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Runners giving back: Medals4Mettle

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The running community is a strong and rowdy bunch. There’s a certain level of insanity the comes along with runners, people who choose to spend much of their free time running long distances for the love of the sport and achieving the impossible (with a side of bragging rights and medals sometimes thrown in for good measure).

After an event like the one at the Boston Marathon, there’s a certain sense of helplessness that hits us. We are doers, movers and shakers, so to do nothing is not an option.

Since Monday’s tragedy, we’ve participated in reflection runs; we’ve worn the Boston Marathon colors of blue and gold; we’ve donned race shirts from any and all events; we’ve prayed for the victims, first responders, runners and the city of Boston.

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And we’re still left asking, What else is there? What more can we do to show support, solidity and love?

Well, friends, might I offer up Medals4Mettle?

met·tle  /ˈmetl/ Noun
A person’s ability to cope well with difficulties or to face a demanding situation in a spirited and resilient way.

In May 2005, Dr. Steven Isenberg gave his own Chicago Marathon medal to his patient, Les Taylor, who was battling prostate cancer. Before his death, Taylor told Dr. Isenberg just how much the medal meant to him.

From that seed Medals4Mettle blossomed. I first heard about Medals4Mettle, or M4M, last year when I began running races.

Currently M4M is collecting Boston Marathon medals from any year to give to Monday’s victims and first responders.

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For those who haven’t run the Boston Marathon, M4M will gratefully accept all donations of hard-earned half marathon, full marathon or triathlon medals to those battling life-threatening illnesses and severe disabilities.

“Think about when you are out on a course, and you have dozens to hundreds of people you don’t know who are cheering you on, and want to see you succeed and get to the finish line,” said Andrea Herrmann of M4M.  “This is our chance to return this encouragement to others, and to celebrate their strength in dealing with their health struggles, cheering them to their personal finish lines.”

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Directors and chapter coordinators are all volunteers at M4M. I reached out to my local chapter coordinator, Reed Costello, who said that his responsibilities include local awareness and collecting/passing medals along to the area coordinator who then distributes them to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. The children love receiving the medals and the runDisney medals are among the favorites; many wear the donated medals to chemo treatment or hang them from their IV pole.

A selfless way to lift someone’s spirits and give back, Medals4Mettle is a non-profit organization that assists runners and athletes in doing just that.

Have you ever given your race medal to someone else? We’d love to hear about it in the comments!

Reflection run

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Some fought back tears. Others hugged. Everyone hit the pavement.

Several dozen runners gathered in suburban Rochester Tuesday evening and together ran in memory of the bombings that interrupted the Boston Marathon Monday afternoon, killing three and injuring more than 170 others.

“We are runners, we are strong,” said Ellen Brenner co-owner of Fleet Feet Sports in Brighton.

Before we hit the road, Brenner thanked the group for their love and support of  Rochester’s running community — and each other. One local Boston Marathoner, Malcolm Bugler of Henrietta, also spoke of Monday’s events.

“It’s only just sinking in now, the enormity of the thing that happened,” he said. “Running is a celebration of what you can achieve…to have that challenged is just unthinkable.”

Typically, we run hills on Tuesday evenings. Instead, we ran an altered “happy hour” loop of 4.09 miles, which was the time on the race clock when the first explosion went off.

We ran through a drizzle, many wearing Boston’s blue and yellow or race shirts or jackets. We were together. We were one. We were strong. We are runners.

Click here for a video of the memorial run by my colleague Kris Murante.

Our hearts are with you, Boston

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It’s hard to find words for what happened at the finish line of the Boston Marathon yesterday. When unspeakable, senseless acts like this happen, most of us can think of only one word: why?

The truth is, even if and when the person or people responsible for this are apprehended, even after a motive is revealed and justice is served, there will be no good answer to that question. How do you even begin to process the reason behind the destruction brought down on what was supposed to be a joyful event, where people were injured and killed simply because they were there to run or to cheer on their loved one as they crossed the finish line?

There will never be an answer for that kind of blind hatred.

But what we’ve seen time and time again is that goodness will always blot out the bad. In all of the horrific footage, the awful news stories that seemed to flow out endlessly through various social media platforms, there were these stories: people running to help the injured, to hold hands and offer reassurance; a Google spreadsheet that popped up online, filled with names and numbers and addresses, temporary homes for those displaced by what happened; a couple that had run the marathon, only to get married hours later.

