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Running For Autism: One Step At A Time

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Two days from now, I am running my annual half-marathon for kids with autism. You’d think that after doing ten half-marathons in the last six years, this would be old hat to me. I am familiar with the distance, and since this year is my seventh Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront race, I am familiar with the course. I know exactly where the hills are (not many, thank God, and none of them are exactly mountainous), I know where the halfway point is, and I know which sections of the course are more challenging for me.

The training, the period of Taper Madness and the race itself are supposed to get easier with each passing year, right?

Well…

This year, my family has faced some intense challenges. A series of unfortunate events culminated in my husband having just three weeks’ notice to vacate his business premises. This meant packing up and moving fifteen years’ worth of product, tools and heavy industrial-grade machinery. While this was going on, I landed a big contract for my own fledgling business that I couldn’t turn down. I was helping with the move during the day, working on my contract at night, and grabbing catnaps on the couch from time to time.

This left me no time for running. My half-marathon training called for intense speed work during the month of July. Instead, my training ground to a screeching halt, and I was only really able to get it going again halfway through August. By then, as much as I had tried to keep my work on an even keel, I had fallen so far behind that I was continuing to work late into the night. So although I was running again, I wasn’t running as much as I needed to.

Consequently, I am not as prepared for this race as I should be. I know I can complete the distance, but I do not expect it to be my finest hour. I don’t even have a goal time in mind. All I want to do is cross the finish line, get my finisher’s medal, and come home where I can sit on the couch and eat weird amounts of cheesecake. If I get a decent time – and I’m certainly not ruling that out – that will be a bonus.

My fundraising hasn’t gone as well as I had hoped either, for pretty much the same reasons. Asking people for donations makes me feel more than a little awkward at the best of times, and this year it has been particularly challenging. I haven’t had time or energy, and I have been operating in a fog of exhaustion and stress. I have fallen far short of the fundraising goal that I had set for myself.

But still – I have raised almost $300, and that money is going to make a huge difference to some kids with autism. It will provide art supplies, musical instruments, sports equipment or camp activities. It will give young people with autism opportunities and experience that might otherwise be out of reach for them. And I am more grateful than words can express to the people who have helped me reach that total.

I think, in spite of the circumstances, I have done all right. I feel excited about the upcoming race, and I feel proud to be doing my small part to make a difference to children and youth with autism.

It’s not too late to donate. If you would like to sponsor me, please click here. All funds go to the Geneva Centre for Autism, where they will be used to provide services for children and teens with autism.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. Photo credit to the author.

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Sporting Life 10K: Lessons From A Tough Race

Sporting Life 10K - before the race

Sporting Life 10K Start Line

On Sunday, I ran my first race of 2015. It was the Sporting Life 10K, a massive event that takes over 25,000 runners down Toronto’s iconic Yonge Street. I was just a little bit apprehensive going into the race, because my training has been somewhat sporadic of late. I have been doing my weekly long runs, but the shorter mid-week runs have been on-again/off-again. I have done a little bit of speed training, but no hill training whatsoever. As for strength training – well, that hasn’t even been a gleam in my eye.

Still, I thought this race would be fairly easy. My weekly long runs have had me doing distances longer than 10K, and I figured that since the Sporting Life 10K is basically a downhill run, my lack of hill training wouldn’t matter. The race did in fact start very well, and the first 5K went quite quickly. As soon as I ran over the halfway timing mats, though, the wheels started to fall off, and I ran the second half about three minutes slower than the first. I finished with an official time of 1:07:02, which is nowhere close to my best time. In fact, it’s probably one of my worst.

My spirits were somewhat lifted yesterday morning when I checked my race stats and saw that I still managed to come in just a fraction ahead of the middle of the pack. I was comfortably in the top 50% of women, and in my category – women aged 45-49 – I was in the top third. I’m not under any illusion that I actually did well – I’ve run this same course almost seven minutes faster – but these stats do tell me that race conditions were difficult on Sunday.

For a start, it was a lot hotter than I thought it was going to be. I have a feeling many people were caught off-guard by this. Everyone has been training in mild temperatures: being hit with blazing sun on race day would affect the performance of most runners. Then there was the fact that there were so many people. Even allowing for the fact that runners were released in corrals 15 minutes apart, there were still thousands of runners in each corral. During the early stages of the race, and to extent later on, I was doing a great deal of ducking and weaving to get past people who were slower than me. It took a lot of energy and it made it very difficult for me to find any kind of rhythm.

