Inspiration from a BQ'er

I love that running gives me a chance to draw inspiration from others.  I love to watch other runners work hard, push their boundaries, and strive relentlessly towards a goal.  I become deeply invested in their training and seeing their successes feels almost as thrilling as accomplishing my own goal.  I thrive on the team spirit and sense of camaraderie we share as we constantly work to better ourselves one mile at a time.  While watching their efforts (through blogs, Strava, and Twitter), I am inspired to set my own big, scary goals and set out to accomplish them. 

Because of SBS and other strong women, I have the courage to dream big.

One of my favorite running bloggers, Sarah Bowen Shea of Another Mother Runner, set out on Sunday to run a Boston-qualifying time at the Victoria Marathon.  She shared her training with us through various media, and as a result, an enormous tribe of mother runners sat glued to their devices cheering for her as she pushed herself 26.2 miles through beautiful British Columbia.  When I saw that she had nailed her qualifying time, my excitement was off the charts.  I cried happy tears - for a woman I know virtually but not "in real life" - and that feels perfectly normal to me.  After all, I cried when her partner in crime, Dimity McDowell, finished her IronMan race in 2013.  Those mother runners inspired me to first lace up my shoes, which means that I owe them an enormous debt of gratitude.  Doubtless, I'll never be able to do for them what they've done for me, but I can cheer like a crazy woman at their victories and cry happy tears in celebration.

Congrats, SBS, on your hard-earned victory, and thank you for allowing us to share in your journey.  You've inspired me - and countless others - to dream big, aim high, and work tirelessly to make the dream a reality.

Difficult, Not so Difficult

The last several days have not been as I expected them to be.  A week ago, I would have told you that the following things in my life were difficult:

1.  last Sunday's 10 mile run, my longest since my half in April.
2.  hanging out with my crabby, refusing-to-nap, cutting-four-teeth-at-once (it's a good thing she's cute) baby girl.
3.  cleaning brown crayon off an entire load of laundry, which of course, I didn't discover until after it had gone through the dryer.
4.  cleaning brown crayon out of aforementioned dryer.
5.  organizing logistics for two school fundraisiers and a parish event.

Now all of those things are utterly insignificant.  The only truly difficult thing in my life is watching my grandmother slip out of reality.  In her 101 years on this planet, she's always been sharp as a tack with a witty sense of humor, a strong will, and a generous heart.  Without warning, she's begun a rapid descent, experiencing frequent moments of vast confusion where she doesn't know where she is, who she is, or what she is doing.  Heartbreaking.

So in a matter of days, my priorities have vastly realigned, and my runs have become an absolute necessity.  They help me take a break from care-taking duties and give me a chance to clear my head.  As I met up with Emily this morning, I was so grateful for the chance to work up a sweat and to take control of something in life.  Today, as it so often does, running reminded me that I can do difficult things.  Like last week's 5k, sometimes I have to resign myself to the fact that life is hard, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.  And keep running to balance the stress.  Always keep running.

My Strava title for today's run says it all: controlling what I can control,
which these days, isn't much.

My Most Important Mile

My favorite running gurus over at Another Mother Runner invite readers to submit entries for a regular column called "Most Important Mile of My Life."  Last fall, I submitted an entry and was elated that my post aired on their site in November.  My 15 minutes of fame!  You can read the original post on their site, and I'm also reproducing it here.

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I’ve logged many significant miles: the joy of my first double-digit run, running through the frustration of a miscarriage, the terribly wonderful first postpartum run.  But my most important mile came during a 1-mile fun run with my kindergartener earlier this fall.

We were all smiles and excitement at the starting line, but our enthusiasm quickly diminished.  After about .2 miles, he had had enough.  He wanted to quit and kept telling me we were going too fast, even though our pace resembled a slug moving through quicksand.

Tears in his eyes and a forced smile on his face, but he was actually running for a moment.

We spent most of the mile walking with intermittent bursts of running.  "Just run to that tree," I begged him.  But no amount of cheering from me would get his feet moving faster than a shuffle.  I pleaded.  I cajoled.  For whatever reason, his heart was not into it.

