Mine was my mom. Before my teachers read my papers, my mom would look them over, correcting grammatical errors and also spelling.
Yes, unfortunately, I’m so old that spell check wasn’t yet a thing. We did it old school. Sometimes we went so far as to look up words in the dictionary!
Once I started middle school and high school, the dreaded red pen became my nemesis. The only red mark you wanted on your paper was an A at the top. And maybe a “nice job!” for an extra boost of pride.
By the time I started college, I was well versed in the ways of the red pen, having endured Advanced Composition in my senior year of high school. I was lucky enough to have built a nice repertoire of essays to recycle into my Freshman English class papers. My portfolio served me well, and I earned the only A in my professor’s class.
As I’ve found my way back to writing as an adult, I’ve learned a few things about editors. I’m grateful for the ones who have worked with me.
I am an assistant editor for Miles and Minutes Magazine, a quarterly publication of the Richmond Road Runners Club, and my editor is amazing. She’s not just a great motivator. Her edits and suggestions have helped me to become a better writer. She even helps me when I get stuck in a piece. She helps me improve the way I articulate my thoughts.
Apps like Grammarly have also been very beneficial. My old college English professor cringed when I told him that I use this tool, but honestly, to have an initial spelling and grammar checker in real time is awesome. I also love the monthly summaries I get which tell me about my writing style and how many unique words I use. (Basically proving that I know how to use a thesaurus!) I guess you could consider Grammarly an AI editor!
Now that I contribute to a few different publications on Medium, I’ve worked with some truly talented editors there, too. Editors make us better. A second set of eyes, a fresh perspective on what you are trying to convey, and guidance to conform to a certain format are all helpful.
Now instead of a red pen, I get notes in the margins of a Google doc or in private notes on Medium. I’ve learned not to fear these suggestions or changes, but to look at them as opportunities to make my work stronger and my voice more effective.
After all, this is why we do this work of writing: so people can hear what we have to say.
So don’t fear the editor. Look at them as your teammates. They are on your side. Editors are indeed a gift.
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Have you ever worked with a great editor? I’d love to hear about it.
My first clue that this weekend’s long run would be terrible appeared during our monthly board meeting for the Richmond Road Runners Club. We had a race scheduled for Sunday, my long run day, and the race directors expressed their dismay about the weather forecast.
“What?” all of the officers said, as we frantically took out our phones and looked at our weather apps. There it was. 100% chance of rain, with highs only in the upper 30s, with the possibility of a wintry mix to start.
Oh, no.
As a hospital-based healthcare provider, I often have to work weekend shifts. It’s usually no big deal… until it is. Saturday was definitely the better weather day, and also a day I was scheduled to work, but there was no way I could swing a 14-mile run before or after.
And besides, I belong to the Church of the Sunday Long Run. After so many years of running, my body seems programmed to run on this day!
As I watched so many of my friends post on social media that they had moved their Sweetheart 8k to a virtual race, I was super jealous that I did not have the option to move my long run to a better weather day.
I woke up Sunday morning without an alarm and to the sound of a driving rain beating on the windows of my bedroom. Yikes.
I looked at my weather app radar to see just how bad these rain bands were. There were a few more areas of red and yellow that needed to move through, and I tried to convince myself that a steady, lighter rain wouldn’t be that bad.
Finally, I sucked it up and drove to the home base for my run. The rain seemed to have lightened up a bit, thankfully.
Choosing clothes for cold and rainy runs can be challenging, especially when there is wind involved. It was cold enough for gloves, but I knew it would be futile to wear them. The gloves would just get soaked, and I’d need to take them off anyway. At least if I didn’t have them on for the run, I could put them on for the drive home to help warm up again.
I chose well, Long tights, a singlet, a long sleeve over, and a water-resistant jacket on top. A visor to keep the water out of my eyes. My hydration pack was filled to the max with water and with adequate snacks and salt chews.