These are the moments that invariably always rise to the surface, because good will always counteract the bad. Love will always trump hate. It is so much bigger.

We love you, Boston, and our hearts are with you.

Back in the Saddle Again-ish

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Here’s how I imagined it: I’d lace up my sneaks, head outside, warm up with a brisk walk and then get to jogging. Maybe I’d do a twelve-minute mile, work up to my pre-pregnancy 10:30 average, and come back home feeling accomplished and limber.

Look at me, world, I’m a runner again!

Er, yeah.

Here’s how my first post-baby attempt at running went: I laced up my sneaks, headed outside, walked for five minutes (look at me, world, I’m a runner again!), attempted to run for sixty seconds and had to stop because I was pretty sure if I didn’t that I was going to fall over.

Let me repeat – I attempted to run for SIXTY SECONDS.

I limped back to my building, dragged myself up to the apartment – in the elevator, of course – and tried not to throw my iPod at Mister Jess’s face when he said, “You’re back already?”

World, I am not a runner. I am not even much of a walker right now. I’m not sure which hurts worse, the stitch in my side or my pride, but they are both rather pained at the moment.

Me and running during happier times.

Me and running during happier times.

Have I underestimated the havoc pregnancy wreaks on the body? Sure, it’s been a good nine months since I’ve even thought about running, but shouldn’t it be like riding a bike? Shouldn’t the memory of running kick in? “Hey, I remember this! Let’s go, Jess, weeeeeeeee.”

Guess not, because my body remembers nothing about running: not how to do it, nor that at one point we kind of liked it. And though I have a good excuse for being out of shape, part of me can’t help but be a little POed at my body for failing me this way. I don’t think I’m expecting too much from it to run for sixty seconds without crying “Uncle.”

That’s the drill sergeant part of me, though (which has gotten bigger since I became a mom. Coincidence?). The kinder, more understanding me realizes that it will take time to get back to where I was before. And maybe I never will get back to where I was before.

That’s one of the lessons of parenthood: everything changes. It’s impossible to get back to the life you had before your little bundle of everything entered the world. So you adjust, and along the way you occasionally mourn The Way Things Were, because now sleeping in means 7AM instead of 10, and weeknights are for feeding and bottle-washing and wrangling your kiddo to sleep instead of sprawling out on the couch and watching “The Voice.”

With all of that in mind, I’m going to approach my return to running in the same way. I’m going to adjust. I’m going to give myself some slack, remember that my body did some pretty crazy things not too long ago and this is its way of saying, “Hey, lady, I need some time.”

And if my husband ever says, “You’re back already?” after a run again, I really am going to throw my iPod at his head.

Have you ever had to start training all over again? Give me some tips (and encouragement, please!) in the comments. 

Rural run through Amish country

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I went home to rural Lancaster County over the weekend, where I ran one of the most beautiful race courses I’ve yet to see.

Lancaster, Pennsylvania is Amish country. Home to many in the Pennsylvania Dutch Amish and Mennonite community. Many in the county’s Amish community love to run and are quite fast. I am familiar with the Anabaptist community, as I grew up in the area and regularly visit my parents, who still live in Lancaster.

The annual Garden Spot Village Marathon was filled with such runners. Some of the men ran in their plain clothes and women ran in dresses. I also spotted some incredibly speedy Amish kids. It was a pretty impressive sight.

This race was different from any I’d run before. First off, it was on a Saturday morning, this is in part because Sunday is a day of rest for Amish and Old Order Mennonites.

Since I worked a full day before making the five-hour drive south, my mother graciously offered to collect my race packet from the expo in New Holland, Pa. (Thanks, Mom!) Race officials offered packet pickup Saturday morning, for about 90 minutes before the race. I loved knowing this was an option, as did the more than 700 runners who weren’t able to attend the Friday evening expo.

I gathered my race gear Friday evening, including my trusty roller, The Stick. I knew my quads would be sore since I raced a hilly 15K last weekend. I had looked at Garden Spot’s elevation chart — hills were definitely par for the course.

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Ready to roll!