So maybe I did OK in light of the conditions.

But still… I have come to expect more of myself. I am intending to run a 2:15:00 half-marathon in October, and I will not do it with the half-baked efforts that I have been putting into my training. I am a runner. It’s time for me to start acting like one.

Sunday’s race woke me up to some things that I have to change. Immediately.

1. I have to step up my training. I am not going to become a better runner if I’m not consistent about it. Yes, life is very stressful right now and yes, time is a big issue for me. But for several years now, I have been very low on my own priority list. It’s time for me to devote more time to my health. All it takes is a couple of hours on Sundays and an hour on four other days each week. If I cannot manage to carve out six hours a week for exercise, then I’m just making excuses.

2. I have to resume my oatmeal breakfasts. I need to fix my eating habits in general, but I’m not expecting myself to accomplish that overnight. What I can do overnight, though, is bring back one simple routine that was healthy not only for me, but for the rest of my family.

3. I have to get more sleep. I have reached the point where six hours counts as “a good night’s sleep”, and I am experiencing permanent bone-crushing exhaustion.

4. I have to get a sports bra that fits properly. The chafing that I go through after every run is excruciating. The longer or harder the run, the worse the chafing. On Sunday afternoon, the feeling of clothing against my skin was making me cry.

5. I need to make a proper display of my bib numbers and finisher’s medals. Seeing the distances that I have run and the bling that I have earned will keep me motivated and remind me of what I am capable of.

6. I have to regroup, reset and make a new plan. For the last few weeks, I have been scrambling to train for a half-marathon on May 24th. This is a hard thing to admit, but people, I’m not going to do it. I could do it. I know that I have the physical ability, at my current level of fitness, to complete the distance. But it will be with a lot of pain and anxiety, and I wouldn’t enjoy it. As soon as I feel dread rather than excitement about an upcoming race, it’s time for me to bow out. And so I have transferred my registration to another race in the series, and I am plotting out a new training plan that will take me to a fabulous half-marathon in October.

As I contemplate the races that I have coming up, and the new plans that I am making, I can already feel the excitement building in my gut. I can feel that once again, I am going to run for the love of running.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. Photo credit to the author.

 

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2:15:00 in 2015

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At the beginning of 2014, I had grand plans for my running. I was going to run my first 30K race with a view to building up from there to a full marathon by 2016. I already had eight half-marathons under my belt, so while I knew it would be a challenge, I felt that it would be achievable. I registered for the Around The Bay 30K which takes place in March, and I drew up an ambitious but doable training plan.

The plan got derailed when the Polar Vortex hit. The temperatures were lower than anything I have ever experienced. Even with all of winter running gear, I wouldn’t have been able to handle running in that cold. The bigger obstacle, of course, was the ice. There were sheets of it on the roads and sidewalk that were inches thick in places. Even the most seasoned of winter runners were staying indoors.

As a result, I was forced onto the treadmill for most of my training. I did do a couple of grueling runs in heavy snow, but for the most part, I was clocking up 18K runs and more at the gym. A month before the 30K race, conditions were still too severe for outdoor winter running, and I decided to pull the plug on my training. I did not think it would be wise to attempt my longest ever distance right at the end of the worst winter in recorded history.

I went with Plan B: I sold my bib for Around The Bay and instead registered for the 30K Midsummer Night’s Run, which happens in August. That way, I would have the summer to train in safer conditions.

Enter the Ankle Of Doom. More than 20 years ago, my left ankle was seriously injured. In spite of a lot of medical intervention over the years, it has never really been right since. It always hurts for about 24 hours after a long run, but as long as it recovers quickly, I can live with that one day of pain each week. Except that this summer, when I was running distances of 22K and more, my ankle wasn’t recovering. It was constantly hurting and I developed a semi-permanent limp. When I set out for my long runs each week, I was still in pain from the previous week.

I knew I was pushing myself too hard, but I kept telling myself that it would improve, that all I needed was time for my body to get used to the longer distances. Even though I knew this wasn’t working, I was continuing on with desperate hope.

I was finally forced to face up to reality one day in July, while I was doing 25K along the lakeshore trail. Ankle Of Doom throbbed the entire time throughout the first half of the run. As I reached my turnaround point, I knew I was in trouble. I took a two-minute walking break and then, feeling a little better, I started running slowly again. About 3K later, I was feeling OK, so I decided to kick up my speed a notch. Five minutes later, I felt an almighty twinge in my ankle, as if someone had pulled back on an elastic and then released it.

