Do you stop to visit friends mid-run?

 Gotta run!

 Picture this. You’re running along outdoors, clocking your miles, when you see a friend or neighbor, beckoning you to come near. Or maybe you encounter someone you know on the trail. Do you run on past him or her, or do you stop to visit for a few minutes? 

For me, it depends on several factors. Here’s a dozen possible considerations, on-the-fly. (I'm just being honest here.) Maybe you can think of more questions you’d ask yourself right about then.

• Am I trying to beat incoming weather?
• Am I sneaking in a run during a scheduling crunch?
• Am I meaning to contact this person anyway?
• Am I just starting my run?
• Am I overdue for a deadline?
• Am I pretty sure this person will want an extended conversation?
• Am I nearly done with this run?
• Am I struggling with this run for some reason?
• Am I eager to connect with this person?
• Am I clocking an important training run?
• Am I gearing up for a tough race?
• Am I running to keep up with my training buddies?

 I guess the point is that there’s no hard-and-fast rule that a runner has to stop and chat, when a simple hand-wave can suffice for now. It’s always possible to follow up later with a call or a text or a social-networking message.

 

If you do stop to socialize, do you pause your activity tracker?

I wish I’d remember to pause and restart my Garmin, every time this happens. (It’s especially tricky in colder weather, when we tend to wear several layers of sleeves, along with mittens or gloves.)

 

To jabber or to jog? It’s always a judgment call.

Maybe sometimes it’s important to pause and enjoy the journey, greeting a friend along the way. But sometimes we just have to send a wave and keep on going.

 

Related Items:

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• Maybe it's time for a dog trail etiquette refresher course.
• Sorry, neighbor. But your dog's gotta stay away from runners.
• The best fellow runners inspire the rest of us.

 

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Have you been caught WALKING again?

 

Cue the blush here.

 OK, I’m totally kidding.  But sometimes it feels like that, when a runner is spotted out walking.

 A non-runner might say something like this:

“I saw you out there yesterday, but you were walking.”

 It’s as if we are expected to maintain an all-out sprint the whole time we are out on the trail or the road or the track in our sneakers.

 

It doesn’t really work that way.

 Even elite marathoners begin their jaunts with warmups and end with cool-downs. These may include giant steps, backward steps, lunges, and butt kicks. But they also include walking – plenty of walking.

 And plenty of fitness fanatics walk miles and miles and miles, burning countless calories without ever breaking into a jog. They’re on-the-move for hours, which is almost harder in some ways than running faster for shorter time spans.

 

Walking may be purposeful.

 It usually is exactly that.

 Walking is a primo plan for beginner runners, but also for those who have run countless races and are still committed to practicing physical fitness (perhaps past their primes). Professional trainers and physical therapists prescribe walking for those who are recovering from injuries or long races.

 Additionally, more than a few runners mix walks into their weeks for cross-training, socialization (with other runners and non-running friends), dog-walking, sightseeing, stress relief, or even phone calls on-the-fly.

 Let’s not judge one another, or ourselves, for slower steps.

 

Runners build one another up – at any pace.

 Mostly, the running community acts like a fellowship of mutual encouragement. We say things like “Your race, your pace,” and “You’re lapping everyone who’s at home on the couch.”

 Sure, runners want to become faster. We want to beat our own personal records, racing the clock more than one another. Some of us even want to win race titles – or at least place in our age brackets.

 But we generally enjoy waving at each other (at the run or the walk). We salute one another for getting out there and cranking out the miles, from 5Ks to ultras. We “like” each other’s online posts. We basically celebrate running, hoping to inspire anyone who’s getting up and trying.

 

So why do we almost apologize for walking?

 We act like we’ve been caught in a crime when another runner catches us walking. We trip up into a trot when we approach race cameras (if we spot them). We jump into a jog when a car comes along, if our routes take us on the roadway. We pick up the pace when another runner (or even a walker) approaches.

 Why are we embarrassed to practice a slower pace?

 

There’s no shame in walking.

 All miles count. And just by stepping out there, we are all burning calories, building endurance, improving our cardio condition, and doing the distance. All that makes us stronger … and yes, faster.

 

Related Items:

·        Long runs: Shared-track slowdowns don't have to be let-downs

·        Long runs: Sometimes ya just gotta walk a bit

·        Mixing it up: Cross training adds spice and fitness

·        Some training runs are simply dreadful

·        Walking works wonders for warmups and workouts

•   What’s the difference between a runner and a jogger?

 

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New year, new goals -- Gotta love it!

 

The past couple of years have been a blur for so many of us. Sure, we’ve set fitness goals, mileage goals, nutritional goals, weight loss (or maintenance) goals, and more.

 Maybe we’ve met those goals. And maybe not.  It's OK.

 

It’s time for grace … and more than a little gusto.

 Were your favorite races canceled (or transformed into virtual events)? Did injury or illness hold you back? Did quarantining keep you from the gym, the track, running clubs, or training sessions with others?

 

It’s a brand-new year, a brand-new start, and a brand-new clock.

 What goals have you set for yourself this year?

