June recap

June was a high-mileage month for me. I went into the month knowing I wanted to do a long solstice trail run from my house to the top of Chuckanut Mountain, so I was a bit more disciplined about adding in weekday miles, since I did not want to injure myself by being under-trained for a longer trail run. It was also an incredibly busy month for me until around the solstice, given that the university was in the last weeks of the academic year, and my work demands were at a fever pitch. I found that turning my focus toward running really helped get me through the month with a stable frame of mind. I experienced much more energy getting through the final weeks of the term than I have earlier this year, and I felt more relaxed about the outcome of situations, even under pressure. Another significant change in my life that has made space for more stamina is my reunion with uninterrupted sleep! Yes, the baby, now nearly 1.5, is finally night weaned and sleeping in his crib. My amazing partner does the nighttime parenting, if needed. After a 9 month pregnancy riddled with insomnia followed by a 16 month period of nursing on demand, including all night long… I am so forever grateful for my precious sleep. Oh, how I have learned to function convincingly under little-to-no sleep; how I prefer to function authentically with plenty of it!

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In the middle of the month, I ran the Berry Dairy Days half marathon, a local small town race the county over. It was the first time I have finished a half right around the 2:00 mark since early 2017. Even though my time was relatively speedy, I had a difficult time enjoying the race while I was running it. I think I was too exhausted, mentally, by that point to get excited about the 13.1 in front of me. It was a Sunday of a week that had me working all the way through Saturday. Waking up on a gloomy June morning and driving a half hour to Burlington was a bit painful as I longingly considered homemade waffle bar and another press of coffee with the family instead! Despite all of this, I did have some great miles from around mile 8-the finish. I think I needed an hour and some change to get into it.

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Toward the end of the month, I celebrated the solstice with a run (as is my annual tradition). This year, I decided to do something a little different and plot out a long trail run (around 20 miles a few thousand feet elevation) from my house to Lost Lake, up on the ridge of Chuckanut Mountain. I started the morning at around 6:30 AM by running to Arroyo Park, about a 7 mile route. Then I met a friend there for the Chuckanut portion of the trek, since I was feeling uneasy about running alone in the woods early on a Saturday morning (and once a seed of anxiety like that plants for me, I can’t enjoy my run). Luckily, Suzanne to the rescue! So we sauntered up the side of Chuckanut at a speed walk and then enjoyed a wonderful run on the ridge-line and along the lake and back on the Interurban to Arroyo. I was originally going to run a full 27 miles and complete the entire loop back at my house, but given burnout I had been feeling just the week before during the half marathon, I decided to end on a high note and ride back to town from Arroyo.

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Since then, I’ve been enjoying the temperate start to summer and lots of long runs in the woods. There is something so soothing about the greenery of ferns along a creek bed, the moisture protected and cooled by the shadows of Douglas firs and sandstone boulders. At the same time, there is a wildness to the abundance; more rustling in the branches than any other time of year. The deer linger with curious expressions in their eyes, rather than darting away. The baby rabbits scurry from one side of a blackberry corridor to the other hungrily. Even the birds are particularly strident as they retreat to a more natural lair. It is here, enveloped in this all, that my chest feels open, my heart bright, my feet delighting in the dance that seems only known to us.

Whidbey Island Marathon Recap

Two months ago, when I got snowed/iced out of running the half marathon I had trained for, I started looking at some spring training goals to get me through the rest of the winter. There are a number of reliably well-designed half marathons in the Pacific Northwest in April; it is one of the few months of the year here where you are more or less guaranteed mild weather conditions. I reached out to a good friend who is also an avid runner and walker and we started looking at some possibilities for a spring race. We went back and forth on schedules, pros and cons of different areas, and finally settled on Whidbey Island Marathon. Marathon, not Half-Marathon. Initially, the plan was to devise a run-walk interval approach, attempting to finish before the 6-hour cut-off. We found on a long run a few weeks before the race, however, that breaking up running with long periods of walking (for example, running three miles and walking one) expended energy in such a way that it really damaged overall stamina and energy. So we regrouped, aiming to frontload at least 16 miles of running followed by some combination of running and walking. To be honest, on marathon morning as we shuttled in the early dawn to Pass Lake, I still wasn’t quite sure how I was going to tackle the course. I had some plans sketched out, but I was also improvising.

