Hey, hey runner! Welcome to my blog! šāāļøā„ļø
I started running in 2007, right before my 30th birthday. I didnāt have a coach or a group; I read a lot of articles and learned on my own in the process. I have completed 17 full marathons, 40+half marathons, and countless other distances.
Iāve endured injuries, a DNF, and other setbacks. Yet thatās made me appreciate this sport even more. I obtained my RRCA certification in 2022, and my GGS-1 Certified Women’s Coaching Specialist in 2023.āMy goal is to start runners on their journey, and keep them motivated in the sport, especially women 40 and better.
Hit me up about my blog, coaching support, and Iād love to speak with you.
- Run to Remember: Oklahoma City Half Marathon š³
Where were you on April 19th, 1995?Ā
While I canāt specifically say what I was doing that day, I know what I was doing in that timeframe.Ā Ā I was a senior in high school, graduation just weeks away. I had a boyfriend, a job, and my future waiting ahead of me at Valparaiso University.Ā
I recall the headlines about the Oklahoma City bombing. Back then, the internet was in its infancy. Social media hadnāt even been invented. There were no ābreaking newsā alerts on our cell phones because they were like bricks, and only to be used in an emergency. Plus being the self-centered teen that I was, it didnāt impact me. I wasnāt aware of how many people had been killed (168) and completely oblivious to the thousands more injured physically and emotionally.Ā
The Run to Remember race series started in Oklahoma City in 2001. Their mission is to ācelebrate life, reach for the future, honor the memories of those who were killed and unite the world in hope.ā Every penny of the race entry goes toward helping the victims and the families. Iād been eyeing this race for a while, and when registration opened in December, I signed up for the half.Ā
My friend Erica also registered and joined me for the fun. The day before the race, we boarded a plane bound for Oklahoma City. Our take-off was delayed because of a seatbelt issue from the previous flight (for the record: a seatbelt in an unoccupied seat. Who knew that something that minor would cause such a stir?) We made it safely to our destination, checked into the hotel, and scurried over to the expo. There was less than an hour to spare, so while we didnāt get the full experience, we got a chance to take a few photos.Ā
Next on our agenda was the Blessing of the Shoes at First Church. We sang some hymns, and the pastor gave a short homily. He mentioned that this same church was used to hold funerals for many of those lost that day, and that there were survivors from that day among us. Chills ran through me as I pictured the church filled with people for the funerals, and it made me wonder who among us was there that awful day.Ā We brought our shoes to the altar and he prayed a blessing over us.
On race day, the church cancels their Sunday services so parishioners can prepare a pre-race pancake breakfast for volunteers and runners. 
After a pasta dinner, we dashed back two blocks to our hotel in the pouring rain. The thunder rumbled and lightning flashed across the sky. It was still raining in the morning. We later learned that there were tornadoes south of us, and that the weather overnight would affect our returning flight home.Ā
It was still raining when we woke upĀ at 5am on Sunday. Iād packed ponchos just in case. We snapped a photo before leaving and then ventured out among the masses to the starting line: in front of the Memorial Museum. This was the location of the Museum, the Survivor Tree, and the Outdoor Symbolic Memorial. I spotted two snipers on the roof of the Museum and felt a mixed sensation of security and vulnerability. As we sardined into our corral, the announcer asked for 168 seconds of silence to honor those who died. If you didnāt know, runners are a chatty bunch. We will talk to anyone and everyone about our gels, shoes, bowels, etc. Yet for 168 seconds, there was complete silence.Ā
Ready to run! 
Museum before sunrise Prior to the start, the rain subsided, and we discarded our ponchos. At six-thirty, the horn sounded. The corral quickly movedĀ Ā forward, and we arrived at the start lineā¦.and the first of many hills. Iād been watching the weather, and while it called for a high of 80 degrees, it was in the sixties, overcast but humid, and WINDY. Throughout the race, I was adjusting my visor and sunglasses (which I wound up not needing) to ensure they didnāt blow away.Ā
The streets were lined with spectators from start to finish. Some were out individually, others gathered in large groups. Many of the larger groups made their own aid stations. One was the āOrange Station.ā Volunteers were out with orange wedges, orange Gatorade, and mimosas. As much as I wanted a mimosa, I just took an orange wedge, which was heavenly. Other stops included Nilla wafers, bacon, and one station dedicated to pickles: sliced pickles and pickle juice. And of course, there were stops for beer, Jell-o shots, and Fireball shots.
State Capitol at mile 3 And did I mention hills? I had heard rumors about an infamous āGorilla Hillā on the course. Little did I know, we would get a sign welcoming us to our hell, (I mean, āhillā) and a large inflatable gorilla. Several spectators donned gorilla suits and banana costumes. I caught sight of several college-aged kids enjoying beer in their banana suits. The crazy gorilla gang loudly cheered us on as we struggled to the top.Ā
A warm welcome to Gorilla Hill A bathroom break was inevitable, but I didnāt want to wait in line. I miraculously found an empty port a pot around mile 9. Getting back on the road, I found that the elevation was slowly increasing again. The Asian District entertained us with dancing dragons as we climbed yet another hill.
Dancing dragons distracted us from the hills 
Elevation from start to finish With the hills in our rear view mirrors, a refreshing drizzle provided some relief from our hard work. I could see and hear the post race party, so I knew we were close. As we turned for the final half mile, poles and banners flanked on each side of the finish chutes. Each banner displayed a name and photograph of those lost that terrible day: grandparents, aunts, fathers, children, babiesā¦.no one was spared from this heinous act of terrorism. My eyes started to well up, and instead of being fixated on the finish line, I looked at the banners. I collected my medal, my snacks, and a finishers tank top. I thanked volunteers who were soaked and shivering yet smiling. I sat on a bench and waited as Erica made her way through the throngs of finishers.Ā
Later, I was able to find some of those names on the banners at the Outdoor Memorial. The 168 chairs all have a lighted box underneath with the deceasedās names;Ā Ā smaller chairs for the little ones. Some runners placed their bibs and medals on the chairs. Dr. Peggy Clark, who worked for the USDA, had her chair covered in bibs and roses.
