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Race Report: Longboat Toronto Island Run

September 27, 2012 By

They said the weather would be cool. They, of course, being the weather forecasters. They said it would be slightly overcast with mild temperatures and a light breeze. Perfect weather, in other words, for a 10K run around Toronto’s Centre Island.

It certainly felt cool enough during the ferry ride over. When I took off my jacket to give to my six-year-old son James, whose sweater I had forgotten in the car, my arms were goosepimpling in the crisp cold air.

James was beside himself with excitement. He had been looking forward to this day for weeks. It was his first-ever ride on a ferry, and he was about to run his second race. I lined up beside him: he had asked me to run with him, and a 1K kids’ race would double as a handy warm-up for me.  A short distance with a bunch of six-year-olds – how hard could it be?

It turns out, very. Try running with a tribe of children who have just spent time cooped up on a ferry – you’ll see what I mean. They took off like bats out of hell, and I – half-marathoner who has been collecting PB’s like crazy this season – had trouble keeping up with my six-year-old son. The run was not officially timed, and the kids scampered off from the start line before I had time to set my watch, so I don’t know how fast James’ kilometre was. It was quick though – definitely quicker than the seven minutes he clocked up at his last race, which was impressive enough.

Then it was time for the start of my own race. I didn’t really have a time goal in mind – I rarely make PB’s on courses that I am not familiar with – but I wanted to just run and enjoy it. I knew the course would be flat so I figured that I would just let loose when I felt good enough and slow down when I felt tired.

It turned out to be a very hard run. This can be partly attributed to the weather – the cool day predicted by the weatherman turned out to be surprisingly warm, and I started out too fast. I was also recovering from a pulled hamstring, so I was not in the best physical condition.

Oh, and I also broke a basic rule of running: don’t try anything new on race day. I was using a brand new water bottle belt, and that turned out to be a bad idea. By the halfway point, my back was aching from the unaccustomed weight distribution. I was immensely relieved when I crossed the finish line in a time of 1:05:01. Not my best 10K performance, but not my worst either.

The course itself was nice, and I was quite impressed with how the race organizers managed to get a very decent 10K route out of a little island.

I will be back next year to improve on my time. James has said that he wants to do it again as well, and who knows – maybe my older son will even want to take part.

There are few things that beat a day with the family on an island on a sunny day, with a nice run thrown in.

Filed Under: Children, Race, running Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Toronto Women’s 5K: Speed Demon Wannabe

August 30, 2012 By

Most runners have some specific distances that they seem to excel at. There’s no formula for it, really, it’s just a matter of personal style and preference. Some runners are sprinters and do very well in the 5K runs, where pacing strategies aren’t really used. Others do better in longer distances, like 10K and 10 mile races. Then there are those who are slightly insane and do half and full marathons.

We will not discuss the freaks of nature who do ultramarathons.

I myself have always gone for the mid-to longish distance races, varying between 10K and 21.1K (half-marathon). The only reason I have not attempted a full marathon is because I cannot commit the time to the training. But someday…

The point is that 10K is generally the shortest distance I run. The poor 5K distance has been shamefully neglected.

Last weekend I put that right. I decided, early on this season, to put at least one 5K race into my schedule. Although it seems like a humble distance for a half-marathoner, I realized that it could be a really good test of my ability to just run like hell for half an hour or so.

I went into the race with some specific goals. First, I had to beat thirty minutes. Second, I would only take one walking break and that would be going through the aid station. Finally, I would finish in the top 50%. This last one was going to difficult, because I really had no idea how the other 390 runners in this race were going to do. I have been a little frustrated of late, though. When I first made my big comeback to running just over three years ago, I was finishing races in the bottom third. Since then, my performance has steadily improved, but that top 50% has been eluding me. As great as my 15K race ten days or so ago was, I still missed the average finishing time by just a couple of minutes.

I knew that I would have to work hard to achieve my goals, primarily because I had been out with my husband the previous night and consumed almost a full bottle of wine. Yes, I confess that I lined up at the start with a hangover the size of a mountain. I felt dehydrated and a little ill, but if anything, this motivated me to run as fast as I could, so I could get this over with.