The run was definitely a chipper. I tried to run on the parts of my route that I liked the least first, then ending on more pleasant roads and trails.
I ran without music, oddly. I started without it, and I simply didn’t find the need to use it.
I listened to the birds. I saw multiple blue jays. I interrupted a cardinal convention. I’ve never seen so many red birds together at one time! And I saw a pileated woodpecker. They are massive!
I counted cars on each road I ran on. It’s often a good distraction. I was surprised by the sheer number of people out on the roads today.
I encountered very few people on my route. The driving rain and wind and cold meant most people were smart and stayed indoors.
I was full-on crazy, and I began to truly feel this way.
By mile 7, my midway point, I could no longer feel my legs or my hands. I started to wonder if this is how my patients with neuropathy feel. My hands were so stiff that I couldn’t even open my salt tabs later in my run. And I just gave up on waving at cars who moved around me. It simply hurt too much to open my hands. But the leg numbness was welcome, even if it meant that they felt heavier than normal.
If I dared take a walk break, I got cold really quickly. I was better off just running.
This discomfort is just temporary, I kept telling myself.
I exited the last trail portion of my run, and I’d almost reached mile 11. Only a 5k left! We eat 5ks for breakfast, I tell myself. (This is a favorite mantra among my running crew.)
I underestimated the remaining 3 miles I thought I’d planned out well enough in my head. I had to do a couple of out-and-backs on my return to home base to get the mileage, and then I actually hit the 14-mile mark just over a tenth of a mile from my car.
Once I got back to my car, I took off my wet jacket and long sleeve shirt, which were dripping, they were so wet, and I tried to dry off a bit. I turned the heat on full blast. I donned my gloves. My windows immediately fogged, but I wanted full heat more than clear windows. No defrost setting for me.
I suddenly recalled that the power had gone out right before I left home for my run. As I drove closer to my neighborhood, I was relieved to see some lights on! And, yes, power had been restored to my house.
I was so grateful! I was ready to eat leftovers and get a hot shower, both of which required power!
I finally warmed up, and now I’m glad the run is over.
Coaching and training with a team, we tell our runners that we can’t change the weather. We will run in all situations except for major thunderstorms. We must adapt to the conditions. So adapt I did on Sunday.
Running in the cold rain makes you 100% more badass than those who don’t. It’s science! (Just kidding.)
My less than excited face before my 14-mile run in the cold rain. Photo by author.
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Have you ever had to run in less-than-ideal conditions? I’d love to hear about it!
My 9th-grade Advanced English class was an exercise in humility. My teacher, Mr. Hespinhide, was one of those bitter, older men who delighted in making his students miserable. Or at least afraid of him.
He had grey, unruly hair, an equally unkempt beard, and a foul attitude. I think he thought he was being funny most days. He also drove a motorcycle to school.
He was notoriously tough, and getting a good grade in his class was seemingly impossible.
I had always been a decent student. I was nowhere near my big brother’s level of natural talent for acing everything, even AP classes, without studying. But I was what I would call a “dumb” smart kid. I took all of the same classes as the top students, but the achievements of my peers definitely overshadowed mine.
At 14, I still loved to read, and I would still spend every night with a book in hand, reading myself to sleep. My parents took pride in that, never letting in on the fact that they knew my little secret of reading by the light spilling from the hall into my room as I pretended to be sleeping when I was a kid until I was well into adulthood.
I also loved to write. During my middle school career, one of my teachers noticed, and she selected me, as well as my best friend, to attend a young writer’s conference at what would later become Hampton University. We were thrilled to skip school for a day!
But somewhere in the midst of learning how to perfect my grammar skills and writing paragraphs by prescription in that Freshman English class, I lost my enthusiasm for both reading and writing. My parents noticed.
One of my papers came back to me emblazoned with an A, a feat unfathomable from Mr. Hespinhide. It was also plastered with that misogynistic phrase which I’m sure he thought was a compliment: “Not bad, for a girl.” The red ink loudly mocked me.