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The first mile of the marathon took us across Deception Pass Bridge. If you haven’t been to Western Washington before and you ever end up here, rent a car, drive up the freeway to Burlington, and take Highway 20 through to Whidbey Island. You will not be disappointed. This bridge to the island is incredible, and the promise of this experience was enough to push us over the line to sign up for the full marathon rather than the half. It was a magical way to start, but it was also challenging in that the big ticket view was over and done with at the beginning of the race, and now more than 25 miles stretched out ahead of us. I felt slightly overwhelmed, even in the first three miles, as I came to terms with what I was doing. The night before, I enjoyed a warm, cozy, bed all to myself in an Airbnb with all of the amenities. I took a good long look at the slick road ahead, including all those hills, and dug in for a good long ride.

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I struggle to think of a single flat mile. Most of the race could be described as “rolling hills” although there were some larger hills every 2 miles or so that forced us to walk some brief intervals from the get-go. I think the hills, in some way, helped us achieve a run/walk balance that was more natural and forgiving within the broader context of a 26 mile run. At first, I focused on getting to the 10K mark, because I knew that would be about a quarter of the way in, and I would feel much warmer than I did at the beginning. Miles 6-13 were relatively uneventful. I kept up with Nuun, and either ate a bit of trail mix or some electrolyte slop about every hour. When we got to the half marathon mark, it was both thrilling and punishing; halfway there, but also… time to run another 13.1 miles. At this point, I found it helpful to start thinking about meeting smaller goals to keep myself going.  The first objective I focused on was getting to the 16 mile marker. My friend and I had recently run 16 miles together, so I knew we could get there and might feel better if we experienced passing the mile marker. After a brief hail storm at 16, I started thinking about 18. If we could get to 18, that would only leave 8 miles, or a medium-length run on any normal day of the week.

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Several minutes later, we reached the 18 mile marker. At this point, we were needing different things to complete the race. I was already fixated on seeing mile 20, because I wanted to get down to a 10K or less of running remaining. My friend’s IT band was irritated and she very smartly decided to ramp up her ratio of walking. My legs and hips were feeling very tired, but I was more concerned about the peripheral “wall” sensations I was starting to feel… the slow creep of hopelessness, cold extremities, and the overwhelming exhaustion of being spent. I was worried that if I did not keep running, I would not keep moving. So, we parted ways, I put in my earbud for the first time on the run, turned up some Doobie Brothers, and decided to run as much as I could to the finish.

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When I passed Mile 20, I thought I would be home free, but the marathon had other plans to make me work harder for my relief. A huge hill before the Mile 21 marker nearly caused me to sit on the shoulder and start crying. Feeling alone and discouraged, I started thinking about all the other people who were in my heart and what they would want me to do. I took out my phone and sent my best friend, now living across the country, a picture of the hill. I reflected on the feelings of love I have, for her, for my family, for my friend a mile or so behind me on the course. I started to imagine the love I had for the other runners on the course, these other strangers who set aside their lives, their jobs, their kids and families this weekend to pile into a musty shuttle and run from one county to another. I thought about the volunteers, high school track athletes, probably, or scouts with their parents huddled in camping chairs in the rain and cold from before the light of dawn until well after lunch. So many people around me were making the choice to give something of themselves that day, and losing myself in that meditation, I felt compelled to match their generosity and finish. It seemed that I unlocked something through this introspection, as the course itself curved gently downhill for most of the final 4 miles, and I was able to run the rest with very little disturbance or struggle.

