"Continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential."
--Liane Cordes
I'm still riding the high from running my first half marathon on Sunday I'm really still processing it in facts.
1:34.48.
30th overall, 12th female out of more than 10,000.
First in my age group.
But this picture seems to sum everything up.
This is me and my sister after the race. Yes, we look considerably more tired here than in the pre-race shots. But more important than all of the numbers and times is the fact that I got to share this moment with my sister. This was both of our first half marathons. This is my sister who decided back in middle school that she wasn't a "runner." But she set her mind to this race and trained for it and ran it! She conquered it.
The human body is amazing, but the will to reach our own potential is even more awe-inspiring.
We're in the final stretch. In just two weeks, my sister and I will be lining up for the Tinker Bell Half Marathon at Disneyland. After my failed attempt at my last half marathon, this will be the first time I go at the 13.1 miles.
I have been trying not to dwell on the race or psych myself out. Every time I start thinking about getting in the corrals or what it's going to feel like at mile 9, I make myself think about something else. Focusing on the things that I cannot change before the race is not productive for me at this point. Instead, I am hydrating, keeping track of how I feel, and stretching A TON. I am trying to get myself as limber and loose as possible.
I'm also trying to stay positive about my training up to this moment and the fact that "it is only a race," as the boyfriend likes to point out to me. He's a runner, too, so it's not like he is trying to downplay what it takes to tackle a half marathon. He is instead telling me that there are tons of things out there harder than a race and that I need to keep a level head.
After countless cross country races and track meets in middle school and high school, my mind has a standard operating procedure going into big events like these. It tends to make my breath come quicker, my mouth taste weird and my stomach reject anything that I put into it. But it is just my brain and I have been trying to combat it by shifting attention when it tries to psych me out. Tackling your brain and mental capacity is something that many long distance runners deal with. When you're out there on your own for mile after mile, there's nothing to keep you company except for your brain. Using your brain as a positive power instead of letting it have control over you is key and sometimes very hard to do. Here's hoping that I've trained it well enough.
My mom FINALLY said we could get a dog. After being screened by big adoption agencies that made us feel like we weren't good enough for the dogs they were trying to place, we decided to go to the local shelter that sat off the highway. It would be our luck that on the day we went, there was one lonely dog in the kennel - the rest, the guy behind the desk told us, had been taken to an adoption fair in the town over. They'd be back, he assured us, but of course, only the ones that hadn't gotten adopted would be left.
One dog came back. She was a puppy, with paws that definitely had room to grow in to. Her kennel-given name was Megan and she looked like a Siberian husky who had been rolled in Moab-red dirt a few times over. She was perfect.
Thirteen years later and on a Wednesday, my mom called to tell me that our Mia had died in the backyard sun, just beyond the door to my parent's bedroom. It was at this door that she had always waited in the morning darkness for my dad so they could go on their daily run. Those two were true buddies. It could be said that you never know someone until you run in winter mornings along frozen trails that line dead corn fields. These two had.
Mia was a runner from the beginning. In the cool evening between summer and fall on the day we brought her home, we took her up to the high school track and let her loose. Part Siberian husky, part red heeler, she moved in a manner that would make Shalane Flanagan jealous. Her love of it was contagious - soon we were all running around the track. Were we chasing her or was she chasing us? In the fall, she traveled with us to my middle school cross country meets, lolling around in her hot pink collar and matching leash. She was the cutest.
She grew, we grew. We moved, made new friends and started new jobs. The line is familiar and the next one will be too. She was loyal as any dog is expected to be.
But her love for running never, ever, ever decreased. As my mom cried in the background that Wednesday night, my dad reminisced on the memory of 13-mile-Saturdays, with Mia by his side. She was running half-marathons before I ever finished a 10k. Tears dripped down my face onto my comforter as we laughed about how dad always brought water for himself, but never thought to bring any for Mia; she never complained.
She never made a peep, either, when the vet found tumors in her. Not just one tumor. But the next one. And the one after that. And those that continued to grow, those that my parents decided not to go after because they had had enough. Mia had had enough.
