The Cold Weather Running Survival Guide

I'm a native of sunny California, where warm clothes, scarves, and gloves are more fashion items than a necessity. Where I'm from, seasons are not defined by a distinct change in weather patterns, but rather by the types of produce available at the local grocery store and by whether you're donning a football jersey or baseball cap to show love for the home team. I've moved from the single-season state, though, and have been a four-season transplant for last three years. But even after three winters, I'm still thrown by freezing temperatures and all this cold white stuff that shows up around the holidays.  So when a friend asked me, as a trainer and a runner, how to deal with icy and treacherous sidewalks as part of winter running, my initial reaction was, "Well, that's easy! Don't go running until it's warm outside! And if you must, grumble under your breath a bit, bundle up, and try not to slip." Clearly, this advice was not what my friend was looking for, so I thought about it a bit longer and realized that I've asked myself that same question a handful of times. My general tendency when I do find myself posing that question, however, is to give in to my California-based instinct that causes me to automatically recoil from any sub-55 degree weather. In short, I usually skip the run altogether, and eventually convince myself that rough-housing with my kids or doing some yoga poses will suffice until Spring.

But in all seriousness: by definition, as runners, a large majority of us want to maintain a certain level of training. Some of us want to be able to jump back into racing in the Spring without any lag time to get back to where we were before it cold. Some of us want to have the ability to apathetically pull on a favorite pair of jeans without having to worry if they make our butts look big. (Ok maybe that one's just me.) And most of us have acquired at least some degree of affinity for the endorphin flood that inundates our systems by the time we stop the timer on our watches. So what DO we do about icy sidewalks and uncomfortably cold winter weather?

Answer: No, you don't have to be as extreme as this guy! But we can deal with it, make lemonade of out lemons, and somehow make the snow, ice, and painfully cold temperatures a non-issue. And here's how:

There's no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing: Whoever came up with this observation was clearly a genius. At this point, there's not a whole lot we can't find to defend ourselves against the elements. But it's good to know what to look for:

• DO wear layers: It might seem like lower temperatures call for heavier clothes and more of them, but too many heavy layers can cause excessive sweating and put you more at risk for hypothermia. Hypothermia for distance runners is actually more common and dangerous than one might think, especially on runs lasting an hour or more. 
• Do NOT try to convince yourself that layers are for weenies! It may feel unnatural and limiting to bundle with layers if you're not used to it, but use your best sense and fight the urge to seem tougher than you are by skipping the layers altogether. (We already know you're tough - you're a runner!)
• Do NOT worry about looking fashionable: Ditch your self image and focus on keeping your body comfortable. You might look padded and goofy, but you won't be so fashionable if you get frostbite or hypothermia because you gave in to vanity.
• Your first layer: The clothes closest to your body should be able to sufficiently wick away moisture and sweat, which will help maintain a normal core body temperature and prevent hypothermia. Fabrics that do this best are generally made from synthetic fibers. Look for garments made of Polypropylene, wool, wool/synthetic blends, and treated polyesters like Capilene. Men may also want to consider briefs with strategically placed insulation to maintain comfort during and after cold weather outing.
• Your outer layer: Letting heat out and keeping cold from getting in is the name of the game, so you're best bet is to go with something made out of breathable, wind-repellent fabric. Look for Gortex or nylon, and try to find jackets with covering or closure over zippers to keep out any extra cold air or rain.
• Cotton is NOT your friend! Cotton has poor insulating ability, which continues to decrease as it becomes wet, so if you get stuck in the rain, you're pretty much SOL. Cotton may be the fabric of our lives, but if the phrase "braving the cold" comes to mind when planning your run, you'd be better off incorporating a few more fabrics into your life. 
• Wear hat and gloves: Maintaining a normal body temperature is key, so it would be a good idea to cover up two spots that are infamous for losing body heat quickly: head and hands. Cotton gloves are do-able in cold weather, but can definitely get cold quickly by soaking up sweat (yes, your hands sweat too!) Just keep in mind that, in normal conditions and compared to other main body parts, your fingers and hands may already have slightly lower levels of circulation simply because they're appendages. By leaving your poor little fingers exposed therefore further decreasing blood flow to that area, they're much more susceptible to frostbite. 
• You know what they say about big shoes ... they must be covering up some thick socks! Which is what you may want to consider in really cold temperatures. Really cold weather may call for not just one, but two pairs of socks, so cover your feet like you would the rest of your body: an inner polypropylene layer covered by an outer wool layer. If the weather's not too ridiculous and you're only going a short or moderate distance, you could probably get away with light cotton.

