Dry Martini: Adrienne Goes for a Run!

Given the upheaval of the last few weeks, I might be soothing my nerves by running and by consuming too much Netflix. Every topic I start to write about is transformed into an Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt title by my brain. “Adrienne Gets Sunscreen in her Eye!” “Adrienne Does Cadence Drills!” “Adrienne has Thoughts About Depression!” When the going gets tough, the tough turn to Tina Fey. There are worse ways to cope.

Summer a’came in with a vengeance two weeks ago, when the temps hit the 90s and the humidity did the same. I thought I’d escape the worst of the heat during my weekend long run by hitting the sidewalk by 7 a.m. It wasn’t early enough.

Voldesun, my nickname for my hot weather nemesis, was already getting his evil on by then. On the plus side, I remembered to buy a bottle of fresh sunscreen; on the minus side, I forgot to go no higher on my face than my cheeks so that I could avoid having sunscreen run into my eyeballs at mile four. This seems to be a lesson I have to learn every dang year.

I did stop long enough to admire my neighbor’s poppies, one of the few parts of summer I like.

As hot and humid runs go, it was fine. It turns out that carrying water really does help a summer workout feel less terrible. I briefly toyed with stopping at the McDonald’s on the route to see if they would put a handful of ice in my hat but didn’t feel lousy enough to overcome my desire to never pause Herr Garmin. I might be in a different frame of mind by July.

Because I’m not sure that I mentioned it — or if I did, I’ve forgotten I mentioned it, which amounts to the same thing — the Herr Garmin that I’m currently using is technically Herr Garmin the Second. Herr Garmin (the first of his name) crapped out shortly before the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. While said crapping out was inconvenient, doing so just before a big race expo made it much easier to find his replacement. And his replacement, a girly purple Forerunner 230 that actually fits my waifish wrist, is the main reason I did cadence drills on Monday.

Herr Garmin the Second gives me a graph that charts my cadence, that is, the number of times my feet hit the ground during a run. I’ve heard a lot about the benefits of a zippier cadence, like increased speed and a reduced likelihood of injury, but never really paid that much attention to it until I had a graph. I’m a sucker for data I can see.

Before a drill. The red dots show where my cadence was near 150. The orange dots are closer to 160. This is my standard easy run.

It amuses me to see if I can change that variable during the next few weeks before my training for Wineglass and the New York City Marathon (!) really start. Just because I am compelled to work it into every conversation between now and November, I’m running my first (and only (seriously)) marathon for Every Mother Counts. I’m *thisclose* to my fund-raising goal. We can do so much better when it comes to maternal health and EMC is helping us get there.

Enter cadence drills. This week, Coach had me run four 30-45 second bursts at 180 steps per minute, finishing up with 2 minutes at that pace. In between said bursts, I have drills like high knees and butt kicks. Right now, it’s kind of fun if to try to match my footfalls with a 99-cent metronome app. I also don’t have all that much invested in the result, other than curiosity. We’ll see if I still find it fun when the work gets longer and harder. Insert “that’s what she said” joke here.

During the drills. I never did make it to 180 this time — but at least there is *some* green….

Jokes aside, there were two posts from my sister mother runners that have hit me, as the kids say, right in the feels. First was Dimity’s essay about finding the l;ght as she wrestles with her depression. Second was Kym Gowin’s story about the 5K she started to honor her departed sister’s struggle with postpartum depression and psychosis. These two posts opened a conversation that I need to add my voice to.

After the birth of my first child, I very nearly followed Kym’s sister down that same dead-end path. Two weeks after my now almost 14-year old was born, I was booked into the nearest psych ward because I was a danger to myself. I’d spent that morning plotting how I would kill myself later that day with the sharp knife we kept in the kitchen. Having babies is hard enough. When you add sleep deprivation and a family history of mental illness, you wind up places you never thought you’d go.

I’d like to say that running saved me — but running came into my life much, much later and I don’t know that you’re ever really saved from mental illness. It’s always there lurking, like Kim Kardashian or cicadas. Sometimes you’re just more aware of it. Running, however, has become crucial to keeping my personal candles lit during periods of darkness.

There’s no non-self-promotional way to say that what led up to my time on a psych floor could fill a book — and that I’ve already written it. But it did. And I have. Rather than fill up your phones and computers with all of that, I’ll link to Amazon and Audible info. No pressure. You know your own mind.

Regardless, I can promise this: if we’re ever in the same place at the same time, all you have to do is ask and I’ll bend your ear near in half about the subject. We can even run while we talk, if you want. I’ll let you look at our cadence graph afterwards, too.

Keeping it light, what sitcom (or drama or reality show) would best describe your life right now?