I took my place in the starting corral at the last minute, so I was further back than I really wanted to be. And so when the race started, I got caught in the crowd, and I wasn’t able to go out as fast as I wanted to.

After a bit of weaving and dodging I was able to break away a little. The first two kilometres passed in a bit of a blur, and when I got to the turnaround point, I realized that I was actually enjoying myself.

Nothing cures a hangover like an elevated heart rate and a ton of sweat. It was great.

I was easily maintaining my target pace, so I slowed down to walk through the aid station.

Actually, that’s a lie. The aid station was manned by delicious-looking firefighters. And when you’re trying to impress firefighters, you don’t walk during a race. Not, at least, where they can see you. Your inner show-off emerges, and you pick up the pace. And that is why I was moving at a sprint when I grabbed a cup of water from the most delectable of the young gents. I ran on, not caring that I was sloshing my water all over the place. When I rounded the bend, then I slowed to a walk.

I drank my water, allowed my heart rate to subside for twenty seconds or so, and then I was off, with just two kilometres to go.

I started to get tired, but I was still keeping up with my goal pace. I slowed down marginally, just for the sake of keeping enough gas in the tank for a strong finish.

When I entered the final kilometre, my legs wanted to fall off. But I kept moving. At my current pace, I would nail that last kilometre in five and a half minutes. I kept reminding myself of what my friend and coach Phaedra told me as she ran me to my half-marathon finish along this exact path three months ago: “You can do anything for five minutes.”

When I saw the finish line ahead of me, my legs kicked into overdrive. I crossed the line with the clock reading 30:02 and a chip time of 29:18.

So. Finish the race in under half an hour? Check. Although it would have been nice to actually see the clock reading under 30:00. Next time I will pay more attention to my start line position.

Only walk through the aid station? Check. Kind of.

Finish in the top 50%? Check! I came in 86th out of 391 runners, and out of 44 in my age group, I was 15th. I was well ahead of the average finishing time of 35:10.

On Saturday afternoon, feeling content and triumphant, I took a nap on my back deck. Because dammit, I deserved it!

(Photo credit: Ryder Photography)

Filed Under: Race, running Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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These Are A Few Of My Favourite Things

August 22, 2012 By

This week I am participating in the WEGO Health “Advocating for Another” carnival. Over the next few days, I will be answering blog prompts to talk about our life as an autism family. All of the posts on my blog this week are dedicated to my son James, in recognition for what an amazing brother he is.

Today’s prompt: A few of my favourite things – Write 5-10 of your favourite things about your loved one. Celebrate their uniqueness and be sure to tell us why those are your favourite things.

I make a big deal of the fact that my boys are great brothers to one another, and that is something that means a lot to me. I try to encourage a positive relationship between them in whatever ways I can. Today, though, I want to celebrate them as individuals.

 

A few of my favourite things about James

1. He is snuggly. When he is sleepy, or simply wants a cuddle, he climbs into my lap and his body relaxes completely against mine. At those moments, he is like my very own teddy bear, all softness and warmth. No matter how bad I might be feeling on any particular day, those snuggles bring a smile to my face. Because how could that not make me feel better?

2. He has a natural sense of empathy that goes beyond his own family. He truly cares about what is going on with other people, and he has an uncanny ability to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes. This is one of the things that makes being around him such a magical experience.

3. He has a great imagination. His mind travels to places that would be beyond my wildest dreams. He creates stories about dragons and princesses, about magic toucans on faraway worlds, about unicorns that glitter and shimmer in the dark and fly to the tops of mountains. If you ever want to escape for a while, all you have to do is ask James to tell you a story.

4. He likes running. This interest may or may not stay with him, but for now, I am really enjoying the fact that he likes to go out for little jogs with me. Running was an interest that I shared with my dad, and to be able to share it with my son as well is tremendously special. It is a lot of fun, and it gives us a bit of time together, just the two of us.

5. He is passionate about what he believes in. OK, sometimes the passion comes across as a drama queen kind of attitude that drives me insane, but I love that James speaks his mind. I love the fact that he has strong opinions and a willingness to express them.