Dr. Peggy Clarkās chair 
Chairs at the Outdoor Memorial The Survivor Tree, located in between the Museum and the Memorial, stands tall as a symbol of strength. Our race bib granted us entry to the Museum. The interactive experience allowed us to see and hear everything that happened on April 19th. I didnāt know how much it would impact me until they played an audio recording from a court case inside the building. The blast sounded. The screen in front of us flashed a photo collage of all 168 people. I burst into tears. My heart was absolutely broken for those killed and their families. I felt shame that I didnāt know the full story about the bombings until now, nearly 30 years later.Ā Ā
Survivor Tree, broken but not destroyed We run for countless reasons: relieve stress, weight loss, socialization. Oklahoma City runs to remember. They were the unfortunate pioneers to rebuild their city, foster hope, and continue to support those effected after a tragic terrorist attack on American soil. Years from now Iāll probably forget about the seatbelt on the airplane, the pickle juice on the course, and how much my quads loathed those hills. But the reason for this race, the spirit of Oklahoma City, and those faces on the bannersā¦.Iāll never forget.
Run to remember, and never forget - Miles Per Hour: Auto Show Run
How many miles could you run in an hour? Based on your previous runs, you could probably guesstimate this. The weather or uneven terrain might impact your final distance. Or, if you are on your treadmill at home, how many times you get interrupted by your husband and/or child can also impact your total mileage.
Toyota and the Chicago Area Runners Association (CARA) started this race a few years ago. Instead of scenic views of trees or a babbling brook, runners get a first hand glimpse of classic cars and futuristic rides at the auto show. I was intrigued. Not because Iām passionate about cars, but because of the concept: a timed versus distance race.
Per the race FAQs: āthe course is approximately a 2.2 mile loop through McCormick Place. The surface is a combination of carpet, concrete and tile.ā Years ago, I completed an indoor marathon, (thatās a whole other blog post) but that was on an indoor track. Iād never raced, let alone run on tile or carpet. What would that feel like? How would they track our distances? Would my Garmin work correctly?
My curiosity got the best of me, and I signed up. On race morning, my friend Erica and I took the train to Chicago. We walked from the platform straight into the building. The start line and a large globe greeted us as we entered.
āLadies and gentleman, start your enginesā¦..ā After bathrooms, gear check and socializing, it was time to start our race. The start corral organized us by pace, and we slipped into the ten minute mile section. During announcements, my question about tracking was answered: timing mats were placed approximately every .40 miles. We were warned that within the last few minutes of our hour, we should try to make it to the next timing mat for the distance to count towards the total mileage.
Our countdown began, and with the blow of an air horn, we were off. We began on tile and made a quick turn towards a carpeted ramp. One small incline up, then down, and we were directed towards the āLakeside Centerā. Through a glass wall, Lake Michigan sparkled. For a brief moment, we were running āalong the lakeā, our one and only view of nature.
Map of our route. Follow the red lines. For those of you familiar with McCormick Place, Lakeside Center is where the Chicago Marathon holds its expo. We were directed to run in a triangular pattern. It became very hot and stuffy. I thought I could pick up some speed on the concrete floor versus the tile and carpet, which made me feel slower. But the heat got to me rather quickly, and I wasnāt as fast as Iād hoped.
We were directed back over the carpeted ramp, onto the tile, and into the auto show itself. I caught glimpses of colorful cars and eye catching displays. Our free admission later allowed us to enjoy everything weād passed. Then we looped right back to the start line. Announcers kept us abreast of the time remaining. Volunteers and spectators rang their Toyota branded cowbells, cheering us on.
I managed to complete the full loop twice. On my third time around, I found myself back in the stuffy Center. The clock started to tick down, and I knew I needed to find a timing mat to get my distance. I spotted one ahead within the triangle. I kicked it in, and made it with about 45 seconds to spare. I knew my distance would no longer count after the final timing mat, so I walked it out until the air horn sounded again. Strange that there was no finish line; we just stopped running. I exited the Center with 5.56 miles on my Garmin. I collected my medal, and went in search of my friends and post race snacks.
After pictures and a tour of the auto show, we stopped at the Starbucks inside McCormick. By this time, masses of ticket holders were bustling in. I was glad that our crowd for the race was much smaller than the one filing in for the show (572, yet it felt like more). It was barely 10am, and Iād already had my run, my fun, and a Starbucks coffee.
Two of my favorite things. Note the city backdrop. I found the results the day after the race; previously theyād announced they needed a few days to process and post. And either my Garmin was short or the clock was generous. Iām guessing my true distance lies somewhere in between.
Garmin time š clock time In the future, should someone ask me how many miles I could run in an hour, itās likely I would guesstimate as well. And itās also very likely Iād provide a condensed version of this blog post in my explanation. š. Run happy, friends.
- Growing Around Grief
December 15, 2008: Ā
It was a cold Monday morning at Community Hospital. I had started there as a social worker a few weeks prior. Ā During an assessment with a patient, my pager vibrated. A number Iād memorized as a child appeared. It belonged to the home of my beloved Granny, who had been bedbound for the past few months following a devastating stroke. This page foreshadowed bad news. Ā
I quickly finished my work and headed back to the office. I nervously punched in the numbers on my desk phone. Tears welling up in my eyes, I listened as my mother informed me that my grandma had had another stroke. Since she was already on palliative care, we chose not to have the EMTs take her to the hospital following the call from the caregiver. That afternoon, she lapsed into a coma. We transitioned her into hospice, and she passed away on December 23rd.