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When I saw the finish line and the 4:45 pacer, I was overwhelmed with relief and also so incredibly proud of myself. Six years ago, I fought with every last cell of my body to get across the finish line in more than five and a half hours. On Sunday, I was able to run and finish a marathon in 4:44. I hold this as evidence of a few things. My running practice has become a much deeper part of my life in the past six years. I initially ran a marathon in 2013 as a type of capstone experience for my new (and probably temporary) running hobby. I had no idea that running would become such a central theme in my story. I also have learned, proven, and internalized that I can do hard things. From raising children to writing and defending a dissertation, I’ve strengthened my capacity for grit. I have more effective mental tools to support my persistence. The last thing is a little out there, but 4:44 has a lot of significance in my family as that is the time when we received a phone call from the hospital, many years ago, that my grandmother was hit by a car. Whether it is the trickery of my frontal lobe (most likely) or indeed a message from the spiritual realm (a stretch, perhaps), I certainly formed a new and positive association with this number, and I think my Nana would be delighted to know it.

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Overall, Whidbey Island Marathon provided me with challenge, catharsis, and realization. The course was absolutely beautiful, and I found the quiet and low-frills/no-crowds environment of the race to be exactly what I needed to turn inward and do heart work simultaneously with foot work. Something tells me it won’t be six years before I run another marathon.

a seasonally affected race day and other tales of winter blues

Over in Western Washington, we lovingly referred to the weather last week as Snowmageddon 2019. Indeed, after false hope that the extreme meteorological predictions were exaggerated, the snow started falling the weekend before last and proceeded to shut down the city for a good 48 hours, followed by days of terrible road conditions and over a foot of snow that was in no mood to melt (as I type this, some still remains on the ground). The half marathon I had been training for was scheduled for Sunday morning, and I was hopeful that after a week of frigid wintery weather, the thaw would have ample time to prepare the course for runners. The emails from the race director were cautiously optimistic—everyone seemed prepared to move forward with the event, even if there might be a few challenges along the route. The hopes I had for a successful race day were significantly hampered when I went out for a relaxed tempo run the morning before the half marathon. Even with Yaktrax on, I only made it three blocks before turning back home. The compacted snow was stubbornly transformed into large sheets of ice, punctuated by slippery bumps and grooves poised to twist ankles and trip feet. By Saturday afternoon, the email cancelling the race seemed almost inevitable. Disappointing outcome, but one that could not be avoided given the circumstances with weather and road conditions.

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This has been a bleak month in some ways. Beyond the fact that we are in the running for the coldest February on record in this region, my universe seems to be giving me difficult situations to digest. The baby was sick for much of the first half of the month, and the long hours of illness (with the accompanying sleepless nights, tired arms, aching back from carrying, cabin fever) blended into more than a week of school closures. My daughter struggled with a lack of routine. My best friend and original running buddy accepted an amazing job across the country and will move in a few weeks. While I am really excited for her, this is a big change and one that bring some sadness, as we adjust to a long distance relationship. Two coworkers with who I really enjoy working (one of whom is a mentor of mine) are retiring this summer. I find myself a bit untethered imagining the possibility of tackling the next academic year at work without them. My partner is about to take the comprehensive exams for his Ph.D. program, and the process of preparing creates a distinct stress that creeps its tentacles into every cranny of family life (I say this from a place of deep empathy, as I remember preparing for and taking my comps two and a half years ago, and it is incredibly taxing).

I was feeling overwhelmed by all of this yesterday morning. I felt that uncomfortable heaviness, when you desire more than anything the catharsis of tears, and yet the control mechanisms on my emotional filter were clamped down so tightly, I could not begin to cry. Without any other appealing option, I laced up my shoes and pushed myself out the door. And I ran those miles I could not earlier in the week; I once again returned to the comfort of breath and locomotion. Slowly, the swirling thoughts softened and lost their sting. The angst lessened and the weight lifted off my heart.

I came away from that run and some further reflection afterward with a new understanding. I am noticing opportunities in my life for development. Variables are shifting, and while there are new challenges, I am strong, smart, and good-humored enough to both persist and shape these opportunities into excitement and renewal. I was trained and prepared to run 13 miles two days ago. What a gift! Another race will present itself in the near future. My family will continue to strengthen by channeling empathy and curiosity as we meet the busy weeks ahead. My friendship enjoyed the rare benefit of nearly a decade of spontaneous in-person togetherness, but from that foundation, a promise of a new and adventurous chapter (including lots of travel) lies ahead, along with the organic departure from the immediacy of parenting a baby (as he and his sister both grow older). I see the work at hand as a charge to wade into the next several months equipped with my most successful tools. Yesterday reminded me that even during the bleakest darkest days, running remains one of those tools… and I was so very thankful for it when I returned home yesterday, hugged my children and partner, and reset my thinking about the future ahead.

how many miles per week?