A few of my favourite things about George

1. Many people think that children with autism are not capable of affection, but George definitely is. He has a heart full of love and an endless supply of hugs for those dear to his heart. He is tall and gangly, but he is still just about able to clamber onto my lap for a hug. When he outgrows that ability, I will be truly sad.

2. He is a very funny kid. He finds humour in the oddest places and is so enthusiastic about it that we cannot help finding it absolutely hilarious. The humour is handily packaged with the most infectious laugh you ever heard. Once George gets going with his laughter, that’s it. You may as well cancel whatever plans you had because you’ll be too busy rolling around on the floor.

3. He’s a technogeek. Some people just have a knack for figuring out how things work, and George is one of them. When he was about five, I was trying to get the DVD player to work. George watched me wrestle with the thing for a while, and then he clicked his tongue impatiently, elbowed me out of the way, and pressed one button to get the movie going. It is useful to have a built-in tech support person.

4. He is determined. George has definitely inherited a stubborn streak that is in both me and in his dad. If he wants something, he will find a way to get it. There is no problem that he gives up on, and he can be very resourceful in how he goes about finding a solution. Sometimes this is not great from a parent’s point of view, but I love the fact that George just does not give up. On anything.

5. He has a fantastic memory. He only has to go somewhere once in order to know its location, what there is en route, and how long it should take to get there. It can be a little awkward when we’re trying to get from Point A to Point B and George knows where every single donut shop in between is, but if we’re ever in doubt we can just ask him for directions. Who needs a GPS when you have a child with autism in the car?

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: autism, Brothers, Determination, Empathy, Humour, Imagination, Laughter, Love, Memory, Passion, running, Technology, WEGO Health Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Midsummer Night’s Run: Conquering the Monster

August 20, 2012 By

I run for many reasons, one of which is to raise funds for autism services. This is to benefit children like my son George, who was diagnosed with autism just over five years ago. But it is also to benefit kids like my younger son James – the siblings, the people who are born into a highly responsible position, regardless of birth order. If there is funding for autism services, everyone benefits, and maybe – just maybe – more resources become available for sibling programs and services.

All of my posts here this week – including this race report – are dedicated to the amazing sibling in my family, my son James.

Anyone on my Facebook friends list will be able to tell you how much I was dreading this weekend’s Midsummer Night’s Run. I was dreading it to the point of wondering if I should even bother to pick up the race kit. I had run two races on this course, including last year’s Midsummer Night’s Run, and I had performed dismally in both of them. This 15K route, which had endless monotonous stretches and virtually no spectator support, seemed to be my personal nemesis.

I signed up for the race thinking it would be my opportunity to set things straight, to defeat this course once and for all. And for a while I was optimistic. I have been having a phenomenal racing season – by far my best since my return to running in 2009.

But as the race drew near, my anxiety levels started to increase. Memories of last year’s Midsummer Night’s Disaster kept plaguing me, I had several rough training runs in a row, and I had some stressful things happening in the non-running areas of my life. Instead of the usual pre-race jitters that I usually get a bit of a kick out of, all I felt was pure dread. A sense of doom.

Chaos at home on the morning of the race did not help my cause. The kids were awake and at war with each other by eight in the morning, resulting in me having to spend much of the day in a peacekeeping kind of role (seriously, when the United Nations needs ambassadors, they should seek out mothers). Before I knew it, it was almost time to leave for the race and I had nothing ready. I didn’t even know where my running clothes were. I scrambled around and dug up clean running clothes and threw them on. I packed a backpack with fuel belt, water, a frantically made peanut butter sandwich, and my race bib (which I remembered at the last minute). I panicked when I couldn’t locate my hat, and ended up leaving without it.

I got to the start area with plenty of time to spare, and I started to relax a little. There was a lady in a booth selling hats, so I bought one and then sat on the grass, letting the pre-race energy work its magic on me. By the time I lined up at the start, I wasn’t exactly feeling optimistic, but the sense of dread was at least lifting.

Let me pause my account for a moment to describe the route. From the start, you run east along a stretch of road for about 2K. Then you turn right onto a path called the Leslie Street Spit and run all the way to the end of a man-made peninsula. You go around a lighthouse and then back to the start.