Those eight days coincided with the Christmas season. I was new to my job, and no one at work knew about my situation. They knew I had an ailing grandmother, and working in a hospital, we dealt with ailing people and their families all day. My situation was not unique in that respect. Cheerful carols piped through the speakers throughout the hospital. Christmas lights lit up my commute to her house every day after work. Co workers and patients alike innocently inquired about my holiday plans. Were my presents wrapped? My cookies baked? Was my boyfriend going to propose? I wanted to reply that I didnāt give a shit about presents or cookies, and as far as the future, how was I supposed to manage a future without her? Ā
The so called āmost wonderful time of yearā turned into the worst days of my life. Iād work all day and then go to her house. Iād hold her hand and reassure her it was okay to leave us. Every night I said goodbye, just in case. I went home to sleep and feed the cat, then it was back to work the next day. I was exhausted. To this day, I do not know how I made it through that awful time. Ā
Almost a third of my life has gone by since her passing. Since then, I have become a wife and mother. The aforementioned job was two employers ago. I had never run more than a 10k distance. The cast of characters shifted; new friends along the way, friendships that faded, and those beautiful souls who have been near me the entire journey.
I found this analogy about growing around grief, and it spoke to me. I will continue to miss her every single day of my life. Yet her passing helped me grow into the person I am today. I continue to hear her voice in my head, pushing me forward and encouraging me to step out of my comfort zone. To travel, to meet new people. To care for my own family and friends. And perhaps most importantly, be there for my daughter. All of the love I heap on her (much to her dismay) is doubled in her Great Granny Babes absence.
Fifteen years from now I am sure my life will again look much different. Love remains the same. Iāll continue to grow around my grief.
Last Christmas, 2007 - Chicago Marathon 2023: #17
Back aching, legs and feet heavy.Ā Stomach sloshing in time with Lady Gaga, reassuring us all that we were born this way. Just a few more steps to the next stop sign, the next lamppost, and then Iāll walk a little. Walk a little, run a little, what Iād been doing for the last eleven miles. But the run intervals keep getting shorter and the walking a little longer.Ā The turn onto Roosevelt is coming, yet it seems farther away than in the past. I pound the pavement, determined to finish this marathon. Ā Ā
Because Iāve struggled too hard this season not to quit.Ā Ā
My running has slowed down a lot this summer. I completed a half marathon this summer, and afterwards a friend commented that my lips were blue. Normal in January, yet that day was seventy degrees. She suggested I see my doctor. And as a typical healthcare professional, I dismissed it. These things happen and they go away on their own.Ā Ā
Until Labor Day. I was in an air-conditioned building and became diaphoretic. I broke out in a cold, goose-fleshy sweat.Ā I was told I looked pale. I sat down on the chilly concrete to relax. Ā I texted my husband with a selfie, informing him of my state.Ā Ā
His response: Your lips look blue.Ā Ā
Finally taking my friends advice, I saw my doctor, who ordered a chest Xray and an ECHO. Both of which were normal. Before I could smugly say nothing was wrong, my bloodwork came back. My iron saturation levels were in the single digits, and the two other iron values (UIBC, TIBC) were elevated. I was instructed by my doctor to start iron pills immediately and follow up with a hematologist (blood specialist). Ā
I asked about running the marathon. Since my hemoglobin was in normal range, and I wasnāt having any shortness of breath or chest pain, she reluctantly agreed. She cautioned that a marathon is quite taxing on the body (luckily she couldnāt see my smirk) and encouraged me to take it slow. As if fast was an option for me! Ā I promised her I would comply, and then I promised myself that I needed to plan for race day. Ā
That plan became to have fun every step of the way. Ā
Race morning dawned and I picked up my longtime runner friend Tammy. I drove us to the train station, where other runners and spectators had already gathered. We chugged up to the Windy City. I found my gate and made my way through security and towards my corral, H. The lines for the port a pots were already wrapped around the corner, and I knew Iād be needing a bathroom break later anyway so I held off.
As we slowly made our way to the start line, runners started to peel off layers, discarding their items over the fence (the city collects and distributes to homeless shelters post-race). The Jumbo-Tron broadcasted the elite runners, who were already 36 minutes into their race. Little did I know that one of them would be making history that day.
Watching the elite as we waited our turn. The start line greeted corral H, and off we went. The air was cool and crisp, the skies slightly overcast. This was PERFECT running weather! My body warmed up easily in the first few miles. I was looking forward to mile 5, as the local running club was volunteering there. As I approached, an Irish pipe band played. I quickly found my friend Erica and gave her a quick hug. Lisa, the photographer, snapped this photo of me as I passed her and her husband Ed. Ā
Lisa got this photo of me at mile 5. Mile 7 was the first bathroom break. Quickly, I got back on course again. We were heading towards Lake Shore Drive, and I could already feel the wind coming off of Lake Michigan. A few times I had to adjust my visor, and several people held onto their caps for them to not blow away. Boys Town welcomed us with two stages of drag queens and rainbows everywhere. Ā Suddenly, I heard my name, and it was my friend Julie and her boyfriend Ermin. I hugged Julie, noting her parka and beanie as I was in my tank. My eyes welled up with tears as I left them. I wasnāt expecting to see them, and it meant the world to me. Ā
I reached the halfway point, 13.1, and was still feeling pretty good. I told myself I would keep running and walking through water stops as long as possible. Which wasnāt too long, because by mile 15, I started to run two minutes and walk thirty seconds.
After experiencing the energies of charity row and the University of Chicago campus, my two favorite neighborhoods were up next: Pilsen and Chinatown. I stopped for my second bathroom break in Pilsen, not thinking that most of the stalls would be out of toilet paper by then. I finally located a stocked stall, and upon coming out, I reassured the next runner that it was adequate. Ā
Pilsen had all the trimmings of a race, a dance club, and an early Dia De Muertes celebration. DJs blasted tunes as spectators handed out orange slices and pretzels. Confetti rained from the rooftops. Special āhydrationā stations with alcoholic beverages beckoned.