Ok swell, so now you won't freeze to death and will probably stay pretty dry. But during cold winters, you'll probably run across some ice ... But instead of running across or over it, you'll probably be sliding or slipping across it. (And I can tell you from experience that it's almost impossible to cover up slipping on ice the way you can play off tripping on the sidewalk by pretending you really did mean to start jogging instead of walking right then.) I suggest just sticking to running.

• Ice, ice, baby! Running through snow can be kinda fun, and is actually a great workout. But the same canNOT be said for ice. If you don't want to have to run with elbow pads, a helmet, and a big pillow strapped to your booty, I'd recommend doing your best to avoid ice-running altogether. Ice can be really tough to see in lower light, like early morning and evening, so try to get your workout in during the day. Just in case, for extra traction to help grip any unforseen ice and prevent slips and spills, you can buy ice traction slip ons. This fabulous little invention slips onto the bottoms of your shoes and help you "claw" the ground a bit as you run - kinda like the chains you use for car tires in the snow. They're pretty cheap (I think mine were $2) and easy to find at most sports equipment stores or online (just put "ice traction slip ons" into Google and voila.) 

Ok, so you're sufficiently layered - but not too much and not in cotton. It's midday, so you should be able to see and avoid hidden ice patches and you're even sporting your spiffy ice traction slip ons. Good to go? 

Not so fast. Consider a few extra key points before heading out:  

• Warm up and cool down: Before you go, warm up: do some jumping jacks, run around the living room, or have a dance party in front of the mirror - any of which will help get your blood flowing and loosen up your muscles. Warming up with help lessen the blow that'll hit your legs as you step out the door and will reduce your risk of injury as you run. Start out slowly to warm up gradually, also as a way to avoid pulls and strains. When you finish your run, don't skip stretching. Extreme temperatures make it harder for your muscles to safely respond to strenuous exercise, so give them the love they need and stretch them out after logging some mileage. 
• Start by running INTO the wind: Wind will undoubtedly make any temperature feel even colder and, since we all know evaporation is a cooling process, if you're sweaty and run into the wind, the air will feel a LOT colder than you'd planned for. By running into the wind when you're less sweaty (which I'm assuming is at the beginning of your run), you can avoid getting unnecessarily, and even dangerously, chilled.
• Stay hydrated! True or false: In cold weather, you sweat less, which means you don't need to drink as much water. FALSE! Staying hydrated for cold weather exercise is just as important, if not more so, than working out in moderate or warm temperatures. Even if you don't feel like you're really sweating, your perspiration levels don't decrease just because it's cold, especially if you're properly layered. And along with any fluids lost through sweat, you'll also lose large amounts of fluid through exhaled water vapor, which happens when the colder temperature of the air causes its humidity to drop closer to zero. 

NOW you're set! So, if you're still itching to get out for a run in the cold, it may mean having to splurge on some new running garb so you don't freeze your patooties off. And even if a winter run means you'll probably have to trudge through some patches of snow, or maybe even get a chance to practice your ice skating moves ... minus the skates ... I'm pretty sure you'll survive. Who knows - you might actually like it and be crazy enough to try it again tomorrow.

If I'm a runner, can I still walk?

I'm a runner. I don't know that I've ever characterized myself as a "jogger" (that term always lacked a certain sense of internal drive for me), and I certainly am NOT a walker. When I'm running, I allow myself to do just that: run. And only that. Anything else feels like a failure. Now of course, as a fitness trainer, I would never snub my nose at any type of activity or exercise ... ever! I do whatever I can to encourage movement and forever tout the laundry list of benefits associated with physical activity. I even tell my daughters that simply playing at the park is a fabulous way to stay healthy, even when that finds them perched effortlessly on the swings and my pushing leaves me as the one reaping said exercise benefits.