The stretch along the Leslie Street Spit is very picturesque in places, but it is very desolate, and it feels as if it will never end. If you’re looking for crowd support, you’re not getting it there. No-one lives down there and at night it’s kind of off the beaten path.

When I ran this race last year, I was already exhausted when I turned onto the Leslie Street Spit, a mere 2K into the race. By the time I went around the lighthouse, I was huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, and wondering how on earth I would make it all the way back to the start.

This time round, I checked off the first 2K with ease. I was aiming to beat 1:40 and had a moment of anxiety when I found myself alongside the 1:45 pace bunny in the second kilometre. I soon left her behind though: I have a feeling the bunny started out too quickly and adjusted her pace accordingly.

At the 3K mark there was an aid station. I chugged a cup of Gatorade and continued on my way. I was watching my pace closely, sticking to 6:30 min/km as well as I could. I resisted the temptation to break away, and instead used the runners around me as pace bunnies.

The kilometres ticked over one by one. I kept waiting for the fatigue of last year to set in, but to my amazement, it just didn’t happen. I breezed my way around the lighthouse and even managed a smile for the photographer lurking in the grass (who looked a bit like Hagar the Horrible minus the horns and the Viking d0g). I coasted along a gravelly section that I distinctly remember wanting to throw up on last year.

Throughout, my pace barely wavered from 6:30 min/km. With about 5K to go, I decided that it would be worth kicking it up a notch. Just one notch, though. I wasn’t ready for an all-out sprint just yet.

When I passed the final aid station, I knew that I was about a minute from turning off the Leslie Street Spit and re-entering civilization. I thoroughly enjoyed the last 2K, smiling and waving at spectators who were kind enough to cheer as I passed.

With 1K to go, I started to hear the noises of the finish line. Now I was ready for all-out sprint, and I had plenty of energy to put into my finishing kick. I rounded the final corner, sprinted down the home stretch and made it over the finish line with energy left in the tank and the clock reading 1:36:25 – an improvement of 13 minutes over last year’s time.

I think I can safely say that I have defeated the monster. My personal nemesis is no more.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Midsummer Nights Run, pacing, Race, running, Victories, Worry Tagged With: , , , , ,
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My Mojo Tripped And Fell

August 6, 2012 By

On Saturday evening I had a Very Bad Run. This is something that happens to all runners from time to time, and to be frank, my running has been going so well lately that I’ve been overdue for a bad one. But still, when it happens it leaves me feeling negative and slightly anxious about the prospect of lacing up my shoes and going out for my next run.

The fact that I went running at all on Saturday is somewhat unusual. Apart from a loosening-up jaunt on the treadmill right before my morning coffee, Saturdays are designated rest days. I go for my long runs on Sundays, when the pace of the day is leisurely and the husband does not have to go rushing off to work. In my household, Sunday mornings have been established as my time to run.

On this particular week, however, I decided that a Saturday evening long run would be a better idea, for several reasons. There were thunderstorms in the forecast for Sunday morning. I’m completely fine with running in the rain, but thunder and lightning do not make good running partners. On Saturday evening it was clear, and I was itching to go for run, having kept myself off the road for a few days due to an injured foot. In any case, the Olympic women’s marathon was being broadcast live on Sunday morning, and I really wanted to watch it.

Although it was evening, I knew it would still be quite hot, but I was not quite prepared for the hazy wall of heat that hit me when I walked out of the house. Having been glued to the Olympics for the better part of the day, I hadn’t really taken notice of the weather. I second-guessed this grand running plan for a moment, and then reasoned that if anything, conditions would get cooler as I went along. I was not planning on breaking any ground speed records, and I was well stocked up with water, so dehydration should not be a problem.

For the first eight or nine kilometres, I was fine. I was pacing myself well for a long run and keeping myself hydrated. It was brutally hot and I was melting all over the sidewalk, but I thought I was managing the conditions reasonably well. And then, with about nine kilometres still to go, I abruptly started to fade.