Lucky for me, I never saw her as a dog I wouldn't want to remember. I didn't have to see her splayed legs when she tried to get up to greet you as you walked out the back door. I didn't have to see the huge chunk of her hindquarter gone as the one last attempt to give her more time. I get to remember the hot pink collar. And the long walks. The way her hair used to come out in chunks in the summer because she had so much of it to shed; we used to say we should knit all of her hair into a sweater. I get to remember what an amazing runner she was - a true running partner.
"It is hardly possible to build anything if frustration, bitterness and a mood of helplessness prevail."
- Lech Walesa
The return of the pain. Frustration (noun). A total loss in confidence. I feel like a balloon that has been punched, not just deflated. Then anger comes from deep within, from the place that is cobbwebby and that I just don't like. He can run. That heavy-set woman can run. Everyone on this huge stupid planet can run. Apparently it doesn't matter whether you actually have a desire to run. Then sadness takes over. Remember when I could go out for 10 long ones? When I had my sights on a half marathon...I was gonna be in the bigs. And now. Four minutes of running for every six minutes of walking makes me wince. Helpless.
Frustration (noun): a deep chronic sense or state of insecurity and dissatisfaction arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs
As the saying goes, it's the little things that make life worth living.
My life was worth it during a handful of one minute intervals this morning.
Like I wrote yesterday, I was hoping (praying) that the physical therapist would sign off on me running again. Someone up there must be watching over me because I got the a-ok!
The hitch: I have to start out super slowly. And when I say slow, I mean turtle pace. One minute running for every four minutes of walking.
But boy, how marvelous those minute intervals were! It took me almost no time at all to get into my natural stride. Just like riding a bike, I thought.
It was hard to rein myself in after a minute of running, but what that minute forced me to do was focus on my form and what my body was doing in just those 60 seconds. Everything narrowed to a minute of complete focus and meticulous form.
Being able to focus for a full minute was liberating. These days, there are so many things flying at your conscious at once. Your brain is constantly pulled like silly putty. Some say that since the invention of the Internet (thanks Al Gore), personal computers, smart phones and the like, our attention spans are getting smaller and smaller.
That minute of running was only about two things.
Running. And form.
And remembering how absolutely amazing and blessed I am to be able to run.
It would be cliche to call it one of "those" runs. What I didn't know is that it would be painful. And revolutionary. And one of the most awesome and disappointing runs that I'd ever been on.
Here's how this all happened. On December 23, I went out for an eight-mile run. I had less than a month before my first half marathon. The run was perfection. I was on pace. I was moving like I'd never moved before. The last mile was clocked at just a tad over 7 minutes. I was stoked. That race was mine for the taking.
And then the pain. Top of the foot and unrelenting. A horrible ache that took over my consciousness.
Suffice it to say that the next day, walking was a chore. A painful chore.
It'll get better. I just need a little rest.
I thought those things over and over and over...
A week and a half later, it wasn't better and the rest was making me anxious. I had a half marathon to run in two weeks. Fifteen days to be pain-free and confident enough to run those 13 miles. The confidence was what I was really worried about. Training and endorphins can get you pretty far in a race, but your belief in yourself is what gets you across the finish line (call Hallmark, that's a winner).
So then, like anyone who is grieving, I started to negotiate.
If I don't run between now and the race but stay healthy and positive, I can do this.
I thought those things over and over and over...
I had to pull the plug. I couldn't run my first half marathon injured. And man, was I injured. Physically, mentally and emotionally. Drained and hurting.
Somehow it was easy to tell people that I wasn't running the race. Injury, especially when people had seen me hobbling around, was a perfect out. I felt a weird sense of relief that I wasn't running the race. The pressure was gone. The worry about whether I was going to run in pain was gone. It as a little scary how ok I was with not running.
And then the real need-endorphins-must-take-charge-of-everything part of me kicked in. I couldn't be sitting around, wallowing in the story that "I was injured and just needed some rest". That wasn't the person I wanted to be. I was better than that injured person that I had become so easily and freely.