Seeing that comment, my parents finally made the connection between my waning interest in reading and writing and this teacher. They were livid! I was a bit miffed at his flippant comment as well, but my parents took it to the next level. I was pretty proud of them for doing so, though. (Now that I’m a parent, this is what I would refer to as a Defcon 4 level reaction.)
After many meetings with my school’s administration, Mr. Hespinhide no longer taught Advanced English.
The year was 1989. The 80s were supposed to be a time of female empowerment, with women evolving from the traditional roles in the home. It was the time of giant hair, skirted power suits, and enormous shoulder pads proclaiming our clout in a man’s world. And yet my teacher was still perpetuating the patriarchy.
Boys will be boys. That’s what they said in those days, along with a half-hearted shrug, indicating that nothing can be done about this poor behavior.
Years later, my dad crossed paths with Mr. Hespinhide again. I’m sure my former teacher had been retired for some time, then selling used books and other items at one of those giant traveling flea markets whose ads on TV lured you to a bland convention center in the treasure hunt for epic bargains.
My dad told a story more than once of their encounter, as he talked a potential customer out of buying a book from this horrid person. Words were exchanged, the details of which remain mostly a mystery. I wonder if Mr. Hespinhide knew who he was dealing with.
In my dad’s eyes, I think he’d done his duty in the opportunity for revenge on my behalf not once, but twice. My dad was a good man, but he detested bullies. And this English teacher certainly fit the definition of one.
***
In my Freshman year in college, I encountered another very challenging English professor. Another teacher who loved to intimidate. Yet another man I felt that I needed to prove myself to. The year was 1992.
He was one of those professors at Longwood that when your friends asked who you had for English, and your answer was Dr. Van Ness, their response was, “Good luck.”
What I thought was going to become Freshman English 2.0: Another Disaster turned out better than anticipated. This teacher wasn’t a bully. Dr. Van Ness simply pushed his students to do their very best. And I earned the only A in both of his sections of Freshman English. I enjoyed the challenge.
We became friends on Facebook years later, and we established a tradition of meeting for a glass of wine during my family’s yearly vacation to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where he now lives.
Not only did he reveal to me that he appreciated my writing, but he also shared that he kept my research paper as an example of good work to share with interested students until he retired. I was floored!
On one of our visits, he recalled that I provided the most unusual source for an interview in all of his years of teaching. He required that we conduct an interview to cite as one of our sources. I was writing my paper about the lions of the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania, and I reached out to National Geographic to see if I could get in contact with one of their writers on this topic.
To my surprise, the source came through! Instead of a family member like most of my peers, my interview was with Nat Geo writer, lion expert, professor, and biologist, Dr. Craig Packer. He was extremely gracious and excited to impart his knowledge. Interviewing him is still one of the highlights of my collegiate career.
Reestablishing this relationship with my college English professor helped me restore my faith in myself. I’d forgotten about the successful student I was in college. He reminded me that I was a good writer. And he, in his own way, convinced me to keep going in my writing endeavors.
He gave me the confidence to step up my writing. In addition to my blog, I became assistant editor of my local run club’s quarterly magazine. I’m also a regular contributor. And now I have a Medium account as well.
What an amazing thing to have a professor who still inspires you, 30 years after your college career is completed!
With Dr. Van Ness last year. Photo by author.
***
Maybe Hespinhide’s words were true in his mind. Maybe he expected girls to underperform compared to the boys in his class. But if you underestimate me, I will try my best to prove you wrong. I’m persistent like that.
While the kind of feedback I encountered as a girl in public education in the 80s wouldn’t fly today, at least Mr. Hespinhide left me with a great story to tell.
I’m not just “not bad, for a girl.” I’m a woman returning to my soul as a writer. And, in part, I have Dr. Van Ness to thank for that.
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Do you have stories about the teachers you encountered in your life, both great and not so great? I’d love to hear about it!
Maybe I should have never let them in to begin with, but it’s too late now
Seriously. How did this happen?