With only .1 of a mile to go, he broke down in tears.  I showed him the finish line and promised him bagels and frozen custard after we crossed it, but he couldn't do it.  We sat on the curb crying for a few minutes until he finally regrouped enough to run the last stretch.

It was certainly not the run I had expected, but I learned a great deal about myself as a mother during that (painful, frustrating, slow) mile.  I had to set aside my type A desires and really stop to listen to my son.  That mile was about spending time with him, being patient with his frustrations, and persevering when we both would have preferred heading to the car and going home.

A few minutes after the race, he gave me a big hug and said, "Mommy, even though I cried a lot, I had fun running with you.  Can we do it again?"  

Of course, sweetheart.  Anytime.

Finally finished!

Run Commute

Yesterday's run is one I won't soon forget.  With one of our cars on the fritz, we were juggling child care drop off plus two jobs (all in very different directions) with one vehicle.  To help alleviate some of the logistics, I told my husband that I'd just run home from the train station, eliminating one stop from his route.  He laughed and teased me saying, "Why don't you just run all the way home?"

"Because I don't want to die trying to cross the interstate," I told him.  I was thinking like a driver, not a runner, and I couldn't picture a way to cross the highway safely.  Then I started thinking like a runner and remembered a pedestrian bridge that crosses the highway.  Maybe running home could work after all...

Aerial view of the Hampton/I-64 interchange.  Who wouldn't want to run through this completely-void-of-sidewalks area during rush hour?

I spent the morning hemming and hawing about my options (and working, too!  I promise!).  If I ran home from the train, it would be an easy 2 miles along routes that I travel all the time.  I could add a few extra miles, but they'd be on the same sidewalks I've traversed for years.  On the other hand, if I ran all the way from work, it would be nearly 7 miles along a route I've never run before.  I've been hesitant to break out of my old, familiar routes, so this was my chance to push myself to try something new.

Did I mention that I'm not an afternoon runner?  That it was 77* when I left?  That I've never run more than 5 miles on a weekday?  Go big or go home.  Or in this case, go big to get home.

I planned to leave at 4:00, and I expected to get home around 5:15, allowing time for stop lights, traffic, and water breaks.  At 3:56, my co-worker pointed out the radar, which showed an enormous storm system in Chesterfield ~ 15 miles away.  Knowing that she's a weather expert, I asked if she thought I had time to make it home before the storm unleashed.  "Run fast," she told me.  "It's going to hit around 5:00."

I scrambled out the door, feeling surprisingly fresh for having worked a full day.  I enjoyed running through Forest Park, a popular running route in St. Louis that I had never tried out before.  I found the pedestrian-friendly bridge across I-64 and happily ran through Dogtown.  The sky was cloudy but not threatening, and though the temperature was hot, I was running joyfully and strong.

Around mile 3.5, my little web of happiness began to unravel.  I was approaching the Hill neighborhood and a passing train forced me to stop.  A welcome break for my legs, but as I stood watching the train, I felt the temperature drop radically and noticed an ominous sky just to the west.  I checked the time: 4:32.  I needed to keep moving if I wanted to get home before the storm broke.

Photo courtesy a viewer on kmov.com.
I was too concerned with getting home before the lightning started to snap my own pic, but this was my view as I waited for the train to pass.

Fortunately, it was a short train, and I was soon clambering up the steep incline that gives this famous neighborhood its name.  However, as a gentle rain began to fall, a precursor to the real storm, I started to regret my decision to go big.  I had come a long way and still had far to go.  I was tired, hungry, and just wanted to be finished.  Rather than descend into a spiral of self-doubt, I reminded myself to focus on my form ("long, tall, strong," I repeated ad nauseum), and I started counting down the neighborhoods until I'd be home: the Hill, Northampton, Southampton, then finally Princeton Heights.

The rain picked up around mile 6, but I had made it to a stretch of road that Emily and I run almost every time we lace up.  I checked the time again: 4:54.  "Keep going, Kate.  One mile to go."  Just half a mile from my house, the sky opened up, and the rain began falling in buckets.  "Earn your finish, lady."  I ran as fast as my legs would move, feeling strangely free as the sheets of rain drenched me.  I dashed up to my house and checked the time as I stopped my GPS: 5:02.