Fun times in Pilsen Chinatown was next. Coming in under the historic arch, I took in the roar of the crowds. The dragons werenāt out, but there were plenty of musicians cheering us on. I took in the sights of the signage in Chinese. By this point Iād I stopped timing my intervals and ran by feel. And what I was feeling was tired.
I knew I had about four more miles to go after Chinatown. Taking back my smirk,
Dr. Martin was right. This WAS taxing on my body. And I wasnāt the only one. I noticed one young woman puking, and several others to the side of the road stretching out, their faces pained knowing it wasnāt over yet.
Crowd support is critical for the last stretch of a distance race. Chicago did not disappoint. I absorbed every single positive word those last few miles. Us runners reassured each other that we were almost there; our collective suffering was nearly over. One spectators sign reminded me, āAt least youāre not at work!ā True, yes. But at work I could at least sit down (post race I was cautious to sit down; getting up would be a chore).
Finally, we made the turn onto Roosevelt. Happy tears pricked my eyes. I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman about my age informed me that she had been trailing me the entire race, and we needed to finish strong. How I managed to move my legs into a semi-sprint was nothing short of a marathon miracle. I crossed the timing mat, remembering to smile for the post race photos. I high-fived my motivator, grabbed a space blanket, and a a volunteer presented me with my medal.
After taking a few sips of a post race beer, I exited Grant Park and hobbled down historic Michigan Avenue. The city felt so alive. Runners reunited with their families, taking pictures and smiling. Everyone congratulating each other on a job well done. A far cry from how weād felt those last few miles. I ordered a PSL from Starbucks and relished its warmth.
I only drink beer after 26.2 miles. The image on the can was cute. I slowly descended the stairs to the Van Buren station, one step at a time. From a distance, I saw a girl who looked like my dear friend Heidi. I was confused, as I knew Heidi started earlier than me and would finish in about three and a half hours. And in my post marathon fog, it was entirely possible that I was seeing things. But I wasnāt. Sheād missed the previous train. I was ecstatic to see her!
And after a chatty train ride home, a shower and a Mexican dinner with my family, I settled my aching body on the couch. Covered by a blanket and our cat (Meb), I cruised Facebook and enjoyed others posts about the marathon. Even non runners were thrilled by the new world record of 2:00:35!
Nearly 48,500 people finished the marathon on Sunday. I think of all the stories they could tell; mine is just one of many. When I started my running journey, I never thought one marathon was possible, let alone 17. And after a summer of slow running, frustration, fatigue and tears, I was able to smile throughout my entire marathon this fall. Iām not sure about my future as a marathoner. Right now I need to focus on my health, reset my goals, and enjoy my running.
My friend Sara saw me finish on video. Never thought Iād complete one marathon, let alone 17. - The 20 Miler
The 20 mile training run. The penultimate episode of marathon training that leads into the best part: the taper. The hard work completed; the hay is in the barn. Now itās time to relax, carb up, and wait for race day.
Why 20 miles? Is it absolutely necessary? There have been debates amongst runners through the years. Some feel the costs outweigh the benefits, mostly injury and burnout. To be truthful, Iāve trained for marathons and NOT done a 20 miler. It didnāt impact my running performance. Personally, I needed this distance for two reasons: time on my feet and to mentally prepare for the hours itās going to take me to finish in Chicago next month. My other justification was based on advice I received 13 years ago when I trained for my first marathon.
In 2010, I had the pleasure of running for the Opportunity Enterprises (OE) charity run team. It was the first time Iād ever run with a big group, and also the first time Iād conquered any mileage past 13.1 (a half marathon distance). We met every Sunday in Highland to run the trail. Coach Michele Hale was a fount of knowledge for my thirsty runnerās soul. I listened carefully every week to her advice. During our very first training run (side note, total newb in cotton socks, Old Navy shorts, and clearance shoes) she told us if we completed our 20 mile run, we would make it to the finish line of our marathon.
So on Saturday, I woke up at 3:45am to drive to Highland, where I met up with runners from STRIDE and Team World Vision (TWV). I would be running the same location I ran for my first 20 mile run all those years ago. We started our predawn journey in the chilly, refreshing air. Highland installed lights on the trail with motion sensors, illuminating our path. When we got to Griffith, we plunged into darkness. I had a small light which I clipped to my belt, yet I slowed my pace so I wouldnāt risk tripping.
4:30am run group Dawn broke on our entry into Schererville. We came upon a port a potty and patiently waited for the user to vacate. And he didā¦but not before smoking what smelled like a pack of cigarettes and leaving a cloud of smoke behind. Usually weāre holding our noses for other smells. We gagged our way through and quickly moved along.
Dawn breaking 
Gorgeous sunrise Crown Point marked the halfway point. By then, more people populated the trail. While none were smoking, we checked on one guy slumped over on a picnic table. We approached him quietly and ensured that his chest was rising and falling. Happy that we didnāt have to call 911, we were set to tackle the last ten miles.
Fleet Feet was out at mile fifteen, welcoming us with rations: water, Gatorade, fruit and candy. I took water and a few Swedish fish. Reflecting on their kindness, my mind took me back to my time with OE. I realized how much I missed that group. When we did our twenty milers back then, we always celebrate with a potluck afterwards, celebrating our collective efforts. The support and encouragement I received back then started my marathon running, and itās whatās kept me going thirteen years later.
And speaking of food, TWV had donuts waiting for us at the end. At first I was reluctant to take one as I couldnāt stomach a donut, and also because I wasnāt a part of their charity group. Like Fleet Feet, they were there to support everyone running the miles. Despite its lack of protein, the donut tasted heavenly. And before I left Highland, I grabbed a pumpkin marshmallow latte from Sip, conveniently located by where we parked.