Ok. So the aliens are actually animals. My animals, at that. My precious fur babies.
I didn’t even want a dog. I’ve always had cats. But then my husband insisted I would grow to love dogs if we got one. I hate to admit that he was right.
The first big mistake I made with dog parenting was several years ago when we went on vacation with our once crate-trained lab mix. She whined for hours, safely tucked in her crate in the room beside us.
My heart melted. I couldn’t let her cry in that crate by herself! I convinced my husband that, just for vacation, we should let her sleep in the bed with us.
Ellie was very happy with this arrangement. So happy, in fact, that on our first night home after the trip, she dutifully followed us back to our bedroom and jumped on our bed. I couldn’t say no.
And that was the end of crate training.
But Ellie, being a 75 lb. dog, was like having an extra person in the bed! This didn’t exactly fit into our queen-sized arrangement.
Naturally, we upgraded to a king-sized mattress. Did this help? Well, maybe it helped my husband. The dog, forever my baby, wants more than anything just to be as close to me as possible. All. Night. Long.
She is supposed to be my husband’s dog. I suppose people really can’t choose their pets to some extent.
Most mornings, I find that I’ve been pushed to the very edge of the bed. Sometimes, in an effort to get a bit more room, I’ll try to nudge her over. But that is usually a futile effort greeted with much sighing and protesting from the dog. My next strategy is to try to wrap one of my legs around the dog, truly as a means to not fall out of the bed entirely.
My husband is typically blissfully unaware of the shenanigans and virtual gymnastics I go through during the night, simply trying to occupy my own space on my side of the bed!
But wait. It gets worse!
Last summer, a cat adopted us. My girls named him Nugget. As in a chicken nugget. I’ve never had an orange tabby before.
He simply showed up one day and made it very clear that he wanted to be a part of our family. Naming him was the first step. That slid into feeding him, allowing him time in the house, and then providing him a litter box.
He’s very sweet, already neutered, and has adapted quite readily to life as a mostly indoor cat. Much to my husband’s reluctance, Nugget is now officially part of the family.
And, as you may have guessed, Nugget has also chosen me as his person. And he recently discovered that our bed is the comfiest place in the house.
My dog, Ellie, and my cat, Nugget, hogging my bed!
So now I share my side of the bed not only with a 75 lb bed hog but also with a 10 lb cat. Who also wants to get as close to me as possible.
Sigh.
I thought disrupted sleep from roommates ended after my kids became self-sufficient! I’m pleased that my animals love me this much, but mama needs her sleep, too!
Do they make beds larger than king-sized? Asking for a friend.
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Do you share your bed with your pets? If so, do you actually get any sleep? I’d love to hear about it!
How to utilize your time on your feet in a meditative way
Mindfulness, a type of meditation, has been a hot topic lately. It’s no wonder.
We all are trying to survive a seemingly never-ending pandemic, deal with an uncertain future beyond our control, and manage everyday anxieties. With all the extra worry on our plates, it makes sense to find healthy ways to relieve this stress.
But can we actually incorporate the practice of mindfulness into running?
If you’re like me, you don’t have a tremendous amount of extra time to devote to meditating alone. For runners, sometimes we even struggle to fit in our intended runs during the week. I already utilize running as a means of stress relief just by the mere physical effort, but I’m discovering ways to make this time on my feet serve double duty.
Is it possible, then, to do both? Absolutely.
“Mindfulness is a state of active, open attention to the present. This state is described as observing one’s thoughts and feelings without judging them as good or bad.”
Psychology Today
The Oxford dictionary defines mindfulness this way:
“A mental state achieved by focusing one’s awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one’s feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.”
Oxford Dictionary
Based on these definitions, we can begin to see how one can make their running workout a time for mindfulness and active meditation. Here are some suggestions to make it easier:
Try running without music. If you are completely addicted to having a musical soundtrack during your runs, try to go at least a mile without it. You may be surprised by what you hear from your surroundings, or even by what your brain decides it wants you to hear.