But when it comes to my own fitness, setting out for a run is usually my chance to test my own fortitude and grit and, while I do occassionally enjoy a relaxing trot around the neighborhood as a way to unwind, I more typically get home from a run having expected to have left most of myself behind on the pavement. Each new run is a comparison to the run before it. These comparisons allow me to guage my personal success, which I tend to measure not only in terms of my ability to clobber and quel the challenge ahead, but also by how well I manage to eliminate that pesky little nagging voice that pops up right when things feel just a slight bit uncomfy; the same voice that constantly threatens to thwart my best intentions by throwing out excuses or sowing seeds of doubt. When I first step out my door and double knot my pair of Asics, I'm not really interested in the scenery. When I start up my watch (or lately, the clock on my iPhone), the rest of the world slips away. I watch the road open up ahead of me and I focus on just me, gradually settling into a comfortable rhythm that will eventually feel like floating.

Don't get me wrong: I know how to stop and smell the flowers just as well as the next guy. But if I'm dilly dallying with flowers, I don't get as much of a chance to prove to myself that my personal strength is not just an obscure term I can throw out when I'm feeling the need for reassurance. When I run, I am instinctually aware that I really am unrelentingly strong, and that strength lives as a deep-seated and familiar force that I call on to deal with life's unexpected curveballs. I strive to assure my fitness clients of their own inherent ability to tackle anything that may stand in their way, and so my runs are my chance to "walk my walk" (although, as I mentioned before, I'm not a walker!)

All that being said, today is Sunday. On Sundays, everyone seems to hold onto each moment a little bit longer before Monday starts to menacingly inch its way onto the scene. Sundays offer a universal sense of calm - the world lets out a communal sigh. Even the "type A" personalities, those of us who might not otherwise know how to function were we to find ourselves with one too many extra minutes to just sit and breathe, conversely have no qualms with lounging lackadaisically in front of a football game for hours on end, or else puttering around nonchalantly, tinkering at tasks that generally get put aside and end up waiting for that improbable extra chunk of time required to get completed. And on Sundays, that intensely focused running I usually insert into my schedule turns more into gliding along, completely carefree, carried effortlessly on a gentle breeze.

So for my Sunday, today's uniform was nothing more than baggy pj's, and the name of the game was casually and lazily putzing, cleaning, organizing, and munching little bits here and there, all while half-heartedly catching up on the most recent season of "Bones." I had been planning to get out for a run - one without any time constraint or any pressure to "give it everything I've got" because that's what runs feel like on Sundays - but just kept letting myself get distracted with yet another chore or mindless job. Finally checking on the time to see how much of my Sunday I had left to hold onto, I was shocked to see my clock read 6:00! I had to go now, or forever hold my peace. Luckily, the early fall evenings in Northern Colorado offer a perfect opportunity to absorb the cooler temps and simultaneously chase the last tired rays of sleepy sunshine just before daylight hits the hay. So, still embodying Sunday's characteristic sense of indifference and casual calm, I pulled on my t-shirt and running shoes, twisted my hair into a messy ponytail, and lethargically grabbed whatever I might need for today's excursion. I realized as soon as I stepped out the door, though, that I had waited a hair too long in getting my rear in gear, and had now passed that point of no return. This is the point where you're not just relaxed, you're devoid of any real motivation or energy. I felt slightly annoyed at the realization that I actually had no problem with turning right back around to slip my slippers back on and finish out my Sunday as lazily as I had spent it thus far.

Well! This non-commital attitude just wouldn't do! What kind of runner was I if I couldn't automatically turn on that familiar competitive mindset I was so sure I needed to make this run count?


Maybe if I just start with a brisk warm-up walk before moving into my running rhythm ... Hmmm, this speed actually feels really relaxing. I like this pace. Wait, what?? Who said that? I don't walk! I don't put on my running clothes and my running shoes ... to walk! Ok, enough of this half-assed farting around. Time to get the show on the road! 


Thus, with great effort, I forced myself forward to half fall, half jump into something that vaguely resembled a running stride. But while I'm usually used to flipping a switch and simultaneously acknowledging when it's "go time," my present attempt to maintain my pace and keep running ... (we use the term run loosely  - more like a plod, or a lope, or a heavy, lumbering cascade of footsteps that probably looked like continuous stumbling) ... was turning more into a frantic fumble in the dark. Apparently, I had forgotten where that switch was ... there was no "go time" on my side of the street. Arg!

Wait just a minute! I'm the trainer, aren't I? ... Shouldn't I be the one who can push myself whenever I need to, whenever the going gets tough? This "run" will NOT be a walk ... it will NOT be a jog! I'm a runner for goodness sakes! 