Pumpkin marshmallow latte š Several sweaty hugs and fist bumps later, we hobbled to our cars with smiles. The runs this season have been challenging, as my aging, perimenopausal body daily reminds me of this. Iām grateful that Iāve been able to make it this far, no matter what happens on race day. Because if you finish your 20 miler, you can finish your marathon. Best advice ever.
Inside of the coffee shop. Just a reminder. šš - Shuffling Onā¦.
I love running. Iām so-so about technology. But the two of them mixed? Forget it. Itās like ketchup and eggs. Snowsuits in summer. Itās unnatural.
This, coming from the runner who once wore a Garmin with a screen large enough to project movies. Who, until 2021, wrote down every single one of her workouts on paper. Even though they were being recorded on an app. (Sorry, not ārecordedā. Thatās for VHS and cassette tapes. āDownloaded.ā Happy now?)
I have (finally) gotten on board with the various ways to improve my running experience using technology. However, there was one thing I couldnāt be without: my iPod Shuffle.
I received my first Shuffle as a Christmas gift in the early 2000s. Tiny and silver, I faithfully wore it to the gym. Back then, I wore little tank tops and makeup, in hopes Iād meet a nice guy. Once I started running (and found a man in a bar; thatās a blog for another day) I ran with it and relished every note through my cheap headphones. My mom had a computer with internet that I used to download songs onto my silver music box. Normally Iād buy an iTunes gift card to purchase my tunes, ranging in price from $.99 to $1.29.
Songs saved from the Shuffleā¦
I wore out that Shuffle in 2013, when I still had a flip phone. My husband bought me a new Shuffle, yet strongly encouraged me to partake in other options: āWhy not the iPod Nano? Or better yet, get an iPhoneā¦ā to which Iād hold up a hand, silencing the nonsense. I loved my Shuffle. She was pink; my favorite color. We would be very happy together, enjoying our music through endless miles.
And for many years and countless miles (documented strictly on paper) we shuffled along beautifully. But within the last six months, my laptop died. I couldnāt download any more songs. We have way too many devices in this house as is, and none of them connected to the Shuffle. And although the tunes from the early 2000s were quite nostalgic, there were other songs I wanted to listen to.
I took the plunge and ordered a pair of wireless earbuds from Jlab Audio. They arrived on Wednesday. I made a playlist from my iTunes account. No gift cards necessary. I didnāt need my momās dinosaur computer. It was all so easy. Almost too good to be true. How would they hold up on a long run?
On Saturday I had the chance to take them on their maiden voyage. As daylight broke, I anxiously pulled them from my pocket and pulled up iTunes on my phone. A womanās robotic voice announced, āReady to pair! Connected!ā Was I ready? I popped the buds into my ears to find out.
Two new tunes
Other than figuring out which ear controls what (volume, song selection, etc) they worked fine for my 18.5 mile run. When I wanted to skip a song, my hand naturally went to my waist, where Iām used to my Shuffle being clipped. Itāll take time to adjustā¦.just like all of the changes Iāve adapted to this year.
Shuffling out of your comfort zone and trying something new, especially with something you love, can be challenging. Yet sometimes itās necessary to keep doing what youāre most passionate about.
As for my Shuffle, sheās retired to a drawer. Iām not yet ready to toss her into the electronic recycling bin at Target (graveyard of my first Shuffle, RIP) or sell it to some collector on eBay. Iāll know when Iām ready to make that decision. Now itās time for some new tunes and new memories.
The OG and the Newbieā¦..
- The Long Way Home
The mornings are early. The mileage has increased. Iām stocking up on gels like toilet paper in 2020. Yes, marathon training season is in full swing, and Iām in the middle of it as I prepare for my seventeenth marathon.
The menu called for 16 miles on Saturday. I woke from a dead sleep at 445am to meet up at the Crown Point trailhead by 530. During my drive into the sunrise, I witnessed some baby raccoons scurrying across the street. Then I came upon a family of deer, casually taking their morning stroll. It was already 70 degrees, and the air was so humid and thick, even their antlers would struggle to poke through.
I made it to the trailhead without any further wildlife encounters. I met up with my badass friend Erica, who only had ten miles on her agenda today. Her goal race is an 18 mile trail run (thus the badass label). In the soupy air, we ran and conversed. Our run took us around the local hospital, the fairgrounds, and looped the courthouse back to the trailhead. From there, it would be an out and back. Weād already done a little over six miles. Before she turned around, she snapped this selfie. I was on my own for the next ten miles.
Sweat and smiles! Being it was a Saturday morning, the trail was pretty busy. Runners, walkers, and bikers politely filled the space. There were two other marathon groups out, including Fleet Feet. We all seemed to be collectively suffering in the humidity. When I got to just over five miles, I turned to head back to my starting point.
While I may run an obscene number of miles in a given week, I donāt like math. Itās even harder to do in my head when Iām trying to run and keep up a conversation. So if I already ran 6.3 and I need 9.7 more, divide that by 2, carry the oneā¦so why does my watch look like Iām short .25 miles? The last thing I wanted to do was add onto my run at the end. I decided to follow the Fleet Feet runners down a side trail, and figured that Iād be able to pick up the main path again.
The short distance led me to a gorgeous neighborhood. The homes were beautifully maintained. There was a small lake with a fountain. It felt so peaceful. I figured Iād run through, make up the mileage, and hit the trail again. After all, everyone was out. Surely Iād be able to get back without a problem.
As I admired my surroundings, it started to drizzle. The light rain felt refreshing, even if I was already soaked to the bone in my own sweat. I kept runningā¦and runningā¦ No signs leading me back to a trailhead. Finally, two runners behind me stopped to say hello. I asked them where to catch the trail again. They directed me past the water tower, which felt like a million miles away. By this time, my handheld bottle was almost empty. And of course there were no convenience stores within this beautiful subdivision to hustle up some hydration.