Family members and friends often ask me about how to start running. There exists a myth that running is reserved only for those who were varsity track stars in their youth. I hope, by now, if you have been reading along, that I have done something to dispel this fiction. Running is a broadly accessible form of exercise with many entry points. It is beginner-friendly, and an extremely patient friend for life, if you’ll welcome it. Another obstacle that often thwarts the novice runner from pursuing distance goals is the time it takes to invest in a training routine.

When I am training for a half marathon race (as I am currently), I rarely have the time to aggressively increase the time I dedicate to running. If I didn’t have the obligations of family, work, and everything else, I would love nothing more than to run almost every morning. However, the reality is I have to be intentional about where and how I spend finite training time. Over the course of my running practice, I have learned that if I run for 20 miles a week, I am able to maintain a level of fitness and endurance that prepares me well for any distance up to a half marathon. On the days I am not running, I find at least one hour a day to walk briskly, usually along hilly terrain (I try to find the time for this walk even on running days). While the net weekly miles don’t fluctuate much (I might get closer to 25 when I am getting into the longest long runs prior to the race), the distribution of the miles across the week evolves as I get closer to race day.

Chopping up my 20 miles into different combinations also gives me variety during a training season. I can customize my week to accommodate a number of factors, ranging from weather to running route. For example, I am currently in the midst of a week with more medium-length runs. This gives me the opportunity to enjoy some different loops that are in the 5-6 mile range, including several exclusively on roads to get prepared for my upcoming road race. Next week, I will change back to a more traditional format with one long run, two medium runs, and one short run.

From left-to-right, a few examples of how I might distribute my weekly miles:

(8, 8, 4); (8, 5, 4, 3); (6, 5, 5, 4); (3, 3, 3, 3, 8)

The quantity of miles a runner needs to cover in a week is personal and dependent upon a number of considerations. For example, the overall training goal can shift plans significantly. If training for a marathon, my weekly mileage will go up steadily over a few months. If transitioning back to running after an illness or injury, I will tackle shorter runs with more frequency, paying close attention to what my body is communicating. During the spring and summer, I have more daylight to work with, so I might naturally increase my weekly mileage simply because there are more hours in the day to do so. The right formula is one that is:

-Sustainable

-Avoids—or better yet, prevents—injury

-Prepares the runner well for race day

-Flexible

Most importantly, if I finish a long run with the sense that I have leftover “pep” that could propel me for another couple of miles, then I know I am training wisely for my upcoming event. If I am hitting little “walls” and struggling to get through the miles, then I know I need to tinker with my approach, whether that means adding more medium runs to support good endurance, or examine my activities on cross-training days. While I may start out training for a race with a general outline or schedule, I find that these micro-assessments and adjustments in response to my levels of energy or fatigue really do make a difference in the overall completion of my goal.

race recap: nookachamps 10K

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Today, I ran a 10K that I’ve done every year for the past four years. The course is hilly and most of the miles are on road surfaces. The race also served as a check in to see how I am feeling about my upcoming half marathon next month. I was pleasantly surprised by how well things went; I had to weave a little during a crowded first mile, and I took a brief walking break on a steep uphill before mile 3, but the rest of the route felt springy and fast. I finished the race within 3 minutes of my personal best at this event two years ago, and considering I was waddling the course at a 20 minute mile last year in full-term pregnancy, I am pleased with today’s result. When I crossed the finish line, I felt like I could have maintained that pace for another 2 or 3 miles. In the upcoming weeks, I am going to continue my training, but add mileage to the long runs until I am confidently running 10 miles at a good tempo with energy to spare.

 

milk & miles

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Running and breastfeeding are compatible activities that I have had the opportunity to enjoy with two babies. Each time I’ve learned something different, especially given that I did not start running regularly until my daughter was almost one, but I went back to running only a few weeks after giving birth to my son. In both cases, I learned how to keep the balance of logging miles and making milk for babies at different stages in their development and nutritional needs. I thought I would share a few insights in case it might be useful to a fellow mama runner (or friend/partner of one) in the future.