Fading during a long run is par for the course. Usually I start to feel dips in my energy during the second half of a run, and when that happens I simply adjust my pace, and then pick it up again when I feel recovered. This time it was completely different. My energy took a nosedive and I just couldn’t recover. I didn’t give up on the run, of course. I knew that if I saw it through to the end I would at least feel good about having completed the distance. But I felt like hell. I kept having to slow to a walk, and far from enjoying the running as much as I usually do, all I wanted to do was get home. I was drenched with sweat and getting a headache, my legs were screaming at me, and my sore foot was – well, sore.

I like to think that I have mastered the art of “running through the pain”, and usually I can do just that. Not this time. The pain just ran right along with me, preventing me from finding my rhythm. The only thing that kept me going through this run – the only thing – was my music. I kept stopping to pick out different songs that had a beat I could run to.

Finally, I found myself within shouting distance of my house, with about four minutes of running left. I wasn’t entirely sure that I had four minutes of running left in me, but I had a choice between running home and simply lying down and spending the night on the sidewalk, so I soldiered on. I stopped for one final time to select a different song and somehow managed to sprint home with the sound of Queen’s We Are The Champions in my ears.

In the end, I completed the distance I set out to do, and I’m sure the run benefited me somehow. But I did not feel good doing it.

All I can do now is put that run behind me and look ahead to the next one.

(Photo credit: Ryder Photography)

Filed Under: Exhaustion, running, Training Tagged With: , , , , ,
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Book Review: The Art of Running Faster (Julian Goater, Don Melvin)

July 27, 2012 By

When I was given the opportunity to review The Art of Running Faster by Julian Goater and Don Melvin, I was hesitant. Although I have a passion for running and am on a permanent quest to be better at it, I have tended to find books about running to be a little dry. The books have contained good factual information, but they don’t make for easy reading.

Two pages into this book, however, I was hooked. Julian Goater, the primary author, is a former elite runner from England. The advice he offers in The Art of Running Faster is liberally interspersed with anecdotes from his competition days. He gives lively accounts of races that he and his contemporaries took part in: the book artfully combines instruction with storytelling.

Goater manages to give solid advice in easy-to-understand language without talking down to his audience. He strikes a tone that is authoritative yet conversational, and while the book does seem to be geared more towards competitive athletes, there is plenty of advice for runners of all levels.

A book like this one has to meet two basic criteria in order for it to be deemed a success. First, it has engage the reader and hold his or her interest. Second, the reader has to be able to follow the advice between the covers and judge whether or not it works.

The authors have unquestionably succeeded on the first count. The material is clearly presented, the topics are covered in a way that is both informative and entertaining, and each chapter concludes with a nifty point form summary of the main topics covered.

With the first criteria met, all I had to do was test out the content of the book. In doing so, I discovered three things:

1) The advice is clearly laid out and not couched in theoretical language. Julian Goater tells runners exactly what steps to follow in order to improve things like  form and hill running.
2) I didn’t have to get through most of the book before finding advice that I could act on. I was able to practice techniques I read about from the very first chapter.
3) The advice actually works. Since reading the book and using it to change various aspects of the way I run, my average long run training pace has improved by about thirty seconds per kilometre and I am no longer completely intimidated by monster hills.

This book has earned a permanent home on the “frequently read” section of my bookshelf. I have a feeling that I will read it many times, and each time I will get something new out of it.

In spite of its title, The Art of Running Faster is not only about becoming a faster runner. It is about becoming a better runner.

(Review copy and image of book cover kindly supplied by Human Kinetics)

 

Filed Under: Advice, Book review, Don Melvin, Julian Goater, running, The Art of Running Faster Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Race Report: Durham Quarter Marathon

July 22, 2012 By

Freshly soaked by a fire hose!

The Durham Quarter Marathon is the race that I almost didn’t register for. At 10.549 km, it’s such an odd distance. I’m not sure why this was a deterrent, considering that my favourite race distance is the half-marathon. 21.095 km is not exactly a round number. In the end, I registered for this race because I wanted to run a race in the middle of summer for the sake of hot weather training. I also reasoned that it would be a good benchmark for me, being exactly half the distance of my “A” race, which is coming up in October.

Then there was the cause: The Refuge, which helps homeless youth. Who wouldn’t want to run for such a great cause?