There was instant agony. I could still put weight on my ankle, but with every step, I felt as if a hot poker was being skewered through my foot. I forced myself to continue: I was on a trail, nowhere near a road, and I did not have the option of calling my husband to come and pick me up. Only 8K to go, I kept telling myself. You can run 8K in your sleep. This is nothing for you.

8K is excruciatingly long when every step feels like torture. My ankle got more and more wobbly after every step, and I knew that if I wasn’t careful, it wouldn’t be able to carry me all the way home. For about 3K, I alternated fifty steps of walking with fifty steps of running. The counting definitely helped – it gave my mind something to focus on other than the pain, and alternating walking with running enabled me to keep going. Those three kilometres or so went a lot more quickly than I thought they had.

But then I reached a point of meltdown. I sank down onto a rock facing the lake and burst into tears. By this point, I had less than 5K to go, so I knew that I would make it home. It would take a while, but I would get there. But the realization hit me that I would have to forego the 30K. I knew that in all likelihood, I would never get to achieve my dream of running a full marathon.

I went through the rest of the season in a kind of haze. I switched my 30K registration to 15K and had a good race, and I ran my autism fundraising half-marathon, which also happened to be my 10th half-marathon. A doctor told me that if I concentrated on rehab exercises for my ankle for the next year, I might be capable of training for a marathon.

But I’ve decided that enough is enough. After having pushed myself very close to the point of not being able to run at all, I have accepted that a marathon is not a viable goal for me. I am proud of the fact that I can run half-marathons – for someone who, let’s face it, is not naturally athletic, that’s quite an accomplishment.

And so instead of hurting myself trying to chase a goal that could permanently disable me from running, I am going to improve on distances that I have already accomplished. I am going to get my 10K time back to under 1:03:00, and I am going to run a sub 30-minute 5K. Best of all, in 2015, I am going to run a half-marathon in under 2:15:00.

As modest as these goals are, I have my work cut out for me. But instead of making me weaker, working toward these targets will make me stronger.

Am I sad about giving up on the marathon dream? Of course I am.

But I would be sadder if pursuing the dream took away my ability to do anything at all.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. Photo credit: Ludo Rouchy. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.

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Ice Buckets For Autism

The Reason I Run

The Reason I Run

Yesterday, I spoke about the aspects of the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge that bother me. At the same time, I acknowledged that this campaign has been wildly successful in raising funds and awareness for ALS. Although I have been nominated, I have declined to participate – not only because of the reasons stated yesterday, but because there is another cause that is nearer and dearer to my heart. I am not in any way diminishing the ALS cause, I am just saying that with my limited funds and more limited energy, I have to focus my efforts on a cause that directly impacts my family.

Every year, I participate in the Charity Challenge of the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront half-marathon to raise funds for autism services, and this year is no different. The money I raise goes to the Geneva Centre for Autism, a wonderful organization that has provided endless support not only to my autism boy, but also to his younger brother, my husband and myself. I can say without reservation that my son’s life – all of our lives – would be very different if it weren’t for the Geneva Centre.

The thing is, though, that fundraising is hard, and it gets more difficult every year. People struggle. They have difficulty paying their bills on time and providing for their families. Life in this day and age is not easy. And the people who do have funds to donate are increasingly selective about where that money goes, and rightfully so. There have been so many stories about donated funds lining the pockets of people who are already rich.

I can give my personal assurance that money donated to the Geneva Centre for Autism does not go towards ridiculously high salaries or swanky events. It is used for things like art supplies and musical instruments for kids with autism, job skills training for those leaving school, iPads for those in need of communication assistance, and summer camps for children and youth who need help with social skills development. This is money that is used to help real children and their families. It is money that genuinely makes a difference and can change the course of a young person’s life for the better.

This year, for those who do have a few dollars to donate, I am adding an element of fun to my fundraising efforts. It is a variation of the ALS campaign, and I am calling it “Ice Buckets For Autism”. The premise is simple: for every $100 that I can raise for autism, I will dump a bucket of ice water on my head. In keeping with my concerns about using water wisely, I will dump it in such a way that it can later be used for something else.

There are no nominations and there is no stipulation as to how much each person should donate. People can simply donate if and how much they choose, and every time the hundreds digit of my fundraising total changes, I will drench myself and provide photographic and video evidence of the act.