Dripping wet, I stood on my back porch and marveled at what I had done: I broke through my new route phobia, ran at an unusual time of day, and outran the lightning.  Badass doesn't even begin to capture the intensity of my emotions as I wrung the water out of my hat and watched the rain pelt our backyard.  I set out to do something hard, and I did it, excelling far beyond what I imagined I could do.  I'm so grateful that running helps me to push past my imagined boundaries, set and achieve new goals, and become a more balanced wife/mother/friend in the process.

Inspiration from an IronMother

I love this quote.  It is so scary and overwhelming to take that first step, but you will never know what you can achieve until you have the courage to try.

Earlier today, I read Dimity McDowell's Runner's World feature on her epic IronMother race last summer.  I'm an avid fan of Dimity and her partner in crime Sarah Bowen Shea, the founders of Another Mother Runner.  I followed Dimity's training via their blog, and I vividly remember watching her finish her incredible IronMother journey.  Having tucked my older kids in bed for the night, I snuggled on the couch with my one-month-old baby and streamed the race feed on my iPad.  I was glued to the screen waiting to see her tall frame come down the final stretch.  When her triumphant face filled my view, I cried tears of joy for a woman I'd never met.

I'm sure my husband thought the tears were typical postpartum hormones, and I'm sure hormones played a role, but I still feel choked up today thinking about Dimity's terrific struggle and her ultimate triumph.  As I sat nursing my sleeping baby, I felt awe, excitement, joy, and an overwhelming urge to conquer my own challenge.  So soon after birth, my body was not yet ready to run, but my mind was willing to contemplate future challenges.  The IronMother planted a seed of hope and possibility in my foggy, sleep-deprived brain.

One month later, I laced up my shoes for the first time in 10 months and began the Couch to 5k running program.  It was a run that was simultaneously blissful and painful, empowering and humbling.  Every inch of my body ached during the 60 second run intervals, and I couldn't believe that running would ever feel comfortable again.  While my body screamed in protest, my mind felt free and liberated.  "Smell the fresh air.  Watch the sunrise," it said.  "Enjoy these moments with no one's needs but your own."

In that pre-dawn hour on a muggy July morning, I felt just a taste of Dimity's finish line victory: the aching body and triumphant spirit, the tears of joy and exhaustion, the joy of completing something that felt too difficult to start.  Since that run, I've logged countless miles, and I feel stronger than ever both mentally and physically.  All because an IronMother planted a seed of hope.  Thank you, Dimity, for giving me the courage to dream.

Digging Deep

Earlier this week, I had a non-running moment during which I called upon all the mental (and much of the physical) strength I've developed as a runner.  With an insufficient number of carseats, I found myself needing to make an urgent 4 mile round trip with four kids in tow.  I loaded up a stroller with the three older kids and strapped the baby into a carrier on my chest.

As we set off on the 90 degree day, I knew my task was going to be incredibly difficult.  I was pushing 100 pounds of kid plus 30 pounds of stroller while wearing a 15 pound baby on my chest.  I tried to find the least hilly route I could, but the walk to our destination was brutal and slow-moving.  My legs worked as hard as they have on hill workouts, and my arms were screaming from the effort of pushing the heavily-laden stroller.

Difficult as the first walk was, the walk home was even worse.  One mile from our house, a tire blew out on the stroller, rendering the stroller useless and forcing the three older kids to walk the rest of the way.  Tired little legs plus excessive heat equals a crabby one mile parade.

Admittedly, our walk was shorter and less hilly, but in my head, it looked and felt exactly like this.

Throughout the ordeal, I called on all my runner's mental strength.  I parceled out the trip into small, achievable intervals so that I could accomplish what I needed to.  I tried to stay optimistic, counting off the miles covered rather than the miles remaining.  Most of all, I put my head down and soldiered on.

The trip was stressful, grueling, and far from pleasant, but I was able to do it because I am a runner.  I know how to find that hidden inner strength to persevere and keep fighting when the road seems impossible.  Without those skills, I never could have overcome all the obstacles that faced us that day.  Thank you, running, for making me a stronger person - both on a run and in my daily life.