Leading up to the race, I started to feel a cold coming on. This happens to me so often that I have come to the conclusion that it’s all in my mind. It’s part of my mind trying to trick me into believing that my body is not capable.

My mind should know by now that I’m not letting a stupid cold stop me from running a race.  I ramped up the vitamins and fluid intake, and dealt with the guilt of missing a training run so I could rest. When I woke up on the morning of the race, I felt fine.

The race started at Oshawa City Hall, about two minutes’ walk away from free covered parking. I picked up my kit, pinned my bib to my shirt (no small feat considering my – um – curviness up top), and ate my pre-race snack with plenty of time to spare for warmups.

At the start line, I positioned myself about fifty feet behind the 1:05 pace bunny. My goal was based on average pace – I wanted to beat 6:15 minutes per kilometre. I had not worked out what total time that translated into, but I knew that if I stuck close to the 1:05 bunny I would make it.

By race standards, this one was quite small. There was no lack of enthusiasm, though, from the runners, the onlookers, or the race officials and volunteers.

There was a count-down, and then we were off! I didn’t really know what to expect. The race had been advertised as a net downhill course, but all that meant was that the start was at a higher elevation than the finish. It didn’t mean there wouldn’t be hills to climb. I had not seen either a route map or an elevation chart, so I didn’t really know how to pace myself.

So I started fast, staying close to the 1:05 bunny. Although I was still with him when the first kilometre ticked over, I decided to dial it back a little after that. I felt OK, but it was a fairly warm morning and I was well ahead of my goal pace. There was no need to knock myself out. I let the bunny go, figuring that I would probably catch up with him later.

Most of the race was run on park trails. This meant there was nice shade cover for much of the distance, and for the first few kilometres, there did seem to be more downhills than uphills. I had no trouble keeping ahead of my goal pace, and I was having a lot of fun. There weren’t enough runners around me to clog the path, but there were enough to maintain that race vibe that runners love to be a part of.

The aid stations were spaced at just the right intervals, and the course was dotted with signs that said things like, “Run like you just stole something” and “Don’t stop, people are watching”.  There were also some cheering squads along the route, blowing noisemakers and ringing bells. There was one man enthusiastically egging the runners on while holding a sign that said, “Go, random stranger, go!”

In the seventh kilometre, I saw what I now refer to as Monster Hill #1. It rose ahead of me like a personal Everest, and I saw the runners ahead of me slowing to a walk as they were defeated by this monster.

The show-off in me emerged. I was going to run all the way up this hill, as God was my witness. I didn’t care how slow I ran or how much my legs ached, I was not going to walk. I shortened my stride and started to make my way up, passing all of the runners who were walking. Sure, they’d probably all pass me at some point after the hill, but I didn’t care. I had a mission and that’s what I was focused on. All of a sudden, I was at the top and I felt great. I felt as if I had gone up that hill at the speed of mud, but it turned out to be one of my fastest kilometres.

All of that hill training and strength training that my friend and coach Phaedra made me do has clearly been paying off.

That hill took a lot of out me, and the going was rough after that. But with just a couple of kilometres to go, I was almost done.  Sometime during the eighth kilometre, what did I see in front of me? The 1:05 pace bunny! As far as I could tell, he was about thirty seconds ahead of me. If I could put on a burst of speed, I had a chance of catching him.

It was tempting, but I had to be careful. We were going into the ninth kilometre, and I wanted to leave enough for my finishing kick. I decided that catching the bunny would have to wait.

I turned onto a trail along the waterfront, rounded the corner, and saw…

… Monster Hill #2.

Seriously? When race directors map a route with a giant hill in the last couple of kilometres, are they just being sadistic?

I tried, people. I tried to approach Monster Hill #2 as I had approached Monster Hill #1. But I felt as if I had nothing left. I walked halfway up the hill and then ran up the rest of the way, and by time I got to the top, I was well and truly done. Ahead of me, like an oasis in the desert, I saw the final aid station. I walked through the aid station to get my heart rate down a little, and then picked up my pace again.