I am hoping to be drenched many, many times.

This is an original post by Kirsten Doyle. Photo credit to the author.

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Running For Autism 2013

There are few things more surreal than waking up on the morning of your biggest race of the season – the event that you have spent all year preparing your body and mind for. You know that this is it. This is what everything you have done this season has been leading up to – every race, every long run in the pouring rain or blistering sun, every gruelling session of slogging repeatedly up the same hill.

As I got ready for the Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Half-Marathon on Sunday morning, I alternated between eerie calmness and frenetic nervousness. On the one hand, I felt ready. I had trained hard, and there was no question that my body would be able to handle the half-marathon – a distance that I had already run seven times in the last four years. On the other hand, I had just been through several months of the most mind-bending stress. My body was ready, but was my mind strong enough?

And would I be able to run 21.1km wearing a cape and a funny hat?

For the first time ever, I had decided to run a race in costume. This involved an autism-oriented logo…

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… a hat spouting weird hair…

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… and a cape.

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The day before the race, I wavered on the whole costume idea. I was going to feel very self-conscious at the start, walking around among thousands of people with blue hair spouting from my hat. But then I remembered what I had written on the message wall at the runner’s expo – the reason I was doing all of this.

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As it turned out, I didn’t feel self-conscious at all. In the start area I saw several people wearing costumes. Besides, I was hanging out with Charlie, who like me was running for the the Geneva Centre for Autism. I was having too much fun to feel self-conscious.

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When Charlie and I made our way to the start line, we found ourselves further back in the pack than we had intended, and we felt as if we waited forever before we finally started to shuffle forward. I wished Charlie luck, stepped across the timing mats, and the race was on.

Right from the start, I felt marvelous. The costume didn’t bother me in the slightest, and I didn’t have any of the awkward stiffness that I sometimes feel during the first couple of kilometres. For a change I didn’t start out too fast. I ran the first 7K at a nice easy pace – fast enough to keep up a respectable average speed, but not so fast that I would run out of steam before hitting the halfway mark. About a third of the way into the race I kicked it up a notch, and by the time I ran over the 10K timing mats I was cruising along very comfortably.

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Three kilometres later, I reached the turnaround point, and I was feeling great. I was starting to tire and I still had eight kilometres to go, but I was now physically heading towards the finish line. I contemplated increasing my speed, but decided not to. I tend to struggle in the 18th and 19th kilometres of a half-marathon, and I wanted to make sure I would have the energy to get through that patch.

As I was running up the only real hill on the course, my fuel belt came off, and I had to stop to pick it up and secure it around my waist again. I was worried: my pacing had been so perfect, and this was just the kind of thing that could break the rhythm. But fortunately, I was able to get right back into it without losing more than a few seconds. I made up the time by sprinting for sixty or seventy metres, and then settled back into my regular pace.

As soon as I started the 18th kilometre, I hit my customary struggle. My legs started to feel like jelly and my brain started to tell me that I couldn’t do this anymore. Telling myself that this was only in my head, I ran on. I allowed myself to slow down a little, but I kept going. I got through that kilometre and the next one by counting in my head – a neat little trick I figured out that distracts my mind from what I’m actually doing.

All of a sudden, I saw what I had been waiting for – the marker indicating that I was now in the 20th kilometre. Just like that, my mind cleared and my jelly-like legs started to feel strong. I had just over two kilometres to go – less than 13 minutes of running. I could do this. I told my legs to go faster and they willingly obeyed. With one kilometre to go, I slowed down briefly to remove my ear buds. I didn’t need music now. There were crowds of spectators lining both sides of the road – they would carry me to the finish.

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500 metres to go. About ninety seconds from now the finish line would be in my sights. Spectators were cheering for me by name and I was smiling and waving cheerfully, loving every moment. With 300 metres to go, I put every ounce of remaining energy into my legs and a mental picture of George, my son and inspiration, into my head.

I crossed the finish line with a time of 2:16:42 – a new personal best time. My legs were hurting, but my spirits were absolutely flying.

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When I got home, I gave my finisher’s medal to the person I was doing all of this for. The smile on his face mirrored the feelings in my soul.

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This year’s race is done, and I am already looking forward to next year’s event.