Race morning went smoothly. We left the house around 6:30 a.m., arriving at the race site shortly after 7. Parking was a breeze. We were directed to a spot in the grass and waited in our car until 30 minutes before the race was slated to begin, 8 a.m.

In less than 20 minutes, I used a toilet twice, located my friend Wendy and lined up at the start. This is one highly organized, user-friendly race.

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Wendy and me at the starting line.

Meet Wendy, a childhood friend who was itching to run her first half-marathon. Together, we selected a race in our hometown as a bit of a homecoming since she moved to South Carolina after high school and I’m in upstate New York. Her older brother Eric and her nephew Nate joined us.

Soon enough, we were off. We lost the guys within 30 seconds. Side note – Nate, 12, won his age group with a time of 1:51. So impressive!

Wendy and I settled in for a much slower pace, we ran out of the village, along East Earl Road, then Stauffer Road. We hit a few small hills as we rounded the corners. And we repeatedly dodged road apples (horse manure) left behind on rural roads.

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Beautiful course. Note the woman on the right running in a dress.

We chatted with each other and strangers as we jogged along. We were happy with our pace, even as we took on the hills.

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We passed several Amish buggies on the course. We also had a rather large cheering squad of Amish and Mennonite kids, many who sat on their porches and waved to runners. Some sat on blankets and wagons in their yards. All appeared to be excited to see the parade of runners.

Around mile 4, we headed up a rather significant hill that passed by the horse auction. Amish and Mennonite men and women were lined up for the weekly event, barbeque cooking on the old pits. Some horses hitched to buggies and carts appeared to be circling a fenced course, as if they were racing. It was a scene from yesteryear.

Eventually we turned off Hill Road to Steep Hill Road. (I kid about the name, but it would have been appropriate.) We headed downhill past more buggies and fans. And then we hit THE HILL. We knew it existed, but seeing it in person still shocked us.

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Heading down the Mentzer Road hill in mile 6.

We slowed WAY down to avoid tumbling. We ran well past mile 7 to the turnaround point and straight into the wind, and ultimately, back up this evil hill.

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It may not look incredibly steep, but trust me, it was. 100+ feet straight up just past mile 8, followed by another 100-foot incline back on Steep Hill Road. A cow in a nearby field urged us on: “Mooooo-ve!” I heard.

We huffed. We puffed. But we made it.

We reversed the route, back past the horse auction and downhill (hooray) until the last 5K. We turned off on Overly Grove Road, past a park and more farms and hoofed it into the finish.

Wendy was beginning to fade a bit during that last mile, but considering the hills we had conquered, her movement was impressive. She had not walked once. She pushed forward through the wind and hills. She didn’t quit and we passed several runners that last mile as we moved forward.

Then we turned into the village campus.

“Where’s the finish line? I don’t see it,” Wendy said.

“Ahead,” I promised. “Less than 2 minutes to go. It’s just you and me out for a run. Ignore everyone else.”

About 90 seconds later, we rounded the last bend to the finish line. I spotted my mom as she yelled our names. We sprinted it in, finishing around 2:12. Excellent job Wendy!

We reunited with our families within minutes, grabbed some delicious homemade post-race food.

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There is a second Amish Country race in Lancaster County – the Bird-in-Hand half marathon in September. I have a feeling I will be back.

What’s the most beautiful race course you have run? Have you ever run among the Amish?

Ommmmm…MG

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I am an anxious person. The question “what’s the worst that could happen?” is not a rhetorical one for me. It is a challenge. What’s the worst that could happen, you ask? Let me tell you, because my insane brain has already formulated about forty different scenarios that could go down.

Also, you just jinxed us.

Anxiety has been my near-constant companion and worst enemy for most of my life. Without getting long-winded about it – this is a health and fitness blog, not my personal diary, I get it – I have tried it all: therapy, medication, wringing my hands, rocking in a corner. And while all of these things worked, some much better than others (don’t really recommend the last two), there’s one thing that always nips my anxiety in the bud.

It’s a little thing called yoga, my friends. Yes, while I’m harnessing my chi I’m also wrangling my anxiety. I can’t hear you over all of my deep breathing and namaste-ing, scary thoughts!

There’s a long list of studies that back up my anecdotal evidence, too. Just Google “anxiety and exercise” and pages upon pages of articles will pop up citing the short- and long-term benefits of exercise in those of us that are prone to it.