In the first six weeks of life, a newborn’s stomach is very small and breastmilk is metabolized quickly. Furthermore, so much of nursing fulfills needs far beyond nourishment. Hormones catalyzed during nursing sessions accomplish tasks ranging from bonding to shrinking the uterus and helping internal organs shift back into place. Skin-to-skin contact is important, the mother and baby should really smell one another in the holistic sense to keep these biochemical changes progressing. There are very few people who could jump up and go for a long run right after giving birth anyway (most of us are still in our adult diapers scarfing lukewarm meals one handed while crying over everything), but, needless to say, I think this is a time when breastfeeding should really take priority over any type of routine exercise.

During the fourth trimester, the first three months of a baby’s life, breastfeeding begins to hit a more routine stride. With my son, I started to really pursue running once he was about 2 months old. At this point, I could tank him up with milk before a nap, leave him snuggled with his dad, and enjoy 3 miles around the neighborhood without worrying. I planned to go back to work with both kids, so I began pumping pretty early on. As the months progressed, I felt confident going out for longer runs knowing that my partner could always give the baby a bottle if I wasn’t there.

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In my experience, by about 7 or 8 months, a baby is getting nourishment from some solids/table foods in addition to breastmilk, although breastmilk comprises the majority of the diet. This is when I felt like I could really enjoy longer runs without the pangs of worry about missing a nursing session. The challenge during this period for me with both babies was maintaining ample milk supply in the context of working and pumping. So I was pretty intentional about nursing both before leaving for a run and when coming back to keep my body in that routine (breastfeeding is, at a simplistic level, supply and demand). For longer race days, I’ve found that a small hand pump and cooler bag stashed in my gear bag has provided relief and or peace of mind when I need it. By the way, I have seen many nursing mothers pump before the start of races (you start to see it when you’ve done it!).

With babies and toddlers one and older, daytime nursing becomes more infrequent. I stopped pumping at one year with my daughter, and plan a similar schedule with my son, with the commitment to nurse at night/when I am home as long as we are both enjoying it. As a runner, I look forward to this chapter of the nursing journey because I inevitably earn back a lot of bodily autonomy and the logistics of pumping and nursing become nearly inconsequential. Keeping up good hydration and nutrition is the key to maintaining a milk supply for as long as is desired.

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Breastfeeding eats up about 500 calories a day, and quite a bit of fluid. I find it is much easier to become dehydrated when training and breastfeeding, so drinking a lot of water is really important. I start the morning by drinking 16 ounces minimum, right off the bat, before any coffee or other beverages. I also eat a lot of nourishing calories frequently through the day. Protein is often elevated to star status when we talk about diets for athletes, but carbohydrates and fats are foundational for both the glycogen stores one requires for regular running (especially distance running) and the ability for a body to make and sustain milk supply. Some of my staples in addition to complete meals are homemade banana bread with peanut butter on it, Greek yogurt with granola, hummus and pita, avocado and corn chips… you get the idea. I am constantly snacking, especially at night before I inevitably spend a few of my wake-ups nursing.

There is anecdotal data out there about how running changes the taste of milk, or how one should shower before nursing because the smell/taste of sweat is somehow a barrier to the baby nursing, but I’ve never experienced any issues. Supportive and comfortable sports bras are always important, but especially for a lactating runner as underwire or constriction can cause clogged ducts and other minor (albeit obnoxious) complications. Most of my running shirts already have a quarter zip at the neck, so nursing in my gear is usually simple. By the time a baby is approaching toddlerhood, they are usually too busy to demand nursing right away, anyway. Lately, I have enjoyed that transition as I now come home from my runs and cherish, with gratitude, the fact that I can take a hot shower uninterrupted before doing anything else.