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My Three-Year Plan

In running, as in most areas of my life, I tend to be a goal-oriented person. Some people run just for the fun of it, but I need to have a purpose behind it, a goal to work towards. This, in addition to the addictive feeling of collective start-line energy, is the reason I run so many races. I will keep running through the winter because I have a half-marathon to work towards at the end of it. After that, there will be another half-marathon in the middle of the year. Then there will be my annual autism run in the fall.

I need these races to keep going. They give me the kind of discipline I would never find if left to my own devices. I sometimes procrastinate when it comes to actually deciding on the goals, but once I’ve made up my mind I’m very good at the follow-through.

For some time now I have been wavering about the idea of running a marathon. The full monty – the whole 26.2 miles or 42.2 kilometres. The whole cyclical thought process usually goes something like this:

My husband is driving me to the start of a half-marathon, and I am all excited and ready to go. I am caught up in the pre-race euphoria of it all, and I say to my husband that someday it would be really great to run a full marathon. I carry that thought with me to the start of my race. At the end of the race, when I’ve been running for over two hours and I am crying because of how sore my legs are, I say to my husband, “I must be nuts! Why would I want to put my body through a full marathon when I can’t even walk after a half-marathon? I think I’ll stick to shorter distances.” And then I recover from the half-marathon and the whole marathon train of thought starts all over again.

The truth is that I am not in good enough shape to run a marathon. There is a lot of work that has to be done to get me where I need to be. I need to sort out, once and for all, my intensely uncomfortable relationship with food and my body image issues. I have to lose weight, gain muscle, build up my physical and mental strength. It is a lot, but I can do it, especially if there is a prize – or a finisher’s medal – for me to work towards.

And so I recently set myself a goal: when I turn 45, I will give myself a marathon registration as a birthday present. At some point between December 1, 2014 and November 30, 2015, I will lace up whatever running shoes I am using then, and I will run a marathon.

Having set that goal, I had to decide on the marathon. This is likely to be something I do only once, so it has to be something really special, really meaningful. My first thought was a marathon somewhere in Johannesburg, South Africa, on my dad’s old stomping grounds from his own marathon days. Following in my dad’s footsteps – what could be more special than that? But considering that I live close to sea level and Johannesburg is at an altitude of several thousand feet, that would be really difficult. My body is so unused to running at high altitudes that I’m not convinced it would be achievable.

So where, then? New York? Chicago? Vancouver? Or should I stay close to home and run a marathon in Toronto?

A few days ago, I accidentally stumbled upon the website of the Cape Town Marathon. I took a look at the map of the course and was instantly plunged into Memory Lane. I am an alumnus of the University of Cape Town, and during my few years there a lot happened. I got myself a bachelors degree in psychology, and also did a lot of growing up. Not everything that happened to me there was good. In Cape Town, I was introduced to some ugly aspects of life. I got badly hurt there, and I also unwittingly hurt other people.

There is a lot of myself on those roads that make up the Cape Town marathon – a lot of memory and emotion. There is lost innocence, regret, a sense of wondering about how things would have turned out if.

If I return to Cape Town and run a marathon on those streets, will I be able to start confronting some of those demons that lie within me? Will it provide some degree of absolution for my past and clear a path for me to move forward? Will I feel the presence of my dad, whose ashes were scattered in the sea at Three Anchor Bay in Cape Town?

There is only one way to find out, and I have started to plot out a course of action – a three-year plan – to get me to that start line.

Cape Town Marathon, 2015. Here I come.

(Photo credit: Brightroom Professional Event Photographers)

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Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Half-Marathon: 2012 Run For Autism

It is raining and I am starting to get cold. I have already surrendered my jacket to the baggage check tent, so I am standing in this foul weather with shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. There is no shelter and the only thing keeping the rain off my face is the peak of my hat. This is good. I cannot abide water on my face. The line-up for the Porta-potties – a standard feature of the starting area of every race – inches forward too slowly.

Soon I will be toeing the start line of my fourth Run for Autism, and I feel more than a little emotional as I think about the reason I am running this race. Every mile is dedicated to a child with autism, but really, this run is for all kids with autism everywhere.

I wrap my arms around myself and shiver, both from cold and anticipation.

It is starting to rain harder.

The morning of the race was a little chaotic, made worse by the rain. We had circled around city blocks for about forty minutes in search of somewhere affordable to park. As a result, my designated warm-up time was taken up by the Porta-potty line, and when I had done what I needed to do there, I warmed up by jogging from the Porta-potties to my place in the start line. The massive scale of this event meant that this was a reasonable jog – enough for me to satisfy myself that my tight left leg and niggling back pain wouldn’t hinder me during the race. At some point right before the race started, I noticed that the rain had let up, and the conditions were now perfect for a run.