While running calms me (woo, endorphins!), there’s something special about yoga that gets to the root of my anxiety, those little tendrils of worry that burrow into every-day life, and digs them out.

Maybe it’s the purpose with which you have to practice the poses, how everything is slowed down. Maybe it’s that yoga gently forces you to go inward instead of looking out at the world, which can be admittedly pretty scary and weird, especially in San Francisco. Maybe it’s all of those gorgeous words that describe the different poses, the mantras like the previously mentioned namaste, like shanti and om, a chant that is said to be the sound of the universe.

Cool, right? How could I not be completely chill after an hour and a half of all that?

Yoga was the one fitness routine I did religiously while I was pregnant. Not only was it the one form of exercise that didn’t send my heart rate skyrocketing into the atmosphere, it also made me feel more positively connected to my body and mind, which in turn made me feel more connected to the little person growing inside of me. As hokey as it sounds, it made me realize what a freaking rock star my body was, to be doing all of that work.

For all the anxiety I put myself through during my pregnancy and for those moments now when fear rears its ugly head, a calming reality check is just a short walk away to my neighborhood yoga studio.

So hey, while I’m sitting here thinking of the worst that could happen, I might as well do it in the lotus pose.

Do you practice yoga? Or is there another exercise that helps you get mellow? Tell me in the comments!

Don’t Call It A Dreadmill

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Have you ever checked out the #whereirun photos on instagram? You can see some breathtaking images from runners across the globe. Sneaker tracks on a thick bed of snow, pink and orange sunsets, lush green trails…you get the picture. (Haha. Sorry, I had to. But seriously, go get the pictures. Find the tag on instagram.)

What you won’t find though, are any of my running photos. Because where I run, it looks like this:

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Picturesque, right? Or not.

And I’m okay with that. I actually love the treadmill. And not just because I get to look at this guy for most of my runs.

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Here’s why:

  • The treadmill is easy. I like that I can hop on, set my pace and get to work.
  • It’s safe. I don’t have to keep my music low (or off) so I can hear oncoming cars or people, and I don’t have to think about why I need to use a Road ID.
  • There’s air conditioning. I trained for the majority of my first half-marathon on the treadmill; yes, even some of the long runs. Florida is hot and humid, y’all.
  • The dashboard is great for holding a book. When I was pregnant, I would walk and read for an hour or so every other day. Now I read email during my warm-up.
  • I like the mental quiet. My life is chaotic and most of the time, I’m being pulled in several directions at once. One child is nursing, one wants to paint with watercolors, one wants me to read to her. The dogs want to go outside, the dogs want to come inside. I need to start dinner. I love my crazy house, but sometimes it’s nice to be alone with my thoughts. Or zone out and think of nothing.

Currently, I’m using the treadmill to build up my running base again. I’m not running regularly yet, because we aren’t on a sleep-schedule and the little dude can’t ride in a jogging stroller, so I’m fitting it in when I can. My main post-pregnancy goal was to run for 30 minutes, 3 days a week. My goal now is to run 3-4 miles, 3 days a week. I’m getting there!

Here’s what my treadmill workout looks like right now:

5 minute warm-up
10 minutes at 10 minute mile pace
20 minutes at 9:40 minute mile pace
10 minutes at 10 minute mile pace
5-10 minute cool down

Sometimes, I spend more time at a faster pace, if I feel really good. Other times I spend the entire 40 minutes at 10 minute pace. For now, I’m just taking it slow and trying to get my fitness back.

Where do you run? Treadmill- love it or hate it? What is your running goal right now?

Hilly bliss – Spring Forward Distance Run

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Those hills were going to be the death of me. I knew it from the start.

Early Saturday morning, I arrived at Mendon Ponds Park bright and early, ready to tackle the challenging Spring Forward Distance Run, a hilly and challenging 15K race, hosted by Fleet Feet Rochester and Yellow Jacket Racing.

Along with two friends, Ray and Traci, I parked by Stewart Lodge, near the start and finish lines, more than an hour before our 8:30 a.m. race start. We didn’t want to worry about any parking hassles, so we opted to leave plenty of time. We waited in the still-warm car for much of our pre-race time, and chatted about racing strategies.