I made a doctor's appointment at one of the top sports medicine clinics in the South Bay. I got sweet x-rays of my feet. Unfortunately, nothing showed up on them. No definitive diagnosis other than overuse came from that doctor and a script for physical therapy and anti-inflammatories were the only things I had when I walked out the door.
Turns out, the physical therapy was much better than the pills.
After some poking, prodding, stretching, testing and videotaping, the physical therapist deduced that my upper thighs and groin area were SO tight that they were affecting the way I was walking. Yup, I was told I was walking funny because the tightness was inhibiting my body from performing the way it was naturally supposed to.
It's been about three weeks since that realization. I've been doing my stretching exercises religiously and staying positive about my recovery. These are the small things that are going to change me and get me back on the right track.
I go back today for another physical therapy appointment. I'm hoping this one is the one where he says, "You are ready."
Ready for the pavement.
Ready for the early mornings again.
Ready for the feelings that I had that day in late December.
I am pretty good at staying hydrated. As evidenced by about ten water bottles in my house, I am not afraid to guzzle or chug or gulp down the good stuff.
But with the half marathon around the corner, I want to do my best to drink as much water as I can during the day to fight off the random headaches and sleepy feelings one gets when not drinking enough. Especially on the mornings I run, I get distracted by tea and coffee at work when I should be drinking water.
My friend had sent me this spiffy water bottle for my birthday a few months ago. When I first saw it, I was skeptical. Wouldn't you be? It looks funny.
This is the Hydracoach bottle. It has a timer in the bottle and also tracks how much water you drink in any given time. When this photo was taken, I had swallowed 60 oz. of water in almost 7 hours. Initially, I thought to myself, "Why do I need a bottle to tell me how much I'm drinking? As long as I continue to fill a bottle up, I should be good." But like I said before, with the big race coming up, I wanted to actually make myself drink water.
And what better way to do that then with a bottle that is staring back at you...counting up the seconds...almost warning you that you're not drinking enough. It shows your average oz./hour consumption and I hate to see it start dropping...gotta keep the numbers up!
I'm going to try to use this water bottle exclusively for the next month to really stay on top of being hydrated. Hopefully I become motivated by actually seeing my daily water consumption.
Things have been a little crazy lately...spending time with the boy...visiting friends...dog sitting (walking three dogs at a time can be complicated)...staying out of the rain...learning...getting ready for Thanksgiving...Christmas-gift shopping...
But you know what happened on Sunday? I went for an 8 mile run and I felt A-to-the-MAZING! That was the longest run I've done in a really, really long time. I got caught in a short downpour that made things interesting, but overall, my body was diggin' the run and working smoothly. My overall time was good and I can't wait to hook my Garmin watch up to the computer to see my splits.
This was a huge confidence boost for me in my hopes to do a half marathon in mid-January. I think in the next few days I am going to put together a more concrete training schedule so I make sure to build up to 10, 11 or even 12 miles before the race.
Knowing that all of the major holidays are in between now and the half-marathon is a little daunting. But when I worry or am unsure, I am going to think back to Sunday's run. Because there's almost nothing better than knowing you knocked out 8 miles (and felt strong doing it) before most people had their first cup of coffee!
Firehiwot Dado of Ethiopia wins the 2011 NYC Marathon
I caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. I could immediately tell she was a runner. Not just a person who runs to lose weight or to clear her head (although those are always nice perks). No, she was someone who had speed and had probably run while in college. She had a purpose to each step and held her body in such a way that seemed comfortable, like she had had that same running form for years. I watched her as she ran out of my line of sight. She was fast.
As someone who considers herself a "runner," it's hard not to notice the fast girls that are in my neighborhood. And to my surprise, there are a few. There's the one I saw this morning (blonde ponytail, has a small dog she walks in the morning). There's also a smaller chick with long brown hair who wears it in a braid. She always runs in the road (which I think is one of the signs to spot a "real" runner). And then there is a middle-aged woman who wears shortie shorts, but I haven't seen her in a while...maybe she moved.
