I’d like to say that I’ve been up to something completely fabulous since my last Martini Friday — fighting pirates in the Caribbean, maybe, or discovering foolproof cures for foot fungus — but I’d be lying. Mostly I’ve been working, sleeping, parenting, and/or running. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I did make a coaching change. And, yes, I did alert the running media, whose silence on the matter I will try to not take personally.

New coach, new plan, new stickers. Same Garmin.

While there was absolutely nothing wrong with my previous coach Sara, I don’t know that we were ever the best fit philosophically.  She is based in the fitness pressure cooker that is New York City, where the drive to be faster, stronger, better is multiplied tenfold because every day is a competition between you and 8 million other people. I am just not that driven, even when I was young and in a similar place.

When I met Coach Christine in Little Rock, I knew I’d found a Sole Sister. Yes, sure, she runs 101 miles just to see if she can — but she also doesn’t push anyone else to do it, too. Christine has met me in the slow, only vaguely competitive, busy life with kids place where I am. And that has made a world of difference.

My next race will be the Shipyard Old Port Half Marathon in Portland, Maine, which I got drafted into by another mother runner who is going to be the pacer for the 2:30 group. In all honesty, it wasn’t hard sell. I have friends in the area who we try to visit every year and am a big fan of Maine itself. I greatly prefer beaches that pummel you with their craggy cold-ness rather than their soft sand and gentle surf. I am also increasingly convinced that I might have been a Viking in a past life.

For me, 2:30 will be a stretch, even though the course is relatively flat and I’ll have a buddy to run with. But a running buddy is no gaurantee that I’ll be able to keep up. Two weekends ago I hooked up with Laura, a great friend who also happens to be a massage therapist/acupuncturist/badass mother runner. Usually, if Laura wants to run with someone, it has to be her very tall, very fast husband, who runs ahead of her, then lopes back for a few more steps, then runs ahead again.

Yeah. I’d want to throttle him, too. Laura’s pretty chill about it, though. She’s pretty chill in general, which is really what you want from someone in her profession. We both thought it would be fun to run together, even though my very, very fastest mile time isn’t that far off from her very, very slowest.

That morning, after a quick discussion about routes and times, we took off. The first mile was good, if a wee bit zippier than my usual pace. We slowed down a bit, because Laura is, again, pretty chill and was happy to just be running with a friend who was sticking around to talk.

At the three mile turn, the sun came out and my personal wheels came off. The sun is my nemesis, which might lend further evidence for my Viking theory.

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Post-run smiles.

If I were forced to write one sentence to describe my running career so far, it would be this: I make an excellent anchor. And by “anchor,” I don’t mean “someone who you put last in the relay because they are reliably speedy.” No, I’m referring to that big, heavy thing that keeps boats from floating away.

As Kelly learned when I ran the first half of the Philly Marathon with her, I am exactly who you want when you are worried about going out too fast. And as Laura learned on Saturday, when the sun comes out, even my fastest-yet-still-not-fast-really pace deserts me. We walked a good deal of miles 4 and 5, with brief running breaks so that we had a hope of getting back in enough time for her to get her son to a soccer game. By the last half mile, Laura agreed to leave this mother runner behind so that she wouldn’t be quite so late.

And I’m pretty chill about that. But I’m still learning how to be chill about not being a faster runner in general, one who can keep up with most other mother runners with minimal effort. It’s a journey.

In the better news department, I had my first long run of this training cycle last weekend. Because of a scheduling snafu, I had to squeeze it in before work last Friday, which I could do because I didn’t have to be in the office until noon, which was the upside.

The downside is that I could go in late because it was Alumni Weekend and, since I work in my college’s Alumni office, I would be on campus off and on (mostly on) for the next 48 hours. Which is not ideal when you’ve run for 9+ miles and then spend the next 8 hours on your feet.

Still, we do what we must — and we make sure we wear our Pro Compression socks.

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We also make sure we roll out our calves (and our hammies and our quads).

As long runs go, it was a good one. The weather was perfect — 50 degrees and cloudy. I had plenty of podcasts saved up and plenty of time to get it done. I nearly forgot that Coach Christine wanted me to work in a five-minute strong finish but remembered before I turned off Herr Garmin.

I’m trying to not think too much about this weekend’s long run, which will contain two miles at my race pace of 11:22. My fingers are crossed that the great ball of sky fire keeps itself hidden that morning.

 

If I were writing a comic book about running, the sun would be my bad guy. Who would your nemesis be?