Well, that less-than-motivational pep talk I gave myself did seem to briefly get me running again, but only for another mile and a quarter. And by this point, my stride was so awkward and uncomfortable, I decided it wouldn't hurt to take a teeny tiny walking break (preferably on a quiet side street where nobody really saw me walk), so I could re-adjust and then start up again to finish. But as soon as I slowed down for this teeny tiny break, my gait automatically (and without permission!) slowed to a relaxed walk, a stroll even ... almost a saunter. And with that slower pace came an onslaught of those pesky little negative voices - those ones that I typically manage to silence throughout my run - chiding me almost defeaningly, persuading me to doubt my own toughness. I felt myself getting increasingly knocked down ... by me! I could feel those nagging little voices getting geared up to dish out a (not so nice!) lecture, and I felt the words "failure" and "weak" start to creep into my consciousness. Suddenly, I was sure I could no longer call myself a runner. How could I? Here I was, walking, and, by doing so, ultimately failing to push myself hard enough. 

(This is totally what I felt like!)

But just as quickly and forcefully as those vindictive voices had rudely inserted themselves into my internal dialogues and sucessfully started the process of undermining the self-confidence I'd been sure was practically indestructible, they disappeared - they were hit head-on by a very obvious realization (the kind where you feel like hitting yourself on the forehead for having been confused in the first place). I just about laughed outloud at my own ridiculousness.  I can't be a runner if I happen to have a slower day? Uhh, FALSE! Who says that's the rule?? Nobody can be "on" ALL the time ... some of us have to take a breather here and there. And progress is rarely linear (duh - I know this!) ... so why would I be the exception?? Sheesh! Get a grip!


Ohh, I get it. And out of nowhere, the rest of the world faded back into view, the smells of early fall BBQ's wafted flirtatiously by, and I resolved to allow myself to walk the entire way home. And I liked it! Rather than darting, dashing, hurrying, bolting, storming, charging, or going like a bat out of hell, I was plenty content just to stroll, saunter, amble, march sluggishly, and even throw in a dance move between strides here and there (which is only a good idea if you're a decent dancer ... I am not).

So with my slow, yet steady walk, I decided that runners aren't runners because they only run and NEVER walk ... we're runners because we know we can urge ourselves forward, steadily yet quickly, gracefully and with fierce drive, through seemingly impossible odds. But every once in a while, it IS kinda nice to slow down, dawdle a bit, and revel in the moment. And besides, just getting out the door is half the battle - walking, jogging, or running, we've already won!

Keep up the good walk ... I mean, work!

Learning How to Set Goals: The Best Running Incentive

My favorite running buddies:
I realized today that my favorite running buddies are, without a doubt, my kids. Don't get me wrong - there's definitely something to be said about running with a fellow adult runner who can potentially push the pace, and supply, or listen to, actual adult conversation. With kids, though, the raw excitement and awe that exudes from their wiggling, squirming, bodies as they stretch around the sides of the stroller are such contagious emotions, that I can't help but want to push forward and soak in every detail of every curve ahead along with them. Pushing my double stroller can sometimes feel like I'm pushing a ton of bricks through sand. I would push ten tons of bricks down the longest beach on the planet, though, if I got to listen to the accompanying soundtrack that includes the giggles, the incessant questions, and the made-up songs that stream from the two fantastic little people bouncing around ahead of me. I've heard of moms who refuse to schedule runs with their kids for fear of feeling selfish. Considering my three-year-old jumps around the room like an exhilarated, electrified wind-up toy at the mere mention of a "family run," I've never felt in any way selfish for strapping my kids in the stroller and "dragging" them along as extra resistance and cardio training. Just as a precaution, though, I sometimes plan my routes so as to hit a park along the way. If the run doesn't include a park stop, the end of the run will most likely turn into a game of tag between the 3-year-old and the stroller - squeals and giggles erupting from all involved. All in all, I pretty much earn the "Mom of the year" award every time I include my kids in my training plan.