A fair distance ahead of me, I heard the starting siren go off, signalling the release of the runners in the first corral. My friend and coach Phaedra was somewhere in that group, and I silently sent good wishes to her through the ether. I knew that by the time I crossed the start line, Phaedra would have done at least two kilometres, possibly closer to three.

The siren went off again, and the second wave of runners was off. My corral was next, and I shuffled forward with the crowd. Just as the anticipation was building up to an unbearable level, the announcer counted down to the start, the siren went, and we were off.

The course was different this year. In prior years, half-marathoners ran down to the Lakeshore and stayed there for most of the out-and-back route. This time round, the route took us around more of the city streets before turning onto Lakeshore. I like some variety in my routes, and I really enjoyed the changes.

For the first few kilometres, I comfortably stayed ahead of my target pace. I restrained myself from going out too hard, and I felt good. I had initially pondered the idea of running with a pace bunny, but I quickly dismissed that idea. I always worry that if I run with a bunny I will be running their race, when I really should be running my race. This season in particular, I have become a lot better at running smarter as well as faster, so I really didn’t need to pace myself against another runner.

Which is why I am somewhat baffled that when I unexpectedly found myself alongside the 2:10 bunny just before the halfway mark, I decided to stay with him. I was so caught up in the excitement of the day, and at that point I was feeling strong, and those two factors together probably sent any sense of logic out the window. As good as I was feeling, I had never intended to run this race at a 2:10 pace.

It worked for about 3K, but then I started to fade. I drifted to the other side of the road and let the bunny go, and for the next 5K or so, I was able to maintain my original pace.

The bad news is that the damage had been done. My efforts to stay with the pace bunny had made my tight left leg flare up, and the nagging little pain in the small of my back started to extend down my left buttock, where it intersected with the pain in my leg.

The good news is that by this point I only had 2K to go. My body was screaming at me to stop. I felt as if my leg was on fire, but the thought of all of those kids with autism, including my own child, kept me going. I was going to stop at nothing to finish this race.

The final kilometre can only be described as agony. My left leg was actually twitching and I was running at a limp. The finish line kick that I usually pride myself on was replaced with a series of stops and starts, but I did still manage to run across the finish line.

If victories are made sweeter by how hard you work for them, then this one was the sweetest of them all. Of all the half-marathons I have done, this one was definitely the hardest.

In spite of how tough those last kilometres had been, I still ran a personal best, crossing the finish line in a time of 2:17:31. I actually cried as the finisher’s medal was placed around my neck.

Tears of pain. Tears of joy. And most of all, tears of love for my son who is my inspiration.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Running: Microlactin As A Race Recovery Aid

When I ran a personal best at last year’s Fall half-marathon, I could barely walk for about a week afterward, and I didn’t even attempt to run for about two weeks. I knew that I should get out and run as soon as possible, that the best cure for tight muscles was motion. But when you have trouble getting from your bedroom to the bathroom without looking like a 200-year-old, the idea of a 5K jog around the neighbourhood is akin to climbing Mount Everest.

Initially I blamed the bag pickup setup at the race. The bag pickup area had been placed at the end of the finish line chute, which meant that twenty thousand runners were forced into a corral the width of a three-lane city street. It was absolute chaos. I stood in that line for two hours waiting for my bag, with no place to stretch or cool down and dehydration making my mind go moggy.

While that experience undoubtedly hindered my race recovery, it could not have been the only factor. All I had to do was cast my mind back to my long training runs. I had been in pain for several days after each one, even when I had not pushed myself particularly hard. There had to be some other factor that was preventing my body from bouncing back in the way that I thought it should.

I was introduced to a supplement called Microlactin in early May, about three weeks prior to the Toronto Womens Half-Marathon. Among the things promised in the promotional material were decreased joint pain and enhanced recovery from strenuous exercise.

Microlactin is made by Swiss Natural, the same company that manufactures the only multivitamin that my body tolerates. The active ingredients are micronutrients found in cow’s milk, that slow the emigration of neutrophils from vascular spaces into the joint spaces.

What’s that? Oh never mind, I didn’t understand that sentence either.