Allow yourself the space to process your stress during a run. When you are running alone, you can say whatever you want or need to, whether it’s out loud or in your mind. And it’s also OK to cry! No judgment. Just feelings.
It’s ok to have a little group therapy with friends. Sometimes mindfulness also means listening to each other.
Pay attention to your breathing and form during a run. This can be a way, even with music playing, to focus on the present. I naturally tend to time my breaths with my steps, breathing in for two steps, out for two steps. Are you staying upright? Is your foot strike landing where you would like? Is your arm swing strong? Taking inventory of these things during a run can help calm you.
Try thinking about the effort of your run. Most runs should be at a conversational pace unless you are doing a specific speed workout or hill repeats, for example. This is about a 5 or 6 on a scale of 1-10 of the modified BORG scale to gauge your rate of perceived exertion (RPE). I prefer this method to grade my workouts, not to try to hit a specific pace. This allows us to meet our bodies where they are on any given day based on all of the variables that can affect our performance, both internal and external. If this means you are slower than normal one day, so be it.
Use a mantra. Repeating a mantra to yourself during a run is really helpful to keep you motivated, but also to block out intrusive thoughts that may be getting in the way of completing your workout. I find this strategy to be especially effective when racing or in the final miles of big long runs. Some favorites of mine include “run the mile you’re in,” and “one foot in front of the other.” Find one that works for you!
I’ve found that by using some of these strategies during a run, my mind sorts through many thoughts, including my stress and anxiety. I’ve come up with some of my best writing ideas during a run, and will sometimes pause and dictate my thoughts and ideas to my notes app on my phone.
By making my time on my feet and running a safe space for me to think and feel, I’m reaping more benefits than simply treating this time as a workout. Running has become my time for reflection and healing. I hope it is for you, too!
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Do you find running to be as therapeutic and helpful for your mental health as me? Have you ever used some of these methods during a run to enhance the benefits? I’d love to hear about it!
I had pegged this as a goal months ago. The last time I tried to do Dry January, I only lasted 10 days. I was a miserable failure. I was determined to complete my goal this time.
Even though I had extenuating circumstances that arose after making this promise to myself, I pretty much made it. With my father’s passing two days after Christmas, perhaps I should have bailed on this goal. I allowed myself a pass on the day of his memorial service, but other than that, I did not imbibe.
So, how did going without alcohol make me feel?
I have to admit, there were times when I felt a bit left out. Alcohol is such a big part of social gatherings in our culture. Staying with family where everyone was drinking in the days surrounding my dad’s memorial service, it was super difficult to resist having a drink.
I also had a terrible headache the first 4 days of the year. The thought did occur to me that it might be a sign of withdrawal from alcohol. That is part of my reasoning for having a drink after my dad’s service. I thought it might cure my headache, since Tylenol, Advil, and Excedrin Migraine did absolutely nothing. But the drink didn’t help, either. It turns out my electrolytes were out of whack. I took two SaltStick FastChews, and my headache was gone in 30 minutes. Pretty crazy. This scenario does match the information I found on the interwebs, though.
I found myself a bit anxious this month as well. I chalked this up to grief, but this, too, can be a symptom of alcohol withdrawal. My symptoms included heart palpitations and chest discomfort, but these occurred over two weeks after my last drink. I don’t know if this was directly related to my choice to quit drinking or not.
I am sleeping better. That has been a positive change.
I’ve also lost weight. 6 pounds! I love that my clothes fit better now.
My running has also felt pretty good, and I feel stronger. I’ve also stayed faithful to my run streak goal. I felt I needed it to help manage my normal level of anxiety, for running is my other secret weapon for battling this.
It’s amazing, though, how much the running community centers events around alcohol. Big races always serve beer after. We have running groups that center around breweries. And some alcohol brands have running teams. It sometimes makes it really difficult to participate in this beloved sport without imbibing. And I do absolutely look forward to that post-race beer.