I actually can't think of a single run with my kids that hasn't left me exponentially more energized by the end than when I started. Running with my first daughter when she wasn't much past the "baby blob" stage was certainly rewarding - I was convinced that I was setting some kind of positive example and was getting my pre-baby body back. But running with her as an actual little person - someone with whom you can actually rationalize; someone who also has a painfully accurate and blunt sense of observation - is not only rewarding, but it's absolutely fascinating. At this age, neither girl has any reservations and so gush support and excitement automatically whenever offered an opportunity. At the same time, they're both enormous sponges, waiting eagerly for any new piece of wisdom to soak up and then spit back out when you least expect it.

What is a goal?
So, on a recent run, I attempted to throw in something new and hopefully give my older one something to soak up. I threw out, and then did my best to explain, a term that most adults, me included, still have trouble grasping and understanding. Not actually expecting her to fully comprehend the meaning, I told my daughter that I was going to set a goal. So our latest lesson: What is a goal? In trying to define a goal, in little-person terms, I told her that my goal was to reach the end of the road (three-quarters of a mile ahead), even though I thought it would be hard for me to keep running to the end. I explained that a goal was something that was hard to finish, but we tried to do it anyway. Her response: "Mmm." So maybe that one went in one ear and out the other. She cheered me on for the full mile anyway. (I ended up running an extra quarter mile with "Go Mom, go! I BELIEVE in you!" coming from the little beaming face that watched each step of the way - who wouldn't want to run that extra bit just to hear more of those words in that adorable little voice, especially when they sound more like "Do Mom, Do!")

The interpretation:
Finally, in reaching the Stop sign that marked the end of the run, we all broke out into hoops and hollers (the baby included). "Woohoo!" I heard myself yell. "We did it! We made our goal!" Just to see if I had at all succeeded in my attempt to try and teach by example (setting a goal and pushing forward, even though I thought it might be tough, to reach that goal), I asked the munchkin if she remembered what a goal was. Her response: "Reaching."

In a single word, my three-year-old summed up a painfully difficult concept with a far better definition than I could have ever composed. And with that single word, she gave me a new perspective on what it really means to set a goal: we set goals for things that seem out of reach and then do what we can to ultimately reach as far as we need to so that those same things are right in front of us. The best part is, for a three-year-old, there's no reason not to figure out a way to reach far enough. Her sense of reality is so straightforward and her optimism spills from every pore of her being that success for anyone seems obviously inevitable.

So while an adult running buddy can help me pace myself or can fill me in on the latest gossip as a distraction, I'd much rather take every opportunity to set goals, and then push through any mental blocks to achieve them, for my pint-sized running buddies. It also doesn't hurt to have my very own cheering section whenever I need an extra boost!

A Runner In The Making

My dad sometimes says "Life's tough, and then you die." On separate occasions, mimicking a classic Monty Python sketch involving a nun, I've often heard him squeak, "I'm not dead yet!" By the transitive property (if a=b and b=c, then a=c), I think he's on to something.

And I wholeheartedly agree - life's tough, but I'm not dead yet! Sometimes to prove that to myself, I need to just run. When things don't seem like they'll ever go my way and I'm using all of my energy to just fake it till I make it, especially on the days I have my girls, sitting on my couch and making excuses to skip my run are usually pretty tempting. And I'm definitely one who has a hard time resisting temptation. My three year old, in particular, tends to use up quite a bit of my energy stores with her constant "testing" of her boundaries and my accompanying continuous efforts to think of ways to turn each toddler vs. mom scenario into a lesson. 

But today, my apartment seemed claustrophobic and I had a pressing need to get outside. I can usually talk myself out of a late afternoon or evening run with the stroller, since the smooth, steady motion tends to put to sleep the three-year-old who no longer naps. This is problematic if I care about getting her to sleep before midnight. Today I needed a change, though, and at 5pm she was still looking bright-eyed and bushy tailed. I was hopeful. To get her more excited about the run, I gave her the choice of leaving in ten minutes versus twenty minutes. She chose the latter, which gave me some extra time to get dressed and load up the stroller, so I asked her if she wanted to help me choose my running clothes. She was thrilled at the chance to help and chose my black workout pants and a pink tank top. (I couldn't have picked better, myself.) Finally, I asked her if she wanted to help load up the stroller and she jumped at the opportunity. We threw in her doll, a water bottle, my phone, and her baby sister, and were ready to head out. As a last minute thought, we decided to throw in the baby's new towel with a hood as I noticed the skies were turning a dark grey. 