Here’s a translation: the milk proteins in Microlactin help reduce the inflammation associated with joint pain, thereby enhancing mobility and recovery from strenuous exercise. All I had to do was take it for a minimum of two weeks to see these benefits.

Well, this would be interesting. My first thought wasn’t whether this supplement would actually benefit me, but how it would fit in with all of the other stuff I take. My daily regimen already included multivitamins, vitamin D, calcium, and a vitamin B/C complex. Could I really add something else to the mix?

Before taking it, I Googled Microlactin. I didn’t see anything that indicated an adverse reaction to Microlactin, either taken alone or with other supplements. Best of all, it made no difference whether it was taken with or without food.

According to the instructions on the bottle, the recommended dosage is four capsules twice a day. That seemed like an awful lot, especially considering how big the capsules are. I soon found, however, that as long as I swallowed one capsule at a time and washed them down with plenty of water, it wasn’t a problem.

I took my first dose on a Wednesday, and I did a long run the following Sunday. It was an intense phase of my training cycle, so I pushed myself hard on the run. To my amazement, I woke up the following morning feeling nothing more than some residual aching in my hamstrings, which dissipated as the day went on.

Well, this couldn’t be right. No supplement could possibly yield such dramatic results in only four days. The manufacturers themselves made it clear that it could take two weeks to see a difference. I decided that it was a fluke.

The following weekend I ran further, faster and harder. By rights I shouldn’t have been able to get out of bed the next day. Not only did I get out of bed, I was nimble about it. There was none of my usual Monday morning post-long-run moaning and groaning as I got ready for work.

The real test, of course, was the half-marathon on May 27th. By then I had been taking Microlactin for almost three weeks. I was definitely benefiting from it, but now I was going all-out in an attempt to run a personal best.

I ran hard on a tough course, missing my personal best by 25 seconds – no mean feat, especially considering that my iffy ankle was acting up. After the race I was really hurting. My ankle was throbbing painfully and my legs just didn’t want to have anything to do with anything. I hobbled painfully to the designated pickup spot that my husband and I had agreed on prior to the race.

The following morning I woke up, fully expecting to be in a lot of pain. But no! I had some stiffness in my legs, but I was able to move around easily enough. My ankle was very sore, but even that seemed to be better than I would have expected. While I had been focusing on the race recovery aspect of the Microlactin, I had not paid much attention to the fact that it could help ease the  pain of a very old injury.

Two days post-race, I had an appointment with my sports massage therapist. When I walked into his office, he looked up in surprise and said, “What happened? Did you miss your race?”

“Ummmm, no, I was there,” I replied, going on to give him an account of my run.

“So why aren’t you hobbling in here on one leg like you always do after your races?”

During the massage itself, the massage therapist was amazed at how loose my muscles were. When I told him why this was, he joked that Swiss Natural Microlactin was going to put him out of work.

The following day I went out for a leisurely but very comfortable 6km run, and two weeks later, I am ready to start my training program for my autism run in October. This time, I will take Swiss Natural Microlactin throughout my training. Speedier recoveries might just help push me to a personal best time.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

(Disclaimer: this review, which is kindly sponsored by Swiss Natural, is based on my own personal experiences and observations. Any statements made here or elsewhere on Running for Autism are not intended to replace the advice of a certified medical professional.)

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2012 Run For Autism: Starting The Journey

Many of you already know the story.

You already know how I was a runner way back when, and then stopped and completely neglected my physical health after the birth of my kids. You know how I always wanted to get back into running, but never found the discipline. You know how I became completely comfortable as a couch potato but never quite got rid of that residue of regret.

You also know how an email landed in my inbox one day that completely changed everything. The email was an invitation for me to join the team being put together by the Geneva Centre for Autism for the forthcoming Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront races. Participants could run the 5K, half-marathon or marathon, and in the process raise funds for services for children and youth with autism.

It turned out to be just the motivation I needed. Within 24 hours I had made the transition from couch potato to speed demon extremely slow runner. Six months later, I had dropped almost sixty pounds and I was standing exhausted but triumphant at a half-marathon finish line, clutching my finishers medal and sobbing with emotion.

Here I sit, three years later, getting ready to embark on training and fundraising for my fourth Run for Autism. Since that first half-marathon in 2009, most of the weight has stayed off, my half-marathon time has improved by almost ten minutes, and I have raised over $2000 for the Geneva Centre for Autism.