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Running has made many things, including motherhood, so much healthier and more enjoyable for me. There is no reason why breastfeeding should be a barrier to maintaining a running practice; in fact, best practices for proactive self-care when nursing perform quite a bit of double duty for keeping a runner healthy and happy, as well.

return to distance

I am settling back into the routine of training for a half marathon after taking a year and a half away from distance running to be pregnant, give birth, and recover. There were a few races sprinkled in there, with running at shorter lengths comprising an increasingly regular part of my exercise schedule for the past year. I have to say that I am both glad I waited to embark on distance training, and that I am also filled with joy about being back to this beloved journey of gradually building endurance and physical strength to go long.

I have always framed running practice as a long-term relationship; there are seasons of life when other responsibilities and activities take priority over training, and then there are the openings that present themselves to return to a deeper commitment of time and energy. After a challenging fall of colds and sickness; one that required the patience to rest (admittedly something with which I struggle), I started to enjoy that natural paradigm shift, that changing orientation to possibility. The reward of returning to regular long runs is tremendous. I missed the self that emerges only during those solitary journeys—I missed that old friend inside of me. I missed the quiet—oh, the quiet! I love my children, but I think most mothers of young kids would agree that there is nothing like an uninterrupted thought. I missed the nothingness, the plateau of hitting the zone, when time and effort recede to the background hum, and the flight of the body becomes one with the mind.

I am revisiting a half marathon I ran three years ago, when I was at my fastest speed. I do not expect to touch this record. Bodies evolve and goals shift. I desire two things: to run the entire course, and to finish. And while the final outcome of race day excites me, I have to admit that the process of getting there is my prize this time around. One foot ahead of the other, breath locked in relaxed rhythm, the changing landscape ahead welcoming me along.

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ALL GUTS!

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Image description: Picture of me running and sweating, from the waist up. I am wearing a dark green tunic, white cap, and a bright yellow backpack.

A few years ago, I participated in some weekly track workouts through the local running club. I was newer to running, and wanted to learn a few tips before embarking on my first marathon. Though my interested in repeatedly circling the rubber university track eventually waned, I did pick up a basic vocabulary of running, some valuable information about form, and a newly formed love/hate relationship with planks. The takeaway that remains with me to this day, however, is the concept of “all guts.”

I’ve written about this on the blog before, but there is a certain point where intellect, calculation, risk awareness, and planning fail the runner. This is usually during the last stretch of a run or a race. Picture this familiar scene:

You are rounding a bend at a slight incline for what seems like the hundredth time during the race. Sweat has accumulated as salty patches at your hairline and on your upper lip. All you smell is salt and your own sweat. The sun is starting to beat down more strongly. The chill of the morning is dissipating. The arches of your feet are starting to feel the effect of miles of friction. Your fingers are starting to tingle. Your lips are gummed up with stringy mucous. You pass the penultimate mile marker, gearing up for the last stretch…

This is precisely where “all guts” serves me so well every time. Good running is about mindfulness and clarity of mind, but those methods of mitigating the noise lose efficacy over time and distance. Beyond that, particularly in a race day situation, there are so many other variables pulling at the brain for attention. Stimuli, time goals, self-imposed expectations, these are all in play as one powers through the corridor of bystanders tinkling cow bells and cheering you on. Sometimes it is too much. Sometimes, often, you want to crash. That last terrible wall looms, the one that cheats you out of a strong finish, the one that cheats you out of a time goal. That wall is self-doubt, and it amounts to folding when you have a perfectly good hand.

When I get to this place, I start to whisper cheer to myself “all guts, all guts, all guts.” Sometimes I say it under my breath as I run the last mile. I was introduced to this concept during mile repeats at track workouts. We were encouraged to run the fastest mile we could, as a way of setting a base personal record. Finishing the third lap, there was this one coach who would yell “all guts!” as we curved into the fourth a final lap. He said it kindly, but excitedly. And each time, this reminder was very effective. It was a cue to shut of my frontal lobe, embrace my primal humanity, and simply run hard.