The Run:

Length: 2.93 miles

Time: 30 minutes (32 minutes total with 2 minutes of stopping time to get something for a kid)

The route: 

We took a quick warm-up walk to the mailboxes to mail some thank you notes and bills. From there, it felt pretty easy to start up running. Usually I start my runs with the stroller somewhat slower, with a painful, choppy stride. My knees tend to hit the top of the back seat, so it usually takes some extra time to adjust and develop a gait that doesn't involve lifting my knees as high. 

Today was different. Today, with my iPod already playing at a low volume in just one ear, and both girls yammering away, starting up seemed smooth and effortless. While I don't think the baby has a preference as to speed, my older daughter always waits impatiently for me to pick up the pace and start running. Today was no different and she let out a loud "Yay!! Are you running?" as I loped forward. I warned her that today might just be a slow and steady day. Of course she asked Why (as most three-year-olds do at every available opportunity) and I told her that today was just going to be a relaxed run. She seemed to be ok with that answer, so we moved along without any expectations. 

I ran a modified version of the "run around the block" I usually follow if I have the stroller, or when I'm on my own and I can't muster up the creativity to plan a new route. This route usually traces the main roads near my apartment complex. We basically follow a big box and each time we make a turn, it usually marks a mile.  Tonight, the sun wasn't quite close to setting, so I decided to take a bit of a shortcut along the Spring Creek Trail. I ran the "run around the block" a couple nights ago and I needed a change of scene. The run remained fairly uneventful and I just kept pushing slowly along, allowing myself to take the pace down a notch if I started to get a bit more winded than I wanted to. The time flew by as I listened comfortably to a relaxed playlist and did my best to answer all of the questions that flowed from the tiny voice in the front seat of the stroller. 

Is it my turn, yet?

When I felt I had run a solid 3 miles or 30 minutes (I can rarely tell which one I hit first), I stopped the stroller and asked the munchkin if she wanted to get out and go on her own run. Of course she did. At this point, we were about a half mile away from home, and she took off running ahead of the stroller. I expected her to slow down or to stop and want to walk before we hit the crosswalk to cross the street to home. But she didn't slow down and rather than walking to cool down, I ended up throwing in a few more minutes of jogging, albeit it pretty slow jogging. She lately has to always be in front of me, regardless of whether or not we're walking or playing or jogging down the path next to our apartment, and I usually tell her that she's welcome to be ahead me as long as she's quick enough to hold me off. Tonight, I let her keep her lead and she squealed with giggles every time she heard the strolling getting a bit too close.As she awkwardly mimicked an endurance running, with arms and legs not quite in sync and elbows flailing, she called back to me to tell me she had her [imaginary] iPod in and she just got to a great song. I couldn't help but chuckle, until she started singing along to an imaginary song that she was making up as she ran, at which point I burst into laughter. Finally, after holding my hand across the cross walk, she slowed to a walk just before the path that leads to our door. She claimed it was time to walk because she was at the end of her run. It was just too much for me to handle and I immediately gushed that I just loved her. I got a non-chalant "Yeah." 

Finally at our door, I bent down to start rooting for keys. When my daughter proudly exclaimed "I had a great run! I did a great job!" I realized that this is the reason I need to get up and go. This is the reason I take them with me. The two little people who stared up at me as I unlocked the door are the very reason I need to keep "faking it till I make it" on some days. And getting in my run, any kind of run, is the best way to do that. 

Passing People in the Dark

Running in the dark:

I've decided that the best way to train during the summer in Colorado is to go for a run just after the sun sets. Not dusk, but about a half hour after dusk, where you can immediately slip on the cloak of darkness as soon as you slink beyond the scope of the porch light. It's cooler then, less muggy, and any audience is most likely blinded by the dark. I actually get pretty nervous running in the dark, mostly because I live alone and don't want to slip away into the night without someone noticing my absence until the next morning. So, on the evenings I choose to workout after sunset, I tell a friend my self-imposed curfew, where I plan to go, I grab my phone, and then run like a bat out of hell to stay one step ahead of the Bogey Man. Despite the threat of said Bogey Man, it turns out there's actually a significant population of runners who prefer to squeeze their miles in just before they slip in to bed. 