Finally, the water tower. Can I fill up here? I eventually reached the water tower. I saw a dog park and a trail. But it didnāt look familiar to me. Perhaps Iād been distracted and not noticed it before. I stopped to ask the Fleet Feet crew if this was the correct route. They informed me that this particular path led back to Schererville, not Crown Point.
And at that very moment, the thunder rumbled. I was far from my starting point with little water, almost fourteen miles in, and the storm was coming. This was it. I was going to die on the wrong trailhead. While there were no buzzards flying around, I could picture them picking at my bones, my Garmin and sweaty clothes in a big wet heap.
I snapped back to reality when the Fleet Feet folks offered me an Uber (jokingly) and some water (seriously, and I was in serious needed). I gladly accepted, refilled my bottle, and thanked them more than once. They directed me towards the trail that I needed to get on. It meant I had to take a slightly busy and hillier street.
Luckily, the rain held out. Cautiously, I navigated the road. I was prepared to scurry into the grass if need be, just like those baby raccoons from earlier. Speaking of earlier, how long had i been out here for? It felt like an eternity. And then I saw the trail entrance ahead of me, populated with people I could have hugged at that moment (but who wants a hug from a sweaty stranger?). The stone marker welcoming me to Crown Point brought a smile to my face.
I ended with 16.88 miles. Drenched yet relieved, I plodded to my car to stretch out. The water in my car was warm, so I decided to visit the nearby Starbucks, aka, the Mothership, to get some ice water and a hot coffee for later. I went through the drive though and requested an ice water.
A young manās voice crackled back, āMaāam, our ice machine is on the fritz. We can give you a cup of water but we have to save the ice for iced drinks.ā
āIs the water cold?ā I desperately asked.
A pause, āWell. Kind of.ā
āKind ofā sounded akin to āwarmā, so I decided on a dragonfruit lemonade. I drove up to the window, and the young man behind the voice apologized for the lack of ice. I told him Iād just run a ridiculous number of miles, and that a lemonade would taste just fine. He then proceeded to hand me the lemonade plus a cup of water with some coveted ice cubes. So shines a good deed in a dark world.
My detour brought me more miles than Iād anticipated on a humid Saturday morning. I feel like itās been a season of detours in my running: the slowdown of my aging body, stepping away from the YMCA, finding a new training group. Yet running has always brought adventures to my life that I wouldnāt have experienced otherwise. For that, Iām grateful for the long way home.
Ice, ice babyā¦.. - #40: Christmas in July Half Marathon
(Alternate title: Pacing in Perimenopause)
Iām not a Christmas person.
I cringe at the first sight of decorations on sale in August. I curse the radio station that starts playing holiday tunes the day after Halloween. And donāt even get me started on people who put their Christmas trees up before Thanksgiving.
But Christmas in July I can get on board with. Surfing Santas and elves wearing leis and hula dancing with reindeer. Palm trees over evergreens. Itās certainly better than sub zero temperatures and worrying about gifts, gatherings, and gingerbread. When the email arrived on one of those sub zero days, I jumped on it. And offered to pace the 2:30 group for a free entry. It would also mark my 40th (in person) half marathon. Yippee!
What I hadnāt anticipated was the big P: Perimenopause. Which has slowed my aging body down over the last six months. (Menfolk, do not be put off by this. Because a woman you know will likely go through this, if she hasnāt already.) Mood swings, irritability, weight gain, sleep disturbances, and overall tiredness are part of this amazing phase of life. And Iāve been in the thick of it.
I digress. Moving forward to race day. My friend and ālil running sisterā Heidi and I went up to Elk Grove Village, Illinois, the afternoon before for packet pick up and dinner. We were en route to the start (leaving the hotel by 6am, as encouraged by the pre race instructions) when we found that traffic was backed up to the entrance of the park, Busse Woods. Quickly, we found a strip mall with ample parking and crossed the street to catch the trail.
After weād gear checked, we saw a flatbed pull up with port a potties. There was an announcement with an apology for the tardy toilets. Then we were informed that it would be an hour before the pots would be ready for deposit. A loud groan rippled throughout the crowd. We had been in line for the park stalls, which were already backed up (no pun intended). I suggested we head back to the strip mall. There was a small construction area and a gas station. Surely one would have a proper potty.
We hustled back to the parking lotā¦.with the 2:30 pacing stick in my hand the whole time. The potty in the construction zone was fenced off. We were able to get into the gas station without issue. Then it was a warm up jog back to the congested start corrals. I found the 3:00 pacer, but 2:45 was missing. I hardly had time to find them, let alone stretch. Because it was time to start my racing and pacing.
My friend Abby signed up the night before the race. Notice my pacing stick in the background. The entire race was contained within Busse Woods. The course elevation was mostly flat, with a few challenging hills. The first few miles were very congested. I caught up to, then passed the 2:45 pacer. I wished him luck. I met Tom from Evergreen Park (who knows a family from my hometown) and Laura from Brookfield. Four miles breezed by. By five and a half, were chugging along and hit some hills. Laura had started to back off a bit, and wound up dropping off. Tom stayed with me until seven. And then it hit me. Damn those tardy toilets. I told Tom Iād catch up to him and hit the bathroom.
Miles eight through ten were very hot. We didnāt have any cloud cover, and the shade was spotty at best. Thankfully, there were water stops every half mile. I kept telling myself to keep running in between the stops. Then it became walking in between songs. I caught up to, and passed Tom, but no one else was following me by this point. While I was somewhat relieved, I also felt badly that Iād slowed down so much.
Some much needed shade arrived for the last two miles. Volunteers with popsicles hydrated my thirsty soul. We could do anything for two miles, right? I kept encouraging other runners around me. āWe can do this! We canā¦.ā A loud belch echoed behind me. A young man vomited up that popsicle and probably most what heād taken in that morning. I stopped to help him, and he reassured me he didnāt need medical attention. And if he did, the ambulance was only a quarter mile ahead. Another runner had collapsed from heat exhaustion and the EMTs were onsite.