After my run club’s recent 15k, I almost didn’t go to the after-party. It was held at a local brewery, and I didn’t want to be tempted to drink. But the race directors assured me that there were multiple, delicious non-alcoholic beverage options. They were right. I had a lovely kombucha, served in a beer glass. And I didn’t feel left out.
Will I go back to drinking?
Yes. But definitely less than before.
I’m certainly not perfect, but this experience has taught me that I don’t require alcohol to deal with stress, even with so much on my plate this month.
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Have you done a Dry January? How did it go? What did you learn about yourself? I’d love to hear about it!
Ah, January. The new year, with a fresh beginning and hopefully with a few aspirational goals to motivate. With the month almost over, I’m taking some time to reflect on my new year’s journey thus far.
Personally, I chose to do a run streak for the month to coincide with another goal: Dry January. The stress of the pandemic made me far too reliant on booze to soothe my worries, and I needed a reset. I figured I needed to balance my lack of alcohol with some way to manage my daily anxiety. A run streak just seemed like the natural way to accomplish this!
Was this my first time streaking? No. I did this from Thanksgiving day in 2021 to New Year’s Day in 2022. I learned a few things about myself doing that, and I felt it would be a great time to re-establish some consistency in my workouts.
I have rules for my streaking habit, however, to help avoid injury:
I try to do these only in my “off-season.” That is, when I’m not training for a big race like a marathon.
I maintain my normal running schedule, typically only 3 runs per week, including my weekend long run, adding only a one-mile run on my typical non-running days.
I allow myself to take my one-mile runs as speedy or as slow as needed. If I’m feeling good, I will push my RPE (rate of perceived exertion) to 7 or 8 on a one-mile run, but if my body is asking for a break, I’ll keep my pace to a much lesser effort.
I keep my weekend long runs to a conversational pace, about 5-6 on the RPE scale.
I give myself an end date. As an older runner, I think it’s unreasonable for me to maintain a daily run streak for extended periods of time, possibly setting myself up for injury.
I’ve learned this go-round that finding consistency in my fitness routine has been helpful. There have been fewer walk breaks on my runs, and even though I’m still slow post-COVID, I feel stronger. I plan to replace my one-mile run days with a gym workout and one complete rest day when this streak is over.
I’ve kind of fallen in love with my little one mile out and back from my house. My old friend, waiting to greet me after my work day, ready to hear about my troubles of the moment. My meditation time. My opportunity to quell anxiety in a healthy way.
But I’m also looking forward to wrapping up these goals for January. I’ve surprised myself with my commitment to them, especially Dry January. I did give myself a pass on the day of my dad’s memorial service; I had one drink at dinner with my family. But other than that, I’ve been faithful. It’s definitely taught me that daily running can help manage my stress without relying on alcohol.
Will I ever streak again? It’s likely. Is it right for everyone? Probably not! I definitely don’t recommend run streaks for new runners. That’s advice from the physical therapist in me!
Did my January commitments teach me new habits? Absolutely. Will they persist? We shall see!
During the Frostbite 15k, a race I ran as part of my run streak.
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Have you ever done a run streak? What did you learn about yourself if you did? I’d love to hear about it!
I’d kind of been dreading this run: the first double-digit run of my first ever spring marathon training cycle. I’m used to training for a fall marathon, leading a very organized team of runners with a very prominent non-profit and with lots of support.
This run was lonely. I was still running as part of a group, however, I was the only one running this far at a slow pace. Such is life.
I’d felt a bit anxious all week, my body pushing this to the extreme with heart palpitations and chest pain. Yes, I’ve had this before and yes, I’ve been checked out by a cardiologist, including a stress test and an echocardiogram. As many a male doctor has told me throughout my life, I’m just stressed. Sigh.
I’m still on my January run streak and I’m still doing Dry January. I was hoping that my daily running would quell my anxiety since I decided not to imbibe in my anti-anxiety elixir of choice this month.