Most of these fellow PM runners don't get the heebie jeebies from any number of strangely shaped shadows the way I do, which is probably why summer is actually my favorite running season. On a night run, when I come up behind someone lumbering along comfortably and probably relishing in the availability of significantly cooler temperatures, I breathe a barely audible "Excuse me: on your left," and then whiz by. Not only do I scare the bejeezus out of that runner as I effortlessly skirt around them (I bet you didn't know how many ways there are to jump when you're startled!), but then I quickly piss them off as they realize they just got passed ... by a girl! 

Tonight's Run: 

The above description was tonight's run in a nutshell. I needed to get in some movement after an entire day spent in my apartment, working on home projects and applying to several jobs online. I didn't spend much time with other people today and I didn't have my girls tonight. Needless to say, I needed to remind myself that there were real human beings outside the plain walls of my little apartment. As I ran tonight, I felt quick and comfortable, and I surprised myself by effortlessly passing each runner that shared my nighttime running venue. When I hit the end of the route I had dictated to a friend after only 25 minutes, I decided that I was satisfied with the run, and so let myself slow to a peppy walk. As I strolled home, another runner - a woman - zipped by me and propelled herself effortlessly up the tiny hill I was using as a cool down. 

Who is my real running competition?

As soon as I was passed, my competitive self launched into a rant about how I was just as fit as the woman disappearing ahead of me; I was just taking an easy day and maybe she was just starting her run. I heard the little voice in my head begin to make a laundry list of excuses or comparisons.

And suddenly, it hit me: Why am I trying to be anything but what I can be right now? 

Cue parallel analysis to the rest of my existence. Sometimes I can't stand when my brain needs to scrutinize, probe, and dissect every detail of my current reality to make any sense of it. I'm pretty sure this is a subconscious attempt at making some sort of momentous revelation so I can hurry up and figure out the moral to be learned and move on already. In the last couple of weeks, my conscious mind has made it especially clear that it won't rest until any emotional pain has been properly turned into a handy piece of knowledge. And there's a lot of emotional pain right now. So when the automatic response to watching another runner pass me turned into even more internal analysis, I started to shut down. But then came my "Aha moment" (the above question about being the me I can be), which abruptly sorted every strain of analysis into nice, neat little compartments. And the internal interpretation stopped. 

It sounds totally cheesy, but the revelation was so simple and so suddenly clear, it was as though the clouds (or stars, in this case) had parted and a ginormous hand had reached down to pass me the memo I'd been missing. My lesson to be learned seemed to be this: There's no reason to hang on to what used to be, because those moments will never again happen in exactly the same way. Duh, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. But I suppose that when it comes to letting go, we're pre-programmed to want to project the same happiness or victory into any future moments that originally helped to define certain moments from our past. There comes a point in every run, every race, every situation, and every relationship where we have to accept that change is inevitable and a part of the process. We change physically, our strategies change, our appreciation for different parts of the experience change, and we become different individuals in the process. Rather than doing everything we can to hold on to the exact details of how it used to be in order to replicate that same chain of scenarios and the same accompanying feelings, I'm convinced we can make a conscious decision.  We can look back with recognition and a smile, or we can take the necessary lesson associated with the experience and store that feeling and memory away in a vault, along with other pieces of the past.  

Grief is good, but it's a process: You can't be a high school runner forever!

There is certainly a grieving process involved in letting things go and in allowing the possibility of future outcomes that, at one point, seemed improbable or maybe even impossible. And part of that grieving process includes complete denial and a stubborn refusal to accept any forward movement, away from the era that has just ended. I'm no exception to this. I'm currently smack dab in the middle of the stubborn denial stage in a handful of areas of my life and am comfortable that I'm sitting stubbornly in that stage. It's part of the process, right? It's definitely a confusing and mentally challenging stage to be in. I keep trying to imagine futures that exactly replicate the very thing that I know is over. But I know that I can't live in this stage and that I won't stay here forever. Change will find me, even as I try to run away as fast as I can and hide among the dark shadows after dusk. 

Back to the woman who passed me up the hill: Good for her. Hopefully she felt as energized and spritely as I did at the beginning of my run. I don't have to be better than she is, nor do I have to be far ahead of the curve in cross country running as I was in high school, where I could pass competitors left and right, and then run for hours more. And I'm certainly not "out of shape" now just because my knees might get a bit more tender after a run, or an hour run seems like the endurance event of the century, or a marathon was biting off more than I could chew. It's just that it's not the same "shape." 