Soon enough, we lined up on Douglas Road. Traci opted to run with another mutual friend Jessica and I wished them well. My speedy friend Ray was all set to pace me to a 9-minute-mile race. I was nervous since the last time I ran the course I finished at a 9:30 pace.

But he had faith. As a result, I did too. Besides, I knew what went up would also come down. And I was counting on those downhills to gain some time.

And we’re off! I’m somewhere in there.  Photo courtesy Fleet Feet Rochester.

The first mile was fast. I think we took it out in around an 8:40 pace. I had hoped to keep it around 9, but we were excited and swept up in the crowd. And part of it was downhill.

Ray repeatedly reminded me to breathe deeply on the downhills, something which helped me incredibly. At no point was I gasping for air, thanks to his coaching, I was able to control my breath and run steadily.

We passed running partner Gary’s wife around mile 2.5. She smiled and waved and cheered us along.

Then we rounded a corner near this rather hilly stretch of Rush Mendon Road. It gets me every time. STEEP. Stunning, but STEEP. Ray encouraged me to pump my arms. I did and eventually, we made it to the top.

We passed the 5K mark. I remember looking at my watch to see a 26 minutes and umpteen seconds. I just beat my best 5K race time as part of a 15K race. This was either going to be amazing, or a train wreck.

Soon enough, we turned onto West Bloomfield Road. We passed a woman playing a guitar, which made me smile. Ray chattered on much of the way, sharing stories as I grunted several one-syllable responses. I recall lying about not having Easter plans because “no” was the shortest answer.

Ray continued to remind me to breathe (again, something I wanted to hear) and pointed out some large houses and animals in nearby fields and yards. He repeatedly told me we were on pace for a sub-9-minute-mile race and looking good.

The 10K mark was upon us. I looked at my watch again. I was on 10K PR pace. Nice. And I wasn’t dying. even better!

After hoofing it up a hill between miles 6 and 7, I ate my trusty vanilla bean GU for a bit of sustenance and energy. Ray handed me a water bottle as we rounded a corner onto Canfield Road.

“Look at that nice downhill,” he said. “Focus on your breathing.”

And not the massive hill ahead of it, I thought.

“Run toward small milestones, like that white sign ahead, and that tree over there,” he suggested. I nodded. Good advice.

Ultimately, I lost a bit of time on that last hill but pushed as hard as my legs would allow. I sped up running downhill and soon enough we were back on Douglas Road and rounded the bend toward the finish line.

1:24.10 was my official time, 9:03 pace. I had beaten my own course record by more than 4 minutes. I felt fantastic. And more importantly, those hills didn’t beat me.

Couch to Spring

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YOU GUYS, IT’S SPRING. I seriously could not be happier. This was a long, LONG winter. Between snowstorms and colds (and my crazy schedule the last few weeks), I’m not quite as far along as I thought I’d be. Well, my week off for illness turned into two weeks off (mostly illness, a little bit of lazy thrown in for good measure). But this week, it was time to get back on the horse. Or my feet.

C25K, Week 3, Day 1

Time 28:00 minutes, Distance 1.44 miles, Pace 19:27

Having taken two full weeks off, I was seriously scared to get back on the treadmill. I contemplated going back a week because, as those of us that C25K know, Week 3 means a 3 minute run. YIKES. But, I decided to just pick up where I left off and do what I could.

And it was good! Hit the gym with my daughter after her modeling class. I was tired and could have easily bailed, but Kay is my little Jillian and she was having none of that. While my pace wasn’t my best so far (about 20 seconds more per mile than where I left off), it was a good run. And I even pushed myself a little. Towards the end, I felt like I had some more run in me, so I did an extra two minutes!

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My beautiful (hardass) baby girl.

C25K, Week 3, Day 2

Time 28:00 minutes, Distance 1.50 miles, Pace 18:40

God, I love when my pace number goes down. I really do. Before I started running, I didn’t even know what a ‘good’ pace was, much less that I would grow to care about my own and want to better it. I bumped up my treadmill pace and did the extra two minutes again, just to see it go down a little.

The feeling of being ‘a runner’ as opposed to someone who runs is starting to come back. And I’m not going to lie…

I LOVE THAT.