Yes, I've made some stereotypes here of who a real runner is and the tendencies of such a person. But these are the girls who get up early to squeeze in their run before the rest of the day happens. These are the girls who probably eat well and often, but aren't afraid to down a few beers or an ice cream sandwich (like I did this weekend). They cherish their GPS watch and favorite running bra, but still like to get all fancied up for a night with their special someone.
Sometimes, I consider myself one of them, one of a small group of women who aren't afraid to run in the dark or in the rain (like I did this weekend). When people casually mention that they run, I have to throw my two cents in and one-up them. You ran five miles yesterday? Well, I ran five miles...uphill yesterday.
But sometimes, I am not them. I lack motivation. I don't have a set training plan to follow. I eat one too many cookies even though I know I should stop reaching for them. Sometimes, I take a week off for the heck of it because I just don't feel like running.
When I catch glimpses of these fast runners, I'm jealous. They always look like they have a purpose to their running, like they know exactly what they are doing and what their mile splits are for each of the five routes they have around town. I want their resolve to train for something big, for not being afraid to push to the absolute brink of exhaustion, both mentally and physically. I want their swagger and confidence when they say, "Yeah, I'm a runner" because deep down, they know that running is their gift, their talent that other people just don't have, but something that others crave.
Maybe I'm a fast-girl-in-training. Maybe I need to focus my mind and create a real training schedule for myself. Maybe I need to work on my speed so that the next time someone sees me, they think...wow, she's fast. And I'll feel confident enough to know they are right.
1. The location was amazing. We could see directly into Dodger Stadium from across the freeway. It looked empty and sadly forlorn.
2. We almost couldn't find the race. The start/finish was in a remote part of the park that was really difficult to find (made worse by the bad Google directions that the race had posted on their website). People were literally driving circles around the park because there weren't any signs directing us to the right spot.
3. This is the second time this race was put on. I expected a small turn-out and a little disorganization, and was disappointed when the race started 25 minutes late. By that time, I had done a warm-up, had cooled down from the warm-up and started to get hungry.
4. Switchbacks in the sun. That's all I have to say.
5. My mind was really strong during this race. It didn't turn on me, probably because I kept saying, "It's only 3 miles...heck, 3 miles is nothing."
6. My body felt pretty good. Nothing hindered my performance, which is all I really ask for anymore these days. My time was pretty decent, considering there were some hills. Of course, I couldn't catch the girls in pink sports bras and shorty shorts. Oh, and the guy who won the race in 14:41 should probably be tested for steroids. What a beast!
7. I was the first female to cross the line in Vibrams. And you know what that means? I got a free pair of Vibrams! I was pretty stoked.
8. He wouldn't want me to tell anyone, but I beat the boy. The best part of the race, though, was at the end when, even though I had gone across the finish line first, he came over and hugged me and told me how proud he was of me. "I've got a badass girlfriend" were the exact words. :)
9. It was refreshing to run a 5k after a few 10k's. While racing can be fun, for me it's a time to really see how my body handles the "stress" and pushes through. And of course, to give me a little confidence boost that I'm not totally out of shape.
I had seen the ads for Road ID in the Runner's World magazines that my dad would send me once he was done reading them (recycle, people). I was intrigued.
For those of you who aren't in the know, Road ID is a bracelet that has some identifying info on it in the horrible case that you can't speak for yourself (see: being hit by a car). You can put whatever you want on it - your birth date, contact info for next of kin, any allergies you may have, etc.
My gears started turning (the ones in my head) and I realized that no one would know who I was if I was lying on the side of the road unconscious. Sure, Austin's tags say who I am, but what good would that be if A). he ran away when I got hit or 2). they called the number on his tag (my cell phone)...duh, I wouldn't answer cuz I'm lying on the side of the road!
So, I went ahead and bought a bracelet, thinking of my future unborn children who would need someone to birth them.