This year’s race is on October 14th. My fundraising goal is a cool thousand dollars. This means that for the next four months, I will be shamelessly asking people for money – friends and family, complete strangers, and everyone in between. The money will go towards supplies and services for children and youth with autism. These are services that can provide skills that will last a lifetime, enabling people like my son George to lead happy, productive lives as fully integrated members of their communities.

Some examples of what $1000 can do are as follows:

  • Art supplies for 40 children and young adults
  • Sports equipment for 20 children and young adults
  • Musical instruments for 15 children and young adults
  • Job training for 15 young adults
  • Field trips for 10 children and young adults
  • Summer camp for 4 children and young adults
  • 2 iPads loaded with apps for individuals with autism
  • 1 piece of state-of-the-art sensory equipment

This list goes to show that every single cent really does make a difference. If you have the ability to, please consider sponsoring my Run for Autism and contributing to this incredible cause for my child and for other people with autism.

To donate, please visit my fundraising page.

It takes a very special kind of village to raise a child with special needs. Today, I invite you to be a part of my village.

(Photo credit: Brightroom Professional Event Photographers)

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Here Come The Butterflies

I am participating in the 2012 Wordcount Blogathon, which means one post every day for the month of May.

Two weeks and one day from now, I will be lining up for my first half-marathon of the season, the Toronto Womens Half-Marathon. I am looking forward to this race immensely. Not only for the chocolate station. And shallow and all as I am, not only for the aid stations manned by shirtless firefighters who douse you with water.

I am excited about the challenge of it. With the help of my friend and coach Phaedra, I have really been pushing the boundaries in my training this season. I have managed to survive some fair significant disruptions, like unexpected travel to South Africa and a couple of bouts of illness.

The two races that I have done this year – the Good Friday Ten-Miler and the Toronto Yonge Street 10K – have both yielded PB’s (personal best times). I am eager to see if I can repeat the performance over a longer distance.

I just have to get through the final phase of training, which is referred to by many runners as Taper Madness. While tapering is an essential part of training, it can be a period fraught with anxiety and mild (or not-so-mild) paranoia.

The science behind tapering is this: you spend twelve or fourteen weeks training intensively for this event, putting in your mileage and your speed work, having a battle of wits with hills, and spending entire Sunday mornings out on the road. You build your stamina and your strength, and you get used to spending long periods of time on your feet.

The training is a long process that should be properly planned and carefully executed. And if you’re not physically capable of running the distance of a half-marathon two weeks prior to the race, chances are that you won’t be ready on race-day either. The last two weeks don’t really have any value in terms of building your fitness level or your strength, so you are better off cutting back your mileage and giving your muscles time to rebuild in time for the big day.

Because you are reducing your mileage, you have more of a build-up of energy, so you get jittery and anxious, and you start imagining that the twinge in your ankle means it’s broken, or that the little pimple on your chin means you have smallpox.

Some runners can get through the tapering period without incident. They are cool, calm and collected, and don’t suffer from any attacks of nerves. “Butterflies? What butterflies?” they ask with infuriating serenity, when you question them about whether they are nervous about their upcoming race.

Other runners cannot sit still. They pace around restlessly, talk a mile a minute and fidget incessantly. They turn into hypochondriacs, anxiously assessing every little ache and every occasion on which they need to clear their throats. Because they stop sleeping, they advance seventy-two levels in Farmville in a two-week period.

Guess which category I fall into? I’ll give you a hint: I’m sitting here typing this at 4:12 in the morning.

Technically, my taper hasn’t even started yet. It will start after my long run tomorrow. But I tend to start feeling the jitters right before that last long run. I feel that there’s a lot riding on the run. If it goes well, I will go into Race Day with confidence, but I will be worried about whether I can repeat the performance. If it goes badly, I will be obsessing about whether I’m ready for the race.

So the butterflies have shown up, right on schedule. No matter what tomorrow’s long run is like, I am going to spend the next two weeks driving my family nuts and breaking out into occasional bouts of maniacal laughter. At night I will be banished to the sofabed because my incessant fidgeting will keep the husband awake. I will constantly bug the children, who will indulge me by playing with me for a while before my six-year-old gets exasperated and goes, “Momm-meeeee. You don’t play the gamethat way.”

Right now, the butterflies are not obeying any air traffic rules. They are flying around in chaos. But it is my hope that when the starting siren goes off on the day of the race, the butterflies will reconfigure themselves, arrange themselves into beautiful patterns, and fly in formation.

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ilker/287399328/. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)