As it turns out, I can’t outrun my anxiety or my grief. And so I found myself nearly hyperventilating and sobbing during my third mile yesterday, a bit early in my run for this phenomenon, so it took me by surprise.
My tears were for my father who passed away 2 days after Christmas. Our relationship wasn’t perfect. I’ve harbored resentment for far too long, mourning the dad I wished he could have been for me. I wanted a hero, but he couldn’t be that.
It’s not his fault. My dad revealed to me so many awful things that happened to him when he was younger, but not until I was well into my 40s. Can you imagine the wound that you would endure if your own mother told you that she wanted to abort you? That she never wanted you? My dad struggled with depression for most of his life, understandably.
My tears were of reconciliation and forgiveness. My dad, such a gentle soul, who used his experiences to counsel others from avoiding death by suicide, using his pastoral training by serving on a prevention hotline for 25 years. My dad, who tried his best to correct the wrongs in a church that hosted an abusive youth minister. My dad, whose personal relationship with scripture helped him heal from his own bullies in his life, including his mother.
I had hoped that I could spend more time with him now that I was able. My spare time was often caught up in supporting my husband’s family, with my father-in-law succumbing to end-stage Parkinson’s in October.
It was an impulse decision to sign up for the Blue Ridge Marathon, which will be my 11th. I’ve done the half a couple of times, but the marathon distance race has been on my bucket list. Running my first marathon in 2014 was a way for me to prove to people who have hurt me in my past that I’m stronger than their abuse. That I’m a survivor. Running a marathon whose course includes climbing 3 mountains sounded like a great way to work through my sorrow at the time I signed up, but may seem a bit crazy now. We’ll see if I can outrun my grief and anxiety after all.
Grief is such a humbling companion. I’ll run this race for my dad. He deserved a better start in life. He deserved more from me. And now I understand that he couldn’t give me any more than he did. In my conversations with him in the past couple of years, he said he was satisfied with his life and all he accomplished, and I do take comfort in that.
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I’m sure I’ll have many more tearful long runs this spring. Have you ever broken down emotionally on a run? It’s amazing what emotions spill out when your body is pushed to its limits.
It’s January. That means gyms are packed with everyone super motivated to pursue new years’ resolutions and streets are a bit more crowded than usual with runners and walkers alike. If you are new to your fitness journey, sometimes it’s challenging to feel like you even belong in these spaces.
Something we may not often discuss is how we motivate ourselves in pursuit of our newly formed fitness goals. How you talk to yourself matters.
What’s your mantra?
My latest mantra has been, “A body in motion stays in motion.” This is what I tell myself to get out the door. And “One foot in front of the other.” I repeat this as I run to keep myself motivated.
Personally, I made a lofty goal of running a spring marathon this year. I’ve been struggling on my runs recently, really since I had Covid in August. Runs that feel like a 10:30 paced mile are actually around 12 minutes. It’s very humbling! Yet still, I keep repeating my positive mantras.
My mantras weren’t always this optimistic. In fact, when I first started my running journey, I heard, “Nanny-nanny boo-boo,” in the sound of the pattern of my feet striking the pavement. It took a while for that negative noise to change, but I can still recall clearly the moment that it did.
I was training for my first marathon: the Richmond Marathon, in 2014. It was an incredibly hot and humid day, and I was in mile 15 of a 16-mile run. I was having a good day despite the brutal weather, and I finally felt like finishing the marathon distance was feasible. Suddenly, in the midst of my exhausted runner’s high, I heard a mariachi band telling me, “You can DO it!”
I use mantras when working with my patients, too, as a physical therapist. So often I find that those in my care suffer from crippling anxiety when approaching mobility training. Imagine suffering a fall that results in a fracture, and someone less than half your age who you just met is asking you to trust them as they assist you in taking those first steps.