 I’m all-in again to run the year in mileage. This will be my sixth time in a row. And I’m in a running club for which we are all encouraged to set yearly goals. Mine will match the year again. I aim to clock 2,022 miles in 2022.

 

Hey, I’m slow, but I go.

 I’d also like to find my missing abs. But that’s another story.

 

Related Items:

• Some training runs are simply dreadful
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• What’s the difference between a runner and a jogger?
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• Marathon training: Ignoring the naysayers is a challenge

 

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Long runs: Shared-track slowdowns don't have to be let-downs

OK, I goofed. When I planned my latest double-digit training run, I didn’t double-check what else might be going on along the way. I just geared up and went.

Oops.

 I’d picked a lovely trail that winds around a little lake in a nearby forest preserve. Each lap is about 2.5 miles, so I had to do several loops to make my run ration for the day. That sounded simple enough, right?

I picked out my playlist and loaded my car with salty/healthy run snacks and a cooler of chilled water. My whiz-bang plan was to have these ready and accessible throughout my whole training trip, as that’s one of the hardest things about a non-supported teens-to-30-mile run.

About an hour into this plan, I saw a van pull up to one of the park shelters. A few ladies climbed out and began setting cases of water and boxes of bananas on a picnic table. Next, they opened a box of race bibs. 

Uh-oh.

By the time I looped around again, several cars were pulling into that parking lot. Strollers were unfolding, and folks were congregating ON THE PATHWAY.

“Excuse me,” I said to one mom, as I stepped onto the wet grass to pass. No response.

“What time does the race start?” I asked another, as she backed into me.

I sighed, adjusted my earbud, and continued on my way.

By the next lap, the entire trail was blocked, as the small crowd lined up to start their 5K. There were runners, wheeled teams, jog strollers, and baby buggies. I headed for the nearby road to avoid the pack. Then I traversed the grass again to regain my place on the path.

The next time around, I encountered the race leaders. The front-runner, a mom with a tiny baby and a toddler in a jogging stroller, was flying. She called out a quick greeting before zipping by.

By now, I was halfway through my long run and sort of asleep at the wheel. I swigged my water and kept going.

Rounding a bend, I saw the rest of the race pack, making their way along the walkway that edged the baseball field.

That’s when I became inspired.

Although my knees and foot arches and other stuff already hurt, I saw children, young people, and adults giving it all they had. This wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill 5K.

• I saw a pair of runners pushing an adult man in a racing wheelchair. His grin was miles wide.
• I saw a dad with a maybe-eight-year-old boy on his shoulders. The child had braces on both legs.
• I saw a mom coaxing her reluctant runner daughter to keep going. The girl looked to be about six or seven.
• I saw a mom and dad helping their teen daughter along, each placing an arm under one of her shoulders, as she stumbled on the way.
• I saw a young man with crutches, inching his way along the path.

I found myself calling out to these already-motivated folks.

 “Way to go!”

“You’ve got this!”

 “Great job!”

“All right!”

After about 90 minutes, this special 5K was over. The van had been loaded. And the picnic shelter was empty.

My heart was racing from my own run. But it was a little fuller than it had been when I set out that morning.

Because sometimes an interruption is a pick-me-up, rather than a let-down.

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Marathons take dedication. My 1st one had 26.2.

Marathon running may seem like a solo endeavor. Even in elbow-jostling crowds, runners somehow manage to crawl into our own mental spaces for long stretches. Then we snap back into the moment to share grins, groans, high fives, and maybe a “Howdy” to another runner or someone in the crowd.

But some of us are fortunate enough to have a great cloud of witnesses (to use a biblical allusion) that cheer us on from near and far.

Maybe that’s why plenty of marathoners dedicate the miles of certain races to their special supporters.

Before I stomped and stretched with 44,571 to-be finishers (and I don’t know how many other entrants) in the start corrals for the massive mob scene of the 41^st Chicago Marathon, which was to be my first-ever 26.2-mile race, I decided to follow this treasured tradition. I drew up this list of mile-by-mile dedications. Then I printed out the names and carried the roster with me for the whole thing.

So here it is. My list of mile-by-mile tributes and thank-you’s for my first full marathon. The order is somewhat random, but not completely so.