I had a little more than a kilometre to go. Ten minutes of running at the most. I could do it. I was hurting, but I kind of switched my mind off and just ran. I didn’t think I had anything left for a finish line kick, but at this point, if I made it across at a crawl I would be happy.

But right after the 10K marker, I started to hear finish line noises: cheering, and the sound of a voice through a loudspeaker. I turned a corner, and there ahead of me was the finish line. Without any conscious effort on my part, I felt my legs turning over faster, and I felt my stride lengthening.

I still had the finish line kick! I never managed to catch the pace bunny, but I only crossed the finish line about 30 seconds after him, finishing with a gun time of 1:05:45. My actual time was closer to 1:05:25.

My goal pace had been 6:15 min/km. My actual pace was 6:13 min/km. This race had definitely been a success. If I continue sticking to my training program, my goal of 2:15 for the half-marathon in October is achievable.

Shortly after crossing the finish line, some sexy firefighters doused me with their fire hose, and I sat on the grass eating my post-race banana, in a drenched but contented state, trying not to think of the fact that if it weren’t for Monster Hill #2, I would have caught that bunny.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Durham Quarter Marathon, Monster Hill, Race, running Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Dad: My Running Inspiration

July 2, 2012 By

My Father The Hero

When I first started running in the winter of 1996, my dad was my first-ever coach. At that stage of my life, I was quitting smoking and giving up a host of very unhealthy lifestyle habits. My idea of running involved jogging for about thirty seconds and then walking for five minutes while trying to get my breath back. I was that out of shape. When Dad offered to coach me, I initially felt a little awkward. I mean, he was an ex-marathoner of note and he’d be coaching someone who could barely get off the couch. But he insisted that I since I had the spirit of a runner, the rest would follow easily enough.

Over the next few years, Dad gave me a ton of advice that came not from reading books, but from experience. He taught me about hydrating in small frequent sips rather than the occasional big gulp. He took me to the running store not for shoe shopping, but to make sure I knew how to pick out the right socks – something he said many runners fail to see the importance of. He told me that it was important to keep moving after a run instead of just stopping, and he showed me how matching my breathing to my pace would help me not only physically, but mentally as well.

While I was still living in Johannesburg, Dad and I spent many hours sitting on his patio drinking wine and chatting about the South African running scene. He would tell me why this guy was probably going to win the nationals despite being a rookie, and why that guy would crash and burn despite years of experience. He was usually right in his predictions.

Now, seven years after his death, I have realized something that makes me very sad: I did not talk to him enough about his own days as a runner. Today I was looking through a scrapbook I have put together of newspaper clippings, certificates and photographs. I looked at the medals and trophies he won that I got when he died, and I read his training log. And I got a true appreciation for just how great a runner he was.

In his prime, Dad was one of South Africa’s elite marathon runners, featuring in the top ten lists for various distances. As a 22-year-old running his second marathon, he won a place on the podium by crossing the finish line in third place. He ran the now-defunct Peter Korkie ultramarathon – a distance of 37 miles or 59 kilometres – in a time of just over four hours. He ran sub three-hour marathons as a matter of course.

And I wish that I had asked him about those days. How old was he when he started running? What got him into it? What was it like, being a runner in those days?

Apart from a few anecdotes he shared about his days as a runner, and the artifacts that I have now in my possession, I know shamefully little about my dad’s journey as one of South Africa’s true running talents.

It’s not too late to try and find out, though. I have plans to go back to his roots, to the sports club he ran for, to try and find someone who ran with him.

Maybe he will guide me in my quest to find out more, just as I feel him guide me in the races I run today.

(Photo credit: unknown photographer – picture is from my dad’s running archives)

Filed Under: dad, History, running, South Africa Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Running: Microlactin As A Race Recovery Aid

June 16, 2012 By

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.)

Filed Under: Half-Marathon, Microlactin, Product Review, Race, Race Recovery, running, Swiss Natural, Uncategorized, Vitamins & Supplements Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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2012 Run For Autism: Starting The Journey

June 10, 2012 By

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)

Filed Under: autism, Autism Services, Finish Line, fundraising, Geneva Centre for Autism, Half-Marathon, running, Running for Autism, Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Races Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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