One last hill and I saw the finish line. I crossed over, hot and exhausted. I graciously handed my pacing stick to the nearest volunteer. I was relieved of my duties and damn glad. Heidi and I grabbed some cold beverages. Then it was time to bust out of Busse Woods and head home.
Post race photos. Heidi got first in her AG and fifth overall female! 
Closest thing to a reindeer in Elk Grove Village. That night I was upset. I was frustrated by my slow pace and how quickly my speed seems to be declining. This was my 40th half marathon. But I didnāt feel like celebrating. As a coach I kept thinking of what I would say to someone in this situation. My thoughts brought me back to my first half in April 2009 until now, #40 in July, 2023. And in that time:
ā¦ I ran my first half while engaged to my husband. We married four months later and I converted him into a runner.
ā¦ The child came along five years later. Still working on her conversion.
ā¦ I learned how to properly dress to run. Cotton became my nemesis. And I have no clue how many shoes Iāve gone through.
ā¦ āFartlekā, āspeed workā, āanti-chafingā and other such terms are now part of my daily vocabulary.
ā¦ 16 marathons interspersed within the 40. Plus countless other distances.
ā¦ So. Many. Friends made throughout the time. Like Heidi and Abby. And so many acquaintances Iāve met along the way, like Tom and Laura.
Around the last two miles, I was running with a younger girl, blonde ponytail bouncing. She told me it was her first half. For a minute, I thought back to another blonde running her first half all those years ago. I told her to keep going strong and that sheāll be ready to sign up for another in a few hours. I never got to congratulate her, but I hope I encouraged her to continue running.
Just as the running community continues to do for me, no matter what the season. š«¶š¼
Run happy, friends. šāāļøš©·
April 2009 and July 2023 - “Miss You, Girl.”
If you want to know if someone is a runner; donāt ask. Because when a runner starts talking, it is usually weaved somehow into conversation. And we all know that feeling when we meet a fellow runner. As the music swells, aĀ Ā unicorn gallops through a grassy green field, leaving a trail of glitter behind. Rainbows fill the sky, and the sun shines so brightly that you need your best goodr sunglasses. Youāve connected with another runner!Ā Ā
I met Julia in JanuaryĀ 2019 through my primary job as a dialysis social worker. I interviewed her via phone, and then we met in person for training. She was beautiful, blonde, and bubbly. I knew she would be a great fit for her clinic and infuse it with her positive energy. She had two sons around my daughterās age. During our time, we spoke excitedly about our kids, social workā¦and running. With her new job came a relocation back to Northwest Indiana, and she said that she wanted to run more. Imagine my excitement! We talked about doing the turkey trot the following fall.Ā
But as it does, life happens. I wound up injured for most of 2019, and Julia hadnāt run as much as she planned. We talked about 2020. And thenā¦well, you know. That following June we had a patient from my clinic transfer to hers. We collaborated on a form I needed from the patient. She later sent me a text reminding me that it was faxed over. We exchanged small talk over text. She signed off, āMiss you, girl!ā Ā
Two days later, I received a call from our lead social worker. Julia died on June 9, 2020. In the middle of COVID, George Floyd, political and social unrest, I was also mourning the sudden loss of my beautiful, bubbly friend.
In the strange days and weeks that followed, I continued to run. It felt like the only thing I could control: how far, how fast, how long. To burn off the anxiety that flared up every morning. To cope with my tears every night after tucking my daughter into bed, thinking about Juliaās boys and the absence of their mom. I sweated buckets, praying that it would eliminate my sadness, my guilt.
It would be a year before I disclosed that she died from an overdose. For a long, long time,Ā IĀ felt guilty for never running with her. Perhaps I would have found a clue, an inkling about her addiction. Maybe I could have helped her, and she would still be here.Ā Ā Over the past three yearsĀ Ā Iāve learned that sometimes there are not any hints. And it needs to be talked about, not kept as a shameful secret. Addiction is real, itās rampant, and itās a disease that needs to be treated like any other illness. Conversations about it are necessary to help others and save lives.
When I run, I often I think about her and her boys. HerĀ ex-husbandĀ and I are linked on social media, and IĀ haveĀ had the pleasure of watching them grow up these past three years. TheyĀ areĀ flourishing, and my heart smiles. I visit her grave now and then, to lay down some flowers and talk about the nonsense that goes on at work. As her last text said: āmiss you, girl.āĀ Ā I miss her every day. We never had the opportunity to run together, yet sheās on my mind when I do.
If you or someone you love has an addiction to alcohol or drugs, call for advice, help, or just to explore treatment options. The addiction hotline is free to use and there is no obligation to enter treatment. Contact American Addiction Centers at:Ā (888) 611-2768.
- Sunburst 13.1: H3 (Heat, Humidity, & Hallelujah Hill)
Runners are a generous bunch. We share stories about epic races and digestive issues. If someone is struggling, we provide words of encouragement. Or you have a fabulous friend with a free entry to Sunburst Half that sheās not going to use. Which in turn, she gifted to me. Of course, with my running not being as on point as it was before, I had to be realistic about my expectations. And given that this race wasnāt on my schedule, I didnāt get as many long runs in as I would have otherwise.
My last half in Naperville didnāt go as I planned. While I finished within my desired time, my pacing was very inconsistent. I felt like a train hit me afterwards. For three days I couldnāt shake the exhaustion. This time, I needed to be more consist with my pace, even if it meant going slower and paying more attention to my body.
Celebrating Pride Month at The Lauber Restaurant Friday was my daughters last day of school. We drove to South Bend and had dinner. I got to packet pick up and saw my friend Courtney, the race director for the Sunburst race series. Back at the hotel, we watched the original Jurassic Park. Who doesnāt love the scene when the dinosaur chomps the guy on the port a potty?