C25K, Week 3, Day 3

Time 28:08 minutes, Distance 1.69 miles, Pace 16:37

Yeah, I'm just a little proud.

Yeah, I’m just a little proud.

16:37! Picture me doing a little happy dance on the track. Because that’s a big drop from 18:40 just a few days before.

This was my first outdoor run of the year. I looked out the window and say the shining sun and the clear blue sky and thought ‘why on Earth would I want to go into the gym on a day like this?’

Of course, this being New England, it wasn’t quite as warm as it looked. But it was warm. 44 degrees warm.

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The sky has gotten the message that Spring is here, and so have I. The trees, not so much.

I headed down to the local track and took off. I’d forgotten how much more I enjoy running outside. No ‘hamster on a wheel’ feeling. Even though a track is a big circle, I feel like I’m going somewhere. And I don’t get any funny looks from fellow treadmillers when my Pandora starts blasting the dirty version of What’s Your Fantasy (which, btw, is an excellent running song).

But, I had also forgotten that I’m a faster runner outside. When I run on the treadmill, it paces me. I get all worked up by the speed and think ‘I can’t increase it, I’m not ready yet’.  Outside, I pace me. I run as fast as I am comfortable with, and I don’t look at the number on my phone.

I just run.

I’m certainly not alone out there, either. There was a little old woman running in pink sweats and a sunhat, a couple of teenage boys, some families out for a walk. And more so than when I run at the gym, I feel like part of something bigger when I run outside.

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My local track.

See that track? This is where I run. This is where I better myself, as a runner and as a person. This is where I become the athlete I want to be.

So, tomorrow, I start Week 4. Which includes a 5 minute run. I’m scared, but excited. And I’ll tell you all about it next Saturday 🙂

<3 Bec

P.S. On the Dietbet front, I’m down 10 pounds in just under two weeks, which means unless I get assaulted by Ben & Jerry, I should make it!

Back to Life, Back to Reality

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I’ve been living in a cocoon for the past three and a half months. A cozy little world with me and Bug and sometimes Mister Jess, if we let him in (we usually do). All of that will be changing come Monday, however. I’ll be breaking out of my self-imposed swaddle* and getting back into the swing of things.

Namely, work. Real life. The grind, if you will.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about this day, but in those first few weeks, April 1st seemed like a lifetime away. I was knee-deep in onesies, pacifiers, and diapers, with a newborn barnacled to my boob. I wasn’t thinking about work or “real life.” I definitely wasn’t thinking about running or any kind of me time. I was thinking about surviving. I was thinking about that elusive thing called sleep. I was thinking, “this shit is hard!”

The past few weeks I’ve been mentally preparing myself to get back to it all, though. I’m thinking about how on Monday, I’ll have to give Bug to his caregiver and walk away from him. How I’ll have to go to work and start critically thinking again and conversing with adults. A novel concept, considering I’ve been either talking to my baby or talking about my baby since he was born in December. What are these multi-syllabic words? 

I’ve also been thinking about how easy it is to settle into a new routine, and how hard it is to break away from it, especially when that “routine” is a living, breathing human who is growing and getting more fascinating by the day. I’ve been struggling with how to feel about getting back to “real life,” because this part of my life, the little cocoon, has been very, very real.

But when I found myself staring wistfully at runners as they passed us by during a trip to Crissy Field this week, I realized that running is a part of that real life. And that all of it – working, running, being a person independent of my son – is something I need to get back to. Running clears my mind. It lets me focus on becoming stronger, better. That time is mine alone, and if you have kids, you know how important that time is. You savor it. I know that it will be even more important to me now than it was before. Like Brooke said in her last post, if mama’s happy, everybody’s happy.

Part of me is sad maternity leave is ending. Part of me is scared. And part of me is excited to get back to some of the other things that fulfill me and make me a healthy, well-rounded chick.

And so although I’ve willingly – gladly – given up a piece of myself to my son (and basically my entire heart. Sorry, Mister Jess), I’m looking forward to taking back a piece for me. It’s time to get back on the road.

Hit the road, Jess.

Hit the road, Jess.

Working parents, how do you find a balance between kid time and healthy-you time? Give me some tips in the comments! 

*All credit for this sentence goes to Meri, who came up with the brilliant phrase “breaking out of your swaddle.” Baby jokes, haha!