I have to say, I was a little skeptical about the size when I first got it - it looked like it could barely fit over Austin's paw. And yes, it does require a little finagling when I put it on. But, it fits securely when it's on and I barely feel it. I make sure to always put it on when I take Austin out for a walk or when I go for a run or ride.
When I was on the Road ID website and it prompted me to put in the information I wanted on the bracelet, my mind started wandering. How do I identify myself? In no particular order, this is what I came up with:
I'm a woman. Everything I am stems from the fact that my
sex has been told no you can't, when really, anything you can do I can
do better.
I'm half Hispanic, a quarter Swiss and a quarter Chinese. Each part of my background helps to shape how I view the world.
I'm a romantic. I can't say hopeless anymore, because I've found my prince charming.
I'm educated and believe that each and every child here in the United States, however they arrived, deserves an education. Each of us should be given the basic tools that can help us become better people.
I'm a Colorado girl in the deepest part of my soul. There is almost nothing more perfect than the golden aspens in the fall. Well, that and a good New Belgium brew with friends. That's pretty perfect, too.
I'm definitely a dog person. Cat's make me sneeze. And puppies are God's gift to man, so how can you argue with that?
I believe that family is the most important thing in any person's life and that with a strong, loving, forgiving family, a person can be content in whatever they do. I am in my family and my family is in me.
I'm a voracious reader. If it has words, I'm gonna read it. Except maybe the creepy classified ads. I don't read those.
I really, really, really want to be a writer. I don't know if that will happen now, or later, or if ever, but I am going to strive to be a good wordsmith.
I'm a really good eater. I'm not afraid of food, so I'll probably eat whatever you put down in front of me. My aunt used to say, "I'd rather clothe her than feed her," in reference to a time in my life when I could eat a foot-long Subway sandwhich by myself. When I was 13.
I know that we should all be proud of our bodies (and most of the time I am), but there are certain glances in the mirror that make me want to do a few more sit-ups and run a few minutes longer.
I'm a lover.
I'm not ashamed to say I own a library card. And use it.
I'm a homebody who is happy in her normal routines.
I'm a runner who happens to run barefoot. Ok, ok...in Vibrams.
I'm a worrier. If I care about you, it's inevitable that I'll toss up a prayer about you every now and again.
I'm a sister to an incredibly smart, funny, gorgeous woman who the world
is open to...she just needs to figure out exactly how to conquer it.
Sometimes, I overcompensate and try to sound more knowledgeable or cultured than I am.
I have been told that I have no taste in movies and that I've missed all of the "good" ones. But I am also one who won't watch a stupid movie even if everyone else is watching it. So there.
Yes, I need validation that I am smart, beautiful, talented, fast, etc. Maybe that's why I check Facebook several times a day - just to see if people have commented on my posts or photos.
Too bad all of this couldn't fit on my ID bracelet - those EMT's wouldn't know what hit them!
Although this is a classic Elvis song, I don't think that the problem I'm going to write about is really what Elvis meant by "clean up your own backyard."
Here's what happened this morning...
I bought a new pair of Vibrams this weekend. Man, are they cute...purple and gray...they make my feet feel very girly. I took them out for a spin this morning and inevitably, because they are a new pair of shoes, there was a little bit of rubbing and chafing. I got about 10 minutes out with the pup and I decided that to go any further was going to do severe damage (and I had just come off a good week of rest). I could have turned around right there, but wanted to go a little bit longer, so I decided to take off my Vibrams. I am a "barefoot" runner, after all. So, here I am, running barefoot and as I'm jumping over rocks and such, I noticed something.
There was a TON of dog poop stains on the sidewalk. And, not only stains, but also places where a dog went, but the owner couldn't get all of the poop off the sidewalk. Residue poop...that's the worst.
WHEN DID IT BECOME OK FOR A DOG TO POOP ON THE SIDEWALK?
Did these owners train their dogs that they could squat wherever they wanted to? Austin is a total grass pooper - he won't go unless he's on the green stuff. Especially today, as I was staring down at the ground even more so, I noticed that this poop residue wasn't just here and there, it was EVERYWHERE.