But why be anything other than the runner I am right now? Moving on, or just letting something be a memory rather than a hope for the future, doesn't mean completely giving up on the possibility of finding bits and pieces of those memories in slightly rearranged scenarios and outcomes.

And so it goes with everything else in my life. I can cry because something's over, or because its rare to be able to avoid the pain that comes with accepting the present moment rather than letting go of what could have been. Or I can even pout because someone else might still see the memory and see anything else as failure. But I'll probably still whiz by people through the summer darkness and when I'm done, I can smile in recognition as I cheer for the ones who pass me. 

Go Go Gadget Legs!

My legs felt like they were filled with lead today. So did my heart ... maybe they were just acting like mirror images of each other. I had an easy-paced song playing on repeat on my iPod, so that helped get me through the first 18 minutes. But as I got closer to my stopping point, it got harder to breathe and harder to push my legs forward. "Go Go Gadget Legs!" was the thought that kept coming into my head.

I finally turned off the busy street that I was on and into a neighborhood. Three houses down the block, I jogged up to the door, grabbed the bike propped on the front porch, and was off - back toward home.

I think I probably biked about 15 minutes, swerving and zooming around cars and down the bike lane. My quads were screaming at me to change gears, but the burn in my legs was nothing compared to the sting I couldn't shake from not having knocked on the door to say Hi. I could have kept riding, but too much time alone means too much emotional analysis and processing, so I decided to stop.

Today was the second day in a row of running. I can't say I'm necessarily back on track, but it feels good to have gotten out and burned some nervous anxiety. Maybe this way I'll be able to fall asleep before my insomnia kicks in.

And on a different note: today was my first brick workout (triathlon term for a workout with a bike ride, followed by a run). My workout was a reverse brick, so I'm not sure if it counts, but it was definitely nice to switch it up!

Find A Penny, Pick It Up ... And Then Grab A Heiny!

It's Hot! But hot is nothing compared to ...
If you're lucky enough to get yourself out the door on a hellaciously hot day, like today, it must mean something to run by an entire dollar bill! Hopefully I'll have great week ... considering this last week has been pretty painful. Maybe painful isn't quite the right word. Maybe "out of sorts" is better. Or even "numb," and "shocking," more properly fit the way I've barely propelled myself through most of this week in zombie form.

What came first ... the motivation or the run?
My mental state certainly contributes to my motivation in getting out the door for a run sufficient enough to add to my training log. The whole running thing seems lately like another item at the very bottom of my "To Do" list; an item that rarely gets crossed off that same list. I had to explain to my mother today that focusing on my own sanity during a divorce, while looking for a job, and then desperately attempting to build my network of friendly support in a new-ish town, definitely trumps watching the news or even keeping up with the public opinion around certain Supreme Court Justice nominees. I'm pretty sure running contributes to that sanity I crave ... and I can hardly squeeze that in these days. (So don't ask me to participate on any political panels on current, or somewhat current, events!)

So, over this past week of chaos, stress, and unexpected emotion, my mental state has been stuck trying to analyze and sort and compartmentalize every detail, while simultaneously trying to let through only the necessary number of tears needed to process those details. Needless to say, the energy that might get sent to my muscles, my lungs, or the connections between my brain and my legs during anything resembling a run, has been redirected. There's nothing left.


The things that threw me out of whack both took place on Tuesday. Today is Saturday. Today, after spending most of my energy trying to fake "normal" for my visiting mother and for my kids, I forced my shoes onto my feet and my body out the door.

The Run
It's hot as hell, so I wasn't expecting to go far. In fact, I almost started sobbing with the first step. But with each subsequent step, my breath came back and my lungs took over. My iPod is full of newly added music to push me through my attempt and I actually surprised myself by running for a full 20 minutes before taking a quick 2 minute walking break. The cloud cover helped with the blazing sun factor, so I was able to push through a total of about 40 minutes and even had a smile on my face before I walked back through the front door.

And on top of it, I found a dollar! I must be rich in luck! I think I'll save that very dollar to buy my next lotto ticket. Or maybe I'll just keep it stashed in my water bottle as my own personal good luck charm.

And if I have trouble finding my motivation for sticking to training in the future, my mother suggested that I attempt future runs with a Heineken in hand. I could drink away my sorrows while getting my run crossed off my list. Why didn't I think of this before??