1. Jesus – Abundant thanks for giving me the wherewithal, especially after I suffered life-threatening injuries seven years ago in an equestrian accident. Every step I take is a gift from God.
2. Christy – Sweet girl, this one’s for you! You are a real champion with the “Joy, Joy, Joy.”
3. Sarah Joy – I adore you, and I am constantly in awe of your determination to follow your own path. I admire the way you are raising another woman’s son with love and care and consistency.
4. Meghan – Where do I start? You have gone from equestrian trainer to marathon cheerleader. Plus, you talked me off the ledge more than a few times. It’s wonderful to see you in your element now, although we sure miss you in the Midwest.
5. Jeff – I’m not sure I could have lined up for this endeavor without your encouragement and long-distance coaching. You set the bar high, ROCK-star brother.
6. Dad – You really are the hoss. (OK, I had to look that one up. But it’s true.) The finest man I’ve ever known, you're still picking up hiking sticks to pound out miles in your nineties. I’m incredibly proud to be your daughter.
7. Bible Study Sisters – You keep it real, as we live and learn together. Besides, nothing is really funny until someone snorts. So many years of love and support! Blessings upon you: Alice, Angela, Carol, Dawn, Hanna, Irm, Jackie, Laurie, Mary, Mary Kay, Paula, Roxanne, and now Bernice.
8. Dave – Your positive attitude and personal pep talks kept me going through some tough training seasons. Love you, little brother.
9. Chorus Ladies – What a gift each of you is to me: Barb, Bev, Diane, Jennifer, Joey, June, Kathi, Kim, Lori, Mare, Nancie, Nancy, Pat, Rhonda, Roz, Sue, Susan, and Tracy. Our gatherings are the highlight of my week. Thanks for putting up with my running counts. “Bless your hearts.”
10. Nancy / POG – You were a great sounding-board, early on, as I pondered this marathon journey. Thanks for letting me brainstorm fundraising ideas aloud with you, as we walked those New Hampshire trails. You plug into others’ interests deftly, and I appreciate you.
11. College Pals – Your support is sweet. Overhearing Beth and Kath (as in: reading them online), as they crowed about my marathon attempt, boosted me to no end. And Judy Dee, thanks for your affirming messages.
12. Mary Anne – You’re one of my favorite prayer warriors. And you have a special knack for finding the right Scriptures or gifts (or both) to encourage in due season. So glad we are sisters-in-law and also friends.
13. Michele – I loved our beach-walking conversations this summer. You are a gift.
14. Team RWB – What an honor it is to run with these fine folks. Special kudos to our super band of Lady Eagles and the Trail Tuesday crew. Dedicating Mile #14, because the Chicago Chapter committed to be there to fly the Eagle high and cheer us on. Plus, sharing the Old Glory Relay (on the morning after the marathon) is a highlight of this year!
15. Judith – My lifelong friend, I am glad we have reconnected after too many years. I’ve loved our calls and messages and look forward to many more. I hope we can plan a visit in-person before long.
16. Mike – Thanks for the spiritual (and sometimes sarcastic, because you know it's OK to be both) nudges, along the way. And that song! It really is all about putting one foot in front of the other.
17. Beth – Thanks for your solid support, sweet sister in law, as well as your very timely upbeat note. It arrived right when I needed it.
18. Horse-lover Posse – You know who you are. Thanks for tolerating my runner rants and mileage totals. Special thanks to Nancy, Joaquin, and Lisa for keeping up with Cali Mare while I’m off running (and recovering). Please tell my girl I’ll be back soon. And Bill, my favorite ogre, I’ve gotta salute you (up on your high fence) for posting so many energizing comments during my long training months.
19. Mark – You’ve been on-board with the plan from the start. You rock. (Thanks for picking up the pieces afterwards with Jude.)
20. Silver Sneakers Ladies – I love our track time visits and workout classes. We may not have “Strong Abs” yet, but we’re working it. So glad to count you as gym buddies: Barb, Cami, Cathi, Georgia, Eunice, Laurie, Mary & Mary, Michelle, Pat, Sandy, Sue, and so many others.
21. Nick – You are the kindest person I have ever known. I love the way you treat all people with respect, no matter who they are or what they stand for. I am blessed to call you my big brother and ally.
22. Crosby and Brooke – You two are the finest (and furriest) running buddies a girl could ask for. Thanks for keeping me accountable by kicking it into high gear every time I stepped into my sneakers. (And thanks to Cali for the cross-training, especially those gentle bareback trotting loops for stirrups-free calf stretches.)
23. Mom-in-Law – You’re so faithful in praying for each of us and checking in. Thanks for your notes and the prayer medal, which went with me for the race. I appreciate you.
24. Rachel Hope – Thank you for showing up in so many ways. You are precious to me. You’ve seen me in my most tired and desperate moments and given me a lift.
25. Judy – You inspire me and so many with the way you crusade for Christy and so many others at Misericordia. Plus, you’re the best sister ever.
26. Mom – You’re the best champion I have ever had, even as you are facing advancing cancer. I could not fathom getting to the finish line without your unending support. Knowing you were cheering me all the way sustained me, especially in the roughest spots.

The final stretch to 26.2 is for Joe. You’ll never tell me, but I am fairly certain you are proud of me for doing this thing. You said, “If you can’t qualify for Boston, it’s not worth running a marathon.”  I’m tagging you with the last 0.2 miles, because that’s the toughest part. Plus it's the finish line, where you should have been, but you refused to attend the race. (I beg to differ about Boston, but thanks for the 26.2 roses!)

I have to salute the many donors, who contributed to the charity I represented. These generous people included family, friends, colleagues, and even people I've never met. And I still need to wave to some key people (such as our little local running group of badasses, who rise before the sun to accomplish crazy fitness feats) and my long-time chum Lib (a gutsy breast cancer survivor, who is starting to run now too!). 

Please chalk up any oversights to exhausted runner brain fog, and know I appreciate your support. 

And I am not dedicating a mile to multiple sclerosis, even though the dreaded MS MonSter kicked me into gear in middle age. But I’m kicking MS to the curb. My story isn’t over, and MS does not get to write my final chapter. Who’s with me?

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