So I teach them the words of one of my first running coaches: “Breathe. Relax. Believe.” We take a deep breath together, release some tension, and refocus on the task. This usually works! And success is followed by high-fives and a joyous mini-celebration of accomplishing the seemingly monumental task at hand.
As we approach the second month of the year, it may seem easy to simply let go of trying to form new, healthier habits. Maybe it’s our innate nature to engage in self-sabotage. Maybe it’s in the way we talk to ourselves.
When you set out to complete a workout, it’s not a time to punish yourself for seemingly less-than-ideal food choices or for past inactivity. It’s a time to celebrate the ability to move your body!
Remember that we are human and are allowed rest days and that we also deserve to treat ourselves with kindness. Life happens, and sometimes we can’t accomplish all of the things we tried to put on our plates. But this doesn’t mean you have failed. Shift your mantras. You are worthy of healthy habits, including in your conversations with yourself. You can DO it!
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Are you striving to form new healthy habits this new year? I’d love to hear about it!
Well, well, well. If it isn’t another race that I said I’d never run again, and yet peer pressure made me sign up to run it this year. Why did I swear I’d avoid this race? I’ll tell you.
I ran this race 3 years in a row: 2014, 2015, and 2016. In 2014, it correlated very well with my training for my first half marathon. It was cold, and it was the farthest distance I had run at that point in my running career. I crossed the finish line and promptly had a panic attack. Why? I don’t know. The next year, it was 34 degrees and raining. There were parts of the course that were underwater, and they had to create a detour, making the course long. The following year we had rain, sleet, and then snow! I finally had enough of being cold and wet for a race.
So what made me bend to peer pressure this year? I stupidly registered for the Blue Ridge Marathon, America’s Toughest Road Race. That’s on April 22nd. It was an impulse decision made out of grief. Go figure. But in order to get on track with mileage for training, the 15k aligns with the plan. And all of my friends were like, “We’re running the race. So if you want to get your long run in, you should run with us!” This is how I found myself hitting that register button on RunSignup. Sigh.
I’m friends with both of the race directors. (I’m VP of Marketing for the club, after all!) But, honestly, I was initially planning on merely volunteering! But I’m super happy with the soft race shirt, and the medals are really fun!
With friends before the race! Photo by author.
Race morning was cold and windy, in the upper 20’s with steady winds at 8mph. That means a feel-like temp in the teens! As it turns out, I dressed very well for the race. Layers are the strategy for conditions like this, and every time I thought I was beginning to feel hot, I would turn a corner, get into a patch of shade, and catch a stiff breeze. Surprisingly, all of my layers stayed on!
The course is notoriously hilly for this race, traversing through the neighborhoods surrounding Byrd and Maymont parks. There were lovely views of the lakes in Byrd Park, but the course would have been super confusing with the number of loops and out and backs incorporated. Thank goodness for great course marshals!
By one of the lakes in Byrd Park on the course. Photo by author.
Speaking of course marshals, they were amazing! Some of them were friends of mine, and it’s always great to see a friend on the route, especially when they call your name! One of the marshals was playing Beyonce, and I found myself singing “Put a ring on it” for at least 2 miles. Another was doing a striptease to motivate us. Sure, it was only her safety vest, but it was hilarious and thoroughly entertaining! And yet another gentleman was waving pom-poms and showering runners with words of encouragement. They kept me going, for sure!
I surprised myself with my performance, though. This was definitely a day that I toed the line at the start, got going, and felt good. Today was a race day, it was decided. Not just a training run.
With the exception of stopping for water and a few yards in the last mile of the race, I ran the entire way, even up and down all of the hills. Although my pace was slow, it was fairly consistent.
In the end, I finished in under 2 hours, which was my plan A goal! (If you’re a runner, you know there are always plans A, B, and C…)
So, this race I love to hate actually loved me back this year. Another great race with the Richmond Road Runners Club complete! Will I be back next year? We shall see…
After the race with my medal! Photo courtesy of Anna L.
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Don’t you love when a race distance aligns with your training plan?
Anne the Vegan 