At the same time, when did people lose the common decency to pick up after your dog? When did it become ok to watch your dog poop & silently stroll away, leaving me to step in that mess later? To me, people have become lazy and inconsiderate. Elvis was right in saying that we need to clean up our own backyards. Take the five seconds, FIVE SECONDS, to pick up after your dog. We're all here to walk on the sidewalks and enjoy spending time outside. But when I have to stare at the ugliness that is a pile of poop, my mood sours and I get upset with humanity. Do the simple things. Clean up.
I have to take care of my body. That is why I am taking this week off from running and icing my foot as much as possible. No running. Hmmmm....
Ok, let's take a step back. I'm feeling a little twinge on the top of my left foot, which I have felt before. But this time, it's hurting a little bit more so I don't want to take any risks - I don't want this to become a full-blown stress fracture.
Also, I should disclose that I'm not one to NOT take care of myself and my body. When I start feeling a cold coming on, I chug as much Emergen-C and hot tea as I can. Preventative measures always work better than trying to tackle these types of situations as they happen. I've been trying to ice and stretch as much as I can to keep my body limber and happy.
This time seems different to me, though. This time, I'm ok with not running for a week because I know that it is better in the long run for me (get it ... long run ... heh ... heh). This time, I'm not frustrated with being "injured." Somewhere along the line, I've come to the realization that running is hard on anyone's body. It is inevitable that things are going to hurt and time off is usually the best healer. Time and frozen peas, which are my lifesavers.
Now that I've come to peace with injuries as part of the joy of running, I feel really good about this decision. Although I have to ignore the pull to get out in the morning, I am trying to relish the warm moments in bed that I have instead. I'm going to do some elliptical cross-training and weight lifting, but will focus on getting my body feeling better and healthy.
I know I've made this post all about just one week off from running. And in the grand scheme of things, it's not a super big deal. But for me, I want to commemorate this week because it is the first time that I've acknowledged that injuries exist and that I need to be ok with that. And I am. So, later, when I start complaining about how injuries are horrible and how I can't stay positive when I can't do the one thing I want to do, remind me to take a look at this post. Hopefully I'll keep my cool and go grab a bag of frozen peas.
Spent my lunch break reading...and reading...and reading
some more. There's almost nothing like getting lost in a good story. But
because of that, I didn't have the time to write a proper blog post. So,
instead, let me give you a brief look at what was taking up my time.
"Even as a
boy Pat Tillman felt a destiny, a need to do the right thing whatever it cost
him. When the World Trade Center was attacked on 9/11, he thought about what he
had to do and then walked away from the NFL and became an Army Ranger...."
We all know Pat
Tillman's story - football player leaves big bucks to help Uncle Sam win the
war against terror, but dies on the battlefield. The truth eventually
comes out that he's killed by friendly fire. The detail and powerful
narrative of Tillman's story is incredibly well-done here. Reading this,
especially after the tenth anniversary of 9/11, and recently being
semi-connected to Army Rangers, helped me to understand more about how the Army
covered up Tillman's death. It is mind boggling to think that a
government branch, one that is in charge of the well-being of so many people,
would continue to keep secrets, even after its poster boy died.
Frank Shorter
is the father of the modern running boom. An enduringly popular speaker, he
spins a captivating narrative about winning the 1972 Olympic Marathon. The
story he hasn't told is the dark truth about his own father.
Wow. This was an eye-opening story about the
physical and mental abuse that Frank Shorter endured at the hands of his own
father, a beloved small-town doctor. The memories that Frank has of being
beaten were, at times, hard to read. "Often Frank could smell liquor
on his breath, which was both good news and bad. The bad news was that alcohol
would juice his father's fury. The good news was that, if he were sufficiently
enraged, he might grow befuddled and use the strap end of his belt instead of
the buckle end." This is the first time that Frank has ever spoken
publicly, and at length, of his abusive father. There's also a video
interview of Frank within this story. I found it intriguing when Shorter said
that he had learned to compartmentalize the pain while being beaten, and that
translated to him being able to push a little harder while running in big
races.