I was running a 10K race yesterday, and feeling strong throughout. I knew I was averaging somewhere between 8:15 and 8:30 a mile, and that is pretty speedy for my body at that distance. Shortly after hitting the 5 Mile marker (and running for a few miles up to that point in relative solitude), I turned the corner to crowds of race volunteers and people. The appearance of all of this broke my focus and I was suddenly aware of my own exhaustion. My legs, spoiled from my penchant for trails, realized I tricked them into a road run. I really wanted to slow down and take a long walk break, but I didn’t. Instead, I kept running and did a brief body scan. Was I feeling sharp pain? No. Did I have a side cramp? No. Was I short of breath? No. I was feeling that overload at the end of the race… I was feeling the last wall creep up. “ALL GUTS!” I shouted in my head, “ALL GUTS! ALL GUTS!”

And I shouted that all the way to the finish line until I crossed, looked up at the clock, and realized I set a new 10K race PR.

April Recap

Image description: Full pink blossoms and green leaves on a tree branch with blue sky in the background.

The month started with the emergence of blossoms, and it concludes with nearly full leaf cover, bright green fingers on the edge of the evergreens, and the thick smell of pollen in the air. I enjoyed running in a few different locations, including during my two trips to Oregon. As the trails came alive with new growth, I cherished the gift of taking long walks through the arboretum during my lunch hour. I ran my first half marathon of the year, and it was really enjoyable and comfortable. I am feeling energized about my running practice as the days continue to lengthen and the weather warms. My daughter and I are now running together regularly. I had my annual destination race adventure with my number one running buddy. Overall, April exceeded my expectations.

I am looking forward to the slide into summer. To waking up early in the cool dawn, before the dew evaporates from the pavement. To extended golden hours in the evening. To trekking and running through the many natural beaches mere miles from my house. To continued changes in my own life as I delve deeper into the final push of my dissertation and support my family through growth and love. I feel a sense of peace and excitement.

I am also very pleased to be approaching a summer that does not involve marathon training. While marathon training is a labor of love, I do not feel the drive to shift my running practice in that direction. Rather, I continue to enjoy my intentions of pursuing sustainability and reclaiming excitement. There is something absolutely thrilling and invigorating about leaping out for a sunny evening run, with no particular agenda other than to find joy.

High Desert Hopes

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Image description: A tray of ten beer samples on a wood table next to tortilla chips.

Bend Half Marathon weekend is upon me! I look forward to a road trip with my running buddy and some new scenery. Destination races are always exciting and provoke some anxiety. Sleeping in a different bed, eating different foods, being away from the comfort and supplies of home… Nevertheless, I always make great memories racing somewhere else, and celebrating post-race with food and drink as a tourist is quite appealing!

When I am packing for a race, I almost always over pack. In the case of a road trip, I think this approach can’t hurt. I like to bring at least a spare set of running clothes, including socks and bra, for race day. I also make sure to bring a few different options for weather, including a hat, sunglasses, sunscreen, warmer layer, and did I say spare socks? Because I am nearly legally blind without my glasses or contacts, I make sure to bring extra contacts. Finally, when I am going to run a specific race for the first time, I pack along my own fuel. This necessitates bringing a hydration pack, belt, or some other type of carrier to store items for the run. If you are doing this in the future, make sure you’ve practiced running with that pack/belt/carrier. I think the discomfort of adjusting an ill-fitting fuel belt is far more infuriating than dealing with a food blister. Honestly.

Every race brings with it a different intention. This time around, I am going for the experience and to enjoy running in new surroundings. Between factoring in altitude and my more relaxed training schedule (running several times a week, but a bit less aggressive with sequenced long runs), I am taking a no-pressure approach to the Bend event. I approached Wenatchee similarly this time last year, and I felt like I got a good pay-off. I was able to enjoy my two hours of running without worrying about setting a personal best. I am hoping for a similar experience this time around.

As with any long distance run, staying up and moving both before and after is a gift for the muscles. I plan to get plenty of walking in on Saturday, and plenty of walking in on Sunday after the race. Much of the stiffness and soreness felt after a half marathon may be proactively mitigated by keeping plenty of blood and oxygen cycling through the body. I find that destination races invite this recovery quite naturally, as there is typically much to see and do after the racing events of the morning conclude.

More than anything, I look forward to sharing this time with my running buddy and best friend. There is no richer bonding experience than sweating, agonizing, and achieving together. Off to the high desert!