where I do something sort of epic someplace new. These races are like postcards when the everyday-ness of every day gets me down. They are that out-of-character moment singing at the top of my lungs just because I can.

They are also a reminder that this is, indeed, a big country. I want to see as much of it as I can — and the best way to see a isn’t through a car window.

What song takes you right back when you were 18?

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