I believe that long-form journalism on the
Internet, where it can be as long as the author wants, has become really,
really well done in recent years. Some of the places I find these types
of stories are below:
Grantland - Any Bill Simmons fans out
there? This is his off-shoot site where he has some great writers
contribute on sports and pop culture topics.
Runner's World - They do fantastic features/bios
on runners. While I read a lot of their smaller, more instructive pieces,
I really enjoy the longer stuff they have to offer.
Longreads - They compile the best long-form
journalism pieces on the web. Super great place to start for good reads.
Bonus: they tell you how long it should take you to read the piece, which helps
when you only have an hour lunch break. :)
We've all seen them - the oh-so-cute baby Nike shoes for kiddos. Since I have motherly hormones racing through my body, I always coo at how adorable and small they are. But then I start thinking, "Why put your kid in Nikes if they can't even walk?"
Which leads me to my next question - when should kids start wearing Nikes? When should they start running? I saw two sets of running mother/daughter duos this weekend. It was hard to peg the age of the girls, but I'd say they were somewhere between six and 10. And I couldn't help but wondering when the appropriate age is for kids to start actually going out with their parents and running. When are they too young? Is it detrimental to their development? Is it dangerous? If you start them too young, will they get turned off of the sport?
A few weeks back, I was reading the trail issue of Runner's World (for the life of me, I can't find the article online that I am now going to reference). In it was an article about a trail race that, because of the handicap system in place (head starts are granted to groups based on age, gender and past victories), an eight-year-old girl and a 68-year-old woman were fighting over the win. As I read that, I thought...wait, she's eight years old? The story went on to detail how she went out and trained on the course with her dad, doing hill repeats and figuring out where to surge and where to walk (the scary downhills). I couldn't help but wonder what kind of crazy, deranged parent would make his daughter do hill repeats?!
Now, I must explain that I started running early. There is one picture that always makes the rounds of me and my sister in a kid's race - I was probably six or seven. But at that point, our "training" runs were chasing each other around the backyard and through the house. We were not doing anything hard-core, that's for sure. And really, after that, running fell off the radar. School started, we had dance and other extracurricular activities to take up our time. I finally got back into it in middle school, when most kids are reintroduced into the sport. My sister was over it by then.
"It is important to remember that both walking and running are natural (authentic) activities for kids and adults..." writes Jenny Hadfield on the Ask Coach Jenny section of Runner's World. She says that when kids are young (under five or six), make sure that running is fun and enjoyable. Do backyard relays or take the kid out in the jogger and then ask them if they want to run the last block home with you. Not until after six or so should you introduce you child to actual running - going out for the sole purpose of running. This would also be a good time to try out a fun run with them (get them acquainted with how races work).
"Believe it or not, kids are better at monitoring their fatigue than
adults are. They tend to run fast, but not for too long. And they
rarely run too fast, too long, or push too hard if left on their own," Hadfield continues. This is a really interesting point that I originally hadn't thought of. If a kid gets tired, they're going to stop no matter what. They don't feel any pressure to continue. If your child is still interested in running as he or she gets older, Hadfield suggests to start looking for running programs for them (like the Girls on the Run program, which combines practicing for a 5k with self-esteem lessons).
I guess the bottom line is...keep running fun. If they like it, encourage it but don't be over the top about it (don't want to scare them away from the sport). Don't be the crazy football dad who pushes his son to be the very best QB1 he can be. You don't want your child to end up burned out on running. You want them to see how much you enjoy running and maybe, just maybe, they'll end up coming over to the "dark side."
Just a quick post ... had to show the world this cutie.
He's trying to help me roll out on the foam roller. Clearly.
A minute before, he was jumping on me, over me and snuggling under me. Anytime I'm down on the floor, Austin thinks it's time to play. Sometimes it is, but this time I just wanted to roll out those sore calves!