Race morning dawned and I drove to the start. Previously, the race began downtown and ended at the famed Notre Dame Stadium. This year, it started and ended at the convention center. It was already 67 degrees at 6:30am. I ditched my tank top at the hotel and wore just a sports bra. I had no shame in letting it all hang out if it meant keeping cool. Knowing that the temperatures were going to be warm, I started hydrating the day before. I limited my coffee intake and focused on my water and electrolyte mix.
Sunrise over St. Joe River. We sardined into the start corral, and the race began at 7:15. It started along the St. Joseph River through a residential area. While there was no cloud cover, the trees provided shade. The route led us through town into Battell Park in Mishawaka. They had their water fountains turned on for the season, hooray! I felt good and my splits were consistent. We wound through the park and back out to the residential roads again.
Mile 7 started my slow down. I started taking breaks between 30 seconds to one minute every few minutes. It helped me to appreciate the walk and I felt like I had more energy once I resumed running. The water stations were every mile or so, and became more frequent with the increased distance. I drank water and poured some over my head to keep me cool. Some residents put out their sprinklers, and we were able to run under them like kids on a hot summer day.
There were plenty of spectators and support for the race. Including a woman dressed like a cow handing out water and a bagpiper around mile 9. If the bovine and the bagpiper could withstand the humid temperatures with their activities, so could I. The was no need to complain when they were exerting effort to keep us going.
Nor was there time to complain. Because I knew what was coming: Hallelujah Hill. Even though we started and finished in different locations this year, I knew this infamous hill wasnāt eliminated. Rather than place the hill at say, mile two or four, Sunburst feels the need for us to tackle it at mile 11.5. I dug in, alternating between walking and running the steep incline. I was grateful to have a water stop at the top of the mountain.
ā°ļøHallelujah Hill. Object in the photo is hillier than it appears. ā°ļø The descent on the other side of Hallelujah Hill brought us back to where we started. I was glad to see the finish line on the opposite side of the start. I crossed over in 2:25; a far cry from my usual half marathon time. Yet I was happy to be finished, knowing that I stayed consistent, even if it was slower than the norm. I grabbed a popsicle from a volunteer and enjoyed every bite of its icy sweet taste.
Chicago Marathon is four short months away. Thereās still much work to be done. Thanks for coming on my journey with me. Run happy, friends. šāāļøšš»šā„ļø
With race director Courtney. We love running, writing, and all things Golden Girls. 
Iām not a huge fan of Frappuccinos, but this one hit the spot. And I got a new mug for my āBeen Thereā mug collection. - Mother Runner
We bombarded daily with questions from our smart, sassy eight year-old daughter. With our answers often comes more questions. As were were settling in for bed one night, she asked, āMommy, why do you run?ā I replied that there were many reasons why. Which led into more questions about āwhyā. Whether she was truly interested in the why, or just looking for an excuse to delay bedtime (and I think it was the latter), it made me think about how motherhood has influenced my running.
In the storybook of my life, a new volume was penned when I started running. It opened up various plot lines and added colorful characters. These chapters include my pre-baby years. Back then, I could sign up for as many races as I chose, and volunteer at just as many that I ran. My time was mine. I had the freedom to train any time of the day or night, and it was usually night as I was ātoo tiredā in the mornings. Little did I know back then what ātiredā really meant.
Once I got back to running after childbirth, she was a part of it. My husband and I would secure her in the jogging buggy and go for a ride. She absolutely loved it. The wind blew in her hair as she squealed with delight. If we were out for more than a half hour, sheād usually fall asleep, her light snores in rhythm with our footsteps. As she got older, weād push her for a while, and then let her toddle along beside us until her little legs got too tired. We had many miles and smiles logged on our cherished buggy.
Motherhood prepared me for a no-excuses approach to running. Should I skip my long run in the rain? Nah. Iāve been puked on, peed on, and cleaned up more poop than I ever thought could come out of a tiny human. Not to mention spontaneous lactation. At least rain isnāt a bodily fluid. Three hours of sleep the night before a big race? I kept a little person and myself alive on less than three hours of sleep for months. Staying upright for a few hours isnāt much of a challenge. Brew me a pot of coffee and I can make it until sunset. And itās made me manage my time down to the very second. I once changed a poopy diaper behind a tree five minutes before a 5k and hit a personal best.
Not to say that I still donāt suffer from mom-guilt about running. Itās hard enough to work a full time job, side hustle as a coach, and squeeze in quality time with her. I try to do most of my runs in the mornings while she sleeps. Iāve been known to leave by 4am with a couple of flashlights to get it done. That doesnāt mean the guilt goes away, or that the little voice saying I was a ābadā mom stopped. For a long time, that little voice never shut up: āWhat kind of a mother are you, anyway? Running ridiculous races and logging absurd amounts of miles. Youāre away from her enough as it is.ā As time progressed, that little voice morphed into a full-on roar, sky-rocketing my guilt to an all time high.
As she grew older, and I grew (somewhat) wiser, I learned that running is a necessity for my role as a mother. Running was mine before she was born, and even though my life changed (for the better), I had to find a way to fit running into it. I had to create the time for me versus having it available all of the time. I feel calmer and more balanced when I run. Iām able to problem solve about things at work and home. On the dreadmill, I can catch up on my shows that Iām too tired to watch at night. After a run, even a bad run, I feel energized and Iām ready to take on the day. This crazy thing I do makes me a better mom.
And the more I thought about it, itās all sheās ever known. Sheās seen me cross many a finish line and sheās crossed several herself. I want her to experience that feeling of accomplishment. That drive to work hard; to be confident and fierce, whatever her passion may be. To instill the confidence in her that she can balance work and play.
My daughter knows sheāll hear me on the treadmill in the morning as she wakes up. Itās what mommy does. And Iāll be looking forward to sipping a cup of coffee and happily listen to her all of her questions.
šš¼āāļøCoach Carri A šš¼āāļø 
